Ugly Love
Page 3
My heart forgets to wait and get to know a girl before it starts to claw its way out of my chest to get to her.
Rachel.
Rachel.
Rachel, Rachel, Rachel.
Shes like poetry.
Like prose and love letters and lyrics, cascading down
the
center
of
a
page.
Rachel, Rachel, Rachel.
I say her name over and over in my head, because Im positive
its the name of the next girl Ill fall in love with.
Im suddenly standing. Walking toward her. I might
be smiling, pretending Im not affected by those green
eyes that I hope will one day be smiling just for me. Or
that red-as-my-heart hair that doesnt look like its been
tampered with since God created it specifically with her
in mind.
Im talking to her.
I tell her my name is Miles.
I tell her she can follow me and Ill show her the way to Mr.
Claytons class.
Im staring at her because she hasnt spoken yet, but her nod is
the nicest thing a girl has ever said to me.
I ask her where shes from, and she tells me Arizona. Phoenix,
she specifies.
I dont ask her what brought her to California, but I do tell her
my father does business in Phoenix a lot because he owns a few
buildings there.
She smiles.
I tell her Ive never been there but Id like to go one day.
She smiles again.
I think she says its a nice town, but its hard to understand her
words when all I hear in my head is her name.
Rachel.
Im gonna fall in love with you, Rachel.
Her smile makes me want to keep talking, so I ask her another
question as we pass Mr. Claytons room.
We keep walking.
She keeps talking, because I keep asking her questions.
She nods some.
She answers some.
She sings some.
Or it sounds that way.
We get to the end of the hallway, right when she says
something about how she hopes she likes this school because
she wasnt ready to move away from Phoenix.
She doesnt look happy about the move.
She doesnt know how happy I am about the move.
Wheres Mr. Claytons classroom? she asks.
I stare at the mouth that just delivered that question. Her
lips arent symmetrical. Her top lip is slightly thinner than
her bottom lip, but you cant tell until she talks. When
words come out of her mouth, it makes me wonder why
words are so much better coming from her mouth than any
other mouth.
And her eyes. Theres no way her eyes arent seeing a prettier,
more peaceful world than all the other eyes.
I stare at her for a few more seconds; then I point behind me
and tell her we passed Mr. Claytons classroom.
Her cheeks grow a shade pinker, like my confession affected
her in the same way shes affecting me.
I smile again.
I nod my head toward Mr. Claytons class.
We walk in that direction.
Rachel.
Youre gonna fall in love with me, Rachel.
I open the door for her and let Mr. Clayton know that Rachel
is new here. I also want to add, for the sake of all the other
guys in the classroom, that Rachel is not theirs.
Shes mine.
But I dont say anything.
I dont have to, because the only one who needs to be aware
that I want Rachel is Rachel.
She looks at me and smiles again, taking the only empty seat,
all the way across the room.
Her eyes tell me she already knows shes mine.
Its just a matter of time.
I want to text Ian and tell her she isnt hot. I want to tell him
shes volcanic, but he would laugh at that.
Instead, I discreetly take a picture of her from where Im
seated.
I send the picture in a message to Ian that says, Shes gonna
have all my babies.
Mr. Clayton begins class.
Miles Archer becomes obsessed.
I met Rachel on Monday.
Its Friday.
Ive said nothing to her since the day we met. I dont know
why. We have three classes together. Every time I see her, she
smiles at me like she wants me to talk to her. Every time I work
up the courage, I talk myself down.
I used to be confident.
Then Rachel happened.
I gave myself until today. If I didnt work up the courage by
today, Id be giving up my only shot with her. Girls like Rachel
arent available for long.
If shes even available.
I dont know her story or if shes wrapped up in a guy back in
Phoenix, but theres only one way to find out.
Im standing next to her locker, waiting for her. She exits the
classroom and smiles at me. I say Hi when she walks up to
her locker. I notice that same subtle change in her skin color. I
like that.
I ask how her first week was. She tells me it was fine. I ask her
if shes made any friends, and she shrugs as she says, A few.
I smell her, subtly.
She notices anyway.
I tell her she smells good.
She says, Thank you.
I push through the sound of my heart pounding in my
ears. I push past the sheen of moisture developing on
my palms. I drown out her name, which I keep wanting
to repeat out loud, over and over. I push it all down
and hold her stare while I ask her if shed like to do
something later.
I keep it all pushed away and make room for her response,
because its the only thing I want.
I want that nod, actually. The one that doesnt require words?
Just a smile?
