Girls Save the World in This One - Ash Parsons Page 0,38
I’m meeting his eyes when he smiles and gives me a little shrug.
My eyes jump off him fast.
But not before I see that he’s walking over to our row.
“Aw, hell nah,” Siggy mutters as Scott scoots into the row near me.
“Hey,” Scott murmurs.
What do I say? What can I say? I’m not here to talk to him. I want to listen to The Undead Listen, not talk to the boy who I thought was mine. Or was partly mine.
But I also can’t help that I still want to talk to him. And that sucks. Because you can’t just cut out that part of you. The part that liked a person, and liked what they saw in you, or the person that you were with them. But here you are, anyway, in spite of it all, just wanting to talk to them still.
He looks at me, and his smile is the exact one that used to make me feel special, the same one that I used to think of as one that was just for me.
Then I realized it was just the way he looked at any girl.
It’s like his eyes are saying, “You’re not like the other girls.”
But I am. I am the other girls. I am exactly, wonderfully, like all the other girls, jerk.
So stop negging us. For once. Just stop it.
I have this whole speech unfurling in my head as he says, “It’s good to see you.”
But I don’t say any of it.
I just point at the podcast stage. And he at least falls silent until The Undead Listen finishes.
Imani stares daggers at Scott the whole time. And when Jilly, Billy, and Melinda leave the stage, Imani hisses at Scott.
“Get away from us. No one wants you here.”
He ignores her.
“I miss you,” Scott says to me. “I wish you’d let me explain.”
“Let’s go.” Siggy stands and reaches across Imani to tug at my arm.
“I did, remember?” My voice should be venom and anger that could etch glass, but it’s just a dorky-sounding choke that comes out high, making me sound like a little girl.
High voice, tight with tears. Ugh.
“Did you hear the show?” Scott asks, standing with us, and following as we scooch out of the row. “It was great!”
And there it is. All he ever really liked about me: the way I looked at him.
Tell me how great I am again.
Scott is still talking. “I did a live cast! Not prerecorded like some of these other guys.”
“Oh, awesome,” Siggy says in a voice so edged it could slice a block of cheese. “That means no one could enjoy it in the moment. Instead of, you know, no one enjoying it later. Woo!” Her finger twirls in a sarcastic whoop-de-doo celebration.
The way she says it; that attitude, perfected, cutting, in the way that I swear to God only Siggy has mastered. A cute blonde stiletto right to the tender underbelly.
I laugh. It launches out of me like a rocket, shooting a shower of pain and anger but also mirth, actual true honest laughter because it’s funny, my friend is funny, and I know who Scott is.
I know who he is now.
He’s the guy who gets to you by dragging down everyone else. He’s the guy who thinks about himself the most, and anyone else second.
He never really saw me. I can play it all back now, and it’s embarrassing, like a bad movie montage where the girlfriend watches and listens adoringly as the Guy plays his guitar at her. Plays his music. Doesn’t ask for hers, doesn’t care about hers.
Scott frowns at me as my guffaw tapers to giggles.
For once I’m not embarrassed. I’m not wishing I was smaller, or prettier, or anything else.
Blair can have him. Not that she needs my blessing, obviously she didn’t, but hell. It turns out? I think they’re a really great match.