004. Valentine's Day (Alone)
At Aquino High, to lose your reputation is to lose everything.
[Brynn pictured above.]
The next day is Valentine's Day.
I arrive at school slightly late to find several girls already clutching bouquets of roses and blushing slightly, a telltale sign of Aquino High's Valentine's Day traditions. Since I've celebrated every Valentine's Day in this building alone I barely react to the ecstatic exclamations as I make my way to my locker.
Cassidy is waiting for me by my locker, holding her own bouquet. Her roses are a beautiful bright red, and there have to be more than a dozen of them.
"From Nathan?" I ask her, raising my eyebrow. Usually, girls only receive one or two roses from their secret admirers; Nathan must really be going big this year.
Shrugging, Cassidy watches as I open my locker and pull out my calculus book. "Probably," she says. "I mean, nobody ever knows for sure."
"Who else would it be?"
Again, Cassidy shrugs, and she opens her mouth to say something but is stopped when a freshman hurries up to us. She's short and has black hair in a bob, and most surprisingly, she's carrying three sets of roses.
"Erika Soto?" she asks in the voice that implies she knows exactly who I am but wants to pretend that she doesn't.
Cassidy and I exchange confused glances as I nod and the freshman shoves me all three bouquets. Before I can say anything else the delivery girl is gone, probably to pick up another set of flowers to deliver.
I stare after her for a few seconds until she disappears into the crowd, then am finally able to glance down at my flowers. One of them has a little white tag wrapped around the thornless stem; I turn the paper towards me and see that it reads love, your "boyfriend."
I shouldn't be surprised that Liam got me flowers; after all, we have to maintain the act somehow. But the other bouquets? I have no idea.
"Is one of these from you?" I ask Cassidy, who has plucked one of the other bouquets from my arm and is inspecting it for identification. My best friend has been known to buy me bouquets just so I don't feel completely alone on February 14.
"No." Cassidy hands me back the bouquet she's holding and snatches the third one. "This is so weird. Do you know who that one's from?"
She's gesturing towards the bouquet I haven't released yet, the one from Liam. I don't know what to say for a few seconds, because I haven't told Brynn or her about my plan, and yet I can't lie to her.
"It's from Liam Alvarado," I say finally.
Her eyes widen and she snatches the flowers from me, squinting so that she can read the sloppy handwriting on the tag. "You're dating?" she demands, her wide eyes locking on mine. "Since when? When were you going to tell me?"
Clearly, she hasn't noticed the quotation marks around the word "boyfriend."
I open my mouth to tell her that we're only dating to make Celia and Spencer jealous, but suddenly, that sounds ridiculous. Cassidy's life is perfect: she has a boyfriend of six months and they're going strong; she doesn't have to worry about a sister who's threatening to ruin her life; and most of all, she hasn't gotten herself into the unexplainable situation that I have.
So because I'm a coward, I say smoothly, "It's only been a few days. We sort of wanted to keep it quiet until we figured out if it would work out or not."
"But why Liam?" Her voice has grown quiet as she hands me back the flowers. She doesn't look mad, just shocked. "What about Spencer?"
"I have no chance with Spencer." It's one of the only honest things I've said all morning, but I'm not ashamed. I know I can't tell Cassidy the truth, because even though she's my best friend, I can't trust her completely. And at Aquino High, to lose your reputation is to lose everything.
Cassidy chews down on her lip like she wants to argue with me but knows it's a hopeless case. After all, I'm right: Spencer and me together is like Brynn deciding she's in love with Luke Horton the Star Wars fanatic. It would never work.
I've grown too quiet. Cassidy gently takes the bouquets of roses from me and hands me my calculus textbook instead. "Go to class," she says gently, putting the roses in my locker so the petals don't get crushed. "We can talk more about this later."