I dont get her nod.
She has plans tonight.
It all comes back tenfold, spilling over like a flood and Im the
dam. The pounding, the sweaty palms, her name, a newfound
insecurity I never knew existed, burying itself in my chest. All
of it takes over and feels like its building a wall around her.
Im not busy tomorrow, though, she says, obliterating the
wall with her words.
I make room for those words. Lots of room. I let them invade
me. I soak those words up like a sponge. I pluck them out of
the air and swallow them.
Tomorrow works for me, I say. I pull my phone out of my
pocket, not even bothering to hide my smile. Whats your
number? Ill call you.
She tells me her number.
Shes excited.
Shes excited.
I save her contact in my phone, knowing itll be there for a
long, long time.
And Im gonna use it.
A lot.
Chapter three
TATE
Normally, if I were to wake up, open my eyes, and see an angry man staring me down from a bedroom doorway, I might scream. I might throw things. I might run to the bathroom and lock myself inside.
I dont do any of these things, though.
I stare back, because Im confused about how this is the same guy who was passed out drunk in the hallway. How is this the same guy who cried himself to sleep last night?
This guy is intimidating. This guy is angry. This guy is watching me like I should be giving him an apology or explaining myself.
It is the same guy, though, because hes wearing the same pair of jeans and the same black T-shirt he fell asleep in last night. The only difference in his appearance between last night and this morning is that hes now able to stand up without assistance.
What happened to my hand, Tate?
He knows my name. Does he know it because Corbin told him I was moving in or because he actually remembers my telling him last night? Im hoping Corbin told him, because I dont really want him to remember last night. I suddenly feel embarrassed that he might recall my consoling him while he cried himself to sleep.
He apparently doesnt have a clue what happened to his hand, though, so I hope that means he has no recollection of anything beyond that.
Hes leaning against my bedroom door with his arms folded across his chest. He looks defensive, like Im the one responsible for his bad night. I roll over, still not quite finished with sleeping, even though he thinks I owe him some sort of explanation. I pull the covers over my head.
Lock the front door on your way out, I say, hoping hell take the hint that he is more than welcome to go back to his place now.
Wheres my phone?
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to drown out the smooth sound of his voice as it slides into my ears and makes its way through every nerve in my body, warming me in places this flimsy blanket failed to do all night.
I remind myself that the person that sultry voice belongs to is now standing in the doorway, rudely demanding things without even acknowledging the fact that I helped him last night. Id like to know where my Thank you is. Or my Hey, Im Miles. Nice to meet you.
I get none of that from this guy. Hes too worried about his hand. And his phone, apparently. Too worried about himself to be concerned about how many people his carelessness might have inconvenienced last night. If this guy and his attitude are going to be my neighbors for the next few months, Id better set him straight now.
I toss the covers off and stand up, then walk to the door and meet his gaze. Do me a favor and take a step back.
Surprisingly, he does. I keep my eyes locked with his until the bedroom door slams in his face and Im looking at the back of the door. I smile and walk back to my bed. I lie down and pull the covers over my head.
I win.
Have I mentioned Im not much of a morning person?
The door opens again.
Fliesopen.
What the hell is wrong with you? he yells.
I groan, then sit up on the bed and look at him. Hes standing in the doorway once again, still looking at me like I owe him something.
You!I yell back.
He looks genuinely shocked at my harsh response, which kind of makes me feel bad. But hesthe one being the jerk!
I think.
He started it.
I think.
He eyes me hard for a few seconds, then tilts his head slightly forward and arches an eyebrow.
Did we … He motions his finger back and forth between us. Did we hook up last night? Is that why youre pissed?
I laugh when my initial thoughts are confirmed.
Hesbeing the jerk.
And this is great. Im neighbors with a guy who gets shitfaced on weeknights and obviously brings home so many girls in the process that he cant even remember which ones he messed around with.
I open my mouth to respond but am cut off by the sound of the apartment door closing and Corbins voice yelling out.
Tate?
I immediately jump up and rush to the door, but Miles is still blocking the doorway, glaring at me, expecting a response to his question. I look him straight in the eyes to give him an answer, but his eyes catch me off guard for a short moment.
They are the clearest blue eyes Ive ever seen. Not at all the heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes from last night. His eyes are so light blue theyre almost colorless. I continue to stare at them, half expecting to see waves if I look closely enough. Id say they were as clear blue as the waters of the Caribbean, but Ive never actually been to the Caribbean, so I wouldnt know.
