Keri pulled Nate over to our lunch table, and forced him to sit down. Our eyes didn’t meet – the conversation we had before was in my head. What did he mean, about the whole Kindergarten thing? It was a long time ago…why should I remember?
The second Nate’s butt touched the seat, about ten girls all ran to our table, sitting down as well. I rolled my eyes, putting down my hot dog. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry any more. I tried to ignore the giggles of the girls, who were now invading my personal space. Weren’t they meant to be avoiding me? Did the carefully cultivated reputation suddenly not matter any more?
I stood up, and the girls all shut up. Their eyes were trained on me fearfully.
“I’m leaving,” I told Keri, ignoring Nate. “I have to go…practice. I have a tournament coming up, and the other guy’s about double my height and my age.”
Keri smiled, playing along. She knew this was just to boost my ego in front of these idiots. “You reckon you could take him?”
“Yeah,” I replied, like it was the stupidest question in the world. “Of course I can. I took him last time. He was in a coma for a while.”
“Well, good luck.”
“Bye,” I said, enjoying all the fearful stares directed at my face. I turned around, and left.
This was who I was. The one everyone was afraid of. And you know what? Kind of fun.
***
End of the day
***
I checked the address on the piece of paper Keri had given me. Yep. This was definitely the place.
“Well, Nate. Let’s go.”
“Are you kidding me? We’re going to work in a posh, private school? No. No way.”
“What’s this school’s name?” I called loudly, over my shoulder. “Oh, right. Charlotte’s Private School…for GIRLS.”
He was by my side at an almost superhuman speed.
***
“The mop is here. The bucket is here. Clean.”
I grimaced at the gym manager’s disappearing back. “God, what a loser. If he wasn’t paying us, I would go all karate on his butt.” I turned back to Nate, expectantly. “Well, Nate? Clean.”
He gaped. “Are you kidding me? You do it!”
“My dearest, sweetest Bachelor,” I said, smiling. I had to pull the Bachelor card. I could see he wasn’t about to do what I wanted. “I really think you should.”
Grumbling, he did as I said. I watched him scrub at the floor, with a smirk on my face.
***
“That was awful,” Nate grumbled, kicking the wall. He winced, and grabbed his foot.
“Idiot,” I muttered.
“I heard that,” he snapped.
“Well, I said it loud.”
We were walking home, having established that no one was walking anyone else home, simply that we were two people to had to go the same way. And maybe one of them was scared of the dark (i.e. Nate. How stupid is that?). I practically had to push him away every few seconds. He kept clinging to me, because “the darkness was scary”. Or maybe he just wanted to feel me up. Whichever way, I wasn’t letting him near me.
“No, Nate!” I yelled, slapping him. “I like Noah, okay?”
“Right.”
***
My therapist’s eyes scanned over my letter. I could practically see her pause, and mentally judge me at the grammar and spelling mistakes. My fist clenched.
“Right,” she said, taking off her glasses. She looked me in the eye, and glared. Even I felt kind of unnerved. “I don’t think you’ve taken me seriously. I wanted you to write an email to the person you hated the most in the world. And you…you give me this!”
I gaped at her. “I was being serious,” I protested. “I hate Cupid the most in the world!”
“Not the middle-east war-lords? Not the drug dealers, who ruin so many bright people’s futures? Not the extreme racial prejudice in this world? But…Cupid?”
I glared at her. “Cupid,” I repeated, loudly and clearly. “If you wanted me to write to those people, you should’ve said. I just did what you told me.”
“You were meant to get to the root of your problems, and reconcile.” She put her stupid glasses back on, and stared at my letter. “Have you done this in the letter?”
“Yes…”
“No. I want you to write another letter. This time, one that is slightly more relevant.”
“This isn’t class,” I snapped. “You can’t give me homework!”
“I think you’re parents will be very interested to know your failure to cooperate –”
“Alright!” I yelled. “I’ll do it, okay?” I glared at her stupid twinkling eyes. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”
She smiled at me.
“Whatever do you mean?”
***
Dear Cupid,
This is another letter. I would say sorry for bothering you, but you don’t exist. This letter won’t ever get to you. I’m wasting paper, aren’t I? I should care more. Maybe I’ll recycle something to compensate.
Anyway, I’m meant to say sorry again. But I’m more angry at you, than hateful. Remember that guy I told you about? Well, he’s back. And I’ve talked to him about once. And he doesn’t remember me. Thanks for that, by the way. Well…You don’t exist.
And he has a brother. A playboy, scared-of-the-dark, pain-in-the-ass brother who follows me around. Which is another plus. If you were here, I would beat you to death with a lamp or something. But then again…you don’t exist.
My therapist made me write this letter to you, saying we didn’t reconcile well enough. So how about this:
Me: Oh Cupid, I hate you.
Cupid: Why?
Me: I don’t know.
Cupid: Oh.
Me: I’m sorry, Cupid!
Cupid: I am too.
The end. We are friends. Happy, Miss Therapist Woman who had three degrees in Therapy-ing?
Adrianna.
***
I met up with Nate later. He had apparently tried to get a second job, one that wasn’t manual labor. I’d agreed, but reluctantly. I kind of liked watching him sweat.
“So what is this amazing job?” I asked, sighing. “You better hope it pays well.”
“It’s in this club, and –”
I started turning away. I had standards. I was in no way taking my clothes off for money. Nate grabbed onto my arm.
Didn’t I tell him that I don’t like physical contact? I spun around, slapping his head, hard.
“Ouch!” he yelled, wincing. “What was that for?”
“Stop touching me!”
Everyone in the area started at us.
“I thought you liked it when I touch you!” Nate yelled. A few old ladies tittered, and the kids all laughed, pointing at us.
“Shut up, Nate. I’m not interested in the job. I’m not going to become a stripper, or a prostitute, or whatever –”
“It’s not that! You just have to be a bouncer, and a nightclub! Sound alright?”
“What will you be?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.
“Topless waiter.”
It took me ten minutes to stop laughing
***
Author's Note: I'm going kind of slow with this plot...sorry, but I'm so pre-occupied with wriitng Billion Dollar Girl, because I'm entering it for Watty Awards (definitely won't win, but good luck me!). So...sorry XxX I will try to write some longer parts next time :)
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