A/N: Yes, this story was posted about a year ago, under the name OptimisticPessimist. I was plagiarized and ended up removing the story as soon as it was completed. But now I'm back, under the name TheRealOP (because someone is holding the name OptimisticPessimist and won't give it back to me). And if you have read this story before, read it again! Because it's EXTEREMELY DIFFERENT than the original.
That's Tyler, BTW >>>
Sometimes, I couldn't help but wonder if I was cursed. Or possibly, it was predetermined that my life was to be excruciatingly hard. Maybe I had a great-great-grandparent who committed some sort of horrible deed and I'm paying for their actions. Or maybe that time when I had stole a box of animal crackers from some girl in preschool was coming back to bite me. Whatever the reason, there was no denying the obvious. Everything in my life was destined to go bad.
I do believe, though, that part of the blame went to my mom. On the day of my birth, she was determined to name me something unique. No, I couldn't be another Brittany or Ashley. Not even a Taylor. So she hatched this ridiculous idea that my name was to be Tyler. And that's when everything went wrong.
"There's nothing wrong with your name." My mom insisted. "Just because it's a little different doesn't mean there's something wrong with it. There are other girls with the name Tyler, you know, and I'm sure they are happy."
Yes, she did have a point. There were other girls who shared my name. But none, I doubt, had the certain combination of events that befell me. Those other girls didn't move to the small town of Leighton, Virginia when they were eight. Those other girls didn't have to attend Rosebriar Elementary. And those other girls most definitely did not meet the maker of my problems, the start of all things evil, Tristan Bryant. Because if they did, they'd be just as unhappy with their name as I was. Because unfortunately, Tyler rhymes with—
"Guy-ler!" I let out a low grunt, as that idiotic nickname passes through my ears. My eyes avert to Tristan who stands on the twenty yard line, taunting me.
Though I wasn't the only person, I was the only girl in this school with the name Tyler. That wasn't too big of a deal to me until I met Tristan in the third grade, who seemed to have taken it upon himself to make my life as horrible for me as possible by coming up with the nickname 'Guy-ler'. And as we grew older, Tristan's popularity grew. And as Tristan's popularity grew, so did the nickname to the entire student body.
Even though I relayed these things to my mom, desperate to change my name, she had fooled herself into believing that I was wrong and everyone at my school was just jealous. But no, they weren't jealous. Far from it, actually. To many, my name was an icon of ridicule. To some, it was a joke since they didn't believe it was my real name. But to me, it was the epitome of stupid. Because there was nothing stupider than naming a girl Tyler.
I'm so lost in my thoughts that I forget I'm in the middle of a flag football game. And before I know it, the pigskin ball is in my hands, and a group of teenage students are sprinting towards me.
See, there are a lot of reasons that I don't like flag football. First, there's too much exercise involved. More than what I wanted. Second, I always lose. And the third, I find out as I turn to run towards the touchdown line. I hear slight chuckles close behind, and I know Tristan's right on my tail. I decide to go on into a full sprint, but right as I kick up the pace, the third reason I hate flag football kicks in.
Guys tend to get a serious case of the grab hands.
And I almost fly out of my shoes as Tristan grabs for my backside instead of the flag.
"Dead ball!" The coach calls, and I realize that because of Tristan's surprise attempt, the ball fell straight out of my hands and onto the ground. My teammates scoff in frustration.
I whip around and glare at Tristan. He only grins victoriously. "Sorry. I guess my hands have a mind of their own."
In a minute, my fist is about to have a mind of its own.
The coach blows the whistle, though, signaling the end of the game. We all shuffle back inside the gymnasium, throwing the flag belts into the box waiting by the door. There aren't words to explain just how excited I am that this is the last day of school. In a matter of three hours there will be no more homework. No more flag football. And most importantly, no Tristan.
Thank God.
***
"Okay, check your six o'clock. Tall and handsome jogging down the shoreline. Rate him." Whitney says.
"I can't believe I'm doing this. I thought we said we'd stop this stupid tradition after freshman year." I say, pulling out a magazine from my beach bag.
"Come on. We're going to be seniors next year, and then we're off to college. This might be our last chance to do this." Raine says, watching the guy run. "I definitely give him an eight."
