Pieces of Perfect by Elizabeth Hayley Page A

returning about a minute later.
     
    “Just wanted to take a look. The lockers are small. It must be a tight fit, trying to get all of your equipment in there.”
 
    I couldn’t be sure if he had actually just winked or if I had imagined it, but his eyes definitely twinkled at the ingenuity of his comment. I was a jumble of contrasts. I kept telling myself that his comments were inappropriate, that I should be angry. But I didn’t feel angry and it was becoming increasingly difficult to feign emotions that were not there. Almost as hard as it was becoming to repress emotions that were there. Part of me, a big part, was flattered by the attention he gave, turned on by the eroticism that laced every word he spoke, and longed for the touch that he was clearly withholding intentionally.
     
    But, I wasn’t a person of contrasts. I couldn’t survive in this paradox. I would suffocate here. So, I had to choose, and I chose the easier, less messy route: loathing.
     
    I ignored his last remark, pretended that I hadn’t recognized it for what it was: a proposition.
 
    “We have to speed this up. I have a third period class.” I strode briskly away from the locker room, back up the stairs, and out of the gym. He again mirrored my movements, seeming to be magnetically pulled to me.
 
    I showed him the auditorium and got some comment about “putting on a show” and our media room, which got me a mention of how he “would love to do something worth recording.” I also showed him the library, nurse’s office, guidance office, and assorted other offices he may have to locate throughout the rest of the school year. He must not have been witty enough to come up with any innuendos for these places. Or maybe he had finally given up.
 
    Our last stop was the cafeteria. It wasn’t a lunch period, but kids still occupied the table s. The heat had broken in one part of the building, displacing some of the teachers, so some were assigned to bring their classes here. I could feel eyes on us as we moved through—and not just students’ eyes. Teachers, cafeteria workers.  Everyone stopped to drink up the sight of Max.
     
    “This is it, the last stop on the tour.”
 
    Max walked over to a table filled with Mr. Garretty’s biology class. He gripped the edge of the table with his hand and gave it a firm push toward the ground.
     
    “Tables seem mighty sturdy. They can probably take a real pounding.”
 
    Nope, he hadn’t given up.
     
    I groaned irritatedly and stormed out of the cafeteria. Halfway back to my classroom, I realized that he was still behind me. Instead of continuing to my room, I led him around to a back stairwell that wasn’t used often, so that I could effectively give him the piece of my mind that he deserved. I was so overcome with fury, frustration, and annoyance that I flew around and directed my hard glare at him as soon as we arrived.
 
    “Listen, asshole, I have to work here.  And I can’t do that if you’re going to be making these ridiculous fucking sexual comments to me all of the time. It has to stop!”
     
    Max looked at me intently, seeming to ponder his reply. Then, he smiled, drew a hand to his chest, and said, “Have I been making sexual comments?”
     
    What. A. Dick.
 
    I couldn’t respond. There was no point. He wouldn’t truly hear me anyway.
 
    So I shook my head, and left him standing there in the stairwell. This time he didn’t follow me. And I was almost grateful for it. Almost. I wasn't capable of any positive feelings toward him or anyone else at that moment. I just wanted to get through the rest of my day and get the hell out of this place.
     
    When I returned to my room, I found Tina sitting in my chair, one elbow was resting on the arm as she used her hand to support her chin. She just stared at me for a moment and I knew from her expression that she had observed me and Max at some point on our route.
     
    “You need a drink. Meet me out front at 3:15,”