I take my calculus textbook with numb arms and follow her down the hallway. Deep, deep inside me, something in my stomach twitches, like maybe I'm a little bit guilty about lying to my best friend. But I shove it down deeper into my gut so that I can't feel it at all. After all, I can't afford to have any regret.
When I sit down in my normal seat in calculus class, I see that Allison is sitting with an enormous bouquet of flowers on her desk. She's dressed up more than usual today, and a swanky gold watch that looks brand-new is clasped around her wrist. I want to snap at her for buying that, because Dad makes us share an allotted amount of spending money each month and she doesn't need to waste it on expensive frivolousness. Before I can stand, though, someone taps me on my shoulder.
"Yeah?" I ask, turning around to face Spencer. He's got his calculus homework spread out on his desk and his frowning a little, his thick lips turned downwards slightly. My heart skips an extra beat and I clutch the rail that connects my chair to my desk so that I stay calm.
"Do you understand what's going on in calc class right now?" he asks.
I wonder if this is a trap, if Allison somehow blackmailed him into figuring out how I'm doing in calculus so that she can gain an advantage over me. My eyes swivel over to my twin but she's too busy talking to the boy sitting in the seat next to her.
"Yeah, I do," I say, turning back to Spencer. And that's not a lie. I'm actually having an easier time than usual comprehending what we're doing in the class.
"Even what our test is on next week? The improper integrals and everything?"
"Yes..." I really want to look at Allison again, but I refrain. "Why?"
His blue eyes settle on me for a few seconds, and for once they don't look unattainable or like the same eyes I think about twenty-four/seven. They just look really vulnerable. "I have no clue what I'm doing, and I can't fail the test," he explains, his voice a few notches deeper than usual because he's talking so quietly. "Do you think you can help me out?"
"I guess," I say.
Mrs. Rutledge stands from her desk and heads to the front of the room, announcing that she's collecting the homework as she walks. Spencer grabs the previous night's worksheet from under his textbook and passes it forward to me, whispering, "Cold Front at three thirty?"
I don't know how many awkward encounters inside the frozen yogurt shop I can stand, but I nod. As I pass Mrs. Rutledge Spencer's and my worksheets, I swear I can feel his bright eyes staring into the back of my head.
When calculus class ends I'm the first one out the door, scurrying to my next class with my backpack still hanging off of one shoulder so I don't have to talk to anyone. For some reason I don't have anything else to say to Spencer, and even though I usually linger to fall into step with him on the way to our next class, today I can't face him. I have no idea what led him to suggest we go to Cold Front after school, and now I'm afraid.
I pass Brynn on the way to AP Spanish and have to do a double-take, because she's leaning against the wall and talking to Taylor Cunningham as if everything between them is one hundred percent okay. Suddenly, I remember what Cassidy told me about the party Monday night.
"Brynn!" I exclaim, hurrying up to her and grabbing her sleeve. Her ghostly pale cheeks light up with color as she glances at Taylor one more time; her eyes seem to be begging. He tips his head up in acknowledgement as I drag her away and around the corner.
"What are you doing?" I demand. "Stay away from him! Don't you remember what he did to you?"
She chews down on her bottom lip, but won't meet my eyes. "I know," she says quietly. When she finally does look at me, her expression is that of an innocent child. "I just, I don't know. We spent some time together at Liam's party Monday and I--"
"That's another thing," I tell her, firmly because I know she won't listen to me otherwise. "What were you doing together there? Are you delusional? Cassidy and I have told you over and over again to get him out of your life."
"I know, but I can't help but like him!" she protests, her voice rising in pitch. She clutches the straps of her backpack so tightly that her knuckles turn white.
"Yes, you can," I insist. "Your relationship with him was toxic. Remember how hard it was to break it off with him? And now you want to start all over again?"
Her eyes are staring at nothing, as if she can't even remember the heartbreak Taylor caused her only a few months ago. I remember all too well, though: I remember how many times she came over to my house crying, squeezing a pillow so tightly I thought it would rip at the seams. Over and over again Cassidy and I told her to break up with him and get him out of her life, but she wouldn't--or so she said, she couldn't. She wore blinders around him, like she couldn't even notice all the awful things he did to her.
