When he saw the looks on our faces, his cheeks went red. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I know you’re girls... it’s just you’re my friends and everything... and... oh, hell, I didn’t mean to be a dick.” Okay, maybe he wasn’t a complete dolt. I shrugged, letting him know he was cool—with me, at least. Rachel wouldn’t look at him. “Rachel, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me. You know it’s just my verbal diarrhea brought on by a bad case of Kylie angst. Forgive me, darlin’.” Daniel was laying it on thick and Rachel was defenseless against his evil attack of charm.
Rachel smiled at him. “I understand,” she told him, and I thought I would gag at her simpering. I loved Rachel, don’t get me wrong. But I wished she would grow a pair when it came to Daniel. He unknowingly walked all over her. Daniel was not an asshole by nature, just really self-centered and egocentric. He was a good friend, though, and fiercely protective of Rachel and me, which is why it was so easy to dismiss his moments of jerkiness.
But Rachel had it so bad that I felt horrible for her. She had loved Daniel pretty much since we could formulate words. She held him up as some sort of perfect specimen of man. She never dated, holding out hope for her fairy-tale ending. Poor girl. And Daniel had no flipping clue. Okay, hewasa dolt. Because Rachel was stunning. Her brown hair wasn’t mousy like mine; it was lovely and curly in a way I always envied. She was shorter than I but possessed curves that clearly stated “I am Girl, hear me roar.” She and Daniel would have made the most gorgeous couple, if only he could see past his own idiocy.
“I just can’t take her crap anymore,” Daniel moaned, bringing the conversation back to him and Kylie. Rachel, being the total nurturer, rubbed the back of his hand.
“Danny, you are only seventeen. You really don’t need all the hassle.” As if I couldn’t see the true motive behind her words.
Well, I was less diplomatic. I leaned over and grabbed a fry from Daniel’s tray. “Just dump her, Danny. She’s a serious wack job. One day you’ll come home and she’ll have boiled your guinea pig.” Daniel arched that annoying eyebrow in my direction and started eating his less-than-edible hamburger.
Rachel frowned at me, clearly irritated by my lack of sensitivity. Excuse me if I didn’t understand why people wasted so much energy on relationships that made them miserable. I had an awesome example of what functional love was supposed to look like and so much of what I saw around me was anything but that—which, I guess, is why I never bothered with the whole dating thing. Nothing lived up to the standards that I had set for myself.
Sure, kissing was fun, but it was all that other messy stuff that seemed to come with teenage dating that I could do without.
I’d never had a “boyfriend” per se. I’d gone on a handful of dates, made out some, feinted going to second base at the occasional party after a football game (though I was by no means a slut or a tease; my boundaries were firmly in place). That was all fine and dandy, but I just didn’t see the need to pair off with some random the way Daniel and Rachel did.
Rachel was a hopeless romantic, her crush on Daniel a case in point. She longed for her one great love and all that Romeo and Juliet junk. She had told me more than once that my double-X chromosome must be on the fritz because I was unconcerned with all those female trappings. Not that I was a tomboy or anything; I just had a more masculine approach to hooking up and dating.
“You make it sound so easy, Maggie. One day you’ll get it,” Daniel muttered. I just shrugged and focused on my lunch, letting Rachel do the whole advice-and-consoling thing. She was much better at it, anyway.
While my friends ruminated on the disastrous state of Daniel’s love life, my eyes flitted around the cafeteria. Everyone and everything was just as it should be. The population of Jackson High School existed in their perfectly predestined circles. The jocks ate at their table in the middle of the room, making suggestive comments to the cheerleaders and tripping the A/V geeks as they scuttled by. The goth kids sat in the back, writing bad poetry, or applying more eyeliner, or whatever it was they did. The social outcasts sat on the fringes, not making eye contact. Nothing changed. Everything was so predictable and boring I wanted to gouge my eyes out.
Then my eyes landed onhim. That familiar black hair and beat-up army jacket. It was the not-so-pleasant guy from this morning. Now, there was someone who was anything but boring, even if he seemed a bit psychotically temperamental.
