Something About Love: A YA contemporary romance in verse Page 5
He’s smart,
Funny,
Kind,
Dedicated.
He doesn’t make me talk when I don’t want to, and
He knows exactly what to do to make me smile.
He’s polished,
The kind of boy who’s easy to bring home to my dad,
With hair that’s not too long, or
Too greasy, or
Even overstyled.
His teeth are white, and
His clothes smell like a mountain stream, and
He’s tall, dark, and handsome.
I am an idiot, I tell myself, but
When I look at Harris,
All I see is that
He’s not Trevor.
“I LOVE YOU,”
He says, his voice tight with anger.
“I don’t understand what I did wrong.”
I study my hands in my lap
While Harris pulls over to the side of the road,
Waiting for me to explain.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say,
“It’s me. I’m just not into you the way you’re into me, and
It’s not fair.
I mean, it’s not fair to you for me to keep leading you on
When this isn’t going to go anywhere.”
His breath explodes out of his body, and
He rakes his fingers through his hair
Looking out his window.
“I said it too soon, didn’t I?”
He slams a palm against the steering wheel,
Startling me,
Making me question if I should’ve sent Jacey away.
“Said what?”
I ask, trying to keep my voice low and timid.
“You know what.
I’m sorry, Olivia, okay?
I won’t say it again.”
His jaw tightens,
His eyes seem wild.
I need to calm him down, and
I only have one idea: Talking.
“That’s not it,” I say,
“But it did make it clear to me that you feel way more strongly about us
Than I do.”
I put two fingers on his forearm,
Drawing his attention to my face.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.
And this—” I gesture between us— “Is not fair to you.
I don’t just want a make-out partner.”
A glint of hope enters his eyes
Just for a moment, but
I see it.
If I had my camera, I would’ve captured it with a high-speed flash and
An eighty millimeter lens.
“I’d be your make-out partner,” he says,
Real soft,
His eyes dropping to his lap.
I shake my head. “I can’t.
Honest, Harris, you’re a great guy.
You’re just…”
I don’t know how to finish that sentence.
“Stop,” Harris says,
Saving me from myself.
“I know you have this honesty pact thing with yourself, but
Just…don’t.”
The silence in the car becomes charged,
Fueled by the frustration in Harris’s voice, and
The anger in his eyes.
“Will you take me back to my mom’s?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer, but
The tires spin in the gravel,
Like he can’t get rid of me
Fast enough.
“WHORE!”
Harris screams from the end of the Youngblood’s driveway,
Causing me to turn back to his car.
The window is rolled down,
His middle finger is extended, and
He looks unhinged.
He lingers,
Like he expects me to run forward,
To apologize.
I stay rooted to the spot,
Unable and unwilling to move.
Harris finally peels away,
His voice carrying on the wind.
I hear the insults, and
I can’t stop the rush of guilt.
“I DID THE RIGHT THING,”
I tell myself for the tenth time
In as many minutes.
I did not cheat on Harris,
I didn’t lead him on,
I didn’t deserve his name-calling, because,
“I did the right thing.”
“DISASTROUS,”
I repeat to Jacey from the safety of my bedroom.
No one’s here, and I don’t expect them to return for a few more hours,
But I feel safer inside my room, with the
Door locked,
Music loud.
“What did he do?” she asks, and
I give her the break-up in blow-by-blow fashion,
Torn between relief and sadness,
Much the same way I felt last night when Trevor finally said,
“Well, we should get some sleep.”
Walking away from Harris’s retreating car and
Venomous words made my steps heavy,
The same as last night.
I’d lingered on the front porch,
Like I’d hesitated outside my bedroom door.
In both cases, I’d entered kissless.
In both cases, it was for the best.
“Disastrous,” I murmur again,
Thinking of Trevor this time.
“HEY.”
Trevor meets me in the student parking lot on Monday morning.
I can hear the jazz band music from down the hall, and
Streams of students flow around me.
What is he doing?
Standing there with that nervous smile,
Murky eyes,
Too-long hair?
His feet shuffle;
He clears his throat.
What is he thinking?
He won’t try to hold my hand in public, will he?
I haven’t told anyone but Jacey about my break-up with Harris, but
That doesn’t mean Trevor doesn’t know.
“Hey,” I say, and
Make to step past him.
