My breath was shallow when it finally returned. When my brain could function again, Iggy was smirking knowingly at me, as if he could hear my hammering heart and short breaths. I swallowed and tried to shake it off, but even I knew the damage was done.
Iggy straightened, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Still smirking, he chuckled and waited just long enough for a blush to spread onto my face in the silence. He turned away and let his laugh echo down the hall.
I remembered we were arguing and hurried after him, stating firmly, "Hey, you can't just walk away from me!" My face still burned from my involuntary response to how close he had been, but I blamed it on the recent conversation I'd had with my brother.
He stopped abruptly and faced me, causing me to almost ram into him again. His smirk seemed even naughtier than usual as he jeered, "You sure you don't want to calm down first?"
My eyes widened and my mouth fell open. My face was on fire as I squeaked, "You noticed?" I was ready to run away and never return.
His aviators seemed to glint wickedly in the light. He shrugged casually as he answered, "If I can hear your breathing normally, I can definitely hear it if you're breathing like that."
"Oh God," I groaned, utterly mortified, "kill me now."
He laughed, visibly amused. He walked closer to me but stopped a safe distance away, as if he knew how close he could get before my heart would begin to speed up. He tilted his head mockingly. "Come on, don't tell me your heart hasn't raced around a guy before." He must have assumed my heartbeat had quickened along with my short breaths.
I looked at him in surprise. He acted like it was perfectly normal, like it wasn't something to be embarrassed about. My eyes fell to my hands. "It has, quite often. But-"
"But?" he echoed, an eyebrow rising.
"But it's you!" I exclaimed, fumbling in a sorry attempt to explain it.
A dark shadow passed over his face. Bitterness slipped into his voice as he backed off, biting, "Oh, I see. Because I'm blind, you don't want to get bothered by me. Got it."
"What?" My eyes grew wide at the sharp sadness in his tone. I shook my head, assuring him, "No, that's not it. It's just . . . unexpected."
He scoffed. "Because I'm blind," he repeated coldly. "Just admit it, Angela. You're no different than everyone else. I get it. Honestly. It's normal to pass over the kid who can't see." He started to walk away.
I became frantic. I reached towards him, pleading, "Wait! Iggy, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant at all, I swear. I'm so sorry." My voice cracked on the last word.
He kept his back to me, still walking away. He gave me a half-hearted wave. "Whatever," his voice pierced, so I could hear him without mistake. He stuffed his hand back into his pocket and forced me to watch his retreating figure.
I felt horrible. I had no idea he felt that way. It was obvious the pain he felt when this sort of thing happened. And it must have happened often. I couldn't believe how heartless I had come off as. I had to fix this. I had to make it right.
"Iggy, I didn't mean it! It came out wrong!" I insisted, my voice carrying down the hall.
He froze, and then turned slightly towards me. Relief washed over me when I saw his signature smirk painted on his lips. He pulled something from his pocket and let it drop to the ground. He called presumptuously, "Hey, new kid! Wanna pick that up for me? I can't see where it fell."
And the previous conversation was completely forgotten. Red-hot ire coursed through my veins and to control it, I clenched and unclenched my fists. My eyes narrowed, glaring murderously at him. I stomped over to him, picked up the pen, and shoved it at him. I was ready to snap when I heard him chuckling, diverted, from behind me.
* * * * * * *
"He's the goddamn devil!" I cursed, pitching a rock down the road. My voice bounced between the houses, sending a few birds into the sky.
Sam looked at me, concerned. She stood a short distance away from me, as if frightened to get hit by a rock if she stood too close. She drawled cautiously, "He must have really made you mad. You never cuss like that." She glanced warily at one of the neighbors glaring at us from their front porch. "Or so loudly."
I groaned, kicking at the ground. When I found another rock, I launched it through the air. Sam winced when it came dangerously close to someone's house. I looked at my clenched hands, growling, "He makes me so mad! He's the most infuriating, vain jerk I've ever met! I thought blind people were supposed to be nice!"
Sam played nervously with a strand of her hair, avoiding eye contact with me. "There are always exceptions to the rules."
That didn't make me feel better, so I sent her a deadly look, which she evaded with skill. I continued my rant with little concern for anything or anyone else. "He seriously expects me to do everything for him. I give up my spot in line for him. I pick up the pens he drops for him. He expects me to be friendly with him, even if he's a jerk. 'Cause, God help me, he doesn't want me avoiding him."
"This is worse than high school," Sam muttered, rubbing her forehead. She released a sigh and dared to look at me. "Maybe you could talk to him about it. Tell him you don't appreciate the way he's treating you and to stop it."
I gave her another look. "But then he'll pull out the 'I'm blind' card and pity me into it again. Sly bastard," I grumbled sourly.
