Текст книги "Resentment"

Автор книги: Nicole London

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Chapter 9

MIA

Sixteen weeks before prom.

MIA: Just wishing you good luck one last time for tonight’s game! :-) I just finished my second piece for Western Peak and will finish the other two next week. I’m going to get some ice and heating pads and I’ll have them ready for when you get here later. I love you... :-)

I’m not sure if he’s already on the field or not, but I don’t waste any time heading to CVS and picking up all the things I’ve promised. And even though I just told him that I’m finished with my piece, that’s a lie.

My mom came into my room and tore apart my sketches just as I was getting started. She went into a rage like I’d never seen, taking all of the art supplies that I had out and pouring them down the drain. Then she screamed at me for submitting a formal “No Thanks” to Harvard, demanding that I call them immediately.

When I refused, she screamed at me even louder and accused me of chasing pipe art dreams just like my brother. (“Do you really want to be like him? Tattooing junkies just to make it day to day? Do you have any idea the awful life that an ‘artist’ lives? It’s not worth it, Mia. Let me save you.)

I wipe away a tear as her words replay in my head, and my heart hurts to think about just how hard it’s going to be to finish my portfolio for Western Peak. I’ll have to start all over, and I’ll have to use a good chunk of my summer job money to replace everything she destroyed.

I’ll also miss the rest of Dean’s playoff season more than likely, since the remaining games fall under hours when my mom won’t be home and the best lighting is in my room. I’ll also have to find ways to make it up to him because I know he’s gotten used to me being on the side lines supporting him.

I’m not sure why I feel the need to hide the truth about Western Peak from him, but I’ve noticed a distance in him lately, and I think he’s dealing with something much darker so I just hold back.

As it turns out, I’m not sure if that helps or harms us in the long run...

Ten weeks before prom.

“Happy Birthday!” Autumn runs up to me in the hallway and hugs me. “Will I be seeing you later tonight?”

“Not at all.” I smile and mock her voice. “I have a boyfriend.”

She laughs and hands me a card. “What do the two of you have planned?”

“He hasn’t told me yet. He just told me to meet him at Main Park tonight at seven.”

“Hmm. Interesting! Well, if you two get done early, let me know. I’ve been downgraded from being grounded to having “permission” to work at the ice cream parlor, so I’ll be there all night. I’ll treat you both if you come by.”

“Autumn, it’s a Friday. You’re off on Fridays.”

She shrugs. “Okay, so I’ll be in the parking lot with Jacob, but my mom does not need to know that.” She hugs me once more. “Call me later, okay?”

I shake my head at her as she walks away. I stand at my locker for twenty minutes, waiting for Dean to show up to take me home, but he never does.

He’d said he was coming to school today after missing four days in a row, but he’s a no show once again. I call his phone and there’s no answer, but I don’t panic.

I’m sure this is all a part of something bigger that he has planned. He’s already had two massive bouquets of roses delivered to my house this morning and he somehow managed to have a teddy bear with a “I love you” tag stuffed inside of my locker.

Shaking any negative thoughts away, I take the bus home and start to get ready for the first time I’ll actually celebrate my birthday for a full night. (My mom has never really been one for birthdays. Just a simple card, a cupcake, and a “You entered the world on today. Remember that and keep your mind sharp. Very sharp.”)

Just last month I told Dean how I’ve always dreamed of eating birthday cake at night somewhere, under the stars even, so I’m feeling giddy thinking about what he has planned for tonight at the park.

It takes me two hours to get my make-up just right, and another to stop smoothing the fabric of my brand new black and gold dress. It’s strapless and short, falling right above my knees, and it matches my shimmering stilettos perfectly.

The second the clock strikes six forty-five, I practically rush out and jump into my mom’s old car heading straight for the bench where Dean told me to wait.

I don’t mind that it’s cold as hell outside, or that a light snow is falling. I’m too excited about what’s to come.

Until it never does.

Ten minutes pass.

Fifteen minutes pass.

Twenty minutes pass.

Worried, I pull out my phone to call him and see what’s wrong, but I notice he’s sent me a text.

DEAN: Happy Birthday, Mia. Did you get my flowers this morning?

MIA: I did :-) Thank you.  Are we still going out tonight?

DEAN: No, I’m sorry. I can’t come.

My heart drops.

MIA: Why not?

DEAN: I just can’t come. I want you to call and tell me all about it later though.

Call and tell him all about it? HE’S the one who told me to come here...What is he talking about?

MIA: Dean...You’re the only person (outside of Autumn) that I actually want to see tonight...why can’t you come?

