He Loves Me...He Loves You Not

The interior of the office is bland and bright. The white walls, white countertops, and pale carpeting, makes me feel like I’m outdoors on a sunny day without my sunglasses. My eyes sting and I close them as a migraine materializes and throbs in my temples.

“Found it!” she squeals and the sound of her raised voice makes my head throb harder.

I don’t open my eyes, but I hear her shuffle across the carpet and then she dials my Mom’s number. The office grows quiet for a moment. “Ah, yes, Mrs. Davis? Hi. This is Mrs. Gephart at the school. I’m fine, thank you. Riley isn’t feeling well. She’d like to go home, but we need permission from you first. Sure. One sec. Riley?”

My eyes snap open. “Yeah?”

Mrs. Gephart places her hand over the receiver. “Your mother would like to speak with you.” I walk to the phone and Mrs. Gephart places it in my hand.

“Mom.”

“Riley, what’s wrong?”

I’m on the verge of tears and my voice cracks. “Mom, I’m sick I want to go home.”

“Sweetheart, it’s only the second day of school. How many classes do you have left today?”

“Three.”

“Three. Can’t you hang in there for the rest of the day?”

I break out into full on hysterics. “Mom, I just want to come home!” Mrs.Gephart hands me a tissue and I blow my nose.

“Okay, sweetie, it’s okay. Put Mrs. Gephart back on the phone.”

I hand the phone back to Mrs. Gephart. “Thanks, Mrs. Davis. You have a good day, too. Uh huh. Bye.” She hangs up the phone and I sniffle. My tears have stopped momentarily, but I know it’s only a matter of time before they pick back up again. Mrs. Gephart waddles over to me and pats me on the back. “There, there, dear. You just go home, get some rest, and feel better.”

I blow my nose again. “I will.” My throat sounds clogged, like I just sucked down a jar full of honey.

Mrs. Gephart smiles. “Good. I’ll let the rest of your teachers know you went home early.”

“Thank you.” I turn to leave and I stop when Mrs. Gephart speaks. “Oh and honey, whoever he is, he’s not worth your time.”

I nod and walk out of the office.

At my locker I remove the books I need to take home and Mrs. Gephart’s last comment is still ringing in my ears. Am I that obvious? Do I have the words ‘boy problems’ scribbled all over my face? If Mrs. Gephart has noticed, why hasn’t Rosa? Or my mom? Or anyone else for that matter.

It’s the middle of seventh period and the hall is abandoned. I’m glad. I don’t want to see anyone when I’m looking so disheveled and I don’t want to answer any questions if somebody asks me one.

My books thud as I continue stacking them on top of one another and suddenly, I feel like I’m not alone. I stand slowly and look over my shoulder and Henry is across from me at his locker, propped up against it. “Where are you going?” he asks.

I ignore him and pick my books up off the floor.

When I start walking he follows me down the hall. “Riley, where are you going?”

Even though I want to answer him, I don’t. I hum quietly, trying to drown out the sound of his voice. “Riley, if this is about this morning, I’m sorry, but you—you know I can’t…”

And then I snap. I’m wild, crazy and full of emotion and I don’t care. I throw my books down and shove him. “It’s not about this morning, it’s about, you! You’re so selfish! And mean! Do you even know how I feel? Do you even care? Do you know what it feels like to always come second? Do you know what it’s like for me to watch you with her, her! Do you know what it’s like when the one person you care about the most in the world doesn’t acknowledge you? Or keeps you a secret. Do you know what it’s like to feel like you’re being ripped in half? Well, do you?”

Henry’s eyes are wide. He raises his hands. “Calm down, Riley, please.” He touches my cheek and the warmth from his touch spreads through my entire body. “You don’t understand.”

I corner him and dig my finger into his chest and push my words out, even though I’m fighting the half of me that’s screaming touch me, infect me, love me. “I do understand!” I shout. “Don’t tell me what to do. You’re always telling me what to do and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of hiding! I’m tired of being your little play thing!”

I reach out to him, but I notice my trembling fingers and decide against touching him again. One more touch and it might be my undoing and so far, I’m holding my own.

His hand inches toward mine. His fingers are needy. “Riley, you know how I feel. You are not and never will be my play thing. You have my heart.”

I pull away from him, backing up. “No I don’t. I can’t tell if you really feel that way or you’re just feeding me load of crap so that I’ll do whatever you want. And I’m sorry Henry, but I can’t do or be who you want anymore.”