Maybe Me Page 14

  I look up at the ceiling with a groan, then ground out through gritted teeth, “What do you want?—why are you here?”

  I still have to hold on to the wall for support. When I first heard he was dead, I’d had to do that to keep from collapsing as a jab of pain in my heart so intense I thought I was going to topple over sliced through me. Then I’d had to hold onto the wall again when I’d found him in my room—alive. Now I have to hold it because he’s in my room, as gorgeous as ever, his eyes on me quite delighted that I haven’t thrown him out yet.

  Though man, his eyes are full of something else as well. They keep stalling on my lips, then my eyes; his hungry gaze going back and forth between them as though he can’t decide which to focus on, but wants them both, big time bad. It has me wobbly. And yes, needing to hold on to the wall to keep from doing a face-plant.

  Hunter rubs the back of his neck. “Look, I’m sorry to barge in here—”

  “—break in here,” I correct.

  “Right. Sorry. I felt I had to do it this way, though. I figured if you heard I was dead, things might go differently. If you had a moment to reflect on us—how we used to be, and you had a moment to remember you didn’t always hate me and want me dead—I mean, if you actually thought for a moment I was dead.”

  He had already explained this prank. Loud and clear. So, I grit my teeth, “I still don’t understand why you’ve broken into my room.”

  He nods slowly, like he was getting to that. “The police—Jane, they’re looking for me. They’re going to be checking with all my friends. Checking to see if they’ve seen me, or know where I am. All my friends, Jane. So, I figured the best place to hide would be here.” His eyebrows go up, “Not much chance they’ll look for me here.”

  I swallow. “No. I guess they wouldn’t.”

  Okay, I know I’ve professed how much I hate the guy. I mean, the dude is trouble—to a girl’s heart. But in trouble with the law? The news is rather shocking. I mean, it’s nothing compared to hearing that he was dead—and then seeing him alive. But still.

  I stammer out, “The p—police?” I really can’t believe it. “They’re looking for you?”

  He winces. Then slowly nods. “But it’s a mistake, Jane. I swear.”

  He scrubs a hand over his face. “I just need a place to hide—to stay for a while. I’d like it to be here—with you.”

  I groan, since his words kind of melt my heart a little. But that’s dumb, right? I mean, the dude has caused so much grief to my demented heart, it should jump out of my chest and throw him out the window. Yet all it seems to want to do is jump into his (manly) arms.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “The last time we spoke you said I looked like the street.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Actually, what I said was, I didn’t want to run you over.”

  “Oh, well that’s super romantic,” I mutter dryly. “So I guess it’s weird that I’m so shocked that of all the places you could hide in the entire world you chose to come here.”

  “I know, right? You should have expected me—with roses and chocolates.” His jaw muscles flicker. “They’re in my car by the way.”

  When I give him a withering look he says huskily, “Really.”

  I blink. “What do you mean? You were on the lamb—from the police—but you thought, ‘Hey, while I’m hiding out at her house, I’m going to woo gullible Jane’?”

  “I don’t think you’re gullible. But yeah. The rest—yeah.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Okay, don’t for a moment believe that Hunter Rochester was going to “woo” me. The dude is a total player and the last time he even bothered talking to me was almost a month ago. And yeah, it was about me blending in with the street. (Grrr!) It happened as I passed him and his girlfriend (whose name I can’t speak aloud without puking, so pardon me if I never mention it.) We’ll just call her “skank.” That’s more descriptive anyway and no need for a toilet—so a win-win, really.

  Anyway, him and Skank were coming towards me in the crowded school hallway. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like they were going to talk to me or anything. Nothing like that. They were just heading down the hallway in the opposite direction than me, going to class. But still, seeing them together made my insides shrivel, just like the sight of them together always did. A little piece of me died—every time.

  “Be nice,” I heard him whisper to Skank as I passed them, which was almost as grueling as if I’d heard him say to her—“Punch her in the nose.” Which okay, probably would have hurt worse, I admit that. But still. Hearing him whisper that to her caused me immense pain for some reason.

