Exotic

~ how to lose a guy in 10 words ~

Aaron offered to wait for me after school, but I optimistically told him I'd find my own way home. He's spent most of the day trying to talk me out of meeting Caleb, as I moved from location to location to avoid Jake. Eventually, he gave up, but the concerned glances didn't stop until he was in his car, forcing himself to leave me behind.

Modern History wasn't the only homework I had neglected. Mr. Bloomsbury expressed his disappointment in me in front of the entire class, lamenting about how much better I'd been doing. I hid in my collar as my classmates gaped and snorted.

After school, I walked circles through the library until it closed, and then laps around the science block until a concern Ms. Trudeau left her office to ask me if something was wrong. I forced myself to sit still after then, burrowing under a tree, drumming my fingers on an unopened textbook in the quadrant until my watch read 4:25. I was worried that I'd get to the soccer field and find myself being stood up. Or worse, run into Jake. It was his hunting ground as well, after all. I was a trespasser.

Boys from the soccer team were escaping to their cars as I crossed the carpark to get to the field, blasting music and swinging bags and punching shoulders. Max waved to me, but my focus was singular. He frowned before ducking into a friend's car, and as the last stragglers swung out to the road, Truman High School was left unnervingly quiet. Save one pattern of noise. 

I heard Caleb before I saw him. Thump. And then silence, thick with frustration.

Thump. Pause. Thump.

"Fuck."

I shoved my hands in my pockets to hide my fidgeting and ducked out onto the field. Grass squelched under my school shoes, heavy enough to drag my feet. It had been raining steadily all day. It had turned the world into a soggy mush, like soaked cardboard – although the smell was intoxicating.

Caleb was out on the goal square, booting soccer balls into the net with an intensity that made my pace stutter to a stop. It was as if he was trying to break a hole in the back of the net, and every time it held was a personal failure. Thump. Fuck. Thump. Shit. Thump.

"You're going to rip some poor goalkeeper in half."

He faltered and the next ball went sailing over the net and into the stands. Caleb folded himself over his knees, sucking in breath, very pointedly not looking at me. I stayed where I was, holding my ground a fair distance from him. While the sun made him glow, the overcast sky made the lines of his body bolder. His hair was damp, hanging his eyes, but he made no move to push it back.

He stared, and I stood, and we both said nothing at first.

"Hey," I broke first because it was so fucking awkward.

He didn't respond, but he didn't look away. His jersey was dragging at the shoulders from the weight of the rain. His gaze was uncertain, deciding whether to fight or flee. His chest rose and fell, hands gripping his knees as he caught his breath.

"What the fuck, Caleb," I said shortly, keeping my tone level.

He looked away at that, kicking up a patch of grass with his toe. "You wanted to meet. Say what you have to say. I've got shit to do."

"You want to lead with that?" I demanded.

His lips pursed in a hard lip, and he righted himself. "I don't know what you want me to lead with. You were the one who wanted to meet."

"What about explaining why you're ignoring me?"

He paused, spat over his shoulder, and walked over to the boundary line. I followed him to his gym bag, head aflame with seething resentment for his passive attitude. I hadn't expected him to sweep me off my feet and plant one on me under the showering sky, but this cold indifference felt like we'd fallen back to square 1.