The Boy I Hate

Fifteen.

"I just don't understand why you're so mad." I tugged at Richard's arm, begging him to look me in the eye. Usually our fights were the other way around, but today I sat on my living room sofa while he stood over me. He'd knocked on my door shortly after school. He couldn't stay long either, considering Margaret would be home soon.

He tore his arm away from my grasp, running his hands over his face, and moving to sit on the coffee table across from me. "I don't understand it either, babe."

"Then," I took his hand in mind again, "look at me at least."

He did, and I finally felt like I had taken a step forward with him. I moved my hand from his and instead cupped his face. I hoped he saw that I was begging him to tell me what I did wrong so I could make it right. He did. "Listen, there are layers to this thing. First, you turn yourself in without telling me - then you tell Charlie fucking Turner instead?"

"It's not like th-"

He interrupted me, forcing my hand off his face. "How could you trust that guy more than me? How could you confide in him instead of me?"

I furrowed my brows, trying desperately to wrap my mind around the fragile state of his masculinity. It didn't make sense to me how easily he was made jealous. "Richard," I pleaded. "It's not like I went to him so we could have a heart-to-heart. The situation concerned him."

He stood again, pacing in short strides, "but why wouldn't you at least - I don't know - tell me too? I could have gone with you to speak with him, you know?"

I stood up as well, grabbing his arms to stop him from stepping in circles. I gripped both sides of his head to force his eyes to meet mine. "You know I couldn't do that! He doesn't know we're together!"

He laid his hands over mine, but when I expected him to - once again - remove them from his face he stayed still, just holding them. It was a good sign, but he still argued. "I keep forgetting about the stupid plan. It all just feels too real for me; seeing you with them."

It occurred to me that somewhere between getting shot with a paintball and nearly lighting my school on fire I forgot it was fake too. The lines of what was real and what I fabricated were blurring in my mind. "We could quit," I threw the idea in the air just to see if it would stick. I slid my hands from his cheeks to the back of his neck, locking my fingers around him. "You know, tell everyone we got back together, graduate in a couple months, go to Vermont State, and forget Charlie Turner ever existed."

He smiled and pressed his forehead to mine. "Sounds nice, but you know we can't do that."

My shoulders slumped a little, "why not?"

"Because," he started. "You're only a couple steps away from completely gaining their trust. We can't quit while we're ahead."

I unlocked my fingers and pressed my palms to his chest, separating us slightly. Something about his strategic viewpoint left a sour taste in my mouth. I was tired of fighting, though, so I would let it slide. "Yeah, I guess." I pressed my lips together. Perhaps I was trying to keep my complaints trapped. "You should probably go, my mom will be here any minute."

"You're not gonna kiss me goodbye first?" He asked teasingly, playfully.

I wasn't oblivious to the fact that we hadn't kissed since before the paintball prank - aside from a small cheek peck. It was an abnormally long time for us to keep out hands off each other, but there had just been so much tension lately. If I was a good judge of the atmosphere; there still was. "Why should I kiss you here if you don't want to kiss me in public?" I knew it was a mistake half way through saying it.

"Babe, you know that's not what this is about." He pouted, "it kills me everyday I can't show you off to the whole school as mine."

I delicately pressed my lips to his. It was short, sweet, and he was still puckering for more when I pulled away. Just enough to let him know we still had a lot to talk about. He whined complaints as I ushered him out the door, "get out of her, casanova."

When the door was shut behind him I noticed the mail on the floor of our entry way. I must have missed the noise when it was pressed through the mail slot. When I picked it up I noticed one addressed to me - from NYU.

My heart stuttered a little, and I mentally scolded it for doing so. I wouldn't even go there; I would go to Vermont State with my boyfriend, major in communications, and become an associate with my father's company. I reminded myself of those facts meticulously through my thoughts as I ripped open the envelope with eager hands.

Congratulations, Mabel Abram, you have been accepted to attend New York University.

I wished I knew a way to ignore the way my stomach fluttered at the sentence. It was impossible to shove the feeling down, though. The jitter only intensified when I heard the front door unlock, and I quickly threw my arm behind my back. Margaret stared me down with suspicious eyes. "Darling, why are you standing in the entry way?"

I thrusted the rest of the mail pile towards her with my other hand, "mail."

"Oh," she closed the door behind her with a smirk. "I see what you're doing."

"You do?" I asked nervously.

"You think being overly well behaved is going to get you off the hook for the call I got from Miss Gonzales this morning." She waved her finger at me accusingly, smug with herself for being smart enough to figure it out.

I played along, "oh... you got me."

"Nice try," she sang, "but believe me when I say your father and I will be discussing your punishment tonight, and it will not be mild."

With everything else going on I had forgotten to even worry about getting punished by my parents. I mean, the worst they would do was ground me, and I was already grounded. So I nodded, trying to mask a fearful expression, and backed up towards the staircase so I could hide the letter in my dresser.