May the Best Ex Win

22 | Milton's Social Ladder

"I don't know. It's a bummer, man." Hank looked even more solemn than a usual Monday morning would call for as he leaned against the locker bank, the two of us once again mourning the potential loss of the wrestling team.

"Yeah," I agreed, not knowing what else to say. I'd pretty much aired out all my feelings on the topic already. Now it was just a matter of waiting for any news, which made the whole thing about twenty times more agonizing than it needed to be. I just wanted to know.

Hank's gaze traveled behind me, a smirk growing on his face. "We should've got Freckles to join the team," he spoke loud enough so that the scrawny redhead passing by could hear, the words making him sigh and speed up.

Hank held out an arm, motioning for him to stop. "I'm sure attendance would've skyrocketed— all the ladies would've shown up to watch your muscles in action."

I let out a small laugh at the words, not wanting to leave Hank hanging as Ronald rolled his eyes. He was Hank's favorite target to tease, his small frame and unruly red hair granting him a hefty supply of jokes— especially his favorite gag about having the same name as a famous redheaded clown.

"Come on, McDonald's, have a laugh with us," Hank said, shoving only half-playfully at the smaller boy's shoulder.

Ronald stumbled back and huffed in annoyance. He shook his head as he walked away with fast footsteps and eyes trained at the ground. A few surrounding students snickered at the interaction, and I smiled with them as Hank patted me on the shoulder, clearly proud of his jokes. 

But as my eyes wandered and met a stare from down the hall, the grin I was wearing faltered. Emily was looking at me with a blank expression, and she didn't smile or wave as she held my gaze. 

I felt a wave of embarrassment from head to toe, a shame so hot I almost mistook it for nausea. I wanted to go over and talk to her, to see if she'd even noticed what had gone down or if it was just a typical unreadable Emily stare. But she was closing her locker and heading down the hall before I could even convince myself to move.

I spent all of next period biting my nails and bouncing my leg— I couldn't stop worrying about how that must've made me look to her. Probably like some stereotypical asshole jock. And it wasn't like it would be a misunderstanding; I had been being an asshole.

I hated myself because I had to ask— would I have felt this bad if Emily didn't see me? Of course, there was always guilt that lingered after Hank did things like that. But it was what he and all of our friends did to the "bottom dwellers"— who was I to put an end to it? At this point, I just tried not to think about it too much.

I hurried to the art room at lunch to meet with Emily like I'd promised, trying to tell myself that I was probably worried over nothing.

She was alone, standing at an easel set up near the windows. She looked up at me as I entered, but snapped her eyes back to her painting without any sort of greeting.

Even as I walked over and sat on a nearby desk she said nothing, and there were a few seconds where the only sound in the room was her paintbrush moving against the canvas.

"You still want to have that talk?" I broke the silence, watching her as she avoided my eyes. 

Her squared shoulders and unchanging expression reminded me of how closed off she'd been the first day I'd met her. "I don't know if now is the best time."

"Can I ask why?"

She finally looked at me, and I almost wished she hadn't— her glare was fierce, expression more of a scowl than I'd ever seen her wear. "Because I'm kind of pissed off at you right now."

My eyes dropped from hers, meeting the tiled, paint-stained floor. A weight of shame fell on my chest as I tried to think of something to say.

"Why do you do things like that with Hank?" she interrogated, setting down her brush and giving me her full attention. I'd been so eager for it just a minute ago, and now I wasn't sure I wanted it.

"I don't," I said, sighing at what I knew was a lie. "I mean, not really. What you saw earlier was Hank, I didn't have a part in that."

"Right, you just stood there laughing by his side and didn't do anything to stop it."

"Look, Emily," I snapped in exasperation, hating the way her name came out of my mouth so sourly. "You don't know what it's like. I can't just tell him to knock it off, it doesn't work that way."

"So what if it was me that Hank decided to stop in the hall?" she questioned, eyeing me with some terrible mix of disgust and disappointment. "I'm not exactly far away from Ronald on Milton's social ladder."

"That wouldn't happen," I assured her. "The guys know I'm helping you."

"And so, what, I'm automatically exempt from their commentary? I find that hard to believe."

I couldn't make an argument— the locker room talk from the week before was proof she was right. Emily and I being friends only did so much for her social standing, and it wasn't enough to make her immune to the remarks of my friends.

"I'm just saying it isn't hard for me to picture myself in Ronald's position. I mean, imagine if we weren't working together? If we'd never met at all? You can't honestly tell me it's farfetched to think that could've been me."

"But it wasn't you. Emily, you're making an argument out of something that never happened."

"Well sorry, but I can't help myself from picturing the what-ifs. I just... I keep imagining what it would feel like to have you laugh at me like that."

I shook my head, the words feeling like a punch to the gut. "That would never happen. Not even hypothetically."

"Just tell me, so I know if we're wasting our time with this... thing," she motioned between us, obviously unsure how to refer to our relationship, "If they do say something, are you going to stick up for me?"

I couldn't help myself from feeling insulted that she felt the need to ask, but once again was brought back to the conversation after practice. It was embarrassing to think of how little I'd done to deflect their comments. I wanted to go back in time and knock some sense into myself, convince myself to tell them off like they deserved.

"Of course I will," I answered, knowing I would do more if it happened again. I couldn't change the past, but I could promise to do things right from now on. "You know I will."

She looked me over, as if searching for any trace of a bluff. A few long, silent seconds passed before she gave a single stone-faced nod. "Good."

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