to stay and hang out with me?” I injected just the right amount of acid into each word.
“It’s better than being at home,” she muttered, as if she didn’t want to admit it.
“Are you parents really that bad?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Not really. I mean, it’s that they care too much. How can you be pissed that your parents care too much about you and want you to succeed? What kind of asshole am I?” I wasn’t going to answer that right away.
“I’m sure there are plenty of people who wish they had two parents who aggressively cared about them,” I said. I hadn’t been speaking specifically about me, but I guess I did fit the bill. My mom had cared about me long enough to give birth to my brother and then me, but had decided that being a mom just wasn’t for her. You know, she couldn’t have figured that out until after she’d gotten married and had us.
“That’s right, make me sound like an ungrateful bitch. Perfect. Way to go, Stella,” she said, grabbing her stuff and heading toward the door. I wanted to go after her and tell her that she was the opposite of a bitch, but then that might have led to all sorts of other things, so I let her go, calling “bye,” after her.
S eriously. What a fucking bitch. Her personality was just that terrible. I’d been wrong. Maybe the glimpses of nice I’d seen were an act. Who the hell knew?
I was fuming when I got home and that made my parents go into a panic and have another one of their little “interventions” with me. Any time I showed any sort of excessive negative emotions, they sat me down and had a “chat.”
I wanted to tell them that I was fine, just annoyed. That I wasn’t secretly depressed, or cutting my wrists, or hiding an eating disorder. In addition to being human helicopters, they were also hyper-hypochondriacs. Everything had the potential to be life-threatening, from a cold to a slammed door. When I was younger I used to wish at every birthday and every Christmas that I would get a sibling that they could focus on. Never happened and I was pretty sure that ship had sailed a long time ago.
Once I got them off my back and assured them that I was not going to hurt myself or anyone else, I barricaded myself in my room to fume.
I didn’t know why she drove me so crazy. Just . . . everything she said and did just . . .
Fuck.
I could pretend the little fluttery feeling in my chest wasn’t there, but that wouldn’t make it go away. I . . . liked her. Or something.
I didn’t know why. I didn’t know when it had started, but there it was. I liked her in a way that made me wonder how soft her lips would feel and if her hair was silky to the touch. It made me think of lots of other things too. Things that made me want to get in the shower and spend some time alone.
Dangerous. Those were very dangerous thoughts that I should not be having, but there really wasn’t any way to stop them. They were happening and I had to just get through it. I was stuck with Stella for the foreseeable future, unless I dropped out of AP English, but that wasn’t an option.
I’d just have to keep a lid on it. Keep it to myself. It was just a little crush (I hated even calling it that) and I could handle it. I was a nearly grown-ass woman and I could deal with a tiny crush on a terrible girl.
I could deal.
I t didn’t hurt that she was so cold. If she’d been nice to me, I might have liked her more. Or maybe not. Verbally sparring with her was kind of sexy.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Somehow the two of us got through the week without killing one another and I managed to not do anything that would have let her know how I felt. She pulled back a lot, but wasn’t as critical. She’d press her lips together and I knew she was trying not to say something she wanted to say.
Friday night was another home game and I was there on the bleachers in the front row with Grace. And there was Stella, her hair up high and a
“It’s better than being at home,” she muttered, as if she didn’t want to admit it.
“Are you parents really that bad?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Not really. I mean, it’s that they care too much. How can you be pissed that your parents care too much about you and want you to succeed? What kind of asshole am I?” I wasn’t going to answer that right away.
“I’m sure there are plenty of people who wish they had two parents who aggressively cared about them,” I said. I hadn’t been speaking specifically about me, but I guess I did fit the bill. My mom had cared about me long enough to give birth to my brother and then me, but had decided that being a mom just wasn’t for her. You know, she couldn’t have figured that out until after she’d gotten married and had us.
“That’s right, make me sound like an ungrateful bitch. Perfect. Way to go, Stella,” she said, grabbing her stuff and heading toward the door. I wanted to go after her and tell her that she was the opposite of a bitch, but then that might have led to all sorts of other things, so I let her go, calling “bye,” after her.
S eriously. What a fucking bitch. Her personality was just that terrible. I’d been wrong. Maybe the glimpses of nice I’d seen were an act. Who the hell knew?
I was fuming when I got home and that made my parents go into a panic and have another one of their little “interventions” with me. Any time I showed any sort of excessive negative emotions, they sat me down and had a “chat.”
I wanted to tell them that I was fine, just annoyed. That I wasn’t secretly depressed, or cutting my wrists, or hiding an eating disorder. In addition to being human helicopters, they were also hyper-hypochondriacs. Everything had the potential to be life-threatening, from a cold to a slammed door. When I was younger I used to wish at every birthday and every Christmas that I would get a sibling that they could focus on. Never happened and I was pretty sure that ship had sailed a long time ago.
Once I got them off my back and assured them that I was not going to hurt myself or anyone else, I barricaded myself in my room to fume.
I didn’t know why she drove me so crazy. Just . . . everything she said and did just . . .
Fuck.
I could pretend the little fluttery feeling in my chest wasn’t there, but that wouldn’t make it go away. I . . . liked her. Or something.
I didn’t know why. I didn’t know when it had started, but there it was. I liked her in a way that made me wonder how soft her lips would feel and if her hair was silky to the touch. It made me think of lots of other things too. Things that made me want to get in the shower and spend some time alone.
Dangerous. Those were very dangerous thoughts that I should not be having, but there really wasn’t any way to stop them. They were happening and I had to just get through it. I was stuck with Stella for the foreseeable future, unless I dropped out of AP English, but that wasn’t an option.
I’d just have to keep a lid on it. Keep it to myself. It was just a little crush (I hated even calling it that) and I could handle it. I was a nearly grown-ass woman and I could deal with a tiny crush on a terrible girl.
I could deal.
I t didn’t hurt that she was so cold. If she’d been nice to me, I might have liked her more. Or maybe not. Verbally sparring with her was kind of sexy.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Somehow the two of us got through the week without killing one another and I managed to not do anything that would have let her know how I felt. She pulled back a lot, but wasn’t as critical. She’d press her lips together and I knew she was trying not to say something she wanted to say.
Friday night was another home game and I was there on the bleachers in the front row with Grace. And there was Stella, her hair up high and a
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