"Guys, guys!" Stacy calls, shuffling over to our lunch table. "Guess whose eyes Tara got caught by!" She slinks into her seat, the one by me. Darren shoots his head toward me, raising a single eyebrow.
Oops. I forgot about him.
"Who?" Raleigh asks, stuffing her sandwich into her mouth, only to pull the lettuce out. Trace makes a face only to exchange it for an adoring smile and a chuckle.
"Elijah!" Stacy squeals, and Trace looks over to me, slamming his fist onto the table.
"What?"
Raleigh chokes on her sandwich, grabbing her throat. Once she finally swallows, she shakes her head and asks the exact question Trace did.
Corey actually puts his phone down, quirks an eyebrow. "Dang, chickadee."
While Darren stares at me, working his jaw, his expression illegible. I gulp as he starts to bite his lip. Is he mad? Jealous? He kinda looks confused. Oh, he's upset with me! I look to Stacy, begging her to stop there, but she only dismisses my gaze to elaborate on this morning.
"They walked in holding hands! He told Sierra to go sit somewhere else so that he could sit by Tara!" She punches my elbow and jerks me around. "Isn't that sweet?"
Corey peers at me over his cup of water. "You got Elijah Strojvaski?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, getting defensive. Darren instinctively grabs my waist, and he pulls me a smidgen closer to him. A sign so small that it's only visible to me and him. Calm down, it says.
"What he means is that Elijah Strojvaski doesn't like going out with girls all that much." Raleigh explains, swirling her fork around in midair. "He hates it to tell you the truth. Ever since he was caught up with Marilyn Roth, he's been very wary of girls. That's why he hangs out basically with only the dudes."
"Like me." Trace makes sure to say. His gaze hard, accusatory. I involuntarily back away from him. Trace and I are real good friends, Elijah had said. I wonder if Trace is upset with me for catching Elijah's eye.
"Like Trace." Stacy affirms, going on to sigh and stretch her arms high above her head. "I wonder where he is right now. Probably with his guy friends."
Raleigh and Corey turn their heads at the same time in the same direction, only to turn back and say, "Yep," in perfect synchronization.
Stacy smiles brightly. "Y'all, that was so cool! It was like -- planned!" She leans on her hands, raises her eyebrows.
Causing Darren to chuckle at her. "You're cute," he says, and I clutch tightly to my bottle of water. So tight that it crinkles.
And Stacy giggling, murmuring a thanks only makes it worse. I bite down on my tongue hard. So hard I think I taste that horrible metallic taste of blood. So I lift my teeth and roll my shoulders back, taking a swig of my water to wash down the blood. I hate blood, I think in disgust.
An image of Austin Crowe bursts into my head, and I immediately push back from the lunch table. Gulping, I make out a very weak, "I'm using the bathroom," before rushing away from the table to enter the empty bathroom in a mess.
I glance at myself in the mirror, and all I can see is a girl who was thrown on the floor by a wrestler she had a crush on. A girl who held a grudge against the nicest girl in school. A girl who lost her chance at a relationship with Darren Williams due to greed. Marilyn Roth was right. I am weak.
The door swings open and in steps Hana. She takes one look at me, twists her lips to the side, and enters a stall.
I start to wash my face off, disgusted with myself. I'm so stupid. Elijah probably only sees me as a pretty girl who's new to town and not the same ol' same ol'. It's as Marilyn said, the guys in this little town are bored of the same girls they've known their entire lives. I'm just a new girl. Someone who sparks his interest because he's never met me before.
When I finish, I rip a paper towel away from the roll and dry my face and hands off, ready to brave my new friends and their unnerving conversations. I stride back to our table and almost plop down in my seat. But then I notice something, about a yard from the actual table I sit at every day.
Stacy is sitting in my seat. She and Darren are laughing, talking, as Corey plays on his phone, and Trace and Raleigh copy Darren and Stacy. She leans close to him, says something funny. He tosses his head back, golden curls soaring. I keep my jaw set, try to steady my wavering lip. Then I hear it. The soft, barely heard message in the loud lunchroom.
"You're funny, Sperry's."