  So, I was caught up in that—wondering why such an insignificant scene would cause my heart so much grief and trauma, and if it always would. That thought was swimming around in my brain, dominating my focus, then suddenly—whoa!

  I was pulled aside in the crowded hallway—by Hunter.

  I blinked up at him in shock.

  He hadn’t bothered to speak to me in over a year. Plus, only a moment ago he’d been with Skank, whispering to her, causing my heart angst and inexplicable grief by telling her to be “nice” to me, which really all he meant was she wasn’t to let any of her snide comments come out of her sneer directed towards me, which her comments always had a tendency to do whenever I was around. Apparently Hunter was aware I was ready to slug any more comments she NON-quietly ‘whispered’ about me.

  But now here Hunter was—caging me against a row of lockers.

  What the—?

  Hunter’s gaze lingered on mine a moment longer than necessary. Then, though his eyes were still on me, words came from his disturbingly close lips, heating up my disturbingly longing lips since he was standing so close that his warm breath caressed my skin and sent excited goose bumps skittering across my entire (now feverish) body.

  Oh man!

  My confused heart pounded wild. What was going on? One minute I had been completely nauseous about witnessing him with Skank. Now he was here, his mere breath causing me to have a seizure.

  Staring into his hungry eyes I could barely breathe. So no way could I focus on the words coming from his lips. Though, well, okay, actually I could. Because they weren’t as romantic as his staring eyes made them seem. In fact they weren’t romantic at all. It seemed they said tersely (though huskily): “Could you wear something different when you run in the mornings?”

  I blinked at the weird request. Then narrowed my eyes when I was over the huh?? Though it took quite a while because—huh?

  I huffed. “I’m not actually taking outfit requests,” I told him bitterly.

  I mean, sure my go-to outfit when I run is not super attractive. Or attractive at all, okay? I wear my gray tee-shirt and gray shorts when I run. They’re comfortable, and I’m not made of money, and it’s not like anyone sees me out and about so early in the morning anyway.

  … well, I thought.

  Hunter sees me in the mornings? The thought was … unsettling.

  “Look, just wear something different—anything different,” Hunter said, then un-caged me. He pushed himself away from the locker like we were done with the bewildering conversation and I’d do his bidding.

  He started to walk away, like it was all settled.

  “No.”

  He turned back to me. “It’s really not a request, Jane. The next time I see you running in that outfit—well, more like not see you in it, I’m going to drag you into my car and make you change. I’ll have a bright red outfit waiting for you—with reflectors attached to it, and a sign that says, ‘I’m not a flower.”

  I blinked at him. “What?!”

  His jaw muscles flickered. He glanced up at the ceiling a moment, then back at me, seeming to negotiate in his head whether to bother explaining his bizarre threat to me or not. (I told you he hadn’t talked to me in over a year—right?) It seemed to bother him to have to do it now.

  He drew out a breath, then explained, “I pass you every morning on my way to early morning
hockey practice. Your gray outfit blends into the street, and your blond hair blends into the yellow field of flowers behind you on Burdmon Street.” He raises his eyebrows as though to emphasize his words as he reiterates, “—Burdmon Street. I almost run you over on that street every single morning. And unlike how you obviously feel about me, I don’t want you dead. I don’t want to run you over, Jane—so stop dressing like the street.”

  He turned back on his path away from me. I watched him go, glaring at him all the way. Though I guess he hadn’t exactly said anything mean. Not exactly. I guess. Well, except that I blend into my surroundings. Like I’m invisible to him.

  Jerk!

  After a confused moment, I even yelled that to him (I have no idea why). Sometimes I do incredibly spazzing things about him, then spend the rest of my day thumping my desk with my head. It’s messed up.

  Hunter turned back to me after I yelled (extremely loud) to him that he was a jerk. Everyone in the crowded hallway looked between the two of us with smirks. But from far off down the hallway Hunter just tilted his head at me, like: What’s that about?—you’re yelling at me for not wanting to run you over?

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Okay, I’m a spaz.