"Really? I was thinking somewhere along the lines of six. What about you, Ty?"
"One," I say, without even looking up. Whitney and Raine frown at me. "Look, I'm really not interested in spending my first day of summer break checking out guys. I see enough of them at school. And Raine, don't you have a boyfriend? How do you think he would feel about this?"
She shrugs. "I'm simply looking at what Leighton, Virginia has to offer when it comes to male specimen. Believe me, me and my Evie-bear are together forever."
"And what about you Whitney? I thought you had your sights set on Tristan? Are you suddenly giving up or something?" I ask.
"I'm just looking. You know, that's how girls get boyfriends. They look for them. You should try it." She states, putting her sunglasses over her eyes, and leaning back in her chaise.
I flip through the car magazine. "The only thing I'm looking for right now is a good deal. I'm only $978 dollars away from my first car. My attention needs to be focused on getting money. Not getting guys."
"Well then, date rich. That way, you can have a boyfriend, and you can love him enough so that he'll buy you a car for your month-iversary." Raine says. While I am up for doing just about anything to get my car, gold-digging wasn't exactly at the top of my list.
"Not happening. I don't even know any rich guys."
"Garrett Lees is rich. You know that guy in the AV club. I heard he hasn't had a girlfriend in years, and he'll do anything to get one." Whitney winks at me.
I make a gagging noise, remember the time when he hand accidentally slipped up my thigh during computer class last year. "I'm not going to subject myself to being with someone like him just for a car. I'd rather work for it."
"Marcus. The baseball player on the varsity team. I'm sure he'd be interested." Raine suggests, which I promptly reject.
"If I actually did try to attach myself to someone long enough for me to convince them to buy me a car, I'd prefer it be with someone with enough intellect to carry a decent conversation."
"How about that one guy in your AP class? The one that's been tutoring you." Whitney says.
I shake my head. "Isaac? That guy hasn't even familiarized himself with a toothbrush. There's no way in this world that I'm kissing that."
"Well... Tristan's always an option." A smirk tugs at Raine's lips, and I crane my neck around towards her.
At the sound of his name, my lips instantly contort in disgust.
"He's not rich." Whitney interjects.
Raine chuckles."I know. I just wanted to see the look on your faces."
I roll my eyes, and go back to looking at my magazine. Raine clicks away on her cellphone for a few minutes before squealing at a decibel that I'm certain would make dogs start crying. "Guys, Evan's stopping by to drop off the dress for our dinner date this evening. By the way, did I tell you that he said he had something important he wanted to mention? You know what that means."
"What? He's going to propose or something?" I joke. It wouldn't exactly surprise me, though, with the way that Raine tries to control her relationships. Even if it's not the other person's intentions, if Raine wants something to happen, she'll make sure that it happens.
"No. A couple of weeks ago I overheard him talking about going away for two weeks during the summer. And obviously, he doesn't go anywhere without me. So for the fact he hasn't mentioned it yet, he must be planning to tell me tonight at dinner." Raine claps her hands together in excitement.
"Going on vacation together? That seems like a big step in your relationship with him." Whitney says.
"And I'm ready for it. We've been together for almost five years. It's about time we get to this level." Her eyes beam with happiness. "I wonder where we're going. Someplace nice, I presume. Maybe to that lake house his parents rent out every summer. Ohmigod, that would be so romantic."
Whitney sighs next to me, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. "I wish a guy would take me on a romantic vacation."
"And I wish a thousand dollars would pop up right in my lap so I can buy a car. But unfortunately, dreams don't come true." I grin at her and she playfully shoves my arm.
In the distance, we see Evan waving and coming towards us, with a large shopping bag in tow. However, to my great disappointment, he is not alone. Tristan walks alongside him. I throw a glare over at Raine "I thought you said Evan was coming to the beach. You seemed to have casually left out his male companion."
Raine sends me a cheeky smile. "Did I do that?"
I swear, that girl will be the death of me one day.
In complete desperation, I reach for my sunglasses and tie up my hair, hoping that this will disguise me a little bit. I do my best to cover up the rest of my face with my magazine, as the two boys walk up.
