Talia:
"Next!"
I scurry up to the front counter of the coffee shop. Usually behind the register it's this one aggravated female worker who always manages to make me squirm at her tone. This time, however, it's a college guy with "UVA" spelled out in orange on his grey sweatshirt. I smile as I normally do, but this time the barista actually smiles back.
"What can I get for you?" College guy asks, his finger readying to type my order into the system. I try not to notice his brown colored eyes trailing over my body. Even when he's not here, I find myself comparing the color to Grayson's eyes. I come to the conclusion that Grayson has eyes ten times prettier than the college guy's. I also may be bias.
"Hi, yes, can I get two medium iced coffees with a vanilla flavor shot and hazelnut syrup, please," I say as I play with my fingers. Ordering things makes me nervous.
College guy nods his head and rapidly taps the iPad in front of him. "Sure thing, smiley. Anything else?"
Smiley? Is he talking to me? I mean, I guess I was a little smiley, but maybe he also just likes giving out nicknames. Or he's a weirdo.
"No, that's it," I state, sliding my card into the chip reader to be processed. The $8.36 is beyond worth it. Especially when I get to see his face when I give it to him.
"I'll be right out with those," college guy says with a wink.
Is he...flirting with me? I mentally cringe. No. Nope. Smile and nod, Lia. Smile and nod.
Two minutes go by before he returns to the pick-up side of the counter, sliding over my two insanely delicious coffees. Yum. I barely catch his words while I think about just how amazing the first sip will be.
"I like your eyes by the way," he says, smiling his dazzling white teeth in my direction.
I hold onto the two coffee cups and tilt my head at his words. I don't know why I feel so confused. Maybe it's because Grayson said the same thing to me a week ago and it felt like a million fireworks were going off. This time, it just feels like another complement that someone would tell to make you smile. There's no spark.
"Oh, thank you," I say, knowing it would be rude if I walked off without a word.
He takes it as an invitation to keep the conversation going. "Are you in high school, college, or—"
"High school. I'm a senior." I rub my thumb on the side of one of the coffee cups, pushing aside the condensation. I hope he takes the hint from the clipped-ness of my words that I don't feel like talking. I'd rather being talking with someone else right now.
"Cool, cool," he says, nodding with each cool. "I go to U—"
"University of Virginia," I interrupt, pointing at his sweatshirt from underneath the apron. "Yeah, I see. I have to go. My sister is waiting in the car for me."
There's no sister waiting. Jessica rode in with Quinn today. I just don't want to keep talking when I could be going to school to catch him before classes start.
"See you around," he says with a wave and smile.
I wave back and scurry back on out of the shop, not wanting to speak any longer. It's not until I lift the straw to my lips that I realize there's a phone number written on it. That's bold, college guy. Real, bold.
***
There's suddenly déjà vu from two weeks ago.
I have two cups of coffee in my hands and I struggle to open the door. A freshman walks up to me and holds it open, whom I then mutter a quick thanks to.
My eyes flick between the countless faces in the hallway, but there's only one I'm looking for. It's the same one I always want to find. Where are you? As if on command, my eyes flit across the familiar face and I stroll over until I'm right behind him.
"Boo!" I say, my lips pursing together to make the "O" sound and eyebrows raising towards the ceiling.
Grayson doesn't even jump. No flinching either. I can't help but feel disappointed as he turns around with an unamused face. "Nice try, Talia."
I roll my eyes in annoyance and lean on the lockers next to him—casually, of course. At least that's how I think I appear as I shift my position multiple times until I achieve the perfect balance of casualness and coolness.
"I brought you a coffee," I say with a smile, extending the cup to his chest. "As a thank you."
Grayson pushes a textbook into his locker and frees his hand to accept it. He stares at the iced coffee cup, examining its contents before returning his attention to me, a single eyebrow raised. "You don't have to keep buying me coffees as a thank you."
"I wanted to, though," I share. Which is true, by the way. "It's the same kind of coffee as last time and it's still equally delicious."
I take a long sip of my drink just to further my point. His line of gaze travels to where the straw meets my lips for a fraction of a second before focusing on my cup. Rather, I believe, what has been written on my cup. Grayson eyes narrow and a wave a confusion washes over his face.
"What's that on your cup?" Grayson points to where the college guy/barista wrote his phone number, thinking it was the most original way to get in touch with a random girl. It's not.
