Chapter 7: Twitterpated

7: Twitterpated

Logan

The bell rings, signaling the start of class. As usual, I’m in my seat at the back of the classroom, my books prepped on the table before, and my pencils with fresh lead in them. I’m turned around and chatting with Jimmy, who has a fresh story to tell me about his evening last night.

I barely register her as I feel her weight sit in the seat next to me. The long table shifts as she places her books on it and neatly lays her pencils and highlighters in a row next to them.

I turn and see her long, black hair down over her face, her hands trembling as she fumbles for the rest of her things.

“Hey,” I say, smiling.

She jumps and looks up at me. Her bottom lip quivers, and she catches it with her teeth. Her brown eyes are wide with unease, the freckles on her nose wrinkling with each breath.

“Are you okay?” I ask her. Instinctively, I know this won’t be the last time I ask that.

She gulps and lets out a shaky breath. “Yes, I’m fine,” she says, though her face is deeply flushed. Suddenly, I wonder if she is upset with me. I frown, but only briefly.

“We have that project due at the end of the week. I thought we could go by the public library after school and work on it together. What do you think?”

She bows her head, her hair falling over her face, hiding the blush I know is there.

“S-sure,” she stammers.

Before I can say more, Mr. Baylee starts the class with a loud “harrumph.”

As the day goes on and I move through my next classes, I find my thoughts consistently moving back to thoughts of HER. Anyra. Her name sends shivers down my body as I whisper it on my tongue, barely producing the syllables.

I can hardly pay attention to the lectures I am forced to undergo as I doodle in my sketchbook, letting the pencil guide my hand forming the perfect marks that capture her face, each line, and every detail. Even I am surprised by what comes out on the white paper.

I stare down at the paper, seeing her face through new eyes.

Her face is slightly round with a button nose set against olive skin. Though the image is in black and white, shaded slightly where needed, I can somehow depict the otherwise unseen colors.

She is staggeringly beautiful. I think of her eyes as they turn to me. How she bit her bottom lip made blood rush through me, and my head faint.

The picture is suddenly ripped away from me, and my pencil drops to the ground. I gasp, startled, and look up to see Amy’s scowling face, a vibrant shade of red. She looks at the picture I have drawn and grimaces as if she is looking at a piece of trash not worth her gaze.

“What the hell is this?” she asks me with accusation in her eyes.

“A drawing,” I say. “Obviously.”

“Why are you drawing HER?” she sneers at me, the paper dangling in front of me, her fingertips digging into the smooth surface.

I say nothing, my frown deepening.

“You don’t even know her!” Amy’s voice raises in pitch, drawing the attention of the people in the room. Thankfully, the teacher had stepped out to make a phone call. I knew it was a poor choice to sit next to Amy.

“So?” I dare her to say more. “Why do you care? We’re not together anymore. Go and give some other guy your attention. I’m done dealing with your spoiled, obnoxious, selfish antics. Buzz off, Amy.”

The room goes silent as my words sink in. Apparently, no one had known of our recent relationship status change. I roll my eyes inwardly.

I’ve had it with the social structure in this school. Every action and move I make has to be somehow calculated into some grand scheme I have no control over.

I make it onto the football team, and suddenly I’m everybody’s latest gossip. I only joined the team to ease my mother’s worries about me going to college. With a football scholarship and anything else I can get my hands on, I could get a free ride all the way through.

Of course, part of that plan had been to NOT DATE. But being single in a place like this was inviting social ruin. Now, however, I couldn’t care less what people think about me.

The school year is almost over, and there is something, someone new, on my radar. For some reason, that’s all that matters right now.

Amy begins shaking, tears forming in her eyes. Before she bursts into all-out sobs, she dashes through the room and out the door in a flash, leaving a shocked Mrs. Taylor in the doorway just as she walks back in.

I didn’t exactly WANT to hurt her, but she needed the truth about it. Sometimes, the cold truth is better than no truth at all.

***

I slump in my seat at the lunch table, staring at my tray of chili. The guys have noticed that Amy has not joined us today but only responded by closing the gap as if she was never there, to begin with.

My stomach is sour. Telling Amy off had been a highlight of my day, but when I came into the cafeteria and saw no Anyra, my spirits sank.

‘What if she is upset with me?’ I don’t know what I could have done, but the way she acted in class this morning did not raise my hopes. Of course, she had agreed to meet after school. That’s a good sign, right?

Then, as if a spotlight had landed on her, I see Anyra appear out of the shadows. She is wearing black pants and a white t-shirt. Her hair had been placed in a low ponytail, showing off the curve of her cheeks and letting her eyes shine just as they should.

She holds her tray confidently and strides over to her usual table where Jenna Hart sits, reading a book.

Jenna looks up, smiles, and the two begin to immerse themselves in a serious conversation.

It takes a minute for the guys to realize I’m not paying even the slightest attention to what they’re saying. Jimmy waves a hand in my face, but I swat it away, not wanting my gaze to leave Anyra.

I hear some distant remark about being “twitterpated,” but again, my mind wanders to her, Anyra.

She abruptly stops talking, and her back becomes rigid. Then, as time slows down and the volume in the room diminishes, I see her turn to me, and our eyes become fixed on each other.