DEAN: It’s hard to explain.

MIA: Okay...Well, can you explain why you haven’t been to school in a week? Why you’re not letting me come over to see you?

DEAN: No. That’s hard to explain too.

I have no idea what to say. I’m more confused than hurt, and I want to believe he has a perfectly good reason for this, but I can’t think of one. He spent all last week promising me that he would show me what it meant to have a “true birthday” with “cake and candles and all” and that he would make love to me right after, but now it feels just like all my other birthdays. Like any another day.

MIA: Okay.

DEAN: Okay.

DEAN: Enjoy your birthday, Mia. I really do mean that.

MIA: Totally shows.

Three weeks before prom.

“I finally picked a dress,” I say to Dean as I sit next to him in chemistry class. “I’m cutting it close, but it’s red just so you know.”

“Why would I need to know?”

“Because aren’t we going to prom together?” I look into his eyes. “Didn’t you ask me to be your date over winter break?”

“Oh. Right.” He shrugs. “So, your dress is red. I’ll try to remember that.”

“You won’t have to remember it for long,” I say. “It’s only three weeks away.”

“Hmmm.” He shrugs again and the teacher begins to speak at the front of the classroom.

“Dean, what is wrong with you lately?”  I whisper. “What’s happening to you? To us?”

“What makes you think something’s happening?”

“Everything. You missed my birthday with like little to no explanation, you’re missing days of school at a time without telling me why, and I feel like I’m pulling teeth just to get you to tell me how you are and what you’re feeling. Something is happening with you and I just want to know what it is and why.”

He stands up and pushes his chair against the desk. “I want to know why you’re just now noticing.”

Two weeks before prom.

Despite the fact that he’s been hot and cold with me, I still show up to his house armed with balloons and a birthday card. Since he’s managed to miss another string of days at school, and my mom is “punishing” me by paying my phone bill two days past schedule to teach me some type of distorted lesson, I haven’t been able to reach him today. So, I’m having to do things the old fashioned way.

I ring his doorbell and wait. No answer.

I ring it again, knowing he’s there, but there’s still no answer.

Sighing, I start to tie the balloon strings to his mailbox, but the front door slowly opens.

“What’s going on?” His father steps out and his eyes are bloodshot. “Is something wrong, Mia?”

“No, I was just...” I look him over, wondering why he looks so sick. “I was just coming by to tell Dean Happy Birthday.”

A slight smile crosses his lips and he takes the balloons and the card from my hands. “I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

“So he is here?” I ask, wanting to see him for myself. “Can you tell him to come down so we can talk?”

He shakes his head, but keeps smiling. “I’ll let him know you stopped by.” Then he slams the door in my face.

Night of Prom.

This cannot be happening...

I’m standing downstairs in my living room, looking out the window long past the time Dean was supposed to pick me up.

I told him seven. He agreed to seven.

We agreed on seven.

Refusing to believe that my first love would do something so cruel as to stand me up on prom night, I hold off on texting him. I walk over to the mirror and look over my reflection once more.

My one shoulder red gown is shimmering beneath the light, and my dark brown hair is swept up into a high bun that perfectly frames my face. A few tendrils are loose and tucked behind my ears, and the bright make-up the mall specialist put on me hours ago looks more stunning now than it did then.

Forcing a smile, I bat my eyelashes and watch as the glitter on my eyelids glimmers.

I’m not sure how long I stand there staring at myself, but after my eyes catch the wall clock reading at seven forty-five, I text Dean.

MIA:  Where are you?

No response. I start to call him, but another text comes through. Autumn.

AUTUMN:  Hey! Is it packed already? And how hard was it for you two to find parking?

MIA:  I’m not there yet.

AUTUMN:  Oh. Well, are you on your way there? Will you let me know about the parking when you get there?

MIA:  No...I’m still at home.

Seconds after I send the text, she calls me.

“Are you still getting dressed or—” She stops mid-sentence as I start to cry.

“I think he’s...” Reality’s ugliness is hitting me real hard. “I think he’s standing me up.”

“Mia, no. He would never do that to you.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” I sniffle.

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason.”

“And if there isn’t?” I place my hand against my chest. “He hasn’t been the same for months, Autumn. And even this week, whenever I mentioned prom he never said too much in response.”

“That could mean anything.” She doesn’t want to believe it, and neither do I, but I already know this night won’t end well. I know I should just let it go, but I’ve never been one to back completely away.

“Can I ride with you and Jacob” I ask. “I sent Dean a text a while ago and he has yet to text me back.”

