This Is How You Lose Yourself

no.12. the predictor

Tuesdays were the bane of my existence. You have nothing to hope for. It's not the beginning of the week, nor the end, the middle, or even the day before the end of the weekday. It's just there; I declare a war on Tuesdays. Today happened to be a Tuesday and it was the okay-est of okay days thus far.

I had managed to avoid Quinn and his lips the entire day. I would call that a success.

As I speed-walk out and away from the school, my arms heavy with textbooks and the wind blowing hair into my face, a car pulls up next to me and drives at my pace. I keep my eyes downward and steady on the sidewalk, until realizing that this mysterious car is following me. I look up, ready to scream at the stalker. You've got to be shitting me.

"Blow me." I tense as I see Quinn roll down his window and hit the brakes, just as I stop walking to turn to him. The anger is evident on my face. I had done so well.

"Sorry, I don't think that's how that works. However –" I think I know where he was going with that train of thought. Quickly, I attempt to defuse the bomb.

"Shut it." My arms begin to sag with the weight of the books. Quinn notices this and reaches to put the car in park. I straighten my back and continue walking to avoid further interaction, I was far too mortified to ever talk to him again. Maybe I was sorely mistaken. Maybe Quinn was truly the bane of my existence, not Tuesdays.

"Ettie!" Quinn calls, he's still chasing after me with his car, that lazy fucker. "Admit it!" He says suddenly, I refuse to think that he has caught my attention. But I am nothing short of intrigued, curse my natural curiosity. Nevertheless, I huff, still not wanting to partake in this certain conversation.

"Admit what?" I practically scream at him, forcing me to acknowledge the quickening of my heart beats.

"You like kissing me," He says softly now, and I look around, not wanting anyone privy to this information. But I do, I do like kissing him and though I'll never admit it, it wasn't that bad. It wasn't bad at all. He didn't make my nose bleed in protest and I could never say in complete honesty that he was a bad kisser. I couldn't ignore how all the blood rushes to my face when I even so much as feel his gaze on me, how I had never thought of myself as pretty until he said I looked "nice" the summer before sophomore year, and how my breath is knocked out of my lungs when he touches me and dares to hold my hand. How I unconsciously give him my wholehearted consent to do anything with my heart.

I couldn't ignore any of these things, but I sure as hell didn't have to acknowledge them. He asks too much at me, I wish he'd stop plucking at my heartstrings.

I fish around for an excuse. So that I don't give him the satisfaction. "Umm. I have to pee."

"Lovely," he grimaces, "Have fun." Then, he speeds away haphazardly, seemingly having given up on his conquests. He leaves me with an altered sense of confusion and flying autumn leaves in his wake. Just great. Now I'm forced to turn back towards the school if I want the integrity of my lies to hold up. I trudge back to the entrance of the school, I had only made it as far as the end of the parking lot, yet my calves still burned at the effort. I was severely out of shape. By the time I make it to the school, I realize with unwanted irony that I really do need to use the bathroom now.

Ignoring the protesting muscles in my legs, I sprint to the girls' bathroom, ignoring the stares of the left-over teens waiting to be picked up. Without looking, I fling myself into an empty stall and relieve myself. Stepping out of the stall to wash my hands, I hear retching coming from another stall. The retching ceases and a voice calls out, "Ettie?" My hands still.

My head turns towards the voice, "Yeah. Who is this?"

"It's me, Sadie, you idiot!" She says in a stage whisper and I grow concerned. She must have recognized me by my shoes. Apparently, I happen to be the only one at school who wears yellow Converse high-tops.