She shrugged. "Looks like you're stuck between a rock and a hard place," she commented unhelpfully.
"No shit," I retorted, sarcasm dripping in my voice.
"Okay," she barked, turning to me irately, "I know you're pissed, but don't act like that with me. I've given you my advice and you've trampled it. And now you're just being rude. I get that you're mad at him, but don't make me the recipient of your sour attitude. Since you don't want my advice, suck it up and deal with the situation on your own. Get a grip."
I blinked at her a few times, stunned. Then I realized she was right, and I looked away. I took a couple calming breaths before saying, "I'm sorry about that, Sam. I'm not myself when it comes to him."
"Clearly," she muttered, still a little hurt. She adjusted her skirt and glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. "So what are you gonna do about this? I still think you should let him know you don't like how he's treating you, regardless of his response."
I started walking again, Sam in tow. I stared at the ground, admitting, "I don't know. I like your idea but I feel like it'll just backfire. I mean, I tried before and all that got me was him whispering seductively in my ear."
She raised a brow in silent question, but I waved it away, wordlessly promising an explanation later.
I resigned, "Maybe I'll just deal with it. I won't react to it so he'll get bored and eventually stop." My eyes locked on hers, uncertain. "Or is that just wishful thinking?"
Sam put her arm around my shoulders in comfort. She told me quietly, "It's up to you how to handle it. After that, it's up to him how to react."
We walked for a while in quiet, waving at others who were walking around the neighborhood. The stillness allowed time for me to calm down my nerves, hot with annoyance. Slowly I began to relax, letting my mind clear. Once the muffling cobwebs emptied form my head, I recalled Iggy's bitterness and pain.
I released a sigh, grabbing Sam's attention. I informed her ruefully, "Before he ticked me off, I think I hurt him."
Her eyebrows lowered in concern, our recent argument forgotten. "What happened?"
"You know the seductive whispering thing?" She nodded. "Well, I unintentionally reacted: racing heart, shallow breath, the whole thing. And he-well, he noticed."
Now her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She leaned in closer, as if we were sharing a dirty secret. "Seriously? What'd he do?"
"He teased me for it, of course. But then I added the dreaded 'but' and he got sad all of the sudden. He said I couldn't feel something for him because he's blind. He said they always pass over the person who can't see," I explained.
She sucked in a breath. "Ouch. You think it's true?"
I nodded slowly. "It has to be, otherwise he wouldn't bring it up."
"Pity card?" she guessed.
"I don't think so. I think he was genuinely hurt by it, like he's thought about it often. I mean, my brother's been rejected before, so why not Iggy?"
Sam looked at the ground. She stated in understanding, "And because Will's different, he blamed it on his lack of eyesight. Poor guy."
"Ugh, why do I always end up hurting him?" I groaned, frustrated for a different reason now. "What should I do?"
She assumed a pensive expression which morphed into acquiescence. She suggested, "I sound kind of like a hypocrite going against my own advice, but maybe you should let him cut you off and keep picking up the things he drops. It's a small way to repay him."
I offered, "I should probably apologize as well, huh?"
"Might not be a bad idea," she agreed.
Sighing, I grumbled mostly to myself, "I have to stop doing this. I need to think before I speak."
She put a hand up, stopping me. She reminded me, "Remember the last time you tried to make it up to him? He got mad at you for not letting it go, because he had. You might want to make sure he's still hurt about it before going about apologizing to someone who doesn't want an apology."
I thought about it a moment before I conceded, "Good point. So I guess tomorrow I'll talk to him and see if he's the same as always. If he is, I won't verbally apologize. If he isn't, I'll apologize."
"Sounds like a plan." Sam smiled. She teased, "Although, I know how you get when you actually enter the situation, so we'll see if you really do go through with this plan."
Chuckling, I shook my head but I didn't deny it. "I hope I don't blurt out something without thinking as I tend to do sometimes."
"Sometimes?" she jeered, looping her arm through mine. "I think you mean most of the time."
We laughed, skipping down the sidewalk of Sam's neighborhood. A friendly dog belonging to an elderly couple trotted up to us, wagging its tail in elation. We played with the happy puppy for a short while, until the owners decided it was time to head home. We waved goodbye and headed on our way.
With a grin, I turned to my best friend and recalled, "Oh yeah, what happened on your all-day date with Niam Sunday? You'd sent me a message about it after my shift."
Enthusiasm and unbridled contentment bloomed on her face as a giant smile tugged at her lips. She hopped a few times as she exclaimed, "It was amazing! And I would have told you as soon as you got out of the car, but you were kind of cussing like a sailor and throwing your arms violently, so I thought it'd be less harmful if you went first."
I gave her my full attention. "Well, my rant has finished so now I'm all ears. Spill."