“Of course.” She assures me. “We’re on our way.”

I end the call and send Dean one more message.

MIA:  Are you going to answer me? If not, I’ll have to ride to the prom with Autumn and Jacob.

No answer comes, and within twenty minutes I’m in the backseat of Jacob’s rented convertible, dabbing tears at every stoplight.

When he pulls the car outside of the entrance, Autumn turns around in the front seat and tells me to wait before getting out.

Like the perfect best friend that she is, she turns on the backseat light and calms me down, making me count backwards from twenty. Then she pulls out her small makeup kit and re-applies my mascara and lip-gloss, letting me know that everything will work out fine in the end for me. Whether I end up with Dean or not.

“You sure you don’t want to go to the photo booth first and take pictures with us?” she asks. “You sure you want to go in by yourself?”

“I’m sure.” I give her the best smile I can and slip out of the car. I head underneath the glowing arches of the front entrance and stop, posing for the professional photographer who’s standing behind a podium.

I sign my name at the check in desk, and when they ask if I want to be announced over the speakers as I walk inside (a small perk of being “Miss Popular” apparently), I quickly decline their offer and head straight into the ballroom.

Unable to hold back a smile, I look around the massive room in awe. Glittery silver streamers are hanging from the high glass ceilings, white and blue balloon arrangements are standing at six feet tall in every corner, and beyond the windows that surround the room is a lake that features entwined C’s and H’s under a bright light.

I scan the room, looking for Dean, honestly hoping to see him here, and just when I think I’m in the clear, I spot him across the room. Dancing with someone else.

And not in a “We’re just friends” way.

It’s a “I’m going to fuck you after this” way.

Feeling my heart drop for the second time in a day, I make my over to him and tap him on the shoulder.

“Yeah?” He turns around, completely expressionless as his eyes meet mine.

“What are you—” My voice cracks. “What are you doing here?”

“At prom?” He smirks. “It is a senior event isn’t it? So, since I’m a senior, I’m here attending. What about you?”

“I mean, why are you here with her?” I look at the girl behind him, quickly sizing her up as a junior, someone he probably barely knows.

“Because she’s my date.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I was supposed to be your date.”

“Yeah, supposed to be.” He tilts his head to the side. “Aren’t you a literary aficionado? The word ‘supposed’ is considered past tense, correct?”

“Dean, stop this.” There are tears in my eyes. “Stop this right now.”

“I’m confused.” His voice is cold. “I’m not currently doing anything to you.”

I grab his hand and pull him away from his “date” and off of the dance floor. I lead him out into the hallway and try to remain calm.

“Are you really cheating on me on prom night?” I’m seething, but there are fresh tears falling down my face. “And were you really just going to stand me up and ignore my texts like I mean nothing to you?”

“You do mean nothing to me.” He looks more distant than I’ve ever seen him. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Dean...”

“Mia...” He mocks me. “Is there anything else irrelevant you’d like to discuss out here? If so, make it quick so I can get back to someone who actually gives me the fucking time of day.”

“Dean, what the hell is wrong with you?” I look into his eyes, hoping to see a glimpse of the guy I fell in love with, but I see nothing but spite. Unexplainable spite. “Four months ago you were telling me you loved me.”

“Because I actually did love you.”

“Well, I still love you,” I say. “And, even though you’re being a complete and utter jackass right now, I want to talk this out.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk this out.” He looks me up and down. “And I unfortunately can’t say that I feel the same about you anymore.” He quickly walks away and back into the party, and I go after him, stopping as soon as I see him walk up to his date and kiss her right on the mouth. With tongue. For everyone to see.

I stand frozen to my spot, and out the corner of my eye I see Autumn rushing over to me, pulling me away before I can approach Dean and ask him what the hell he’s doing again.

“No,” she says. “No, Mia. Let’s go.”

I’m crying hysterically and Dean is watching me break down, but all he does is smile and give his date another long kiss in full view of me, to make sure I see it.

I feel Autumn pulling me down into a chair and rubbing my arms. She’s saying something I can’t quite comprehend because all I can focus on are the people pointing at Dean and his date, and then pointing over at me, laughing.

“Fuck him,” Autumn says. “Fuck him hard. We’re going to get out of here, okay? I sent Jacob to get the car already.”

I nod and my chest heaves up and down, but I can’t help but look over at Dean again. He looks as if he’s having the time of his life, as if he didn’t just pull my heart out in front of hundreds of people and stomp on it for everyone to see.