I glance down at my phone and see that I'm late for AP Spanish. When I look up at Brynn again, her expression hasn't changed one bit. Sweet, innocent Brynn looks defiant, her white hair blocking one of her eyes from my vision. Before I can say anything else to her, she's spun around on her heel and walked away.
I massage my temples as I continue down the hallway, jogging as best I can with my heavy backpack so I don't get in trouble for being late. Today, Valentine's Day might as well be known as Heartbreaker's Day.
*
I run into Liam for the first time that day after school, as I'm packing up my things to go meet Spencer at Cold Front. He's chatting with some guys in our grade, but once he sees me he breaks off from the group and makes his way over.
"Did you get my flowers, babe?" he asks.
I respond by opening my locker so that he can see all three bouquets perched on the top shelf, exactly where Cassidy placed them that morning.
"All right," he says slowly. "I get it. So you've got a lot of guys chasing after you."
I bite the inside of my cheek a little so I don't smile at his tone.
"But I'm the only one you'd ever be interested in, right?"
This time, I do laugh at his sarcastic tone, and when I turn around I see him batting his eyelashes at me overdramatically.
"Of course, babe," I say, and for once, my smirk matches his. I turn back around to my locker and grab my coat, buttoning slipping it on over my sweater because it's freezing outside.
Liam reaches forward and starts buttoning it for me, his forehead crinkled as he focuses on slipping all of the buttons in the right notches. When I start to say something he insists, "This is what all good fake boyfriends do. Shut up and let me finish this."
I roll my eyes but oblige, letting him button my coat all the way to the top "so that my neck doesn't get cold." Then I swing my backpack over my shoulder, still trying to avoid his obviously fake lovesick gaze so I don't break out laughing.
"I'm meeting Spencer for frozen yogurt right now," I say as I shut my locker. "You should see if Celia's free."
His eyebrows furrow. "Maybe I should," he says. The sparkle in his eyes is gone. "Let me know how things go with Spencer, okay?"
"Sure thing," I say, splitting from him so I can head to my car. "By the way, thanks for the flowers!"
"No problem!" he calls after me, and I shoot him a thumbs-up before turning the corner. It turns out Liam is exactly the person who's good at cheering up, because I already feel a little happier as I step out in the freezing cold and start my trek towards the parking lot.
Ten minutes later, I step inside Cold Front. Spencer is already sitting at a table near the back, with his calculus book and worksheets spread out around him. His lips are pressed together in a tight line: he's so absorbed in his work that he hasn't even bothered to order yogurt.
I start to walk toward the counter and then change my mind, switching my path so that I approach him instead. Eating frozen yogurt reminds me too much of my date with Liam, and I can only focus on one guy at a time right now.
"Hey," I say, perching up in the stool across from him.
He glances up at me and I notice that his usually perfectly styled hair is sticking up so that he looks manic. "Improper integrals are going to be the death of me," he explains, shoving his worksheet toward me. "This is impossible."
While I check over his work, he flips through his review book, scanning for the chapter he's looking for. "Thanks for agreeing to do this for me, by the way," he says absentmindedly.
I glance up and we lock eyes; instinctively, I switch my gaze back to the table. "It's no biggie," I say, snatching up a pencil from beside him. I make a mark on his worksheet and then finish scanning it. "It helps me study, too."
"Is Liam okay with this?" he asks.
"Why wouldn't Liam be okay with this?"
Spencer twirls the other pencil on the table between his fingers; he's studying me like he thinks he's going to get valuable information from me. "You two are dating, aren't you?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say, my voice a little curt. "But he knows this is just a study session."
On Valentine's Day, I want to add, but I remain quiet. Spencer sets down the pencil and nods, but he doesn't meet my eyes again.