"Oh, that. It's funny actually. I think the barista guy tried flirting with me—he even winked—and then I saw this: his phone number. He's in college, so I'm kind of calling him 'college guy,'" I say, more detail that necessary pouring out of my mouth.
"He winked?" he asks, studying my face for any type of movement. Maybe he's trying to see what kind of reaction I had to my encounter with college guy.
I nod my head and bite the inside of my cheek. To me it's just a funny story. "Yeah, totally weird right?"
To him, I guess it's something different.
If my ears hear correctly, Grayson grunts at my answer. His face becomes stoic and serious as he rolls his eyes and turns to his locker, which he sets his drink down in. I think he's trying to ignore me before he begins rustling through his locker, searching for some unknown object.
"Whatcha do—" I start asking, but I stop my words once he reveals a black marker.
With his other hand, Grayson takes my own coffee cup without a warning. He hunches over the cup, raises his marker, and scribbles out college guys number. Grayson takes it to the extreme by blowing on the cup, drying the layer of permanent marker, and then going back over the now unreadable number.
Someone must have an issue with college guy.
"Here," he says, returning back my drink and picking back up his own.
"Thanks?" I say, slightly confused at his reason for doing that. "Why did you cross out his number?"
Grayson scratches the back of his neck and then runs his hand through his hair. He tilts his head and shrugs. "I-uh. You shouldn't accept a random guy's number. It's dangerous, or whatever."
He mumbles that last bit, maybe not entirely believing it himself. I bite my lip and hold back a light laugh, obviously amused. It's clear he doesn't want me texting the guy's number, not because he's fears for my safety, but because he doesn't want me texting someone else. Don't worry Grayson, there's no boys blowing up my phone. If that's the real reason why you're so worried.
"Mhm, sure. Yeah, no, I understand," I say, my smile blossoming across my face.
He gives me a half-smile back and finally takes a sip of his drink. I'm about to ask him if he wants to continue our art project this weekend when a flash of blonde hair reaches my eyes.
At first I think it's Cassie, probably making her way through the hallway to shove Grayson and I apart. But her blonde it lighter, closer to ray-of-sunshine—which is ironic. No, this blonde is dirtier, streaks of light-brown running through its short length. So I panic, because there's only one person I know with hair like that.
It's the first time I have seen him since that unfortunate night two weeks again, and I was honestly forgetting his existence. Imagine what a few more days could have done to my memory.
Hot breath blowing across my face.
Stop.
An arm shoved against my chest.
Stop.
Carter's lips attacking my neck.
Stop!
Grayson notices the way my skin pales. I wonder if he can hear my heart beating, because it feels like a ticking bomb. My hands shake, rocking the coffee cup back and forth. A movement that I wish I could control.
His eyes follow my line of view to where Carter just walked through the front doors. I know Grayson recognizes the problem at hand when his whole body noticeably stiffens, more board-like that usual. As if by instinct, he takes a small step to the side, not only blocking my line of view from him, but also hiding me.
"Breathe, Talia," Grayson commands in a whisper. His body is turned back to me and he places his coffee into the open locker. He takes that same hand, still cold from the cup, and grabs my empty one. Grayson's thumb strokes smooth circles across the back of my hand, distracting me from Carter's unexpected presence. He never breaks the motion or eye contact from me.
I think we have avoided him. That's what I'd like to think. What I'd like to hope for. But I should have know better, because there's only one hallway that connects to the front doors to where we are now. It's just luck.
A scoff loudly erupts from our side, about seven feet away. Not far enough, in my opinion. A trip to Mars would never fill the distance I wish to keep from Carter Emerson.
"I should of known that whore was fucking you, Summers," Carter sneers from his spot across from us. I don't even want to look up to see the face of disgust he has on display.
I decide it might be better to let go of Grayson's hand and stare at my feet, which is exactly what I do. When my hand releases contact from Grayson's, a low grumble hums from his throat. I have no idea what the sound is related to: Carter's words or dropping his hand. Probably a little bit of both.
Through the side of my eye, I see Grayson's head whip towards Carter. I sneak a peak up, just so I can better understand his reaction. I almost wish I didn't, because Grayson's face is the epitome of anger, an expression I've only seen once before. It did not end pretty last time.
"Repeat that again, Emerson," Grayson smoothly demands, his voice juxtaposing his facial expression.
