12 Years Ago
Benoit Bardot is the bane of my existence, and most certainlynotthe object of my desire. In fact, he has incessantly perturbed me ever since I first met him in middle school. He was gangly then, the same height as I was, all limbs and floppy hair.
Though I will deny this until the day I die, when I first saw him, I actually thought he was attractive… cute, even. It was summer and his skin was sun-kissed, his hair a little bit lighter than I would learn it gets in the winter. He had a mouthful ofbraces, each rubber band a different color—I didn’t even know they let you do that. I was in the middle of a traumatic period in my life.
Now I know better.
My dad lugged me out to Sassafras right when I was on the cusp of puberty, and ever since, Benoit Bardot has been a thorn in my side.
He was used to being the best… but so was I.
Our motivations were probably even predictably similar. He needed to work for attention—to distinguish himself from his close-knit family that all had talent or beauty—or talentandbeauty—oozing out of every pore.
I also sought attention. But where Benoit actually received it from those closest to him, I did not. My parents were going through the most cliche of divorces, fighting all the time, exhausted whenever I required any bit of them. In my formative years, I quickly learned not to be another issue for dearest Mother and Father.
We have so much going on right now, Colette.As if I was something my mother could categorize and file away for dealing with later.
Some kids rebel when their parents divorce. I excelled.
My parents weren’t going to praise me? Fine. My teachers and coaches sure would. And all of that was working well for me.
Until Benoit motherfucking Bardot strutted in with his stupid multicolor braces.
He made me fight tooth and nail for the title of valedictorian. I worked my ass off for it, agonizing over every damn percentage point on every damn assignment. In the end, I got exactly what I’d been working toward for four years. Iwasvaledictorian and I had to sit on the stage next to Benoit, our class salutatorian, and his stupidly smug face.
As if everything was going exactly to plan for him.
It was incredibly irritating.
That’s what I’m thinking about while I stare absentmindedly at the grass bending to the will of the wind in the front yard of my best friend Maya’s house. Maya is my antithesis, which is precisely why I like her so much.
Where I do my best to never get in trouble, Maya is constantly in trouble. Her parents are out of town this weekend so obviously she is hosting a summer kickoff bash or some other completely juvenile name. I can hear her voice in my head saying, “Wearejuveniles, Cole!”
But it was loud in there, and I haven’t felt like a juvenile since I was… well, I can’t remember a time when I did, honestly. And as one of the youngest in our grade, I always felt like I had something to prove.
My parents divorce didn’t help, either. The therapist I was required to see post-divorce told me I had been forced to “grow up too fast.” I didn’t feel much different, though…
I huff out a breath because, damn, I’m moodier than usual tonight. I take a look at the drink in my hand. Some sort of trashcan punch. I’ve never had a sip of alcohol before tonight, always too scared of the repercussions of underage drinking. My worst nightmare was getting kicked off of one of the many teams I was on.
We’ve graduated now though, and this punch is strong…
Suddenly, a shadow casts over me briefly before someone is sitting down beside me on the top step of Maya’s porch.
“Fancy seeing you here, Red.”
Great.
Benoit is a frequent flier at these parties. He’s been to many of them, had many a drink, but he never got kicked off of anything. That feels unfair. I’ve beensogood. For what? It all feels pointless now.
“Benjamin.”
“That’s not my name, Colette.”
I feign surprise. “What?! It’s not? My entire life has been a lie.”
“You haven’t known me your entire life,” he counters.
That’s how it is between us. A volley, back and forth and back and forth. Until someone comes out on top. Usually him—it drives me crazy.
