The Boss Crush

My eyes meet hers, and she shrugs. Could she be right? Could he maybe have some feelings for me?

The thought turns my aching heart into a tirade of excitement. If Lyle has even the slightest interest me, just a hint, that’s all I need to make my entire fucking senior year worthwhile.

The nurse comes into the room, and Kira jumps down to the floor.

“I’m heading back to class. You good?” she asks.

“Yeah, thanks, Kira.” Smiling, I’m starting to feel a little bit better about what happened.

Lyle did run across a field to come to my side. He did compliment my art and tell me he’d like to see more. That’s more than he’s ever said to me in my entire life. Before today, the only conversation we ever had was him asking me if the meatball sub was good in the school cafeteria.

That was it. A single question about food.

He never looked at me again after that. But, I saw him, I always saw him.

I saw him as he struggled with geometry. I saw him as he gave a presentation about the color hues in art. I saw him as he climbed the rope with his steel muscles and thick calves.

I saw him everywhere.

Giving me a smile, she walks backward out the door. “That’s what best friends are for.”

The nurse cleans the scrapes on both my knees and bandages them. Once I’m all set, I get a hall pass from her, and start toward my locker to grab my books for my next class.

Standing at my locker, I flip through the books, pulling out the ones I need.

“Well, well, well, look who it is.” Shutting the door on my locker, I see Sandy coming down the hall. “It’s Dirty Dalia, the waste of air.”

Lyle is walking beside her, his eyes meet mine, and I wait to see if he says anything to his sister about how she’s acting. He shifts his gaze, moving to the books in his hand, then takes a sharp left, disappearing down another hall.

He just kept going. He didn’t say shit to her.

Maybe Kira is wrong. He doesn’t like me.

“Tsk, tsk,” Sandy says, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she leans against the locker next to mine. “When are you going to learn, Dalia? When will you finally learn that you don’t fit in here? You don’t fit in anywhere. I know you like my brother. I’ve seen the way you look at him, but you need to understand something. . .” Pausing, she lifts her hand to her face, and starts picking at her long, pink nails. “You’re garbage, you’re trash, you will never, ever, be on our level. My brother and I, we’re out of your league, and you just need to stay where you belong. Face down in the dirt.”

Gritting my teeth, I veer my stare. “Your brother helped me; I don’t think he sees me as trash.” My voice isn’t as a strong as I want it to be, but I’m proud of myself for not staying silent for once.

“My brother only did that to make himself look better. He’s the captain of the football team. He wants to keep it that way. But don’t be fooled by his help, Dalia. His kindness only goes skin deep. He’ll never like you because he’s better than you. The sooner you realize that, the better.”

Sandy starts to walk again, crashing into my shoulder on purpose, and slamming me into my locker on her way by.

She’s right. I know she’s right.

Sandy and her brother live in a different world than me, with completely different lives.

But it’s not because they have money or because she’s the head cheerleader and he’s the captain of the football team. . .

We live in different worlds because I will never be as cold or self-centered as them. I will never let money rule my life, or let it define who I am.

I will always do what’s right.

Because that’s who I want to be.

“Come on, Dalia, don’t be a prude. It’ll be fun. Forget about what happened earlier today, it doesn’t matter.” Kira grabs my arm, tugging it in against her cheek. “Please?” She looks up at me and bats her lashes. “Pretty please?”

Grimacing, my lips fold down. “I don’t know. You know I’m not really into those types of parties. Everyone gets all shit faced, and acts stupid—”

“Exactly, that’s the best part!” she blurts out. “Dalia, it’s our senior year, we need to make it to at least one party. Just one, that’s all I ask.”

“Yeah, but are we even invited? Did anyone ask you to go? Because no one asked me. Won’t it be weird if we just show up?”

Rolling her eyes, she groans, “Dalia, you’re killing me.” Hanging her head, she drops my arm, and throws herself back on my bed. “You don’t get invited to these things, no one gets invited. Word spreads, and people just show up. Poof! It’s party magic.” She wriggles her fingers like she’s just thrown sparkles into the air.