"I said," Carter coaxes. I know from those words this is not going to end well. "That I should have known that whore—"
I didn't even see it coming. And I'm pretty sure Carter didn't either.
Grayson launches from his post beside me, grabs Carter by the shirt collar, and slams him against the locker on the opposite side of the hallways.
By now, the hall has thinned out, but not completely. It's more quiet, especially. Or maybe that's just because of the loud sound that was emitted when Grayson slammed Carter with full force into the lockers that shut everyone up. Some of the upperclassmen continue their way through the hallways, acting as if this is just another day at school. The freshman and sophomores, however, look panicked. A terrified feeling is begins to stir in my stomach when I think about the possibility of a teacher walking through.
Except, there is also the delighted side of my emotions when I notice Carter looks like he's about to shit his pants.
I hesitantly step forward and see Grayson forearm pressed roughly against Carter's chest, making the former's face all red. Earlier I said Grayson represented anger, but now I change my answer to rage.
"I thought my warning was perfectly clear last time," Grayson says through seethed teeth.
Carter rolls his eyes, which he instantly regrets when Grayson shoves him further into the lockers. The metal pops behind his body and I question just how much strength Grayson is utilizing.
This time, I run up near them, focusing my attention on Grayson. It's different than last time when the three of us were alone in the hallway. Now, there are students surrounding us, muttering about the fight between themselves. It's only a matter of time before faculty finds out.
"Grayson, stop," I say to him, trying to end this conflict before there are too many consequences.
In my full opinion, it is totally worth it to see Grayson shove my dickhead ex-boyfriend and abuser into the lockers. This is just the type of thing you say to someone you care about before they get in trouble.
Grayson thinks out my words for a moment and then gives one final shove, stepping away from a now out of breath Carter.
Like I said, sometimes things are just luck.
At that final shove, a teacher appears in front of me, completely flustered from viewing the past events. I stand between Carter and Grayson, feeling, and probably looking, absolutely scared shitless about what will happen next.
"You three! Principal's office, now!" he shouts from a few feet away, a vein threatening to pop on his tomato red forehead.
Wait, three? As in me too?
I look up at Grayson with wide eyes and it's clear he's thinking the same thing.
"Mr. Brown," he begins to say politely, "she didn't have anything to do wi—"
"I don't care. Go to the office!" Mr. Brown yells back, pointing in the direction of the office.
Carter chuckles to himself as he turns to walk in that direction. He makes eye contact with me and smirks at the sudden change in events.
Grayson suddenly grasps my wrist and pulls me to his side as far away from Carter as possible. "Don't fucking look at her," he mumbles, almost quiet enough for me not to hear. But I do.
I've never been to the principal's office before. Well, that's a lie. I went two months ago, but that was for an entirely different reason. It was something related to school, not being a catalyst for a fight. What will my parents say about something like this?
"Go right in," the secretary says upon our arrival. Word must have spread quickly.
The devil reincarnated laughs to himself again as he steps through the threshold into the principals office, completely unbothered. Maybe he's not worried that he will get in trouble. He has that kind of privilege.
Carter sits in the rightmost seat, closest to the window with a sly smile. I stand by the door and the accommodations of this room begin to feel a bit overwhelming. I guess it didn't occur to me that I would be trapped in the same room as Carter, four walls closed in around me. It's too much.
"Take a seat, Talia," Mrs. Harris, the principal, states from her spot behind the desk.
Grayson's hand touches the small of my back and gently guides me further into the room. I don't think he realizes what is wrong. Well, that's probably incorrect, because he always has a way of detecting when I'm upset. Either way, he pushes me deeper in the enclosed space. He sits in the chair in the middle, leaving behind the seat all the way to the left. The furthest possible spot from Carter. Grayson nods once encouragingly, helping me to move my feet to actually sit down.
When I'm seated, I remember I'm still holding my coffee from before. All of the ice cubes are melted, probably a sign that things are going to end badly.
"Why doesn't someone tell me what happened," Mrs. Harris says, phrasing her words as a demand, rather than a question.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Carter point at Grayson. I'm too focused on my watery coffee at the moment. "This psycho slammed me into the locker for no reason."
His voice causes me to freeze in place.
Grayson audibly scoffs and I imagine him shaking his head at the ridiculous accusation. "There was a reason."
The voices begin to turn to ringing. The sound echos through my head. It's loud, but the other thoughts are louder.
