Page 17 of Strange Love

“Sure, why not?” she says with a shrug, seeming open to anything.

“Be yourself. Don’t worry about what other people think,” I say earnestly.

“Not everyone is as sure of themselves as you are. At least I’m not,” she admits with a hint of vulnerability. When I stay silent, she continues, “A perfect example— my sister had to tell me what to wear for the first day of school because apparently, I have no idea what’s ‘cool,’ and even then, she said my hair wasn’t big enough or something.” She lets out a deep sigh and shakes her head.

I can see the frustration in her eyes as she recounts this story. “That’s sweet of her to try and help you out,” I say sympathetically.

“She’s twelve,” she retorts, causing me to chuckle.

“Still. It seems like she’s trying to help in any way she can.”

Ivy nods.

“Look, it’s all bullshit anyway.”

“Doesn’t make it any less real,” she says sharply, her eyes fixed on me. “Corey Delacour,” she begins, using my full name. The way she says it makes me feel like I’m in trouble, like when my mom does it. “Do you even know anything about me?” Her sudden question catches me off guard.

“Not very much, Ivy Owens,” I admit, full-naming her right back. “Just what I’ve heard around school.”

She hums in response, her head nodding. And then, in an instant, her entire demeanor changes. She is no longer timid or unsure. She’s angry.

“So you don’t know anything,” she states coldly before turning and storming off, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

As she approaches her parents, her shoulders stiffen, and the muscles in her jaw tense. She stands tall and confident, but there’s a hint of something else in her stance, a readiness as if preparing for a battle. Her hands are fisted at her sides. No one perceives the change in her but me. Her parents talk excitedly about the new car Alan is showing them, and I can’t help but note that it’s a newer, nicer version of my car, ironically.

I did that, I think to myself. I was trying to be charming and glib - hell, I was trying to flirt with her, and all I managed to do was upset her. I’m so unaccustomed to having to work for girls’ attention that I must be off my game, or maybe Ivy Owens is different.

Chapter 11

“Video Killed The Radio Star”

Ivy - Age 18, 1988

I’ve successfully survived my first week of school. It wasn’t ideal, but at least it was bearable. After that initial day, I didn’t get as many stares or snickers behind my back, which was as much as I could hope for. I found a bit of a groove and a routine, making me feel much more comfortable.

Sascha and I had lunch together daily, and we’ve deepened our friendship, although I haven’t shared anything about my past. I’m sure she’s heard the rumors, but to her credit, she doesn’t want to delve into my past or judge me by it.

As for Corey Delacour, he seemed a bit weary of me after I snapped at him. Our eyes occasionally met across the cafeteria or in class, and I always looked away first, but not before. I registered the remorse in his gaze, and I know I should probably apologize for my outburst at some point.

Nat’s lying on her stomach on my pale pink bedspread, her feet kicking behind her. Madonna is singing in the background as she flips through her Tiger Beat magazine aimlessly, pausing occasionally to point out hairstyles she likes.

“Have you ever thought about getting a spiral perm?” she asks, pointing to a picture of Nancy Wilson from the popular band Heart.

I wrinkle my nose in disgust, “No way. I don’t want to end up looking like a poodle.”

She giggles softly as she continues flipping through the magazine, her eyes lingering on photos of heartthrobs and hairdos. “A girl at school got a perm, and it looks amazing on her,” she says.

“I’m sure it cost her parents a fortune,” I reply.

Nat shrugs, understanding the unspoken answer. “I have to save some money from my new job for the car and other expenses,” I tell her, “like taking you to the mall.”

Nat’s eyes light up excitedly, “It’s so cool that you got a job at Blockbuster Video!”

I agree, “I know, right? It’s perfect for my love of movies.”

“Remember when you first came home, and all you did was watch movies for like a month?” Her smile drops as she thinks she’s said something wrong.

“It’s okay to talk about it,” I reassure her, briefly placing my hand over hers. “And yes, I do remember.”