Miss Me Not

"Look, scholar boy, I don't need your help. I just don't care about this stuff. Don't take it personally."

"Why?" he asked, looking down at the book.

"Why, what?" I asked, trying to cover my impatient sigh.

"Why don't you care?"

I eyed him, wondering if he was yanking my chain. "Seriously, either you're trying to be an ass or you're dumb as one," I said, tapping my pencil on the table in aggravation that we were even having this conversation.

He raised his eyebrows at me before answering in short drawn out words. "I. Want. To. Help. You. Got me?"

"Do I have 'charity case' stamped on my forehead? Or wait, are you trying to punk me? Because seriously, I've seen all the movies. Pretend to befriend a social outcast and then just when she starts to trust you, throw pig's blood or something equally as macabre on her in front of all your cronies. I'm not a fool," I said, dismissing him as I jotted down the next answer on my worksheet.

He remained silent, and after a moment, I couldn't resist chancing a discreet look at him beneath the veil of my hair. His eyes clashed with mine, and I swallowed the sudden uncomfortable lump in my throat from the hurt look on his face.

I actually felt a little guilty which was a shock. I didn't do guilt anymore. I may pay the price for my sins for the rest of my life, but I'd vowed I'd no longer get trapped into feeling guilty. I didn't ask for anything. I didn't owe anyone anything. Anger replaced the guilt that was making me feel emotions that were dead to me. Damn him. Why couldn't he take pity on some stray animal or something? Wasn't there a whale to save or some dolphin with a broken fin that needed attention?

The silence between us stretched on uncomfortably, and I tried to ignore it as I continued to scratch the answers out on my paper. I waited for him to move on to the next question, but he remained stoically silent with his arms crossed over his chest. I knew this game. He could sit there like that until hell froze over for all I cared. I would not cave.

And that's pretty much how the rest of tutoring went. I searched for the answers while he sat silently next to me, never moving a muscle. When the hour ended, I stood up and gathered my things, preparing to leave without a word.

"Same time tomorrow?" he said, leaving before I could.

I stood there shell shocked. He didn't really think I was coming back again? I'd pretty much chalked up the whole experience as a failed attempt at being normal.

Dean was long gone by the time I finally shook myself out of my stupor and headed out of the library with the clearly aggravated librarian on my heals. I was tempted to tell her to get a grip. So she had to stay five extra minutes while I stood like a guppy with my mouth open. You didn't see me bitching that I was forced to stay late at the bane of my existence. Shit happens. Get used to it.

I wasn't surprised when she left me on the sidewalk outside the front doors of the school without a word, hurrying off toward the lone car in the parking lot.

People didn't enjoy being sucked into the shadows that were my constant companion. They wanted perky, cheerful and butterflies out the ass as they danced beneath rainbows and singing birds. They didn't want silence and darkness.

The two-mile walk home went fast as I contemplated the disastrous tutoring session. I mentally kicked myself for even saying anything. I'd broken my code by opening my mouth. One thing was for sure, he could wait all afternoon for me, but I wouldn't be there the next day. No way in hell.

***

He was waiting for me the next day when I strolled in five minutes late. I wasn't going to come. All day I told myself I was going to leave him high and dry. I didn't need his psycho-analysis shit. I'd been heading out of the locker room, intending to head right home, but my feet seemed to have a mind of their own, and here I was. I convinced myself it was because we had unfinished business. My plan was to basically tell him to eff-off and then I'd leave. Quick and clean. No harm no foul.

My eff-off moment never came though because he threw me for a loop.

"Hey, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I know I came across as do-gooder-asshole," he greeted me, raking a hand through his short dark hair. It stood up slightly from his touch, giving him a rumpled just-woke-up look. "I can be pushy sometimes. Forgive me?" he said, holding his hand out for me to shake.

I stood there, looking at his outstretched hand, not sure what to say or do. I didn't do touching, but for the first time in forever, I wanted to break my rules. My hesitation was blatant and after a moment he dropped his hand and stuffed it in the pocket of his low-cut jeans.

"So, am I forgiven?" he asked, grinning at me.

"Uh, sure. It's no big deal," I said, confused that he was still hanging around. Years ago, I would have given a limb to have someone like him pay attention to me, but now it seemed off. I couldn't help wondering if I really was being punked.

"Sweet. Okay, here's my plan. You're basically done with the study guide, so I figured we could go outside to study. You know, enjoy the weather now that the humidity won't suck the life force out of us," he said, still smiling.

He had a point. Living in Florida seemed appealing to Northerners, but in reality, eight months out of the year was spent combating the hot, sticky, tropical temperatures that made you wish for a freak snowstorm. The small window of cooler weather was pretty much a joke compared to what winters were like up north, but as Floridians, we really didn't know better. Thankfully, November was just a few days away and normally kicked off the "that's right, we don't live in hell" season, which usually started late November and lasted until February.

"I guess that works," I said hesitantly, not sure I wanted our private tutoring sessions to be on display. Thursdays were a popular day for extracurricular activities, especially now that the weather was cooler. Ordinarily, sitting outside was no big deal. No one paid attention to me anyway, but being with Mr. Popularity would change that. I could just imagine their scrutiny. The scandalous gossip I was sure they wouldn't be able to resist. Their golden boy being tainted by the "shadow" was sure to make several of them go scrambling for a paper bag to breathe into.

"Ready?" Dean asked, waiting expectantly for me to finish the inner dilemma going on in my head.

"I guess," I repeated a little more forcibly than I intended.

He looked at me questioningly, but I returned his stare indifferently. It wasn't my reputation on the line. I could handle the stares and snarky comments. The question is could he?