He blinks, and it immediately pulls me away from the Caribbean and back to San Francisco. Back to this bedroom. Back to the last question he asked before Corbin walked through the front door.
Not sure if you can call what we did hooking up, I whisper.
I stare at him, waiting for him to move out of my way.
He stands taller, putting up an invisible wall of armor with his posture and his rigid body language.
Apparently, he doesnt like to envision the two of us making out, based on the unyielding look hes giving me. It almost seems like hes looking at me in disgust, which makes me dislike him that much more.
I dont back down, and neither of us breaks eye contact when he steps out of my way and allows me to pass him. Corbin is rounding the hallway when I exit my room. He glances back and forth between me and Miles, so I quickly shoot him a look to let him know thats not even remotely a possibility.
Hey, Sis, he says, pulling me in for a hug.
I havent seen him in almost six months. Sometimes its easy to forget how much you miss people until you see them again. Thats not the case with Corbin. I always miss him. As much as his protectiveness can get old at times, its also a testament to how close we are.
Corbin releases me and pulls at a lock of my hair. Its longer, he says. I like it.
This may be the longest weve gone without seeing each other. I reach up and flick the hair hanging across his forehead. So is yours, I say. And I dontlike it.
I smile to let him know Im kidding. I actually like the shaggier look on him. People have always said we look a lot alike, but I dont see it. His skin is a lot darker than mine, which Ive always envied. Our hair is the same rich hue of brown, but our facial features are nothing alike, specifically our eyes. Mom used to tell us that if we put our eyes together, they would look just like a tree. His were as green as the leaves, and mine were as brown as the trunk.
I always envied that he got to be the leaves of the tree, because green was my favorite color growing up.
Corbin acknowledges Miles with a nod of his head. Hey, man. Rough night? He asks the question with a laugh, as he knows exactly what kind of night Miles had last night.
Miles walks past both of us. I dont know, he says in response. I dont remember it. He walks into the kitchen and opens a cabinet, retrieving a cup like hes comfortable enough here to do so.
I dont like that.
I dont like comfortable Miles.
Comfortable Miles opens another cabinet and takes out a bottle of aspirin, fills his cup with water, and pops two of the aspirin into his mouth.
Did you get all your stuff brought up? Corbin asks me.
Nope, I say, glancing at Miles when I respond. I was kind of preoccupied with your neighbor most of the night.
Rachel.
Rachel.
Rachel, Rachel, Rachel.
Shes like poetry.
Like prose and love letters and lyrics, cascading down
the
center
of
a
page.
Rachel, Rachel, Rachel.
I say her name over and over in my head, because Im positive
its the name of the next girl Ill fall in love with.
Im suddenly standing. Walking toward her. I might
be smiling, pretending Im not affected by those green
eyes that I hope will one day be smiling just for me. Or
that red-as-my-heart hair that doesnt look like its been
tampered with since God created it specifically with her
in mind.
Im talking to her.
I tell her my name is Miles.
I tell her she can follow me and Ill show her the way to Mr.
Claytons class.
Im staring at her because she hasnt spoken yet, but her nod is
the nicest thing a girl has ever said to me.
I ask her where shes from, and she tells me Arizona. Phoenix,
she specifies.
I dont ask her what brought her to California, but I do tell her
my father does business in Phoenix a lot because he owns a few
buildings there.
She smiles.
I tell her Ive never been there but Id like to go one day.
She smiles again.
I think she says its a nice town, but its hard to understand her
words when all I hear in my head is her name.
Rachel.
Im gonna fall in love with you, Rachel.
Her smile makes me want to keep talking, so I ask her another
question as we pass Mr. Claytons room.
We keep walking.
She keeps talking, because I keep asking her questions.
She nods some.
She answers some.
She sings some.
Or it sounds that way.
We get to the end of the hallway, right when she says
something about how she hopes she likes this school because
she wasnt ready to move away from Phoenix.
She doesnt look happy about the move.
She doesnt know how happy I am about the move.
Wheres Mr. Claytons classroom? she asks.
I stare at the mouth that just delivered that question. Her
lips arent symmetrical. Her top lip is slightly thinner than
her bottom lip, but you cant tell until she talks. When
words come out of her mouth, it makes me wonder why
words are so much better coming from her mouth than any
other mouth.
And her eyes. Theres no way her eyes arent seeing a prettier,
more peaceful world than all the other eyes.
I stare at her for a few more seconds; then I point behind me
and tell her we passed Mr. Claytons classroom.
Her cheeks grow a shade pinker, like my confession affected
her in the same way shes affecting me.