“You can’t go to your locker,” he blurts,
The panic and concern evident in his tone.
I turn around,
Doing my best to ignore the icy fingers reaching into my stomach,
Eliminating the slow burn that Trevor ignites.
“Why not?”
“There’s…”
He seems to lose the oxygen he needs to speak.
“Did you break up with Harris?”
“Yes,” I say,
Still trying to figure out what my locker has to do with Harris.
“I’m gonna kill him,” Trevor says,
The worry suddenly replaced by fury.
My camera could catch his mood swings,
Even though they happen in milliseconds.
“Come on.”
He grips my hand and enters the river of students cascading down the hall.
“Trevor, tell me what’s going on.”
My backpack swings wildly as Trevor cuts left and then right.
I feel my cell phone buzz in my pocket.
Trevor doesn’t answer until we reach B-Hall,
Where my locker is.
“I thought you said I couldn’t go
To my locker.”
“I was wrong,
You need to see this.”
He pauses at the corner,
His chest heaving,
His eyes bright.
I wish I had my camera so I could capture the urgency in them,
The emotion I can’t quite name in real time, but
Could if I had enough time to analyze the shot.
It’s something hot, and
Pulsing, and
Alive.
Something I haven’t felt since breaking up with Trevor eighteen months ago,
&n
bsp; Something that if I understood what it meant,
I’d call it…love?
“I’ve already told the office, and the janitor,”
He explains, “But it’s still there, and
Well, everyone’s staring.
But you need to know what kind of guy
Your boyfriend is.”
My ex-boyfriend.
I suddenly realize how quiet B-Hall is.
I wonder if the absence of noise can consume a person, because
This silence feels predatory.
“How bad?” I whisper
With no movement in my lips.
I picture Harris from yesterday:
Broken, confused, and
So, so angry.
But he’d said he loved me;
He wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.
“Bad,” Trevor whispers back, and
He squeezes my hand for strength.
“BAD,”
Doesn’t begin to describe it.
The first locker on the corner has writing on it.
Red spray paint, if I had to guess,
There’s no need though, because
The empty can is lying on the floor.
All the other seniors are on the opposite side of the hall, and
Vice Principal Archibald marches up and down the line,
Barking questions.
When he sees me and Trevor, he makes a beeline toward us.
“Miss Winging,” he says crisply,
“Come with me.”
I can’t move.
Every locker from mine to the corner is defaced.
Various notes have been scrawled on the locker in black Sharpie, and
The red spray paint makes up a larger message.
SLUT.
WHORE.
BITCH.
Above those bright,
Bold,
Red words,
Sits my name.
First and last.
OLIVIA WINGING.
SLUT.
WHORE.
BITCH.
“OH…”
My breath leaks from my body,
Leaves me cold,
Comes out in a low moan.
Someone next to me whispers, but
I don’t hear what they’re saying.
A buzz moves along the crowd,
Down the line,
Through the rumor mill.
If everyone hadn’t been staring at me before,
They all are now.
It’s then I realize that Trevor and I are still holding hands.
“OLIVIA WINGING IS A CHEATER.”
One of the smaller black Sharpie messages declares.
Could be true.
“I TOLD HER I LOVE HER, AND SHE DIDN’T CARE,”
Says another.
Totally not true.
“OLIVIA IS A TEASE,”
I read.
I didn’t mean to be.
I thought I was doing exactly the opposite.
“She’ll kiss you, but
Don’t expect anything more,”
The note continues.
I don’t know what Harris means to accomplish by that.
If anything, that makes me less of a slut, right?
Or does it make me a bad girlfriend?
Maybe a loser who doesn’t want to put out for her hot boyfriend?
I have no idea, because
The rules of high school relationships have suddenly shifted.
“COME WITH ME,”
Vice Principal Archibald insists, and
I rip my tear-filled eyes from the red spray paint and follow him.
But I’ll never get those words out of my head.
I’ve seen them, and
I can’t unsee them
Just like I’ve kissed Trevor, and
I can’t unkiss him,
Can’t unwant him,
Can’t unlove him.
IS THIS HOW HARRIS FEELS?
I wonder as I navigate the clearing halls.
The warning bell rang a minute ago, and
Everyone’s ducking into classrooms
As VP Archibald, Trevor, and
I pass.