Her smile broadened as she explained, "Okay, so he picked me up at ten. I was wearing a camisole, a tube top, and skinny jeans with a rhinestone belt. He seemed to like it. Anyway, he stuffed my champagne dress into the trunk of his car and then we went driving. He took me to the beach! We hung out there until lunchtime, and got lunch at a little cove restaurant."
"Did he know one of your fantasies was to make-out at the bench, lying on the sand?" I interjected, quirking an eyebrow.
A mischievous twinkle dazzled in her eyes. "Maybe," she answered vaguely, chuckling. "After lunch, he took me to the roller rink where we roller-skated for a few hours, at least until dinner. Of course, at the rink, he showed off his skateboarding tricks."
My eyes rolled. "Of course."
"He attracted a lot of attention doing that, specifically women attention," she groaned, slightly aggravated. "But after getting fawned over by them, he completely ignored them, came right up to me, and kissed me." She squealed, giggling.
I chuckled at her reaction. Trying but failing to keep the skepticism from my voice, I remarked, "He sounds perfect."
She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. "He may have noticed me pouting and I may have made him feel bad. He just knew how to read me." She shrugged it off before continuing, "After the rink, he took me out to dinner-but not until I changed into my dress. You've seen me in that. I'm sexy as hell. Anyway, he wore a tux and let me tell you, he could easily be a model. We ate a fancy dinner and for the finale, he took me dancing."
"Did things get serious?" I asked, arching a brow.
She knew what I meant and shook her head. "A few make-outs but nothing crazy. We didn't fog up his car window, if that's what you're referring to," she derided with a smirk and a wink.
A thought occurred to me, a little late in the conversation, but I asked anyway: "If you went to the beach and didn't wear bathing suits, does that mean your regular clothes got wet? Assuming you went into the water."
Sam let out a heartfelt laugh at the memory. She nodded, explaining, "Yeah, our clothes got soaked. But it's okay. We dried off pretty quick with the wind and our game of beach volleyball. He said he didn't want to ruin the surprise by asking me to bring my swimsuit."
"So it was a good date?" I assumed, smiling softly at my best friend.
She grinned back, tapping her shoulder against mine. "The best."
We wandered back to her house where we talked on the hood of my car, drinking sodas. Finally, I decided I needed to go home, so we said goodbye and I climbed into my car.
* * * * * * *
Taking a deep breath, I approached the front doors to Hope for Youth that Wednesday. I tried not to look around for him, in case I did and froze up. Instead, I jogged up to the doors, thrust them open as casually as I could, and walked inside with a forced serenity. I waved to Taylor and instantly headed to the locker room. There, I released the breath I didn't know I was holding.
I banged my head on the locker after stuffing my bag inside. My eyes closed and I groaned quietly. I told myself, "Okay, Angela, you can do this. You'll go out there and not avoid him."
Glancing at the clock, I realized I was going to be late if I didn't move it. I clipped my nametag to my shirt, smoothed my hair, and raced to Mrs. Gibbens' room. I smiled at her, and this time I earned a smile in return.
Working tirelessly, I didn't leave the room until the bell sounded for lunch. I left, famished, and trudged to the cafeteria without my usual visit to Taylor's desk-I was too hungry.
My eyes immediately zeroed in on Iggy at the beginning of the line, ordering his food. Conflicting emotions battled through me: anger at his attitude and regret for bringing him pain. I had no idea what to do, since I was bouncing between yelling at him and apologizing. So I looked at the floor and slid in quietly at the end of the line.
Suddenly, Taylor stood beside me, smiling. She asked, curious, "How're things with Mrs. Gibbens going? I know it can be rough at first."
I smiled easily, thankful for the momentary distraction. I answered, "They're fine. I'm still just a simple errand girl, but today she actually smiled at me. It wasn't her usual grimace; it was an actual smile."
She chuckled, relieved at the news. "That's good. That means soon you'll have your first assignment."
At the sound of that, anxiety flitted through my stomach and my eyebrows perked. "My first assignment? What's that?"
"I don't want to ruin the surprise," she murmured mysteriously, a twinkle in her eye.
"Taylor!" a voice called, thick with a Mexican accent. We turned to see Lourdes enter the cafeteria, smiling.
She waved and looked to me. "Lourdes and I are going out to lunch today, to catch up a bit more. I just wanted to check up on you. Oh, did you want to come with?"
Shaking my head, I told her, "No, you two go. You need to catch up. I'll be fine here."
Lunch went by slowly, one lettuce leaf at a time. Eventually I finished my salad and by that time, I had lost my appetite and my baked potato had grown cold. Because I didn't feel right throwing away a perfectly good meal, I returned the potato to the kitchen, explaining my stomach was too upset to eat it. I threw away my salad bowl and sighed.