I smile again.
I nod my head toward Mr. Claytons class.
We walk in that direction.
Rachel.
Youre gonna fall in love with me, Rachel.
I open the door for her and let Mr. Clayton know that Rachel
is new here. I also want to add, for the sake of all the other
guys in the classroom, that Rachel is not theirs.
Shes mine.
But I dont say anything.
I dont have to, because the only one who needs to be aware
that I want Rachel is Rachel.
She looks at me and smiles again, taking the only empty seat,
all the way across the room.
Her eyes tell me she already knows shes mine.
Its just a matter of time.
I want to text Ian and tell her she isnt hot. I want to tell him
shes volcanic, but he would laugh at that.
Instead, I discreetly take a picture of her from where Im
seated.
I send the picture in a message to Ian that says, Shes gonna
have all my babies.
Mr. Clayton begins class.
Miles Archer becomes obsessed.
I met Rachel on Monday.
Its Friday.
Ive said nothing to her since the day we met. I dont know
why. We have three classes together. Every time I see her, she
smiles at me like she wants me to talk to her. Every time I work
up the courage, I talk myself down.
I used to be confident.
Then Rachel happened.
I gave myself until today. If I didnt work up the courage by
today, Id be giving up my only shot with her. Girls like Rachel
arent available for long.
If shes even available.
I dont know her story or if shes wrapped up in a guy back in
Phoenix, but theres only one way to find out.
Im standing next to her locker, waiting for her. She exits the
classroom and smiles at me. I say Hi when she walks up to
her locker. I notice that same subtle change in her skin color. I
like that.
I ask how her first week was. She tells me it was fine. I ask her
if shes made any friends, and she shrugs as she says, A few.
I smell her, subtly.
She notices anyway.
I tell her she smells good.
She says, Thank you.
I push through the sound of my heart pounding in my
ears. I push past the sheen of moisture developing on
my palms. I drown out her name, which I keep wanting
to repeat out loud, over and over. I push it all down
and hold her stare while I ask her if shed like to do
something later.
I keep it all pushed away and make room for her response,
because its the only thing I want.
I want that nod, actually. The one that doesnt require words?
Just a smile?
I dont get her nod.
She has plans tonight.
It all comes back tenfold, spilling over like a flood and Im the
dam. The pounding, the sweaty palms, her name, a newfound
insecurity I never knew existed, burying itself in my chest. All
of it takes over and feels like its building a wall around her.
Im not busy tomorrow, though, she says, obliterating the
wall with her words.
I make room for those words. Lots of room. I let them invade
me. I soak those words up like a sponge. I pluck them out of
the air and swallow them.
Tomorrow works for me, I say. I pull my phone out of my
pocket, not even bothering to hide my smile. Whats your
number? Ill call you.
She tells me her number.
Shes excited.
Shes excited.
I save her contact in my phone, knowing itll be there for a
long, long time.
And Im gonna use it.
A lot.
Chapter three
TATE
Normally, if I were to wake up, open my eyes, and see an angry man staring me down from a bedroom doorway, I might scream. I might throw things. I might run to the bathroom and lock myself inside.
I dont do any of these things, though.
I stare back, because Im confused about how this is the same guy who was passed out drunk in the hallway. How is this the same guy who cried himself to sleep last night?
This guy is intimidating. This guy is angry. This guy is watching me like I should be giving him an apology or explaining myself.
It is the same guy, though, because hes wearing the same pair of jeans and the same black T-shirt he fell asleep in last night. The only difference in his appearance between last night and this morning is that hes now able to stand up without assistance.
What happened to my hand, Tate?
He knows my name. Does he know it because Corbin told him I was moving in or because he actually remembers my telling him last night? Im hoping Corbin told him, because I dont really want him to remember last night. I suddenly feel embarrassed that he might recall my consoling him while he cried himself to sleep.
He apparently doesnt have a clue what happened to his hand, though, so I hope that means he has no recollection of anything beyond that.
Hes leaning against my bedroom door with his arms folded across his chest. He looks defensive, like Im the one responsible for his bad night. I roll over, still not quite finished with sleeping, even though he thinks I owe him some sort of explanation. I pull the covers over my head.
Lock the front door on your way out, I say, hoping hell take the hint that he is more than welcome to go back to his place now.
Wheres my phone?
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to drown out the smooth sound of his voice as it slides into my ears and makes its way through every nerve in my body, warming me in places this flimsy blanket failed to do all night.