"Is Liam the one leaving nines on your locker?" he asks randomly, once I'm halfway down the page of checking his work. Most of them are surprisingly right: he should at least be able to pass the test next week.
"No." It comes out before I can stop myself, and I have to purse my lips so I don't say the rest: that Liam is leaving tens on Celia Carter's locker, that I want to know where Spencer is leaving his notes if not on Celia's locker. "I don't know who's leaving that on my locker."
"Hm." There's silence for a few seconds, broken only by me punching numbers on a calculator. This feels more like an interrogation than a study session, and I'm almost contemplating leaving before Spencer says, "I think the whole ranking system's stupid."
"You do?"
He shrugs, but he's regained his confidence and now he's studying me with steely determination. "Who cares who the guys like?" he says. "It's a dumb way for guys to tell girls they like them when they're not gutsy enough to say it to their faces."
"I don't recall you telling any girl you liked her to her face lately."
The blow hits him hard. I don't know whether I'm talking about Celia Carter or anyone else, but it affects him because he glances down again. His eyes trace down to the metal table and he follows the pattern, silent for a few seconds before he says, "At least I don't leave numbers on girls' lockers."
"You don't?"
"No. Why would I participate in something I don't understand?" He pulls his worksheet, the one I've finished looking over, back to him and scans what I'd written. "Let's just get back to this," he said. "I'm sorry I brought that up."
He doesn't look sorry though. He looks like he's gained exactly the information he planned on getting. For a second, I think about pointing this out and insisting that he doesn't need help in math like he says he does. But instead, I scoot my stool closer and ask, "So, do you understand how to do improper integrals to infinity?"
"No."
I ignore the fact that I just looked over a problem just like that which he'd done correctly. Taking a deep breath, I said, "Okay. So, what you have to do is rewrite the integral as a limit..."
Spencer listens relatively attentively as I patiently show him how to do each type of problem that will be featured on the test. He also does well at pretending to ask good questions and make mistakes that I have to correct. A half hour later, when he slips up and asks me a question that I just answered, I demand, "Why are we here?"
"What?" he asks, blinking.
I shove away the worksheet and lace my fingers together. "You clearly know what you're doing," I say. "So why am I here helping you?"
He dips his head down again, but I'm frustrated now. "Look at me," I insist, slapping my palms down on the table. "Why are you pretending you don't know any of this math?"
"Maybe because I don't know it?"
I reach into his folder and rifle through it before I find last week's quiz. Waving it in front of his face, I say, "You got an A on this quiz. I think you need to do a little better at acting, don't you?"
"Fine." He snatches the quiz from me and shoves it back in its pocket, as if he's embarrassed by his good grade. "I needed an excuse to get away from Celia after school."
I try not to preen. "So you asked me to tutor you in a subject you don't need help in?"
Now he starts gathering up all of his worksheets. "I admit, it wasn't one of my brighter ideas," he says. "But I was desperate."
"Desperate enough to hang out with me?"
He stops suddenly and stares at me, his eyes intense. "I don't need to be desperate to hang out with you," he insists. "We're friends, and you're a cool person. Much cooler than Celia."
"That's why you follow her around everywhere," I deadpan.
"As illustrated by this," he says, gesturing to us, "I'm trying to get away from her. At least you know how to have an intelligent conversation."
One side of my mouth quirks up and he follows suit. I gather the rest of his worksheets toward me and stuff them in his folder, in front of a receipt for Aquino High's Valentine's Day flowers service.
"Well if we're done here," I say, my smile widening, "I'd better leave. Have fun avoiding Celia."
"I'll try."
I scrape back my stool and stand, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. "Thanks for the roses, by the way!" I call over my shoulder as I head to the door.
When I turn around, I see him watching me with the tiniest grin on his face. I try not to beam as I let the door to Cold Front swing shut behind me.
A/N: Ships, anyone? ;)