Hot breath blowing across my face.
Stop.
An arm shoved against my chest.
Stop.
Carter smiling at me as if he has won.
Stop!
A single tear slides down my face, and a second later, a short sob follows. The ringing stops and everything feels quiet. Scratch that—
Everything is quiet.
All of the faces in the room turn to me. Two with concern. One with amusement. You can guess which belongs to who.
One of the concerned reaches a hand out and gently picks up mine to squeeze it. I look up at Grayson and I just know he understands my feelings.
"Talia, dear," the principal says smoothly. Not nearly as smoothly as Grayson can speak, however. "Why don't you tell me why you're so upset."
My mouth hangs open, unable to speak. Grayson rubs soft circles against my palm again, but it doesn't help with the fact that I can't even think clearly enough to form a complete sentence.
"She doesn't want to be in the same room as him," Grayson answers for me. I know by the strain in his voice that he is trying to remain calm.
"Too bad," I hear Carter grumble from his chair.
Another sob escapes and I feel my eyes burn with tears. My breathing turns uneven. I should be able to control my emotions better, but I really don't care right now. It's too much effort to feel embarrassed.
"Carter, Grayson, let's have you two sit outside for a few minutes and I'll have a talk with Talia about what happened," Mrs. Harris says from her desk. "Sit on opposite sides of the front office, okay?"
Grayson lets go of my hand and I almost reach out to grab it again on instinct. I don't want him to leave. Carter's already out the door by the time he stands up. We stare at each other and I try communicating with my eyes to tell him not to go. Not to leave me alone. He frowns when another tear rolls down my red stained cheeks.
"I think I should stay," Grayson states, lifting his eyes off of mine to address the principal.
Mrs. Harris shakes her head, saying, "Mr. Summers, I believe Talia and I should talk alone—"
"I believe differently," Grayson interrupts, never raising his voice but still managing to establish some authoritative tone. "I'm not trying to baby her right now, or act like I'm trying to monitor her words, but if Talia's going to explain her problem with that asshole, I think I want to be here to make sure she's okay."
The principal frowns and considers his words. She turns her head to me to understand my perspective on this, and I nod my head, approving of Grayson's words. If I'm really going to confess what happened that Monday night, I might as well have someone there to hold my hand in support. And not just someone—Grayson.
"Close the door and sit back down, Grayson," she finally says after careful consideration.
Thank God.
"Now, let's have you tell me what's going on," she says, picking up a legal pad and pen, ready to take notes on these horrible events. I originally decided not to report Carter for what he did to me, but it might be more beneficial to change my mind. I don't want him terrorizing me again. I think I deserve better.
"Carter, he...," I begin. I bite on my lip to stop it's quivering. "He sexually assaulted me."
I look up from my feet to see Mrs. Harris's reaction, or if she's writing any of this down. For some reason, I expect her to title the page "Talia Chase was sexually assaulted" in bold, capital letters. When I look at the yellow page, there's nothing written on it at all. Instead, the principal just stares as me with a blank expression.
Say something, I want to yell.
"If you would agree to this, Talia, I think we should call in the school's resource officer," she says.
I nod my head, just wanting this whole thing to be over. Mrs. Harris picks up her desk's phone, dials a number, and speaks some quick words. A minute later there's a knock at the door and the officer walks in.
Then, we present our case.
I've heard my parents present court cases numerous times. In sixth grade, I'd sit a the kitchen counter and work on math with them practicing statements on repeat as background noise. This has unintentionally formed the rhetoric of my own presentations.
I confess to the officer my encounter with Carter, not leaving out any detail, and managing to keep my voice clear and tears silent. It's easy to remember an event as traumatic as this one. It's difficult to repeat an event as traumatic as this one.
I mention my concerns with reporting Carter, stating how I'm scared that his father's influence and creditable reputation will undermine my statements. Or the fact that I believe no punishment will come to him.
Grayson shifts uncomfortably in his seat for most of my story, and I realize this is also his first time hearing this. When he walked in on us in the hallway, he only saw a small clip of the entire event. The wood arms of his chair groans under pressure multiple times, and I watch his knuckles turn white. At one point I might have heard a crack, which I could have only hoped came from the chair, not his hand.
The officer asks Grayson a few questions at the end of my confession of what he personally saw. Grayson shows him the picture of the hickey on his phone, which also has the time stamp of when it was taken. Everything matches up.
