Living With The Player

CAMILLA RENÉE

TUESDAY.

The sun’s rays glinting above my head provokes me to stir repetitively.

Until my eyes break open with a little pressure, then I comprehend I’m not alone on the bed. I blink several times, then toss to the other side.

My eyes are twinkling, making out the figure laying beside me. It could be a daydream. Or not. She stayed here.

I cock my head and surveil. Miranda part her lips, slowly breathing through them. My features soften while I pull my cell phone, quickly navigating to Snapchat and taking a picture.

“What are you doing?”

She says grudgingly, spreading her legs as her eyes slowly blink open.

“Nothing.”

I opine, tucking my phone away. Miranda glances down at both of us sleeping on the same bed. I cock a brow and smirk.

“Never. Speak. Of. This. To. Anyone.”

She spelt out. I lifted one hand in surrender, clutching my cell in the other. Again she glances suspiciously but gets up.

“She said not to speak of it. Said nothing about uploading a picture.”

To kick-start my morning, I upload the picture to my snap story, because I can.

Anyone who has my cell number will see it. Just for the fun, of course. Maybe sleep with one eye open afterwards.

****

My course catalogue for the semester feels psychic. It’s as though they made it for me.

Coincidentally, I have no morning classes on the day I wake up late. Yes-Miranda and I didn’t get until late 10 AM.

She had classes by ten and swore till the door. Little wonder how she’ll react when she sees the snap.

Crossing my legs on the bed, I pulled my iPad and logged into Netflix.

Having a few hours before class, I could get through three episodes without food, stop at the cafeteria before class, and grab a bite.

A quarter through a movie, I got a text from Jimmy. Knew it wouldn’t take too long before the boy drama returns.

“Hey…”

Plain.

“Happy Tuesdays.”

Who says I’m a boring texter?

“I was going to wait till classes this evening, but I couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday…”

My attention is undivided. How can I process Jimmy’s text while watching Riverdale? The series is unbelievably captivating.

“I can’t stop thinking about what might have happened had Graham stayed where he was.”

I hummed silently, glancing at the texts sent minutes apart.

“Camilla. I have something to ask you later today. Meet in front of our faculty after class?”

Sigh.

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

I shut my screen and return to the movie.

*****

1:43 PM.

CAL-U cafeteria is three times the size of the one at Kingston High. Folks rarely come by here in the afternoon, but with my flexible meal plan, I can eat whenever I want.

“Sandwich and a coke.”

The school chief turned her back to me and I thumped my foot on the ground, checking my reports.

I got a few jovial responses from the snap. An “okay” reply from Jimmy and random DMs from students-mostly guys in my faculty.

Sigh. Again, I lock my screen and force a smile on.

An odd sentiment crawls up my spine. I reaped something similar earlier this morning promptly after I texted Jimmy. It lasted until I showered and left the dorms. Seems like it’s back now.

It seems like… Disappointment? No. Why will I be?

I dent a smile across my cheeks. Happy thoughts Camilla.

“Here you go.”

I smiled curtly, pull the tray and search for an empty table.

A few students are scattered, and I take the farthest one possible.

I crunch on my meal with no obstructions. There are about ten minutes, give or take, before class. I don’t have to rush. It’s a two-minute walk from this cafe to the lecture hall.

Just then, my phone glows up and vibrates.

Not once. Twice. Thrice. Four times. What the fuck?

I screw the lid over the plastic beverage and peek at the scream.

I choke on the remnant while concealing a laugh trying to force its way out.

“I’ll kill you.”

“Don’t come home.”

“Delete the picture!”

“I look so fucking hideous! Camilla! I’ll get you back. I swear to the lord almighty I’ll get you back!.”

“I’ll never be able to show my face anywhere! Do you know how many reposts that picture has gotten? Fuck! The captions! Murder me!”

The texts don’t stop there. I mute my cell to halt all vibrations and gulp my drink down my throat.

Reposts? I have more friends on my snap than I thought. My best friend overreacts, drama major and all. I’m sure the picture isn’t that bad.

Rolling my eyes, I scan my story to corroborate and cackle in response.

Okay-it’s bad. She’s half pouting. She squeezed her eyes. She looks horrible. No makeup. No blush. Natural Miranda. Maybe I went a little overboard by uploading.

Hastily, I take the picture down and slide my phone away.

A few more bites to go.

“You’re lucky you took it down. I’ll still kill you, though!”

I may end up turning my phone off. She’s even stalking me.

“You better text me back. Text me fucking back!”

Eager, are we?

I swallow another gulp of my coke and look up ahead. Then I choke and it’s stuck in my throat.

What did I say yesterday? Um – yeah. “Why do we keep running into each other?”

I cough lightly, which yields his attention.

Terrific. He’s sporting a plain T and sweat pants. Casual Dylan. Might just be my favourite type. Wait what?

I probably shouldn’t check him out, but I can’t help myself – I do.

