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

“No.”

“Wow.” I heard one of the chairs from the table scrape against the floor. “You were right, Anna. There is a lot I don’t know about you.”

I laughed. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Still have soda?”

I wordlessly opened the refrigerator, grabbed the green can, and walked over to him. I set it on the table in front of him, looked down at my clothes again, and finally realized what I was still wearing. I looked disgusting.

“I’m just going to uh . . . I’m going to change.”

“You look fine, Ari . . . Anna,” he said, correcting himself.

“I look like I just got back from running. I’ll be right back. I have to get my stuff anyway.”

“I found a few volunteers,” he offered before I could take a step. “My parents and Sherri said that they’d be willing to help us out.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll be right back.”

I hadn’t thought about why he was here, honestly. All that had been running through my mind was the fact that he was seeing me all sweaty, disgusting hair, and gross clothes; I didn’t smell too great either.

I forgot that he was here so we could work on our project. I sucked in a deep breath and took the stairs two at a time, bursting into my room. I changed as fast as I could, spritzed some perfume on. I pulled my hair into a ponytail, hoping that it looked better than when it was down. I grabbed my book bag and walked back down the stairs. I walked into the kitchen and sat down in the chair across from him.

“Did you want to read what I wrote of the paper last night?” I asked as I pulled out my books.

“Yeah, sure. Let me know what you want me to look up, too, please? I meant it when I said I want to do half of it.”

I was surprised that he was being so nice to me. I know that we’d seemed to have made some sort of non-verbal agreement to deal with this without ripping each other to pieces, but I was still shocked that he was keeping his word. I pulled my notes and the assignment out of my folder, sliding it across the table to him. He looked at the chair next to me and moved over, pushing his books with him and smiling awkwardly at me.

“It’s just . . . easier.”

“Yeah.”

He read over what I’d written, and I flipped back to the page with my likes and dislikes from the other day.

I think you’re beautiful.

I reached up and played with my ponytail, closing my eyes for a minute in an attempt to get rid of the memory. It wasn’t something that I was fond of, and the less I thought about it, the better off I would be.

“Your perfume smells nice,” he murmured, his eyes trained on the paper.

I looked at him, my mouth gaping open as my hand fell from my hair and slapped against the edge of the table. I winced, crying out a little when it landed on the bruises on my wrist, naturally. I pulled it against my chest, gently rubbing my fingers over it in an attempt to soothe it.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

He leaned forward, and I flinched back as he reached toward me.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said. He stared at my wrist and looked something very close to agonized. “I will never do that again.”

I let him gently grab my fingertips and place my hand on the table between us. He carefully pushed back the sleeve of my shirt, and I blinked at him when he hissed.

“Shit, Arianna, I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispered, actually sliding his hand underneath mine and wrapping his fingers around my palm. “I didn’t . . . I was running so late, and I couldn’t get anything into my locker like I should’ve and . . .” His eyes were still focused on my wrist. “You were right about everything. You were only trying to help and I—”

“Okay, listen,” I said, my voice shaking as I slid my hand away and placed both of mine in my lap. “We’ll start over, all right? We’ll forget any of this happened, and we’ll just start over.”

“I can’t just forget about this.”

“Why not? It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a big damn deal, okay? A big fucking deal because I’ve never . . . I would never touch a girl that way. I’ve been raised better than that, and I just—”

“Because it was me,” I said, looking down at the table. “And I’m supposed to be treated like shit by everyone.”

“No. No, you’re not. I had no right. None of us have any right.” He leaned forward, buried his hands in his hair, and groaned. “We shouldn’t treat anyone the way we’ve treated you, and it’s not fair.”

I sat, flicking my thumbnail against the bottom of the table.

“Let’s just umm . . . we should really get started on the project,” I said and grabbed the paper he’d dropped in front of him.

“Yeah, sure.” He kept his head down and his hands in his hair for a few minutes longer. I fidgeted so I didn’t feel so damned uncomfortable while he sat there, staring at the wood grains of my kitchen table.

After working for a few more hours, Dad finally arrived home and decided that he’d order pizza for dinner. I invited Evan to stay, but he declined, so we wrapped things up for the night.

Sighing, I stood up when Evan did. He slung his book bag over his shoulder. He kept his eyes down.

“I’ll walk you out,” I said. He turned on his heel.

I followed him out onto the porch.

“It’s not fair, Anna,” he whispered. “And I’m not going to do anything like that to you ever again. I’ll make sure that no one else does, either.”

I mentally scoffed before sighing and leaning against the side of the door.

“Evan, it’s not a big