The Ex Games(4)
Author: Jennifer Echols

By now the crowd had dispersed. Nick and Davis were walking down the hall together, getting smaller and smaller until I couldn’t see them anymore past a knot of freshman girls squealing about the Poseur concert and how they were working extra shifts at the souvenir shop to pay for the expensive tickets. Go home, people. I resisted the urge to stand on my tiptoes for one more peek at Nick. If I didn’t run into him on the slopes, this might be the last I saw of him for ten whole days.

“I don’t have any gum!” Chloe squealed through fits of giggling, trying to push Gavin off. “Gavin!” She finally shoved him away.

He jogged down the hall to catch up with Nick and Davis, holding the paper-wrapped of gum aloft triumphantly.

“That was my last piece!” Chloe called.

I never would have admitted that Gavin’s gum theft made me jealous. Nick was bad for me, I knew. He was the last person on earth I wanted to steal my gum. Still, I stepped to one side so I could see him behind the Poseur fangirls. I watched him turn with Gavin and Davis and disappear down the stairs, and I couldn’t help but feel like a little kid on Halloween night, standing in the doorway in my witch costume with my plastic cauldron for trick-or-treat candy, watching the rain come down. Such sweet promise, and now I was out of luck. Damn.

Chloe stared after the boys too. I assumed she really wanted that gum. Then she looked at me. “Oh my God, did Nick ask you out? It sounded like he was asking you out, but we couldn’t quite tell. Ms. Abernathy finally came to check on you because the whole first row got up from their desks and pressed their ears to the door.”

I answered honestly. “For a second there, I thought he was going to ask me out.”

“But he didn’t?” Liz wailed.

To hide my disappointment, I bent down to stuff my chemistry notebook into my backpack as I shook my head.

“At least you got a see you around,” Chloe pointed out. “Normally if he bothered to say good-bye to you at all, he would do it by popping your bra.”

“True,” I acknowledged. And then I realized what was going on here. Chloe and Liz had been hinting that I should go out with Nick now that they were dating Nick’s friends, but at the moment they seemed even more eager and giddy about it than usual. I straightened, folded my arms across my chest, and glared at Chloe and then Liz. “Please do not tell me you put Nick up to asking me to the Poseur concert.”

Chloe stared right back at me. But Liz, the weakest link, glanced nervously at Chloe like they were busted.

“Come on now.” I stamped one foot. “Even y’all aren’t going to the Poseur concert with Gavin and Davis. It’s too expensive.”

“Nick has more money than God,” Chloe pointed out.

I turned on Liz. “You really want me to go out with him after I told you he made that fire-crotch comment about me?” Liz was all about people being respectful of one another. We were in school with teenage boys and this was asking a lot, I know.

“That did sound disrespectful,” she admitted. “Are you sure he didn’t mean it in a friendly way?”

Incredible. Even Liz’s sense of chivalry and honor was crushed under the juggernaut called Wouldn’t It Be Cute/Ironic If Nick and Hayden Dated Again.

“What if he did ask you out?” Liz bounced excitedly, and her dark curls bounced with her. “Oh my God, what if you saw him on the slopes over the break and he asked you to the Poseur concert? What would you say?”

I considered this. Part of me wanted to think Nick had changed in the past four years. I would jump at the chance to go out with the boy I’d made up in my head. In real life Nick was adorable, funny, and smart, but in my fantasies he had the additional fictional component of honestly wanting to go out with me.

Another part of me remembered his dis four years ago as freshly as if it were yesterday. When I recalled that awful night, the image of Honest Nick dissolved, even from my imagination. That Nick was too good to be true. I couldn’t say yes to Nick, because I was scared to death he would hurt me again.

“It doesn’t matter,” I declared, “because he’s not going to ask me out. If he really liked me, he wouldn’t have treated me the way he did back in the day. So stop trying to throw us together.”

“Okay,” Liz and Chloe said in unison. Again, too eager, too giddy. The three of us turned and made our own way down the hall. We discussed how low Poseur tickets would have to go before we sprung for them, but the subject had changed too easily. I was left with the nagging feeling that, despite their promise, they were not through playing Cupid with me and Nick.

fakie

fakie

(f k) n. 1. a trick performed in the stance opposite the one natural for the snowboarder

2. a trick performed by Nick on Hayden

I know what you’re thinking. Girlfriend has fallen out of the stoopid tree and bonked her head against every branch on the way down. If Nick had such beautiful dark eyes and a low rumbly voice and a perfect ass (did I mention his ass?) then why would I hold a grudge for something he did in the seventh grade?

Well, there was no mortification like seventh grade mortification—just like my mom said there was no hunger like pregnancy hunger. Normal people got hungry, but pregnant women were driven toward food like starving wild animals, and a Big Mac never tasted so decadent to anyone. Clearly my mother had completed her research on this topic way before I broke my leg and my family turned health-conscious and vegetarian.

Not that I planned to find out about pregnancy hunger myself before I turned thirty. I had too much snowboarding to do first. But I was an expert on seventh-grade mortification. At that age you already worried that every step you took and every word out of your mouth would send your so-called “friends” into fits of laughter, because they hadn’t quite outgrown the cruelty peculiar to sixth graders. If something truly mortifying happened to you on top of this, your heart began to shrink. And if, in addition, you were the new girl at school who wanted desperately to fit in, then in eleventh grade you would still be mad.

I moved to Snowfall about this time of year, terrified I’d make some blunder and everyone would hate me for the rest of high school. Or that these strangers would hear about the broken leg I’d just completed rehab for and would view me as the crippled girl and feel sorry for me, just like the kids did back in Tennessee. Snowfall—funny name for a ski resort town, at least the falling part. It made me worry I would take my dog for a walk one afternoon and slip into an icy crevice, never to be heard from again. The only evidence that I’d ever existed would be Doofus the Irish setter, trotting happily home, dragging his leash.