Fearless (The Swift Series) (4 page)

“And you know I wanna’ ask you to dance right there in the middle of
the parking lot…”

One night I called Stephen.

                He told me he was coming down with a bad cold so he
wouldn’t be coming to school. Would you believe it? He really did have a cold.
His voice was stuffy and he kept sneezing. I wanted to offer to cut so I could
take care of him, but I didn’t want to seem too interested.

                Besides, my father’s finally caught on to my habit
for cutting classes and was absolutely furious when he found out, even if I
argued that I had some of the highest grades in the entire school.

                So I settled with dropping some soup off over at his
house the next morning before heading off to school. His house was also in
close proximity to the school. It wasn’t any trouble at all.

                Tackling the day was a little more difficult. By
now, I’d gotten used to bringing an extra set of clothes in case the “Stephen
Matveev Fan Club” decided to attack me. Yes, they do call themselves that. I
was to have one period with Stephen today – Physics (also shared with Abigail) –
and two without in which we would just text each other – Trigonometry and Economics.

                Abigail herself seemed happier that Stephen wasn’t
around. When Physics class finished and we headed to the cafeteria for lunch,
she expressed it to me,

                “The air seems much cleaner today. What, did Mr Bad
Boy decide not to take his sidekick along today?”

                “He’s sick,” I answered.

                “Yeah, right,” she rolled her eyes.

                “No, really, he’s sick,” I explained. “Sneezing,
stuffy nose and everything.”

                “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was good enough at
faking to fool you.”

                “What do you have against him?” I asked. “I mean,
when he takes shots at you it’s obviously not because he wants to but because
he does that to everybody. But you genuinely seem to hate him.”

                “You know why.”

                “I don’t.”

                “He’s a player,” Abigail stopped to look at me
straight in the eye.

                “So are a lot of the other boys here but you don’t
hate them,” I pointed out. My eyes widened. It finally hit me. “He played you,
didn’t he?”

                “I liked him,” she admitted grudgingly. “He played
with my feelings the same way he’s playing with yours.”

                “I don’t like him,” I spat out a little too
immediately.

                Abigail gave me a look. “Taylor, seriously?”

                “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about
you,” I shifted focus. “Were you two as friendly as we two are?”

                “Not really,” she explained. “He was a lot more
gentlemanly with me. He seemed to be really interested in me.”

                “What happened?” I asked.

                “He hooked up with Karen Renshaw,” she replied.

                “And?”

                “He acted like nothing happened.”

                “And?”

                “He thought I was being unreasonably upset.”

                “And?”

                “What do you mean ‘and’?” Abigail snapped. “Isn’t
that reason enough?”

                “Were you guys in an exclusive relationship?” I
questioned.

                “No.”

                “Had either one of you explicitly expressed interest
in pursuing a relationship?”

                “No.”

                “Did you reject his advances?”

                “Yes.”

                “Then I don’t see the problem,” I admitted.

                “What do you mean you don’t see the problem?” she
shrieked.

                “It’s not like he was cheating,” I explained. “You
were interested and he didn’t know that you were interested so he decided to
move on to something else. That was nobody’s fault.”

                “You are exactly like him,” she accused.

                “Is that a bad thing?” I started walking. Abigail
followed,

                “Yes because it means you’re insensitive.”

                “Or different.”

                “If he’d done the exact same thing to you, you would
be furious, too.”

                “No I wouldn’t be.”

                “I don’t believe that.”

                “Then don’t,” I laughed then stopped to look at her.
“Abigail, I’m not saying what he did was or wasn’t wrong. I’m just telling you
how I would’ve dealt with it.”

                “Easy for you to say when it didn’t happen to you,”
she frowned.

                I shrugged, “You’re probably right. I really wouldn’t
know. I’ve never really had a relationship before. I just know that I’m friends
with you and I’m friends with him and you’re not friends with each other and,
sometimes, it bothers me.”

                “So you do like him?” she repeated.

                “What does that have to do with anything I just
said?” I started walking again.

                “Because it’s true and I’m your friend and I don’t
want to see the same thing happen to you,” she followed.

                “Thank you, really,” I nodded. “But I don’t think
Stephen ever really means to hurt anybody. He’s just-”

                “Selfish?” she suggested.

                “Granted,” I said as I pushed open the cafeteria
door and walked to the end of the line. Abigail and I got our trays, “I mean,
he’s not exactly selfish. He just… He knows what he wants and he does what he
needs to get what he wants.”

                “So he’s Machiavellian?” she raised an eyebrow.

                “Machiavelli was brilliant,” I pointed out. “It’s
people who use his philosophy to fuel their agendas that are bad.”

                “You’re going to get hurt, Taylor,” she warned.

                “Then let me get hurt, okay?” I insisted. “It’s good
to experience things. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

                “Yeah, pull off an eyelash, say that five times,
twirl around in a circle and make an eyelash wish,” she said. “You’ll eat those
words.”

                Abigail got herself some kind of salad. I got fish
and chips. We sat down at our usual table.

