Page 16 of Let Me Show You

After Cooper leaves, I stay at the library for a little while, sitting and thinking.

My knees are pulled up under my sweater, my hood over my head, as I chew on the cuff.

There’s got to be some sort of catch here. He’s a football player. Yet, nothing about him gave that away. If it wasn’t for the fact that my sister told me he was, and the letterman jacket he had on, I wouldn’t have known.

He was friendly, a little overly smiley, but he was nice. Too nice. I don’t trust it.

It’s got to be an act, right?

He’s not at all what I expected. The biggest shock was that he actually wanted to learn and do the work. He didn’t once ask me to do the equation when he didn’t understand; instead, he asked a lot of questions to make sure he was doing the work correctly.

He didn’t want me to do the work for him. He wanted to do it for himself.

I don’t understand. I want to tell myself that not all jocks are assholes, but I’m not sure I would believe myself.

Every other one I’ve ever encountered has proven me otherwise.

Eventually, I pack up and leave, no longer having a purpose to be at the library. I did my work before he arrived, coming in an hour early to get it done.

The sun is starting to set as I make the walk home. It’s on the chilly side tonight. I wrap my arms around myself to keep warm.

Headphones in, I keep my head down on the way.

“Blakeyyyyyyyy.” I hear someone call my name as the song is changing over.

Brows furrowed, I pull my headphones off and look over.

Oh god. It’s her again.

“Blakey Poo!” Val says cheerfully. “I’ve found you again.”

Why does that sound like something a crazy woman from a horror movie would say?

“Hi,” I grunt.

“Get in, get in.” She waves me over. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“No, that's okay. I’m good.”

“Blake,” she says my name like a mother scolding their child. “Get in before I make you.”

“W-what?” I splutter.

“It’s late, dark, and there could be serial killers out here,” she whispers the last part, looking over her shoulder.

“Yeah? How do I know you’re not the serial killer?”

“Me?” Her eyes widen. “I could never even hurt a fly. Okay, that’s a lie, I use my electric bug zapper all the time. I can’t help it. The little bastards are fucking annoying. All that buzzing in my ear? It’s enough to drive me crazy.”

“Like you with me,” I mutter under my breath. “I’d love to hit you with a bug zapper right about now.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” I sigh heavily and agree to let the crazy girl give me a ride home before she makes good on her promise and forces me.

“Sooo, how was tonight?” she asks, practically bouncing in her seat.

“It was fine.”