  I winced, getting a text from him even as he was still watching me, unmoving.

  Heat swamped my cheeks as I peeked down at his words: “Look, who do you hate anyway? Me or Skank?”

  (He didn’t actually call his girlfriend “Skank,” by the way.)

  I quickly texted back, “Both actually.”

  He read my message and winced. Then typed back, “Okay. Just checking.”

  Then he slowly turned and continued on his journey away from me.

  Do NOT feel sorry for him.

  As I said, we hadn’t had civil words for each other in over a year.

  So, okay. He didn’t want to run me over—great. The feeling was not mutual, however. Because the dude had once been my everything, then he ran over my heart. He flippin’ destroyed it.

  So I repeat—Do NOT feel sorry for him.

  Feel sorry for me.

  I’m the one with my heart strung out, feeling weak in the knees just because he breathed on me.

  So again, I repeat: Feel sorry for me.

  Very, very sorry.

  I thumped my head on the nearest locker, then slogged to class, unable to get Hunter’s hungry eyes out of my brain.

  Yeah, I was a train-wreck.

  CHAPTER 3

  I did actually change up my running clothes after that conversation with Hunter. Not that it was because I now realized someone actually saw me (well, actually didn’t see me, I guess) while I was in my “zone,” running my brains out. No, it didn’t have anything to do with that. Well, I liked telling myself that anyway (and sometimes I even believed me) (sometimes). What it really was though (I tried telling myself) was that I simply didn’t want Hunter to be able to use the excuse “I told her not to dress like the street” when he ran me over. Or, more likely, Skank would run me over and then tell everyone, “Hunter warned her.”

  So, though I didn’t have tons of running clothes (or tons of any clothes) I started alternating between a cute pink running outfit, and a pale purple one. I couldn’t ever decide which I liked best, but one day—out of nowhere—Hunter chose for me. In math class he texted me, “I prefer the pink.”

  (He wasn’t in my class.)

  My heart thumped wildly when I received his text. But that bit royally—my heart racing like that from his text … and the fact he liked me in my pink outfit. I mean, it bit because I wasn’t supposed to even acknowledge his existence, and he (usually) acted as though he didn’t acknowledge mine. So me getting all heated up over the realization he noticed what I wore running—and he had a preference—well, it got me all heated up and put me in a weird dreamy daze for the rest of the school day, which was so not cool. So, I started to only where the purple outfit for every run. Every. Single. Day.

  But then one evening while Hunter was ignoring me in this big Chemistry study group that we both unfortunately attended—him with Skank, me with my then-boyfriend, Richey—and a room full of other desperate-to-pass-Chemistry hopefuls. Even though Hunter and I had sat on different sides of the room purposefully to avoid each other, somehow during my frantic notes-taking I looked up distractedly and my eyes accidently met Hunter’s from across the room.

  His brow rose as I stared.

  Heat ripped through my body, and I quickly looked away, my heart pounding wild.

  My sweet boyfriend gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “What’s the matter?” he whispered in my ear. “Why did you yelp like that?”

  Face-palm.

  I yelped??

  Awesome.

  “It was a bug,” I whispered to Richey, kissing his gorgeous lips softly.

  Okay, I noticed Hunter watching as I did that—kissed Richey. But come on, I’d yelped over his gaze. I needed to prove to him I was completely over him … especially after I almost melted into a puddle from his mere breathing on me the other day. Besides, I had every right to kiss my boyfriend—I mean, he was my boyfriend. And Hunter had no business watching us. I mean, he had a girlfriend sitting right next to him (a skanky, back-stabbing, horrible one, but still.) He had absolutely no right to care who I kissed, or when I kissed, or why I kissed.

