After Cooper leaves, I stay at the library for a little while, sitting and thinking.
My knees are pulled up under my sweater, my hood over my head, as I chew on the cuff.
There’s got to be some sort of catch here. He’s a football player. Yet, nothing about him gave that away. If it wasn’t for the fact that my sister told me he was, and the letterman jacket he had on, I wouldn’t have known.
He was friendly, a little overly smiley, but he was nice. Too nice. I don’t trust it.
It’s got to be an act, right?
He’s not at all what I expected. The biggest shock was that he actually wanted to learn and do the work. He didn’t once ask me to do the equation when he didn’t understand; instead, he asked a lot of questions to make sure he was doing the work correctly.
He didn’t want me to do the work for him. He wanted to do it for himself.
I don’t understand. I want to tell myself that not all jocks are assholes, but I’m not sure I would believe myself.
Every other one I’ve ever encountered has proven me otherwise.
Eventually, I pack up and leave, no longer having a purpose to be at the library. I did my work before he arrived, coming in an hour early to get it done.
The sun is starting to set as I make the walk home. It’s on the chilly side tonight. I wrap my arms around myself to keep warm.
Headphones in, I keep my head down on the way.
“Blakeyyyyyyyy.” I hear someone call my name as the song is changing over.
Brows furrowed, I pull my headphones off and look over.
Oh god. It’s her again.
“Blakey Poo!” Val says cheerfully. “I’ve found you again.”
Why does that sound like something a crazy woman from a horror movie would say?
“Hi,” I grunt.
“Get in, get in.” She waves me over. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
“No, that's okay. I’m good.”
“Blake,” she says my name like a mother scolding their child. “Get in before I make you.”
“W-what?” I splutter.
“It’s late, dark, and there could be serial killers out here,” she whispers the last part, looking over her shoulder.
“Yeah? How do I know you’re not the serial killer?”
“Me?” Her eyes widen. “I could never even hurt a fly. Okay, that’s a lie, I use my electric bug zapper all the time. I can’t help it. The little bastards are fucking annoying. All that buzzing in my ear? It’s enough to drive me crazy.”
“Like you with me,” I mutter under my breath. “I’d love to hit you with a bug zapper right about now.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” I sigh heavily and agree to let the crazy girl give me a ride home before she makes good on her promise and forces me.
“Sooo, how was tonight?” she asks, practically bouncing in her seat.
“It was fine.”
