The Other Girl

Chapter VII

Eighth grade was harsh— grades were starting to matter and even though our families had the cash to pay for any school, not any school would take kids who failed classes. And such was the kid Calum aimed to be during eighth grade— the kid who ditched classes like nobody's business.

"Calum! Wait up!" I remember shouting at him, running to catch up to him after his driver dropped him off. "Wh—why haven't you been coming to school?" I had asked, conscious of my haggard breathing.

"No reason in particular," he'd started, but abruptly changed his answer when he saw my unamused face. "Look Stella: if my dad can't bother to talk to me for five months— five months— I don't think he'd mind if I took a few days off from school."

"W—What are you saying?" I had asked, gaping in astonishment as I sped up my pace to keep up with him. "This is crazy! Come back to school— we still have time before the bell rings. Just turn around and—"

"You turn around, Stella," he had told me. "I'll be going to the movies. There's this new movie I really wanted to see— "Warpath", I think. You seen it? Apparently it's abou—"

"CALUM!" I shouted, exasperated. "You can't just— just ditch school!"

"I can and I have," he replied without missing a beat. "You should really start heading back now— class already started."

"Look, if that's what it takes to get you to go to school—"

"It's not," Calum replied, stopping and turning to look at me. "Stella, go to school. You don't understand this. Not this time. This—"

"That's bullshit," I snapped. Calum fell silent, a look of surprise on his face.

"... I don't think I've ever heard you swear," he said at last.

"Well now you have," I replied curtly. "Calum, this is stupid. You're not in grade school anymore— you're too old to throw a tantrum."

"Go to school, Reyes," he had replied, turning back around. "I'm ditching school and at this rate you'll be ditching it with me."

"Fine! I will!" I shouted, causing Calum to snap back to look at me in shock. "Will that make you come to your senses? You're in eighth grade, Calum. We're going to high school next year, and university after that. Have you thought about your future at all?"

"Does it matter?" he had shouted back, angry at last. "My own father doesn't even give a shit about me right now. It's always Marcus this, Annalise that— never Calum! Never the youngest boy who doesn't matter!"

"You matter to me!" I had retorted, tears streaming down my face now. "You have friends that care about you! Does that not mean anything to you?"

"Stella," he had said, face crumpling. "I'm sorry— don't cry."

"I—I'm not— not crying," I had denied as he hugged me.

"Stella— Stells," he had said that time, promising that he'd come to school and call his father to talk. His "rebellious phase" had lasted a total of eight cut days and a series of periods— he had always cut during a test— and even though he'd worked his hardest to bring his grades back up, he still failed the majority of his classes.

His father let him off easy though, blaming it on himself. "He apologized to me and promised to call every Friday," Calum had told me at a later date, a frown on his face.

"So what's wrong now?" I had asked. He had shrugged in response, toeing a rock idle.

"I don't know," he had admitted. "I think— I think I just thought it'd be different."