"Tristan!" Whitney switches on her flirtatious voice. I hope that maybe the way she oh-so-conspicuously lets her beach cover-up slide off her shoulder will be enough to keep Tristan's attention focused elsewhere. "I didn't know you were coming."
"Yep, Evan and I were headed for the pizza place down the street, but apparently he couldn't eat without giving morning greetings to his girl." His voice is flat.
I make the mistake of letting my eyes flicker over the rim of the magazine right as his eyes land in my direction. I resist the urge to cringe, and avert them back to the magazine quickly, hoping that his stare would just pass over me. Scratch that. I wasn't hoping. I was praying.
"Guy-ler!"
What a surprise. It didn't work.
"Trying to hide from me?" His earlier dead tone is replaced with amusement.
I scoff. "Yeah, unfortunately, I can't look at you too long or else I'll turn into stone, Medusa."
Whitney, becoming somewhat irritated with Tristan's attention on me, tries to once again strike up conversation. "So, what are you planning on doing this summer?"
"Me and Evan are heading to a football camp in a couple of days. That's pretty much going to take up our entire vacation." He explains. Suddenly, everything goes silent, and Evan's eyes are wide. He glares over at Tristan, who only shrugs apologetically, before turning to his girlfriend.
"Evan's going where?" She sounded calmer than I expected.
"Um... yeah. That's what I wanted to tell you about over dinner tonight. I signed up for football camp."
Raine stares up at him. "I heard that you were going somewhere for two weeks with your girlfriend."
He shakes his head. "No, I'm going for two months with my best friend."
He and the rest of us brace ourselves for the fury of Raine.
"So you were going to go to football camp to who knows where—"
"It's close. It's in the rural part of town." Tristan chimes in. Raine sends him a glare and he zips his lips tight.
"As I was saying, you are going to a football camp and you weren't going to tell me until tonight? See, this is why I can't deal—"
I pat Raine on her shoulder. "Come on, Raine. Calm down. Remember your breathing techniques."
"I don't need to breathe right now!" She jerks her shoulder away. "This is just like you, Evan. Always waiting until the last minute to tell me things. And you know what? This time it's going to cost you. Go to your football camp, but see if you have girlfriend when you get back."
Oh goodness, here we go,
"Don't be like that. Look, you know how important my sports are to me. The camp is offering scholarships. I need this. Just bear with me for a little while, and when I come back I promise to make it up to you." Evan begs. It hurts me to see him stoop to this level.
She doesn't seem convinced. "Whatever."
She snatches the magazine out of my hands, signaling that the conversation is over.. Evan bites his lips, and gently sets the shopping bag by her feet, before shuffling away. Tristan follows close behind, keeping his steps light, probably to avoid triggering another outrage.
"You okay?" Whitney asks, once they were out of listening range.
She nods. "Yeah, it just sickens me that he's going to be away from me for the entire summer vacation. Who knows what kind of people he'll meet? Anyone can try to steal him away from me if I"m not around."
"It's just to football camp." I say. "There are no girls there. You don't have to worry."
"It doesn't matter. He's a guy. And like most guys, he'll find away."
Raine did tend to have a bad track record with boyfriends. Every boyfriend since preschool cheated on her, though I'm not sure she's exactly exempt from guilt in those cases. Not everyone is built to handle the obsessive-compulsive nature of Raine the way Evan can. Even with his seemingly limitless patience, I'm still surprised the two of them have lasted this long.
"So what are you going to do? Check up on him?" I ask, laughing a little bit. Knowing Raine, she might take me up on that offer.
She gasps. "That's a great idea!"
Of course.
Whitney starts to laugh now too. "And how do you plan on doing that? Send in a private investigating team? I doubt Daddy's credit card allows for that expense."
I jump in. "Plus, Tristan and Evan know all the guys at our high school, so it's not likely you can get any of them to do it. Come on, Raine. Don't be crazy."
She waves me off. "Please, I am the poster child for crazy."
Well, at least she was aware of that fact.
She bites her lip. "I mean, I'd seriously dish out some cash if someone would..."
She turns to me, a mischievous glint in her eyes. I stare at her like a deer in the headlights, preparing for it's impending death. "Tyler, how low can you deepen your voice?"