Standing for Weirdo

Chapter 11

Next day at school, I had to wonder if what had happened the previous day had only been a dream.

Everyone acted like their everyday selves. Stella grinned and joked with me like always, and Alex came up to walk us to the cafeteria on lunch break.

It felt way too much like a parallel universe, because Ashley looked nice and sweet—in her Bitch Queen kind of way, I guess—and Jacob kept his big mouth shut.

I sat down and started to eat in silence, pondering my possible madness while listening to the newest gossip, when I felt movement behind me. The smile was wiped clean from Ashley's face, Stella bit her lip and Alex, bless him, reached across to put a placating hand on Josh's shoulder.

“Got a minute?”

I would recognize the deep, rumbling voice anywhere. I thought about saying no. About ignoring him and finishing my lunch. That would have been in character for me.

But, who was I kidding? I wanted to talk to him.

“Do you really think anyone would have a minute to waste on you?” Ashley's voice sounded harsh and biting, but I covered the end of her sentence with the scraping of the chair as I got up.

The whole table looked up at me, their expressions hovering between astounded and horrified, but I kept my head high and turned to Trevor with my most imperturbable look.

After a long minute of just looking, I prompted, “Well?”

He broke his surprised gaze away and nodded, leading the way out of the cafeteria. The chatter stopped in our wake and pairs of eyes from all the tables we passed by drilled my back. I could almost make out the din of their gossiping kick-starting with a vengeance when we were out of sight. Thankfully, the halls were empty and our footsteps echoed in the silence as Trevor guided me away from the lunch rush, from the classes, from any possible straggler. Taking a turn to the left, he opened an emergency door into a fire exit and waited for me to enter before him.

“You don’t seem too worried about my flaunted reputation today,” I said, unable to hold the silence any longer, even though it wasn’t a very nice way to start the conversation.

He smiled, neither happy nor amused. Just a physical gesture of a smile.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay. No one will think that anything happened while being alone and sequestered in a fire exit, the most clichéd make-out spot in the world.” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but managed to tone it down. A little.

“I meant about yesterday. I’m sorry about yesterday,” he amended, reaching up to brush his hair out of his face and to look at me.

That threw me off balance.

“It wasn’t your fault. I just took it out on you because you were handy,” he went on.

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special.” He tried to elaborate, but I held up a hand. “It’s okay,” I said. “That guitar is very important for you, isn’t it?”

“She’s my life.”

“Was it a gift?” I had been thinking about it before going to sleep. He had gotten so mad when I had told him to just replace it because it was old; perhaps it was a gift. Perhaps it was the last gift from his dead mother.

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” I said, eloquently. “Was it, you know…?” I trailed off, pinned under his unflinching stare. His eyebrows had shot up and he looked incredulous. “Your mother’s?” I finished.

“Are you alright?” he asked in turn.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” I hadn’t lost a parent, after all.

“Because you’ve not talked to me in six years.” He leaned against the handrail and averted his eyes.

I winced. Those were just the cold facts. The truth. There was nothing I could reply to make it better, no decent excuse, but I had to try.

“I’m talking now.”

“What for, I wonder,” he sighed, defeated. Then, he answered my original question. “It’s from my father, if you must know.”

That busted my sentimental theory.

“It seemed to be very important for you. That’s why I wondered.”

“He saved for over a year to buy it for me, so yeah, it’s special.”

I blinked. “I thought you said it was second hand.”

“It is,” he said with a shrug.

“So it belonged to someone in particular.”

“A random dude who decided to stop playing,” he answered, the beginnings of amusement tingeing his expression.

“It is a really expensive guitar, then?” This was starting to look like a game of twenty questions, and I felt like I had completely missed the point of the conversation.

“Expensive brand, but their cheapest model,” he said, tsking at me. “Not everyone is as rich as you, Princess.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No big deal.” Another shrug and a few moments of silence. Then he said, “Mrs. Goodman.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t because of your shoes,” he explained, smiling ruefully. “Our neighbor is a nosey old lady, and she saw you. Almost called the cops on you, too. And I shouldn’t have brought it up yesterday, much less the way I did.”

Should I breathe easier or feel more embarrassed at having been discovered?

“You could tell who I was from the description of an old lady?” I tried to cover up my insecurity by being playful. Somehow, it didn’t feel as weird as I thought it would be.

He pulled out his cell, an older model, and grinned for the first time.

“Nope. From the pictures,” he said, flashing me the damning evidence.

I withered in dismay and he laughed, a rich, vibrating laugh that almost made me want to be caught at something ridiculous again just to hear it. Almost.

He pocketed the device again once he sobered up. “We should go back. I don’t want to keep you from your world too long.” His words were bitter, but his tone wasn’t. There was a small lingering smile still on his lips when we turned to go back into the building and he stopped me at the door.

“So, see you around,” I said awkwardly.

“Hey,” he called after my retreating back. “If you want to listen again, you don’t have to stay out. I meant that part, even if it came out wrong.”

A hopeful, insecure tone crept into his voice. I didn’t do hopeful, insecure very well, so I ran off with barely a nod.

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