he says wistfully.
As he finishes talking, I come to the conclusion he isn’t being cocky about his accomplishments, but rather he’s proud as he should be. I am also amazed at his relationship with his parents. It’s so foreign to me.
“Okay, now you.” Maverick looks patiently at me. Damn, I ate the apple too fast.
My stomach seems to drop to my feet. I have to keep this as generic as possible. I hate talking about myself.
“Okay, well I’ve moved around all of my life. I’ve been in so many schools I’ve lost count. This is my last one obviously, until college, which I can’t wait for. Just the thought of being in the same school for four years without changing, makes me happy. My mom and dad are still married, but I wouldn’t say happily. I would say–just going through the motions.”
Why in the hell did I just tell him that? I can’t help but chastise myself.
Oddly enough, after that mess, conversation comes easy. I like the way his voice sounds and when I talk he gives me his undivided attention. I’ve never had anyone show me that kind of rapt attention. He seems so interested in everything I say.
“How about music?” he asks. “I noticed in choir that you seemed to light up every time Mr. Hall brought up what we were going to be singing this semester.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “I love music.”
“Who’s your favorite singer, band, whatever? Tell me everything.”
I feel taken aback that this guy wants to know so much about me. I look at him and ask the only question that pops in to my head. “Why?”
He looks at me with a sincere look and says, “Why not? There is just something special about you that makes me need to know you.”
I can’t help but think that this is a mistake, or it must be some kind of joke. Am I being punked?
I glance around the cafeteria half expecting a camera crew to jump out at me at any moment. However, as I look at him, he seems sincere, but I’m still doubtful. I pinch my arm just to make sure. I know I’m stupid but I can’t help it. Yeah, the pinch hurt, not dreaming. Surely he’s not talking to me, and he has the wrong girl. Does he need glasses or something?
I can’t take it anymore. It just feels off. There is no way a guy like him would like a girl like me. I need to put a stop to this before I am embarrassed beyond repair. Words that sound so familiar start running through my brain. All I can think about is my dad and what he’s says I am. He’s not afraid to speak the truth about what a fat ass I am or how stupid I am. I have heard this my whole life, which is why this so unreal to me.
I feel the beginning of tears threaten to track their way down my face, and I don’t want to cry but I’m on the edge. My voice starts to crack as I start speaking, “I’m sorry Maverick. You must have blinders on. You’ve got the wrong girl. I’m not anybody special. I don’t have movie star looks and I’m not interesting. I’m just plain Charlie. Charlie, who has parents that named her a boy’s name for an ungodly reason, overweight with mud brown hair, short and plain. If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”
I stop talking. I just don’t have any words left in me and I need to get up and leave. I can’t bear for anyone to see me cry, least of all him. I start to get up and leave, and I feel his arm stop me and gently lock on to my wrist, which feels like perfection despite how miserable I'm feeling. Just a simple touch from him makes me feel things. Things I have never ever felt–on my wrist of all places.
“Please stay.” I turn around and look at him. I mean, I take a really good look at him. I’ve always heard the saying, the eyes are the window into the soul and as I look at him I understand what that means.
He seems visibly upset.
“Why?” I can’t help but ask.
Maverick sighs and starts speaking quietly. “I don’t know how or why you see yourself like this, and I would like to beat the shit out of the person who ever said or did anything to make you believe this, but I