I’m not sure why it takes Jacob so long to get the car, but I end up sitting there long enough to see the principal crown the prom king and queen, and as if he’s attempting to rub salt even deeper into my wounds, Dean’s eyes meet mine from the stage and he utters words that will leave me reeling for the short remainder of my high school career.

“Thank you to everyone who voted for me as your Prom King,” he says, his eyes not leaving mine. “And thank you to my ex-girlfriend for letting me down when I needed you the most. You make moving on far too easy...”

Two Weeks before Graduation

Talk about Dean’s jab at me onstage at prom has finally died down, and I’m back to counting down my final days at Central High. I’m also back to avoiding him like the plague and leaving all of the classes we take together early.

I feel really foolish for putting so much energy into our relationship and caring about it so much because I have absolutely nothing to show for it. Since I spent so many nights worried about him and trying to get our relationship back on track to what it once was, I never finished my portfolio for Western Peak. And since I don’t want to major in any of the other programs they offer, I have no choice but to withdraw my “Thank you” letter from Harvard and exchange it for a declaration of admission.

I plan to apply for one of their special overseas programs this summer. That way, if Dean ends up going to Harvard as well, I’ll never have to see him.

He suddenly walks into our chemistry class, smiling, and it takes everything in me not to grab the Bunsen burner off the table and toss it at his head.

God, I fucking hate him right now...

“Alright everyone, you’ve got twenty more minutes to look over your notes,” our teacher says. “The first part of your final starts right after that.”

As usual, no one in this class has ever paid too much attention so most of them just continue talking, caring nothing about the possibilities of a bad grade at this point in their high school careers.

I flip through my notebook, looking for the equations page, and a varsity cheerleader steps in front of me.

“Yes?” I ask.

“Is it true?” She smirks.

“Is what true?”

“You know...” She smiles at me as if I would ever give her the time a day. “About Dean.”

“Yes, it is true. He’s a douchebag with a high affinity for lies.”

“Affinity?” She looks confused. “Is that some type of candy?”

Ugh... “No, it’s—” I shake my head. “Never mind. What are you talking about now? Are we still on prom night?”

“Prom night?” She laughs. “No, that was last week. That’s old news. Is it true that Dean was the tenth guy you slept with?”

“What?”

“Rumor has it that you sucked his cock on your first date and begged him to watch a sex tape you’d made with your ex on your phone. Is that true?”

I roll my eyes. “Does that even sound true?”

“It sounds like you’re not denying it.”

“Because there’s nothing to deny.” I’m annoyed. “It’s not true.” I shut my notebook and look over at Dean as the cheerleader approaches him.

I overhear her ask him the same questions, and out of common fucking decency I expect him to answer her ridiculous claims in the same way I did, but he doesn’t.

He gives her that trademark smile I used to love, a grin I now fucking hate with every ounce of my soul, and he says, “It sounds like Mia...But I’m a gentleman, so I’ll never tell.”

Just like that, the rumor mill at Central High is activated, and he’s practically guaranteed that my final days here will be a living hell.

And they are.

Every day that I come to school, the very people I’ve always purposely avoided are talking about me behind my back, whispering with every step I take. And the asshole who perpetuated it all? He does nothing to calm the horde. He never denies the crazy rumors that develop from the already twisted storyline, and every now and then I catch him smirking as I wipe away tears during class.

Whenever we pass each other in the hallway, we both look away (which only heightens the curiosity of the closest spectators) and by the time graduation rolls around, I’m debating whether I should go or not.

On the last day of class, yearbook signing day, I feel the most humiliated. People are rudely asking me to sign my picture with the byline of “#1 Cock Collector” and still asking me about a sex tape that has never existed.

I don’t go to graduation. Even though my mom drops me off at the ceremony and sits in the crowd, I leave through a backdoor with Autumn and we decide that we’ll never discuss Central or the asshole that ruined it for me ever again.

The only exception is the headline that runs in the next day’s local paper. Central High had posted an interesting bit of information about the graduation ceremony.

I was the first valedictorian in the school’s history that didn’t show up.

Dean was the first salutatorian to do the same.

The paper demands answers for the strange “lack of class” and wonders what could have happened that both of the school’s highest honored students could have wanted to miss the program.

I skim the rest of the article and tuck the newspaper into a box that I don’t plan on opening for decades, along with any and everything that reminds me of the boy who broke my heart, asshole Dean Collins.

If there’s one thing I’ll never be able to pack away, it’s the utter resentment I have for him in my heart, and I swear to god I will never forget how this moment feels. I will never fucking forget...