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

and I don’t understand why you’re trying to get to know me now.” I sucked in a deep breath. “No, wait. You feel guilty. Right.”

“I do,” he said, and I felt my heart shrink back just that much further in my chest. “But I wasn’t lying when I said that you were right and that you didn’t deserve anything we’d ever done to you. I do want to know you, Arianna.”

“Then you need to stop using my full name because I will hurt you.”

I opened my eyes and looked to find that he was staring at the palms of his hands.

“Steve is an asshole,” he said “There’s no excuse for him and what he said about you sitting—”

“I get it,” I interrupted and wrapped my arms tightly around my legs.

“You’re not that big, Anna.”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, tightening my hold on my legs and staring at the remote on the coffee table.

“You seemed to agree with him a few days ago.”

“You ran out of the classroom before you could hear me tell him that he was being an ass.”

I slowly looked at him to find that he was still staring at his palms.

“What?”

“That was uncalled for.” He turned his hands over only to stare at the backs of them instead. “He wanted to get a rise out of you, and he got it.” He looked at me, staring directly into my eyes. “I told him that he was being an ass.”

“Why didn’t you say anything when he asked about me . . . molesting you?”

I nearly choked on the word.

“I was being an asshole too.” He conceded turning his hands back over and flexing his fingers.

“Why did you say that you thought I was beautiful as your lie?” I asked, chewing on the inside of my cheek.

“I copped his attitude for the rest of the day, and everyone else teased me about defending you. I was pissed, and I took it out on you because at the time, you were the one that caused all of it for me. I took a lot out on you, and I shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t want to be your scapegoat anymore.”

“And I’m going to try really hard to make sure that you aren’t.”

“Okay.” I went back to staring at the coffee table, still chewing on the inside of my cheek as I felt him shift around on the other end of the couch.

“Hey, can we start over?” he asked after a few silent moments.

I shrugged and picked at the hem of my worn-out jeans. “Yeah, whatever.”

I stared at him with my mouth open when he stood up and headed for the door. I rolled my eyes at his back and rested my chin on my upraised knee when he walked out. I guess his version of starting over and mine were very different. At least my version kept him in the same room.

“Jerk,” I said under my breath.

Once again, I heard a knock at the door. Snapping my teeth together, I unfolded myself from the couch and pulled open the door to find Evan standing on the other side.

“Anna!” he exclaimed with a smile on his face.

I blinked at him. He seriously walked outside and knocked on my door again.

“You are some kind of crazy.” I laughed.

He shrugged innocently, and I moved out of the way, letting him back into the house. I stared at the back of his head, not sure what I was supposed to do now that we were in the same position we’d been in a few minutes ago.

“Do you want something to drink?” I asked finally, tapping the balls of my hand against my thighs.

“Mountain Dew?”

I went to the fridge, grabbed the can and a bottle of tea for me. When I returned to the hallway, he was nowhere to be found, so I peeked around the stairs. He was sitting back on the couch and staring at the television. I shuffled over to him and handed him the can before taking my place back on the couch and twisting the top off my tea.

“What’s your favorite show?” he asked, turning to look at me as he popped the top of the can.

“Grey’s Anatomy, I guess.”

“What’s the obsession everyone has with doctor shows?” he asked, his face serious as he turned to me and cupped the can in his hands. “They’re all the same.”

“In a sense,” I agreed, and turned to him. “The storylines are different, though. So are the personal lives of the characters.”

“How many times can you watch a doctor go in for surgery, though, honestly? My mother loves that show too, and I just don’t understand the appeal.”

I laughed and shrugged, sipping from my bottle.

“The actors are pretty.”

“Oh!” He chuckled. “Pretty actors make all the difference.”

“Usually.”

“I see.”

“What’s yours?”

“Ghost Hunters.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, and he fidgeted, tapping against the sides of the can.

“Really?”

“It’s the only show I watch. Sherri has this thing with ghosts and all that.” He shrugged again. “It’s interesting.”

“My dad and I used to watch that all the time,” I said. “Now it’s all documentaries and history and poker.”

“Your father watches poker?”

I chuckled. “Sometimes he’ll get together with some of his buddies and have a poker night.”

“Here?”

“Oh, no.” I scoffed, waving at him. “He always goes to their place.”

“You and your dad don’t seem close.” I looked up at him and shrugged, picking at the green label on my bottle. “I figured that you would be. Since it’s just the two of you . . .” His voice trailed off.

“You figure things a lot for not knowing me that well.”

“Sorry.” He looked down and brought the can up to his mouth.

We sat in silence once again as he played with the top of his can, and I stared down at my lap in an attempt to think of something to talk about.

“You said that you cooked, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you make homemade macaroni and cheese?”

“Of course.”

“Will you show me?” he asked.

“You seriously want me to teach you how to make mac and