"He asked you to formal by writing it in the steam?" Bridgette asks, reassuring herself that she heard me correctly. Maybe hoping she hadn't heard me right.
"What's so bad about it?" I challenge whilst taking a bite of my apple. "If I'm not mistaken, your girlfriend asked you by writing it on her ass."
Bridgette smiles happily, whether touched by the memory of being asked to formal or by the image of her girlfriend's ass. I'm kind of hoping for the former.
"You have me there," she shoves a forkful of green beans into her mouth. She swallows, distaste displayed across her face as she follows with a long gulp of water. "But I at least didn't have sex directly after. I mean, Sarah, come on. You wasted a perfectly good shower."
I roll my eyes at her even though she's correct. I did trade a perfectly good shower for some above-average sexual intercourse with my boyfriend, but it was totally worth it. "You should be proud of me, though. I wouldn't let him see the dress."
"Good," she grins. "The magic would be ruined if you let him see you in it beforehand."
"Those were my thoughts when he asked about it," I reply.
I was rebuttoning his shirt for him when I caught his eyes staring at my partially open closet door. For a moment, I couldn't figure out what was so intriguing in my closet. He'd already busted me about taking down all of the family photos. Ugh, that conversation wasn't fun at all. He acted like a therapist the entire time, asking me why I did it and if it helped.
But then the thought of the dress still zipped up in the dust cover occurred to me.
"When did you get a dress?" he said, confirming my suspicions. He turned back to face me when I buttoned the last button. I smoothed the front of his shirt down, using that as an excuse just to run my hands over his chest again. That's a thing that will never get old.
"Last weekend," I had said, my hands slowly working their way down to his belt. Even though we had just gotten redressed, I was realizing that I liked Jay better without a shirt. "Bridge and I went shopping."
He had noticed my complete disinterest in conversing, and he lowered his lips onto mine. It was a sweet kiss, nothing like the kisses we were exchanging just a few minutes ago under the covers. Those were chaste and passionate. Unexpectedly, he broke away and asked, "Do I get a preview?"
"Nope," I had said hurriedly, impatiently waiting for him to go back to what we had begun. His fragmented breathing halted for just a second in order for him to say, "Why not?"
"Because it'd ruin the magic," I planted a kiss on his nose, "And I paid a lot of money to obtain that magic."
He rolled his eyes, no longer pushing the subject, and we didn't talk much after that. Mostly just kissing with the occasional interruption when an explosion from the movie shook the house.
"I found the shoes I was looking for," Bridge says, pulling me out of my wonderful, wonderful memory.
After we found my dress the other day, it was Bridgette's turn. We combed those racks for three hours. She complained how it wasn't fair that I found my dress the moment we exited the escalator. Eventually, after painstakingly rummaging through those racks at least four times over, she found the dress.
A forest green, strapless, A-line, floorlength dress stole Bridge's heart and attention. That's all she talked about while we payed and drove home. Once home, though, her attention flitted from the dress to the accessories. She claimed she had the perfect necklace and earrings, but she had "no fucking acceptable shoes."
"Where'd you find them?" I ask half-heartedly, knowing that Bridge is going to give me every specification of the pair of heels she bought to match. Every dimension, every fleck of color, and even how the damn things feel on her feet. She's a very descriptive person, which explains why she writes for the newspaper and dreams of someday anchoring the nightly news. National news, of course. None of that "local shit."
By now I've completely tuned her out and am instead scoping the lunchroom for Jay. I haven't seen him since second period when we literally bumped into each other in our respective rushing. We didn't say much, just gave a nod and a smile.
I find him waiting in the lunch line that extends practically through the entire lunch room. He's talking with some of his friends, while the girls before and behind him in line are not-so-subtly checking him out. I suppose this is a daily occurrence, but I've never been in a position to be jealous. He left for two weeks after we started dating, and it's not like we've had the time to go out on a public date for the entire town to witness. We've kept things pretty private, as they rightfully should be.
But as I sit here, stewing with anger, clutching my apple to the point where it may pop at any moment, I realize something must be done.
The only person who gets to ogle my boyfriend is me.
I throw my apple onto my tray and harshly shove my chair backwards, sending it on the brink of toppling over but it hits the wall before it tips over completely. Bridgette abruptly cuts off her never-ending description of her shoes when she notices that I'm standing up and the that the bell hasn't rang yet. "Sarah? What's going on?"
I don't answer her as I wind my way through the tables and chairs scattered here and there. I maneuver over backpacks whose contents have been spread across the floor either on accident or on purpose. Some people at each table look up briefly as I pass, probably hoping that I don't stop at their table with the current look on my face. I most definitely look like I'm ready to kill someone.
Finally, I reach Jay. He looks surprised, but not unwelcoming as I approach him. I can feel all eyes on me, wondering just what exactly I'm doing talking to Jay Keely. He's popular; I'm somewhat of an outcast. He's hot; I'm not. He's exceptionally dressed in designer khakis and a pale blue polo; I'm wearing the sweatshirt with Tony's football number on the back of it and black sweats. His hair is carefully styled; mine is hastily thrown into a ponytail.