  … though I hoped he figured I kissed Richey because I was madly in love with him. In truth though, sadly, that wasn’t exactly the case. Or even close to it. When I agreed to start dating Richey it had only been my sad pathetic desire to get over Hunter once and for all. I mean, in theory Richey was perfect for that—he was handsome and popular and our school’s basketball star. But unfortunately I was finding the star didn’t exactly give me sparks. Or even tingles—though sometimes his kisses almost brought me there. Almost. But alas. He just didn’t really do it for me, so I knew I was going to have to set him free. I mean, well, face it: it sucked that I was kissing him to prove a point to another guy. That in itself was a sad sign right there. Plus, not to mention that just accidently meeting Hunter’s gaze had done more to my demented heart than a full-on make-out session with poor Richey had ever done. Ever. But come on, that part was totally Hunter’s fault. Totally. I mean, breathing on me after all this time. What the—??

  And now he was staring at me?

  What had gotten into him? This whole year we were enemies, avoiding each other like the plague.

  So this suddenly non-hostile stuff he was throwing at me—it was messed up.

  Totally twisted.

  After kissing Richey, I casually peeked back at Hunter.

  He was still watching.

  Explosions burst through my warped heart—just from seeing that, his heated gaze still on me.

  Hunter’s eyebrows rose as I continued to confusedly stare. I quickly jerked my gaze away from him. Oh man, did I yelp again???? I don’t think I did, since Richey didn’t look my way as he busily scribbled down notes. I tried to calm down my demented heart, but it turned out to be impossible, since only a second later I got a text from Hunter: “I only said I liked the pink best so you would wear the purple. Thank you.”

  Ugh!

  There was no way to keep an upper hand with the dude. He knew me. Too well.

  … and he knew my stubbornness. Unfortunately.

  So now I was stuck not knowing which was the truth—which did he really like the best? Should I avoid the pink? ... or the purple?

  I hated that he had me.

  Hated that I cared.

  Grumble!

  Warily I glared across the room at him. He grinned and winked at me. Awesome. My insides did conflicted, convoluted things at that, which was disturbing on many, many levels—just like his stare, and texts, and breathing.

  The only upside was, his wink made Skank frown, finally noticing that her dutiful boyfriend wasn’t being dutiful. She gave me an evil glare, like I had been the one that winked, then she full-on tongued Hunter.

  My little kiss on Richey ha
d been nothing compared to the show Skank was putting on. I’d just given Richey a sweet little peck, but I guess Skank wanted to make her message a little louder. It hardcore yelled: “This boy I’m fondling inappropriately is mine and you can’t come anywhere near him or I will fully do the deed right in front of you—right here, right now, just to make my point—HE’S MINE.”

  My eyeballs were already puking from that sight, so I quickly looked away, though Richey whispered to me, “Those two should get a room. Or charge admission. They’re making it so I can’t study. Now all I can think about is studying you.”

  I smiled and patted his hand—but sadly I knew tomorrow he would be on my sadly long list of “Guys I used to date.”

  CHAPTER 4

  After that night (you know, the one where Hunter sank my running outfit rebellion) I started alternating the two running outfits again. Hunter’s message had been like a slap of reality, right in my face: Don’t let thoughts of Hunter dictate my wardrobe … or anything else in my life.

  However, I did break up with Richey after that night. Had to do it. You can’t string a person along once you find out with no uncertainties they will never be “it”—that person that pounds your heart. Well, I can’t string them along anyway. Which is why I have a long, long line of ex’s, and no “special someone.” But when you find yourself kissing your boyfriend just to prove a point to another guy—well, you’ve got to figure you should probably let your boyfriend find someone more worthy of his kiss.

  At least that’s the way I felt. I felt all kinds of slime doing it—kissing sweet Richey while Hunter was watching. Though really, I probably would have kissed sweet Richey anyway. But now, due to Hunter’s sudden texts and stare and breathing—ugh! The dude had me questioning everything. And ruining a something that had been working just fine—pretty much. Okay, it hadn’t been awesome. But it had been something. And now I had nothing. Again.

  I was pretty mad at Hunter about it—though really that was slightly irrational, I admit that. But that, topped with everything else Hunter had done to my heart, I found myself scribbling mean messages about him on my notebook and purposefully not listening to him in fifth period while he was up in front of our creative writing class, having to read his poem aloud.