I hate her. I hate her popularity, I hate the way she steals my crush and acts like nothing happened. I hate that she's been getting all the boys since kindergarten. I hate that her smile can hide a thousand tears. But here's one thing: I miss being her best friend.
Three weeks after she and I broke up, something extraordinary happened.
I was sitting on the first seat nearest to the classroom door when I witnessed the pathetic event. The boy had come again, likewise before, to see her, his one and only. Not until I heard a girl squeal, "Laurel! Bryson's here" did I lift my head up.
Our eyes met. Fair and square. It didn't take me a second doubt to know that it was him. Probably guilty to have shattered my heart into a million pieces, he looked away almost instantaneously.
The most popular girl Rebecca patted me on the shoulder. "Hey, check this out." She gestured at the door. If it had been the seventh grade, I would have been annoyed at the sudden interruption from doing my homework. Notwithstanding the past, I just followed her like a lost little puppy.
Laurel was also there. Her luscious brown hair was held back in a ponytail, and she wore her contact lenses instead of glasses (who knows where she got them). She looked up and their eyes met (he was a foot taller than her so it always looked like he was towering her). It was disgusting to watch.
I turned my head. Suddenly, the sight of him did not matter to me. All I wanted to do was run into the nearest bathroom and puke. Nevertheless, I stayed put and watched Laurel give him her biology textbook. Except for me, everyone nearby was clapping and cheering, like they were handing out the Nobel Prize.
It was a grotesque scene to handle. I just figured that I had better play along if I didn't want them to smell a rat. So I jumped up and down and giggled like the rest of them.
That's another reason why boys don't like me. I'm too tedious. I try to fit in. I care too much about my reputation (other than my grades, which in their eyes is just another boring topic I like to discuss).
But that wasn't the part that entertained me the most. No, no no. Because something that was even more appalling came along with it. All of a sudden, some guy with a hideous face full of freckles blurted out, "When are ya gonna start smooching with that little bitch?"
It didn't take a mystery-solving genius to know who he was talking about.
For a split second, hurt flashed through her eyes. That was one thing that proved she was still a human being. An imperfect speck. However, she quickly covered that up with a cavalier shrug. I rolled my eyes. Every single time. She pretends to be strong and swallows down her tears so that boys can feel sorry for her.
In contrary to her barely showing emotions, his reaction was priceless. "You'll be sorry," was what he said before lunging at the guy who made the comment. An ugly scene broke out with the foolish boy fighting for his longtime crush and the girl backing away cautiously in her classroom selfishly and not even looking back at the chaos she caused. Careless, cavalier, heartless little thing, I thought to myself. I figured that the student body would turn on me next if I actually said my thoughts aloud.
And in that minute, I hated her. I hated the way she never gave a damn about others. I hated the way she squealed and giggled and purred like a small kitten in front of the boys. I hated the way she befriended so many of them. And I hated the way that no matter how hard I tried, I could never bring her down. It was like trying to reason with crazy. Impossible.
Without thinking, I bolted back into the classroom. There she was, standing at the door, staring amiably into space like none of the fighting concerned her. My fists clenched. I so wanted to give her a piece of my mind, to interrogate why she always left her admirers hanging with sugarcoating words, why she would rather keep her admirer close to her than hand him over to her BEST FRIEND.
I stared hard at her. That little bitch was nowhere as human as I thought. I wanted to say a million things to her, like "WHY ARE YOU SO HEARTLESS TOWARDS YOUR BEST FRIEND AND ADMIRER? WHY CAN'T YOU JUST TELL HIM THAT YOU DON'T LOVE HIM INSTEAD OF LEADING HIM ON??"
She must have sensed from my face that I wanted to say something hostile, because she immediately provoked that from happening by walking across the classroom back to her seat.
I really, really wanted to talk. But the words just hang there in my throat. For no apparent reason, I just couldn't bring myself to talk to her first. After all, she was the first to shut me out and give me the silent treatment, so why should I make the first move?