We don't mix on the outside, but on the inside, on the things that really matter, we go together like peanut butter and jelly.
I throw my arms around his neck, pulling him slightly down to my height, and I kiss him, quite forcefully might I add. He doesn't reciprocate at first, clearly caught off guard, but soon enough I feel his arms encircle my waist.
The conversations were already becoming hushed as people realized I was heading straight for Jay, but now the entire cafeteria is silent, everyone gawking at the sight before them. Not only am I unpopular, I'm a year his junior. Our school is odd in the fact that people within their graduating class generally date people in the same class. Don't ask me why that is, it just is.
We break apart after someone whistles, clearly enjoying the show we're putting on for the entire cafeteria. A smirk is left on both our lips after we disentangle ourselves from each other. Mine is mischievous; his is complete satisfaction.
"Damn, Keely," one of his friends mumbles from beside him.
"Will I see you later?" I ask whilst putting my hands on my hips. I'm giving the cafeteria what they so desperately want: a show.
Jay seems to pick up on this as he formulates his answer, answering me loud enough for everyone to hear, "I don't know. My dad's still pretty pissed I snuck home from D.C. to see you."
"I'll make it worth your while," I say attempting to be sexy, but instead of sexy, it comes out more sarcastic than seductive.
He pretends to contemplate, but I already knows he's coming over tonight. It is Tuesday after all.
"I don't doubt that," he says with a gleam in his eyes that has me losing my bravado. "I'll see you later, O'Henry."
"You too, Keely," I flash him one last grin before I spin around on my heel and saunter, with all eyes on me, back to my table. Bridgette sits there, a fork poised in the air between her mouth and her tray, visibly stunned.
I plop down in my chair, the cafeteria slowly going back to their normal, pre-Sarah-and-Jay-show activities. I pick up my apple and bite off a chunk whilst watching Bridge watch me. "What?" I raise my shoulders and ask innocently.
The astonishment fades and is immediately replaced with smugness and a hundred-watt smirk. "You're such a brat," she exclaims happily.
"I'm not a brat," I retort.
"I watched you sit here and seethe over the fact that some sophomore sluts were foaming at the mouth over the sight of your boyfriend. And then I witnessed you walk over there, quite fabulously as one can in sweats might I add, and assert your dominance. God, it was eerily similar to how my parents described how the animals acted while they were out on their safari when they brought Marcus home," she says. "While it was animal-like, it was truly spectacular. I wish you could've seen those make-up caked faces of theirs when you two were sucking face. Their sneers just melted right off of their lipstick scarred lips. Had I not been so enthralled like the rest of the cafeteria, I would've whipped out my camera and this would've made front page."
"I'd rather Jay and I not end up on front page," I remind her. A few minutes ago, I was relishing how private him and I's relationship was, and now I'm here convincing Bridge to not write a story about my jealousy-fueled, soft-core sex show in the cafeteria.
"News is news, Sarah," she pauses, then adds, "The people want what the people want."
Our conversation halts as three of the girls that were leering at my boyfriend arrives at the edge of our circular table. One of them in a too-tight t-shirt and a red, trumpet skirt speaks first. "When did you start dating Jay Keely?"
I open my mouth to speak when Bridgette pipes in, "Right around the time you got caught screwing Evan Lancaster in the girls' locker room shower."
The girl, who's as much as a taboo as I am, dating outside of graduating class, leans over the table. "How do you know about that?" Anger and worry are laced throughout her question.
Bridge leans in too, and they're practically nose to nose after she does. "I have eyes everywhere, sweetheart," Bridge says sickeningly sweet. Obviously having had enough, the girl backs off and scurries away; her friends trailing behind her, in shock that their friend hadn't spilled that information to them.
I face Bridge, who is rightfully pleased with herself. "Who brought that to your attention?" I ask.
"Oh, please," she laughs, "You actually think I have eyes everywhere? I just told her that to freak her out."
"Then how do you know that?"
An impish grin adorns her glossy lips as she answers, "Heather and I were trying to do the same thing, but they had beat us to punch. As you know, I enjoy holding grudges, and as I am still peeved that I was denied the oppurtunity of hot, locker room sex with my smoking hot girlfriend, I thought this would be the optimal time to use my leverage."
"Is that all you two do? Have sex all the time?" I laugh, tipping my chair slightly back on its back legs. I clutch the edge of the table for safety measures. God knows the last thing I need is for me to crack open my head.
Not to mention that'd really destroy the new badass image I've managed to cultivate this lunch period.
Bridgette quirks an eyebrow and the corner of her mouth when she responds, "Is this one of those cases where the pot is calling the kettle black, Miss O'Henry?"
I'm laughing so hard I lose my grip for just one second and begin to fall backwards, but Bridgette grabs the back of my chair and uprights me just as I was about to go down. I regain my composure and look over sheepishly at Bridge, "I suppose it is, Miss Valencia. I suppose it is."