Does Harris feel like the earth beneath his feet will suddenly vanish?
Without me, is the surface too perilous to hold his weight?
Does Harris feel as though the sky will fall?
Does he welcome it, because then the crushing hole in his chest will shrink?
Without me, does the atmosphere surrounding Harris change?
He said he loved me.
Maybe his message stems from the pain he feels
At not being able to unlove me.
I understand this pain as I have shouldered it for eighteen months.
It’s hard to describe to someone who has never truly longed for something,
Who has never truly experienced the endurance needed to inhale one more time
Without this thing.
This thing they need.
Humans need oxygen;
Fish need water;
Harris needs me, and
I need Trevor.
I suck at the air, and
Find him at my side.
Suddenly I can breathe.
“I DON’T KNOW,”
I say for what feels like the millionth time.
Along with,
“Yes, we broke up.”
And, “Yesterday.”
And, “He seemed fine.”
And, “Okay, yeah, mad. Hurt, probably.”
And, “Still. I can’t believe he would do something like this.”
And, “No, I don’t want to call my parents.”
And, “No, he hasn’t contacted me.”
And, “No, I don’t want to see him.
No! I don’t want to press charges.”
And, “Please, let Trevor stay.”
“CALL ME LATER, WINGS.”
Trevor finally relinquishes my hand as my father pulls up to the curb.
Vice Principal Archibald hurries around to the driver’s side window, and
Begins talking earnestly.
I get in the front seat,
Feeling the tears pooling.
I stare straight ahead, because
I do not want Trevor to see me cry.
“YOU OKAY, LIVVY?”
Dad asks when we get home.
He hasn’t spoken since bidding VP Archibald good-bye in the pick-up lane.
I’d let my tears overflow as soon as we were on the street, but
I did not sob.
I am not a sobber.
I do not let things devastate me.
I compartmentalize them until I can deal with them from behind
Locked doors, with
Loud music.
I shake my head as my tears fall.
Dad scoops me into a tight hug, and
Holds on.
He strokes my hair, and says,
“It’s okay, Livvy. It’s going to be okay.”
He held me like this after Mom left too.
He said the same words, but
Back then I didn’t know if he was saying them for me, or
For him.
Now, I just grip him with the fierceness of someone who’s drowning, and
Cry.
“LIV?”
Rose peeks her head through the crack in the door
Only minutes after she gets home from school.
“Dad said you weren’t feeling well.
Can I come in?”
I’ve refused phone calls,
Ignored texts,
Eaten nothing, and
Said little.
But I can’t refuse Rose.
“CLIMB IN, BUDDY.”
I hold the blankets aside so Rose can snuggle in close.
She’s always warm.
I call her my little furnace.
I can’t seem to get warm no matter how hard I try.
Voices murmur outside my closed door, and
Though she hasn’t lived here for over a year,
I recognize my mom’s tone.
She sounds worried.
If anything, the chasm inside me widens,
A fissure deeper than it is broad
That fills with a longing that only a mother can soothe.
“Livvy, Mom’s here.”
Rose’s voice shakes with emotion, and
I realize my cheeks are wet again.
“I know,” I whisper.
“She says you won’t let her in.”
“Yeah,” I say.
She’d tried to come in, but
I didn’t want to see her,
Didn’t want to talk about anything,
Not with her.
“Why are you crying?
What’s wrong?”
Rose’s voice pitches into hysteria, and
I stroke her hair,
Unable to answer.
“WEATHER AND TRAFFIC ON THE NINES.”
I fumble for the snooze button,
Find it,
Hit it, and
Roll over in bed.
After the third time,
I’m really late and expect Dad to come in,
Telling me in his warning voice that I’ll be late for school.
He doesn’t.
I lay there, listening to the sound of my heart beating,
The shifting of the house, and
The rumble of the garage door as it opens and then closes.
Twenty minutes later, the garage opens again.
Only a few seconds pass before a soft knock lands on my door.
“Olivia?” Dad asks. “I’m working from home today.
I’ll be in my office.”
I roll over and look at him so he knows I’ve heard him.
I find him watching me while his hands twist around each other,
While he assesses me to see if I’m okay.
My skin hides everything my eyes can’t.
Dad doesn’t have a camera, and
He’s not a photographer, but
He sees.
“I called the school and excused you.”