Darren's face falls, he inches back. Stacy, sensing something as wrong, looks down, embarrassed. Only to have Corey look up and see her and Darren's awkward positioning. He walks over to the other side of the table to sit down next to Stacy and pull her into his side. Darren looks over his shoulder, casts a wary look to me, knowing that I heard.
I gulp, wanting so bad to turn around and go back to the bathroom when a hand grips mine. "Hey, Tara!" I turn, recognizing the lilting soft voice.
Elijah.
"Come over and sit down with us!" He invites, gesturing to the soccer table. I nod, smile, and sit where he tells me to -- right next to him.
Completely ignoring what I know to be true.
Completely ignoring the fact that he is just glad to see a girl he's never met.
I laugh and talk with Elijah the rest of lunch, introducing myself to his soccer friends. So much for laying low.
When the bell rings, Elijah walks with me to the trashcans, offers to throw away my stuff for me, and follows me to the door of the lunchroom. We're practically the only people left, with the exception of two or three others. Elijah brushes his hair out of his eyes, says bye, and jogs down the 300 hall to get to his next class.
I'm just about to push my way through the doors, a girl around my height with bleached blonde hair exiting beside me, when a hand grasps my wrist and pulls me aside. I look up, gasping from the unexpected turn of events, into the hazel-eyed gaze of Raleigh's very own Trace.
"I know." He says, nails digging into my flesh. I bite my lip in pain. "I know who you were, Tara."
I wrench away from him, twisting my face into a scowl. "I've not a clue what you're talking about."
"Look," Trace slams me into the wall, flips his hair out of his eyes and gazes hard at me. "I'm not trying to hurt you or threaten you. It's not what it looks like. I'm just saying, Tara--" he swallows hard, casts a glance down. "Elijah and I are real good friends."
"I know," I say, rolling my eyes. I just want to get to class and this idiot is blocking my way.
Trace raises a single brow and leans closer to me. "We've known each other for ages, Tara. Don't you dare hurt him like Marilyn did. I know your past. With your old school, Westbrook, and Darren Williams, the newbie. It's easy to tell."
I sigh, look down, unable to meet his eyes when I reluctantly say, "Elijah doesn't like me. It's not he who's gonna get hurt. It's me. I'm letting myself into this mess."
Trace sends me a questioning look. "What do you mean? What mess?"
I sigh and shake my head. "Elijah is just excited to meet a new girl. He thinks I'm pretty, and someone he hasn't known for a lifetime." I lean my head back into the wall behind me, close my eyes. "Yet I'm still digging a deeper hole. If I ain't careful, I'll soon enough dig my own grave."
When I open my eyes, Trace is glaring at me, his eyes angry and jaw tense. "You don't know Elijah." He whispers defensively. "He doesn't do that stuff. He's always hated relationships. It was a miracle Marilyn got him. After her, he was completely done and traumatized." I narrow my eyes, showing Trace he doesn't scare me. Knowing he's wrong and I'm right. "Tara, Elijah does like you. It's pretty obvious, too."
I let my scowl droop, retiring to let in a happy look. "You really think so?"
"You questioning my friendship with Elijah?" Trace asks, getting defensive again.
I only laugh, enlightened by the hope Elijah really does like me. "You know," I start, cocking my head to the side. "You remind me of someone, Trace. His name was Austin."
"What reminds you of him?"
"Your tendency for getting angry. Of course, he's way worse than you. You're only a smidgen." I smile, but Trace frowns.
"I really don't. Get angry, I mean. I don't get angry nearly as much as you think. There are a few people I'm super protective of. Like Raleigh, my little brother Tyson, and my best friend, Elijah."
I nod signaling I understand, about to tell him about how I've never felt that need before -- when I catch it in the spur of the moment.
Darren's hard glare turned on Trace's back.
His angry eyes telling me just how much he misunderstands Trace and my positions.
Right before he launches himself onto Trace, bringing him to the ground. I gasp, stepping back into the wall. I shout Darren's name, try to pry him off. But he just punches Trace square in the jaw. I wince at the impact.
When Trace starts to fight back, kneeing Darren in the gut to get him off, I search for something to get them off of each other. Spotting only a broom beside a janitor's closet, I grab it and start banging the boys with it.