                “So tell me,” Abigail began, “have either of you
expressed interest in pursuing a relationship?”

                “No,” answered, sticking a fish stick into my mouth.

                “Are you interested in pursuing a relationship?”

                “I’m eating,” I said, mid-chew.

                “Are you interested in pursuing a relationship?”

                “I’m still eating,” I repeated, mid-chew.

                “Are you interested in-”

                “OH MY GOD, YES,” I took a large gulp of water. “Now
can we stop with the questions?”

                “Has he asked you to Homecoming?”

                “I thought we were going to stop with the questions.
I’m sure I was clear about that.”

                “Has he asked you to-”

                “No,” I rolled my eyes. “Is this what we’re doing
now? You’re going to keep asking the same questions over and over until I
answer.”

                “Why don’t you ask him?”

                I sighed. “Because I don’t want him to think I’ve
fallen all over him.”

                “Have you?”

                “Maybe?”

                “What’s the first thing you think when I say
Stephen?” she asked.

                Memories from the past weeks flooded my mind. “A lot
of things,” I answered.

                “First thing,” she insisted, stuffing some cut up
lettuce leaves into her mouth.

                “A kiss.”

                Abigail’s eyes widened. She coughed and choked for a
while before swallowing. Then she downed all of her water. When she finally
spoke, she was practically yelling, “YOU KISSED?”

                “SHUT UP!” I reached across the table to put my hand
over her mouth. “Yes, okay? We did.” When she seemed calm enough I removed my
hand and sat back down.

                “When?” she asked.

                “Remember the first time I met him?” I reminded.
“There was milkshake in my eye and he dragged me outside and the whole time I
couldn’t see?” She nodded. “Well, it took a while but he took off his blazer
and wiped my face. My eyes were adjusting and I didn’t realize that I was staring
at his lips. He took it to mean that I wanted to kiss him so, he pulled me in
and kissed me.”

                “That sounds exactly like him,” she rolled her eyes.
“Then what happened?”

                “We went to his car and-”

                “Keep it PG, okay, Tay?” she warned, a look of
disgust crossed her face.              

                “EW!” I exclaimed. “Nothing like that! Though, he
did try to undress me.”

                “I told you to keep it PG,” she made a look like she
was about to puke. “But that sounds exactly like him. Keep going.”

                “I slapped him, of course. Then he lent me one of
his shirts.”

                “He WHAT?”

                “Please stop yelling.”

                “Oh my god, that is something Stephen would say.”

                “I guess he’s grown on me,” I shrugged. “Anyway, why
is the T-shirt a big deal?”

                “Nothing, it’s just that,” she nodded and then took
a sip out of my glass, “Taylor, Stephen must really, really like you.You HAVE
to tell him you like him.”

                “Why?” I scrunched my eyebrows together.

                “To prevent what happened to me from happening to
you!” she was manic. “You have to let him know that you’re interested or else
he’ll lose interest and move on to someone else.”

                “I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal out
of this…” I leaned back slightly.

                “Since you’re not capable of staying away from
Stephen you should be happy with him while you can be.”

                “I don’t really follow the logic.”

                “See?” she stood up then pointed at me, “That is
exactly something Stephen would say.”

                “Please sit down. Stop pointing.”

                “That, too.”

                “No, seriously. People are starting to stare.”

                “Taylor,” she took in a deep breath, “I hate to
admit this but you might be the only girl that’s come to Vroncourt that
actually gets Stephen. You seem happy, too. Maybe you guys should be together.”

                “I think you’re dramatically overreacting,” I
admitted. “So we get along. That’s great but it doesn’t mean we’re meant to be
together.”

                “At least ask him to Homecoming,” she insisted.
“Besides, what’s wrong with him knowing that you like him?”

                “Because he likes me because I’m not all over him.”

                “You’re not all over him,” she pointed out. “You just
like him. You don’t stalk him or do him favours for no reason or anything. You
guys are good friends.”

                I nodded, “You know, maybe you’re right. I mean, the
worst that could happen is that he says no.”

                “Exactly!” Abigail agreed.

                Then it hit me. “Oh my god, what if he says no?” I
looked at her wildly. “If he says no, it means he doesn’t like me. And if he
doesn’t like me, then everything that’s happened the past few weeks meant
nothing. And if it meant nothing… OH MY GOD.”

                “Then I would’ve been right,” she shrugged. “And you
can move on and find someone else.”

                The bell suddenly rang. We both stood up from the
table.

                “You have to ask him to homecoming,” Abigail
insisted.

                “I don’t have to,” I disagreed. “He doesn’t have to
be my date for us to go together.”

                “Okay,” she gave up. “As long as you’re satisfied
with that.”

                I spent the whole rest of the day distracted. Should
I ask him or not? I mean, chances were that, even if I didn’t ask and he didn’t
ask, we’d be spending most of the night together.

                And when did I decide that I wanted to go to
homecoming this year, anyway? Last year was hard enough. Mom had just died and
the only reason I went was because she’d made my sister and I dresses every
year specifically for these events and we agreed the dresses would go to waste.