26Hey guys! So I know I should definitely be working on some of my other, ahem, unfinished projects, but this has been floating through my computer's memory for a while, and I thought I might take a shot at it. Natty's liable to be a little angstier than I normally write, so I'm not sure whether or not I like her yet. We'll decide eventually, I'm sure. This is, after all, just another experiment. ;) Oh, and I don't own any things that I clearly don't own. Like Barbie. Or Paris Hilton (thank the powers that be).
I'm not the kind of girl guys pine over. I don't look like Barbie (who does?). I don't dress like Paris Hilton. I don't cause drool-fests wherever I go. I don't have poetry written about a single lock of my hair. I don't get asked for my number at every public outing, after the poor dude has argued with himself for the last half hour. I don't coo over fancy cars, or ask to feel people's biceps. I don't flirt. I don't tease. I don't lean out my window at two in the morning explaining all the reasons I can't come with you when we both know I slept in my jeans. I don't laugh unless I think something's funny, and I don't pretend to be dumber than I am. I don't wear strategically cut blouses. I don't go to the mall. I definitely don't pit guys against each other to see which one wants me the most. It's just not me.
Who I am is the girl you set your younger brother up with as a tutor. I'm the girl you can always count on to have an extra pencil or that blue/black pen that the teacher insists on. I'm the girl whose notes you ask to borrow, and then you never give back, but you never hear anything about it again. I'm the girl whose locker combo you know, because she gave it out to all of her friends in case they forgot a textbook (or three). I'm the girl who leads you step-by-step through the essay you have to write tomorrow. I'm the girl who proof-reads your papers while you're on the phone with your next conquest. I'm the girl who the teachers trust, so when I come up with a hall pass and say, 'We're doing an article In journalism about hall surveillance,'you get let off the hook. I'm that girl. Everybody's friend, everybody's supply closet. Everybody's doormat. But I don't mind. It's kind of cool being the fall back plan.
I know all of this, and accept it. I like who I am. I'm not going to change just because you think girls that curse and smoke are hot. I'm not going to dress, act, or talk different. I'm not going to write you love notes telling you how we're going to be together forever because we probably aren't. I'm not a romantic.
I do not understand why this is hard to believe. If you like me, good for you. If you don't, that's cool. I don't have low self-esteem, and I don't need your validation.
I'm fine as is.
This is the conversation I'm having with Trent. Trent is the quarterback of our football team. I'm not even the president of the chess club. Figure that one out.
Trent's eyes are big and honey-gold. I wonder vaguely what ethnicity he is.
"I love you, Natty."
Don't ease into it, or anything, man. Just jump right out there. Please, don't worry about the volume. This won't evolve into countless rumors, no way. No big deal.
"No, you don't. This is the first conversation longer than three sentences we've ever had. It's not possible for you to love me."
He's frustrated, and he runs his fingers through his hair, making it all stick up on end. It's cute. But not a reliable basis for whatever it is he's proposing.
"How do you know I don't love you? How can you tell?"
"Trent, I'm not sleeping with you."
He slams his fist on the table. "This isn't about that, dammit! Why can't you accept that I'm interested in you? I want to know you."
"You don't have to date me to know me. You don't even have to like me to know me. That's what I have a problem with, here. I don't date. You know that, everybody does."
"But I thought that was because-"
He catches himself, suddenly embarrassed. I grin.
"You thought I was a lesbian, right?"
"NO!" But he's bright red, and apparently, that particular rumor has been making the rounds again.
"Then you thought I had some sort of complex like I wasn't good enough for anybody to date, oh woe is me."
He doesn't answer. Haha.
"Trent. I don't date because I think it's a horribly inaccurate way to get to know someone, and I think our society has turned it into some sort of rite of passage. If I don't want to do something like that, nobody should have the right to make me, it's just that simple."
"Natty, you think too damn much."
"I think enough to retain some common sense. I'd like to hang out with you, you're a cool guy. But I'm not going to make some pact about everlasting love three weeks before I graduate just because you've got it in your head that I'm the girl of your dreams. It's not going to go down like that."
What is this nonsense? And now he's staring at me. "Don't you get it, Natty? I love you because of this whole crappy conversation. You're the weirdest, craziest, and most infuriating person I've ever met. You fascinate me and terrify me. How can I not love you? You're a mess."
Er, thanks?
"Deeply poetic as that may be, I still don't understand how you have any basis for those statements. I only know you through a vague connection: a friend of a friend of a friend. How can you come to the conclusion that you love me if we don't know each other?"
I like his eyes. They're really bright, now, with some inner electricity I can't fathom.
"Just because you don't know me doesn't mean I don't know you, Natty. And I've been trying to get you to know me for years, but you never wanted anything to do with me. Ever. Trust me, I've been working at this a while."
"Look, Trent-"
"Give me a week, Natty. Seven days, that's all I'm asking for, here."
"Trent, a 12 year old can maintain an attention span of a week, what is that supposed to-"
"A month, a year, dammit, Natty, I can't think of anything else to do, and I'm going out of my mind."
I'm silent a moment. Okay, this poor guy has really gotten himself worked up about this. "Fine."
"What?" He looks shocked and agitated and I feel guilty for tricking him like this, but what am I supposed to do about it? How is he going to figure out that he doesn't love me unless I take him up on his offer?
"Look, we have approximately..." I do the math quickly in my head "...twenty-five days until graduation, right?"
Trent nods carefully, obviously not sure of where I'm going with this.
"Alright. You have until graduation to do whatever it takes to prove to yourself that you don't love me. Except..." A thin veil of scarlet flares over my cheeks. "You know, physical stuff. That's not part of the deal."
His mouth twists into a bitter smile that makes my insides hurt, but only because this is all self-inflicted. If he would just think for a moment...
"Thanks, Natty. Sure you're not giving me too much credit, here? You'd better be careful, I might think you can actually stand to be within three feet of me."
"Trent-"
"No, that's all right, I get the message. But here's the thing,"
And suddenly he's way too close for comfort, arms on either side of my head, effectively pinning me between his body and the wall behind us. This is exactly what I meant.
"In this deal," the disgust in his voice is evident, and I wonder if he's more pissed at me or at himself, for 'loving' me, "you're pretending to be my girlfriend, got it? This deal" does he have to say it like that? "is just between us. As far as everyone else is concerned, I came back here tonight and somehow convinced you to be associated with me for the next few weeks. And if I actually manage to convince you-" He stops suddenly, and I have to look in his eyes, the one place I've been trying to avoid looking for the past few moments. He stares right back at me and I can't figure out what on earth he's thinking, but then he keeps talking in a voice so soft I can barely hear him, not that it matters, it sounds almost as though he's talking to himself. "If I manage to convince you we have a shot, I need you to trust me. If this somehow works..." But he doesn't keep speaking this time, instead he pushes away from me and crosses his arms in front of him, staring off at some point in the distance, his jaw clenching and unclenching repeatedly.
"I'm just asking for a chance, okay? Just...just give me a chance, here. I'm not asking for matching tattoos or anything."
I smile a little hesitantly and sigh. This cannot possibly end well. "Alright, Trent, you've got it. If you can convince me that a real go at this would result in something other than emotional carnage, I will give you the benefit of the doubt, no questions asked." The sudden hope that lights up his face strikes me somewhere in my gut. Why couldn't he have 'fallen' for anybody else? Any other girl would be thrilled for a minute of attention from Trent Bassinger, much less a declaration of undying love.
Crap. What have I gotten myself into?
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