"Can you forward that to me, Grayson?" The officer asks, pointing with his pen to Grayson's phone.
"Yeah, of course," he responds. The sound of it sending echos off the silent walls.
There's a few moments of the sound of the officer scribbling his notes, which I now notice take up a page and a half.
"Well, Talia, I wish you would have come to see me sooner about this," the officer says. "The good news is that we have cameras in the gym hallway, so we should have video evidence. I'm going to have Carter sit in my office with me until one of his parents come to pick him up. I think Mrs. Harris here would agree with me when I say we will not let him back on the campus until everything has been looked over. I'm going to review the tape and compile all of this into a report and personally oversee it's progress."
I nod along to every word he says and am shocked about how seriously this is being taken. In every current event or book I have read or movie I have seen, the assaulter is never brought proper justice. I guess I assumed there was no video footage of this. Maybe I am lucky.
Grayson coughs from beside me to bring some attention to himself. "If you're going to look at the footage, you should know that I slammed Carter into a wall. And then punched him."
I turn to face Grayson and a small smile flashes across his lips. Of course he would be proud of that. Honestly, so am I.
"I'll write in my notes that the punch was for defense," the officer says, jotting down another line of words. "If Carter tries to approach you outside of school, Talia, see me right away this time."
"Y-yeah," I say, choking out my words and giving a quick nod. "I will, thanks."
He steps out of the room and I hear an angered "let's go," to whom I assume is Carter.
By now, my tears have stopped and I feel like my mind has been cleared. This must be what it feels like to get something off your chest. Permanently.
"Well. That is definitely not what I expected to be dealing with when I got the call about the fight," Mrs. Harris says. I didn't notice it until now, but the principal is a little pale in the face and some red is splotched in her eyes. I didn't mean for my story to affect her like that.
"Grayson, why don't we have you take Talia off campus for the day. Get some fresh air, or something," she adds.
"But, I have a calculus test later in the day," I say quickly. "I don't wan—"
"Talia, dear," she says with a laugh. "I'll email your teacher and have them find another time when you can take it. Your valedictorian status will not be ruined, don't worry."
Grayson turns to look at me with wide eyes. Yeah, I never told anyone I am class valedictorian. It never came up, I guess. This is what I meant when I said I had only been in the principal's office for academic reasons.
"Thanks," I say, flashing a short smile in her direction. I pick up my discarded backpack from the ground and sling it over my shoulder, walking out of the office. Grayson follows me a second later.
We step into the hallway and it doesn't take long for Grayson to speak. "How do you feel?"
I take a deep breath, finding this air much less stifling than the air in the office. "Good. Better, I think. My head feels clear. The only bad thing is that my coffee is half water now," I say, shaking my cup and watching the liquid swish around.
He tilts his head back and laughs, which lightens the mood by a million lumens.
I said it once and I will say it again: thank God.
"I'm glad I slammed him into the lockers if it meant you could be rid of him," he adds, giving me a sympathetic smile.
"Me too."
We stare at each other with dopey smiles. I absorb the Carter-free atmosphere.
"So," he says after some silence, a single eyebrow raised. "Valedictorian?"
I shift my weight between my feet, displaying a sloped smile. "Yeah. I haven't told anyone yet."
"That's...that's really amazing, Talia. You're amazing."
Butterflies.
I turn on my heal and begin to walk out the front doors, cocking my head to the side to look at Grayson. "I know."
Grayson laughs again. He appears beside me again.
"Ha, ha," he mockingly laughs, acting as if he didn't just crack up a few second ago. "Want to get ice cream, or do you just want me to drive you home?"
"Ice cream!" I immediately exclaim, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. I check my phone for the time: 8:45 AM. "Except, I don't think anywhere is going to be open at this time of day."
We continue walking towards the senior parking lot as Grayson thinks out a way for us to get ice cream.
"Let's go to my house. I have some in my freezer," he finally says after careful consideration.
Go to Grayson's house? Hmm.
"Yeah, sounds good," I state. Does it? Does it really?
"Perfect."
And we're off. Off to go be alone together, in his house, eating ice cream at nine o'clock in the morning.
What a turn of events.
——————————————————————
Raise your hand if you hate Carter. I better see all of those hands up! Anyways, ice cream party time.
Qotd: what's your favorite kind of ice cream? (I don't remember if I already asked this)