I scan and re-scan his outfit. Each time quivering differently. His eyes are distant, boring into mine, then twinkling softly.

He lets out a sigh, and the trance is broken. I realise I’m holding a plastic coke in mid-air. Slowly, I pull it down and it creaks underneath my grip.

Unconsciously, I return to him. He keeps my gaze, his chest gaining weight as he heaves slowly.

For a moment, it’s just us. Everyone else fades out.

I blink first, but all he does is stare.

“Dylan? Did you get us a table yet?”

Someone else’s voice booms behind him. Strangely, it echoes in the back of my ear. The spell breaks again.

That voice. It’s female.

Her figure comes up. Her hand reached out to encircle his and I flinch, averting my eye unconsciously.

I stare past him and gaze at her instead.

She’s stunning. Dirty blonde hair tied in a neat bun. Suspiciously long lashes, full, cute, pink and kissable lips. I shudder.

There’s another feeling crawling inside me. Nothing like this morning or afternoon.

I don’t give it much thought before nudging it down.

Wait a minute. I know her.

I close my eyes and let myself remember.

Months ago. Mall. Dylan. Her.

My jaw drops to the floor. She’s the same girl I saw him with. Do they know each other? The hell?

She’s wearing a Cal-U sweater, so she goes here as well? Isn’t that fucking cute?

I scowl and meet Dylan’s gaze. He’s still gawking. I glare, then stand up. Toss the lid on the unfinished beverage and throw all of it in the garbage.

I prefer to think my abrupt exit is since I’m late and not because of him or, better still-her.

I pull my backpack and he’s still staring. I know he is. This time I don’t look back.

Fuck, they’re standing at the only entrance. I have to walk by them.

That’s fine.

Straightening my shoulders, I clear my throat and begin walking.

Pretty girl is talking over his shoulder, they’re standing by a table. Either Dylan is feigning nonchalantly or he genuinely doesn’t care what she’s saying.

I look forward and keep walking. As I pass by him, I sense his finger stroke my arm. It’s faint. Barely two seconds and gone before I know it.

The impression remains. My body reacts all too well. I turn to goo. Literally. Both arms fall by my side.

My pulse quickens. Quakes run down my spine. My insides flip over and I breathe.

Out through the door, I lean against a wall and puff out.

He touched me. I know for a fact that he did.

“Or you’re a freak and made it up. Why would he touch you?”

My subconscious counters mentally scolding.

No. I know what I felt. Dylan’s fingers stroked my arm. It wasn’t an afternoon breeze. It was him.

Fuck, I’m late for class. I stride quickly toward my faculty with an internal battle between my mind and common sense. The latter argues that Dylan and I are done, so he wouldn’t do that. He’s with someone else. The former knows what it felt. Regardless of the possibility of it being below average, it knows what happened.

****

DYLAN EMERTON.

“What were you about to do?”

Claire scolds, tightening her hold on my arm. The girl is fucking stronger than she seems. Her hold caught me off guard. I pushed back and let go of Camilla.

“She was right there.”

“Yeah. You almost pulled her arm”Content bel0ngs to Nôvel(D)r/a/ma.Org.

I pulled it. Well, flick is the right word. For a second. Her skin glistened. Smooth and tempting. I didn’t stop her yesterday; I cursed myself for it.

I gaped at the ceiling, reliving the entire thing, and when I got some sleep, I could still see her. She wasn’t alone. She was with him.

I watched as he had his hands on her. Touching her. Caressing. Smooching. I got up, panting.

Now I see her again and I’m expected to keep my hands off?

“Why did you hold my hand even? Now she’ll think we’re together or something. Fuck Claire.”

I mentally facepalm my forehead only to look up and Claire is fucking smiling.

“What’s funny? Huh?”

“I did that on purpose. I want her to go to class or home and think about what she saw here. I’m a girl. I know how these things work. Nothing helps figure out your feelings faster than jealously. It works like magic.”

She snaps two fingers, chuckling at her joke. Again, this isn’t middle school.

“Or Camilla thinks I’m still a player and it backfires. She has seen us together before. At the mall!”

“Even better!”

She squeals, clapping her fingers.

“You’re crazy. You’re making everything worse. I blame me for getting you involved at all.”

“Cousin. Trust me. It’ll work.”

She drawls, batting her lashes at me.

“It won’t.”

I seethe not finding any part of this the least funny.

“It will. I can bet you my Prada jacket that it will.”

I roll my eyes and take a seat.

“Maybe I should talk to her.”

“Yes, because talking has helped for over eight months. Words aren’t doing much, Dylan.”

“So your plan is to what? Make her jealous and what?”

“One step at a time, cousin. It’ll be fine. Trust the process.”

She coos. Her confidence will be my demise.

“Or it won’t and you just shoved her farther away.”

My inside voice counters. I can’t say I disagree. Besides, I have an irking sensation about today. Something feels off.

****

Thoughts? Again I dozed off while editing. Apologies. Drop pretty comments!!