Darren throws one last punch to Trace before I smack him with the straw end of the broom, sending him into a nearby table. And when Trace goes to tackle Darren, I push him with the broom across the floor. The boys meet my gaze, Trace holding his nose and Darren covering his left eye. I breathe hard, and stare at them angrily.
"What the crap?" I yell at Darren, causing him to flinch instinctively. He looks so weak all of a sudden, with a bruise coming up his strong forearm and his left eye starting to blacken.
I tear my gaze away from him and land on Trace. "Idiots," I seethe, tossing the broom aside. "You could've seriously hurt one another." Trace doesn't look at me, just looks at his chest --which probably hurts really bad considering Darren jammed his elbow there-- and grips at his bleeding nose.
Darren is the first to stand, using the table to his advantage. "He was going to hurt you." His penetrating deep blue eye bores into mine, daring me to argue.
Trace scoffs, about to bite back, when I shoot him a glare and reply to Darren without looking. "No. He was just talking to me about Elijah." When I say his name, I turn to meet Darren, whose eyes --well the one uncovered-- obviously turn jealous and lose their hardness.
Trace stands up quickly, clutching at his nose. He sends me a look that questions for his dismissal to go clean up, and I nod in approval. As soon as he is gone, I turn my eyes to Darren, who slumps in a chair and sighs, hanging his head in his hands.
"Darren, what's happening to you? Are you jealous?" I ask, conjuring a serious tone as I make my way towards him.
"Of Trace?" He seems offended.
"No, Stupid. Of Elijah."
He slowly and reluctantly raise his head up, showcasing a purplish-blackish eye. He sags his shoulders. "Tara," he starts, and I see that caring gaze again, "would you quit that?"
Surprised, I inch away from him. "Quit what?"
"It's hard to knock Marilyn off her throne when I'm not in control. So quit making me lose control!" His volume crescendos, and I widen my eyes at his new anger.
"Excuse me?" I point an accusatory finger at him and lean close. "I'm not the one who made you like me so! Admit it, Sperry's! Admit it!"
"Admit what, Tara?" He shouts, gripping the edge of his seat so hard that his knuckles turn white.
"Admit that you think I'm cute. Admit that you like me. Admit it's your own darned fault you've lost control!"
He leans close to me, taking the back of my head into his right hand. He glares at me with his good eye and bad, daring me to take it a step further. "It's not my bloody fault! It's yours!" He pokes a finger just below my collarbone. "You're making sure I see you when you're the most beautiful you can get. You're making sure I hear Elijah's bloody name on your lips! You're . . ." He shoves me back, brings his hands to his face, trying to calm down. "Don't talk to me until I snatch Marilyn's crown, okay?"
He completely ignores me as he stands to leave. But I disregard his last statement and speak quietly to him.
"You've been talking to her about me."
Darren stops, intakes a sharp breath and nods. "I'm trying to intimidate her."
"It's not working."
"I know."
I watch his back as he leaves, and then, right when his hand is on the knob, when is fingers flex to turn it, I stand abruptly. "Darren!"
He turns to face me with sad eyes. Instantly reminding me of those same eyes when he looked at me after kissing me, in the hall, and in the car ride home. I knit my forehead, frantically look between his eyes and his hand on the door handle. I don't know what to do. He makes everything so difficult.
I hate this sickening golden boy.
But still, I barrel myself into his arms, clutching at him desperately. "Darren--"
He runs his hands through my hair. "Shh," he whispers, and I fight the lump in my throat. "Shh . . . "
"Darren, I can't--" I start after a few moments of silence.
"I know." Darren breathes the two words into my hair, his voice sad and heavy. The truth sad and heavy. "I know, Love, I know."
I can't love him the way he does me, and I need to back away from him, let him take Marilyn's crown. "I'm sorry." I choke on the words, pressing myself into his broad chest.
"Don't be."
And we stand like that, with his hand rubbing my back, and my lips pressed against his chest, for what feels like a lifetime. We stand there even as the bell rings. Even as our legs grow tired. It has finally been said: the horrible I can't. And unfortunately, it's true.
I can't.
* * *