He was making his way through the lunch line, haphazardly dropping food items on his tray. He obviously couldn’t care less about what he was going to eat and seemed to be doing nothing more than going through the motions.
Even from here, his good looks were startling. He definitely had the attention of most of the kids in the room. The girls whispered to each other as they batted their Maybelline-mascaraed eyes in his direction. The jocks stared him down, feeling the threat of encroaching testosterone in their territory.
What was interesting to watch was this guy clearly not giving a shit about any of it. In fact, his body language practically screamed “Leave me alone!” He stood with his shoulders hunched forward, his chin pointed down toward his chest. His shaggy hair hung in his face, obscuring his eyes. He shuffled along as if he were trying not to draw attention to himself.
Good luck there, buddy. Davidson was a small town, and the arrival of a new student was like a bloody steak dropped into a tank full of sharks. He’d be devoured in no time.
I watched him pay for his food without saying a word to the lunch lady. He picked up his tray and moved quickly toward a table near the back. Into the outcast zone. Interesting. This guy could easily have sat anywhere. He could have carved out any place within the social hierarchy that he wanted. But instead he sat at a table by himself without once making eye contact with anyone. He pulled an MP3 player out of his tattered army-jacket pocket and put the earbuds in. His vibe was loud and clear: don’t approach under fear of death!
“Hello! Earth to Maggie!” Rachel wiggled her fingers in my face, breaking my single-minded focus on Mr. Cute and Gloomy. Rachel followed my line of vision and smirked. “Ah, checking out the new kid, huh?” I grunted noncommittally and turned my back on the lonely boy at the rear of the cafeteria. I looked at Rachel and Daniel, who wore identical grins.
“What?” I asked defensively.
“Aw. Mags has a whittle ol’ cwush.” Daniel obnoxiously ruffled my hair. I swatted his hand away and smoothed the flyaway strands.
“You’re as crazy as your Glenn Close psycho girlfriend. I met him this morning and he’s a total ass. Not remotely crush-worthy,” I lied, stuffing a Snickers bar into my mouth in an attempt to limit conversation.
Rachel laughed. “Well, whatever he is, he is smokin’ hot with a capitalH. Though he’s kind of an oddball. He was in my creative-writing class this morning. His name is Clayton Reed and he just moved here last week from Florida. But he’s some kind of social-phobe or something. He wouldn’t talk to anyone and pretty much ignored everyone who tried to talk to him. And Lord knows the girls were trying.”
“Well, he certainly didn’t have any trouble talking when he was chewing me a new one this morning,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at Clayton again.
“What is this? Was he mean to you? Do I need to have a talk with this guy?” Daniel asked, jumping into protective-brother mode. Daniel took his role as pseudosibling very seriously. No one messed with Rachel or me without making a very serious enemy. It was nice to know someone like Daniel had your back. The boy had clout in our little ecosystem and I felt pleasantly protected by Daniel’s friendship. But I recognized the mama-bear glint in his eyes and I had to neutralize it before it led to a confrontation and further humiliation and embarrassment.
“Heel, Danny. I’m a big girl and can fight my own battles. I wasn’t Miss Suzy Sunshine either,” I conceded.
Rachel chuckled. “Now, that sounds more like it. Our Maggie doesn’t take being verbally berated without giving as good as she gets.” I tossed my straw wrapper at my best friend.
“Shut up, Rachel. I’m the nicest person you know,” I told her with mock indignation. Rachel balled up the paper and flicked it back in my direction.
“Yeah, right, Mags. It’s not like you don’t have a reputation for taking people out at the knees or anything,” Daniel joked, jabbing his fork into his fruit cup. Okay, I admit it: I’m not the easiest person to be around sometimes—or maybe even most of the time. I had a habit of speaking my mind without thinking, of telling the absolute truth without any thought of the possible consequences. I had no time for fluff, so I simply didn’t bother.
“I just have a low bullshit tolerance, and I, for one, think that is an admirable trait,” I bit out, a little annoyed with my friends for painting me in such a negative light. Daniel patted my arm, noticing my dark look.
