The Nerd Diaries: Arnold (18+)

Nine: The Cheerleader's Photo

Dear Diary,

Waking up Sunday morning without Prescilla next to me was a little disappointing. Equally as much this morning.

Lacking her body against mine, the soft snores and occasional smile in her sleep and the comfort of knowing she's there is devastating to not have even if it was just a few days of getting used to.

Pre has burned her mark on me. Her scorching touch is felt all through my veins and in the organ that beats in my chest. I burn for her. She's the oxygen that ignited me and without her by my side I feel like i'm slowly smothering.

The fact that I feel such a way after only a handful of days of knowing her, a few nights of holding her doesn't go unnoticed. But in this I know I can't change a damn thing. It's how I feel, and I can only hope Prescilla feels at least an inkling of what I do. The fact that I'll know in less than an hour is... Overwhelming.

Stressed, not sure i'm depressed,

Arnold.

I know how today can go. My mind has been on repeat with a hundred different scenarios even though I know I'm merely being paranoid.

So far, the worst concoction my brain has stirred is flat out rejection. No nail biting anticipation of whether she is going to speak to me or more, period. Then, I remember Saturday and whatever it was that clicked between us and those thoughts are fucking stone-cold dead.

I'm driving to school and with every inch closer I get, my heartbeat seems to double in my chest. I try and distract myself by scrutinizing the trees and green grass that flows in the commute.

Oakwood is the kind of town made for families and settling down, its immaculate, safe. It's been my home since I was born and college was going to be my out.

Now, I'm not so sure I want to leave Oakwood after all.

A smoking car catches my attention, but just as I begin to turn on my blinker to go their direction, I see who it is. He's wearing Oakwood highs cheer uniform, the one for the guys. I think his name is Chris or some other jerk name like that.

I put both of my hands back on the wheel and push back the thoughts only a good Samaritan would think. Pull over, he needs help. But would he pull over if that were me?

My scoff rings through the space in my car.

The second I pull into the student parking lot, my heart pounds so loud that I can barely hear the bell ringing inside over it.

I'm walking toward first period when the intercom sounds. "Senior cheerleaders and students A-E to the gym for pictures please."

I clench my keys in hand and follow the directions. When I reach the gym door I can see the flashes going off already. Inside there's a long line formed but fuck me. Prescilla is posing for the photographer in her skimpy little uniform.

Apart from that cock teasing sight—that has my blood pressure soaring—is the fucking photographer. As Prescilla changes poses, his eyes rake over her body lasciviously and uncaring that she's probably ten plus years his junior.

I begin walking towards the line next to them, until I hear the photographer redirect her positioning. She listens and is oblivious to the fact that he has a view right up her skirt and is thoroughly enjoying it.

My sense vanishes then and I change course, heading toward them—the photographer.

"Here, I'll help you with the next one," he says to Pre, just as I'm approaching.