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

“You keep giving me that ultimatum. Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“I don’t want to get hurt anymore.” I looked at him and clenched my jaw. “And that’s all you and your friends have done since middle school. I’m not sorry for making you work for something that I’m scared to give away to anyone.” I sat up a little straighter, placing my hands in my lap. “Take it or leave it.”

He stared at me until Mr. Streeter called us to attention, and I looked away. I had a lot to catch up on since I’d been so out of it yesterday, and I couldn’t be concerned with Evan Drake staring holes into the side of my head.

I looked down when Evan slid a piece of paper underneath my hand, and glanced over at him. He tilted his head before looking back to the front of the room, and I sighed as I unfolded the paper and pulled it into my lap.

I’ll take it and raise you a

secret that I guard with my life.

I have to wear a retainer to bed because

I sucked my thumb until I was thirteen.

My eyes widened, and I looked at him, crumpling the paper in my fist. He slowly looked back at me, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk.

“Seriously?” I mouthed, leaning forward.

He nervously licked his lips. I looked to the front of the room again. I kept the paper crumpled in my fist as I ripped out an entire sheet of paper from my notebook.

I won’t tell anyone.

I folded it and slid it over to him, watching from the corner of my eye as he pulled it down into his lap and unfolded it. He grabbed his pen and awkwardly wrote on the note in his lap. He folded it back up and handed it to me underneath the table before looking up at the board and fidgeting with his pen.

You had to use an entire sheet

of paper for that? You’re killing

trees that way, you know.

I rolled my eyes, placed the paper on the table, and grabbed my pen.

I just thought that you’d like to know.

And I didn’t kill the damn tree.

Someone else killed the thing

and made paper out of it.

You’re just as guilty!

I slid it over to him and stuffed it underneath his textbook. Resting my elbow on the table, I leaned my chin into my hand and forced myself to keep the smile off my face. I looked over at him when he slid the paper back over to me, and he openly grinned at me.

I use my notebooks for things

like schoolwork, Anna.

I do not use an entire sheet

of paper for a tiny little declaration.

Huffing, I stared at his handwriting and pursed my lips.

I’m sure you’ve never had letters

written to you, then, right?

Brittany hasn’t tried to

compare you to a flower or anything?

Although, I’m not sure how

that would work seeing as how

she can barely pass gym class.

He laughed aloud as I slowly leaned away from him. Mr. Streeter fell silent, and I internally winced. Oh, this wouldn’t be good.

“Is there something funny about this, Mr. Drake?” Mr. Streeter asked dryly, turning to look at Evan while holding a piece of chalk in his hand.

“Oh, well, you know . . . no?” he said, shrugging and laughing sheepishly. “I just . . . um . . . I was just thinking about something.”

“Uh huh,” the teacher said. “Think about human physiology, please.”

“Right. Of course. Sure.”

Mr. Streeter turned back to his chalkboard, and I relaxed a little and looked over at Evan. He was scribbling furiously, and I briefly wondered if that was a deal breaker. I took the folded paper from him, swallowing hard as I pulled it into my lap and unfolded it.

That was mean.

But completely true.

We ended our note with a confirmation that he was still coming over after practice, and I slipped the paper into the back of my notebook. Smiling to myself, I looked up at the board and listened to the rest of the lecture, feeling pretty good about what the rest of the day might bring.

I was late, getting back from my run and found Evan leaning against his car in the driveway. Looking down at my outfit, I groaned and stopped in front of him. I pulled my ear buds out and grabbed my iPod from my pocket.

“You run,” he said.

“Yes.” I turned off my iPod and wrapped the cord around it.

“I didn’t know that.” He pushed off his car.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Evan,” I said a little breathless as I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve.

“Like what?” he asked, following me as I walked up to the front door, pulling the key from my pocket and pushing it open wide enough so we could both get through.

“Like I’m a pretty damn good cook,” I said and grabbed a bottle of iced tea from the refrigerator as I set my keys and iPod by the door.

“And?”

And? What more did he want to know? What did it matter to him?

“And I’ve been riding a dirt bike since I was old enough to ride a regular bike.”

“You’re kidding.”

I smirked to myself and took a drink of my tea as I stared at the white door of the refrigerator. The one thing my father and I had always bonded over was dirt bikes and motocross. My mother had absolutely hated the whole idea, and whenever I mentioned wanting to compete, she quickly did her best to lay a guilt trip on me. It always worked.

I hadn’t had the heart to do it since she’d died. It wasn’t the same when my mother wasn’t there to tell me how