A figure appeared next to me, tossing their lunch scrap and utensils into trash. But they missed when throwing away their napkin, the wad of paper falling to the ground.
I waited for them to pick up their napkin and leave, but they just stood there patiently. Finally, I looked up from their navy blue Vans and at their golden aviators.
Iggy smirked at me, but it didn't look quite right. It was as though something was holding him back. Otherwise, everything about him was normal: he wore fitting jeans, a collared shirt with the top three buttons undone, showing more of his copper skin, and his signature sunglasses. His hair looked shorter, as though he had had a recent haircut. He was still gorgeous, just like the first day I met him, which was only a couple weeks ago.
Then I caught on-he wanted me to pick up his trash and throw it away for him. I was about to make a snarky retort when I remembered the pain I'd caused him. So without a word, I bent down and tossed it into the trashcan.
He leaned against the adjoining table, smooth as ever. In a mocking tone, he inquired, "Do you always hang out near trashcans?"
My lips pursed, and I studied him. He seemed okay enough that I didn't need to apologize verbally, because he seemed to have let it go. But I was still going to suck up my pride and humor him for a bit, just until his smirk was natural again. I responded, "No, I was just lost in thought."
His hands tucked into his pockets and his smirk morphed into a lopsided smile. "Don't tell me you were thinking about me."
"Okay," I stated, shrugging, "I won't then."
He chuckled and leaned towards me slightly. That wicked glint returned to his glasses as he flirted, "I'm going to assume that means you were thinking about me. I can't say I blame you." He smirked, and it was natural.
A wave of relief crashed over me. "You are so full of yourself," I remarked, rolling my eyes and walking past him.
"Hey, Angela," he called, forcing me to look back at him. He didn't turn towards me; rather, he looked ahead at nothing. He appeared almost shy as he admitted, "I'm glad things are normal between us, because of what happened yesterday. I know you didn't mean it like that. I was hoping you weren't torturing yourself over it, so I'm glad you don't seem to be. Later, new kid."
I watched him until he disappeared from sight. He was worried about me, not himself. He must have reconciled with himself and went on thinking about how I might torture myself about it. I allowed a smile to bloom on my face. He was glad things were normal between us. Which was why I'd never tell him how I was worrying myself sick at lunch about it.
* * * * * * *
"Are you busy?" Taylor asked me around one-thirty. She looked at me with wide, hopeful eyes, anxiety creasing her forehead.
I crumpled up the piece of paper I had been doodling on and tossed it into the recycling bin. "Not at the moment."
She breathed a sigh of relief and visibly relaxed. "Oh, thank goodness. One of the janitors called in sick and requested we get someone to mop up the floors in the cafeteria. You wouldn't mind doing that, would do?"
It certainly sounded better than what I was currently doing, which was nothing. Smiling, I answered, "Not at all. I'll get right on it."
She grabbed my hands and squeezed them appreciatively. "Thank you so much! I'll pay you back, I promise." She scampered off to attend to another pressing matter.
Upstairs, I surveyed the cafeteria, void of tables and chairs, and determined it'd take longer than half an hour to clean the entire floor. So I grabbed my phone and let my mom know I was going to be late coming home today.
After almost two hours, I was nearing the end. I had only a small section near the left entrance that remained untouched, but I paused to wipe my forehead and catch my breath. It turned out mopping was more grueling than expected. I leaned against the mop, tired, but I pushed aside my exhaustion and went back to work.
I looked at my handiwork, proud of the sheen on the floor. I smiled and took a few deep breaths.
"You missed a few spots."
My pride shattered. I glanced swiftly about the floor, looking for any lackluster. "What? Where?" I asked, slightly panicked.
My unexpected visitor laughed loudly, causing me to turn around. When I saw his aviators, my eyes narrowed and I growled, "You're hilarious."
"Seriously, I think you missed a few spots. There's one over there." He pointed to his right with decision, like he actually knew I had missed somewhere.
And I looked. I actually looked in the direction he pointed, even though I was well-aware that he was blind and had no clue if I'd missed a spot. I groaned in frustration and glared at him, exclaiming exasperatedly, "You're a pain in my ass, and you can't even see my ass!"
He simply smirked at me triumphantly, only irritating me further. I humphed, stomped my foot, and turned around with every intention to stalk away.
But then his hand smacked me, directly on my butt. He didn't miss. He didn't even waver. He just smacked my butt with no restraint. I gasped and whirled around, staring at him with a gaping mouth.
He smirked at me, informing me, "I may not be able to see your ass, but I can still find it."
I watched him in stunned silence as he sauntered haughtily away, his laughter echoing.
I wasn't sure what his definition of normal was, but we weren't back to it. Smacking someone's ass was not normal.