I remind myself that the person that sultry voice belongs to is now standing in the doorway, rudely demanding things without even acknowledging the fact that I helped him last night. Id like to know where my Thank you is. Or my Hey, Im Miles. Nice to meet you.
I get none of that from this guy. Hes too worried about his hand. And his phone, apparently. Too worried about himself to be concerned about how many people his carelessness might have inconvenienced last night. If this guy and his attitude are going to be my neighbors for the next few months, Id better set him straight now.
I toss the covers off and stand up, then walk to the door and meet his gaze. Do me a favor and take a step back.
Surprisingly, he does. I keep my eyes locked with his until the bedroom door slams in his face and Im looking at the back of the door. I smile and walk back to my bed. I lie down and pull the covers over my head.
I win.
Have I mentioned Im not much of a morning person?
The door opens again.
Fliesopen.
What the hell is wrong with you? he yells.
I groan, then sit up on the bed and look at him. Hes standing in the doorway once again, still looking at me like I owe him something.
You!I yell back.
He looks genuinely shocked at my harsh response, which kind of makes me feel bad. But hesthe one being the jerk!
I think.
He started it.
I think.
He eyes me hard for a few seconds, then tilts his head slightly forward and arches an eyebrow.
Did we … He motions his finger back and forth between us. Did we hook up last night? Is that why youre pissed?
I laugh when my initial thoughts are confirmed.
Hesbeing the jerk.
And this is great. Im neighbors with a guy who gets shitfaced on weeknights and obviously brings home so many girls in the process that he cant even remember which ones he messed around with.
I open my mouth to respond but am cut off by the sound of the apartment door closing and Corbins voice yelling out.
Tate?
I immediately jump up and rush to the door, but Miles is still blocking the doorway, glaring at me, expecting a response to his question. I look him straight in the eyes to give him an answer, but his eyes catch me off guard for a short moment.
They are the clearest blue eyes Ive ever seen. Not at all the heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes from last night. His eyes are so light blue theyre almost colorless. I continue to stare at them, half expecting to see waves if I look closely enough. Id say they were as clear blue as the waters of the Caribbean, but Ive never actually been to the Caribbean, so I wouldnt know.
He blinks, and it immediately pulls me away from the Caribbean and back to San Francisco. Back to this bedroom. Back to the last question he asked before Corbin walked through the front door.
Not sure if you can call what we did hooking up, I whisper.
I stare at him, waiting for him to move out of my way.
He stands taller, putting up an invisible wall of armor with his posture and his rigid body language.
Apparently, he doesnt like to envision the two of us making out, based on the unyielding look hes giving me. It almost seems like hes looking at me in disgust, which makes me dislike him that much more.
I dont back down, and neither of us breaks eye contact when he steps out of my way and allows me to pass him. Corbin is rounding the hallway when I exit my room. He glances back and forth between me and Miles, so I quickly shoot him a look to let him know thats not even remotely a possibility.
Hey, Sis, he says, pulling me in for a hug.
I havent seen him in almost six months. Sometimes its easy to forget how much you miss people until you see them again. Thats not the case with Corbin. I always miss him. As much as his protectiveness can get old at times, its also a testament to how close we are.
Corbin releases me and pulls at a lock of my hair. Its longer, he says. I like it.
This may be the longest weve gone without seeing each other. I reach up and flick the hair hanging across his forehead. So is yours, I say. And I dontlike it.
I smile to let him know Im kidding. I actually like the shaggier look on him. People have always said we look a lot alike, but I dont see it. His skin is a lot darker than mine, which Ive always envied. Our hair is the same rich hue of brown, but our facial features are nothing alike, specifically our eyes. Mom used to tell us that if we put our eyes together, they would look just like a tree. His were as green as the leaves, and mine were as brown as the trunk.
I always envied that he got to be the leaves of the tree, because green was my favorite color growing up.
Corbin acknowledges Miles with a nod of his head. Hey, man. Rough night? He asks the question with a laugh, as he knows exactly what kind of night Miles had last night.
Miles walks past both of us. I dont know, he says in response. I dont remember it. He walks into the kitchen and opens a cabinet, retrieving a cup like hes comfortable enough here to do so.
I dont like that.
I dont like comfortable Miles.
Comfortable Miles opens another cabinet and takes out a bottle of aspirin, fills his cup with water, and pops two of the aspirin into his mouth.
Did you get all your stuff brought up? Corbin asks me.
Nope, I say, glancing at Miles when I respond. I was kind of preoccupied with your neighbor most of the night.
