Fourteen by C.M. Smith (short story to read .txt) 📕

and I was surprised that he looked almost apologetic. “I may not be able to say anything when I’m at school, but this is my house, and I don’t want you here anymore.”

He grabbed his notebook and leaned over the chair to pull his bag onto it. Then he grabbed all of his things and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said over his shoulder as he turned.

“Yeah.”

He walked out, the door slamming behind him. I walked the same path and flipped the locks before going back into the kitchen and grabbing my things. Back in my room, I collapsed onto my bed and stared at the ceiling.

The worst part about all of this wasn’t that I’d be going it alone. The worst part was that he didn’t have an answer to any of my questions. Yes, I’d interrupted him a few times, but in the end, he could have said something instead of just walking out. He didn’t have an excuse. He didn’t have a reason.

It just was.

And I was the butt of the jokes. I got the short end of the stick simply because I was different from the rest of them.

I couldn’t wait until graduation.

I saw the white orchid hanging off the locker as I walked down the hallway the next morning, but it didn’t register. Guys were always sticking flowers of sorts into their girlfriend’s lockers just to be cute and make them screech annoyingly for the rest of the morning, so I didn’t think anything of it.

It was, however, unusual to see it hanging from my locker.

My bag fell from my shoulder, and my mouth dropped open as I stared at it. There had to be a mistake. This couldn’t be right. Someone must have got the lockers switched and accidentally put it on mine.

Or someone was playing a joke on me.

I looked around the hallway and found that everyone was staring at me as well. I reached up with shaky hands and pulled it down. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a white note card attached to the stem fell down against the back of my hand. I flipped it open, my eyes widening when I saw the handwriting.

You were right.

You don’t deserve any of it.

Let me make it up to you.

I stared down at his words, my hands shaking as I traced over the writing with my fingertips. Maybe it was still a joke. Maybe he had some kind of hidden camera somewhere in the hallway, waiting for my reaction so that he and his friends could laugh over it for years to come. Or maybe he was dared to do it and wanted to see how far I’d let it go.

I grabbed my book bag and opened my locker. I shoved my book bag inside and grabbed my books, setting the flower carefully on top of my bag and untangling the note from it. I ignored everyone, kept my chin up, and I walked to class. I slipped inside, thankful that it was still empty, and walked over to my stool, plopping down onto it and resting my elbows on the table. Then I surreptitiously grabbed the note card from the top and flipped it open again.

It was his handwriting. I’d only gotten a few glimpses of it when I had attempted to help him pick up his papers, but it was unmistakable.

What was he doing? What was he trying to pull? This wasn’t making any sense. This couldn’t be right. Since when did anything I say to anyone actually have this kind of outcome?

I looked up when the door opened and my heart jumped into my throat as Evan walked in. I stared at him as he slowly walked over, then sat down in the empty stool beside me and carefully placed his books on the table.

“So?” he asked, looking over at me.

“What are you trying to pull?” I choked, looking down at the note again.

“I’m not trying to pull anything.” I watched from the corner of my eye as he fidgeted with the edges of his textbook. “You’ve never done anything to me, and I never really gave you a chance. I’d like to . . .”—he sucked in a deep breath and sat up straight—“I’d like to get to know you.”

“Who put you up to this?”

“Jesus Christ, Arianna, no one put me up to this.” He sighed, exasperated. “This is something I want to do.”

“Why?”

“Because you were right.”

“I have a feeling I won’t be hearing that phrase often.”

“No, probably not.”

I looked over at him and smirked when I saw the one on his face. I sighed and turned back to the note card.

“Fine. One chance, Evan. If you really want it, you’ve got it, but you won’t get another one.”

“I got it.”

“Okay.”

“Did you still want to switch partners?”

“I guess . . . not,” I mumbled, hating myself and hoping that he meant what he was saying.

If he really meant everything he’d said, we’d get along just fine. The problem was I couldn’t be entirely sure. In his opinion, he might’ve been taking a big chance on talking to me and befriending me, but it sure as hell felt like I was the one jumping off a cliff.

“There’s a party at Steve’s next weekend,” he said slowly. “Would you like to go?”

I looked at him, wondering whom he thought he was talking to. Now, I was almost positive the flower had been a joke. He wanted me to go to a party full of people that would rather trip me than talk to me and treat me like a normal human being? He wanted me to go to a party that I wasn’t even invited to with people that I couldn’t stand.

“Are you serious?”

“Very.”

“Why?”

“Are you going to stop asking me that question anytime soon?”

“Are you going to stop giving me cause to?”

He sighed, exasperated once again. “So that I can get to know