Chapter 11: Chapter 11

When I stumbled back away from the car, I examined my handiwork with a heavy heart.

The windshield was intact, but completely distorted with neon lipstick. I’d planned to write whore, but after realizing how dumb that sounded, I tried wiping it out and tried for bastard instead. However, any words I tried to write after I’d wiped that off was lost in the mess. I’d ended up rubbing the lipstick so much that it soon became impossible to distinguish any words within it.

The scratch along the door was less messy. It wasn’t long or that deep, but contrasted so noticeably against the black paint of the car. It clearly ran in a short line from the middle of the door to the handle.

My adrenaline seemed to slowly fade the longer I stood there staring. And eventually, all that was left was a shitty looking Camaro. I barely recalled dropping the lipstick as I brought both of my hands through my hair. I heaved, letting out a breathy, “Holy shit.”

This whole time I’d been trying to implant it in my mind that I’d done this for a good reason. But maybe I’d really crossed a line. Maybe the keying was a bit much. Or maybe even the lipstick. Maybe I should have just held onto this idea for another rainy day, or until he’d done something drastic enough to really deserve it.

I glanced around, relieved that I couldn’t spot anyone, and hastily shrugged off the flannel shirt I’d slipped on. The cool air hit the exposed skin my tank top left out in the open as I hitched a leg on top of Jesse’s car and tried, in vain, to wipe most of the lipstick off.

I couldn’t help but call myself pathetic for trying to take back what I had already done, but I didn’t let it get to me. I wiped at the windshield until I could barely see the outlines of the seats inside, and I would have kept wiping until the only damage that was left was the scratch on the door, but the sound of laughter brought me short.

I stilled atop the car.

And then the laughter grew higher, more pronounced.

I quickly slid off the hood, but just as I was going to make a break for it, the top I’d been using to wipe Jesse’s windshield got caught onto something. I growled as I yanked at it, panic suddenly seizing me, but it wasn’t until the article of clothing broke free and I fell backwards onto the pavement did I realize that I might have broken whatever it was caught on.

I sprung back to my feet, seeing that it had to have been one of the windshield wipers. However, I didn’t get any time to inspect the damage, because as soon as I’d stood up, the noises were so close that it wouldn’t have made a difference if they were talking right in front of me.

I stumbled back, casting the Camaro one last apologetic look, before I ducked behind a nearby Jeep and used it as a cover to get back to my car.

And once I reached it, I started the engine and drove home faster than I’d ever driven in my entire life.

“Stupid,” I kept muttering throughout the ride. “Stupid, stupid.”

I was torn between wanting to regret or rejoice what I’d done.

Rejoice, because I’d done it. I told myself that I would do it, and I did it. Albeit, I did it for reasons that, in reality, didn’t involve me. I’d done it on the belief that I was committing some sort of public service. If I was correct in assuming the results of the endeavor, though, Jesse would ease up on the girls he knew. He wouldn’t look at them like new meat, but maybe with the knowledge that some of them were capable of revenge and he shouldn’t be using them so carelessly like he always has.

Regret, because it was a 1969 Camaro. A car that Jesse’s dad saved for him. And for all I knew, owned it before him, too. I mean, yeah it was just a car—of all things—but it had sentimental value, and I’d gone and ruined it for some petty, high school revenge.

“Jesus,” I groaned.

I was so dead.

* * *

Monday morning came by too soon.

And the days I had alone with my thoughts did nothing to ease my anxiety. The whole time, I’d been hovering near the front door, half expecting the cops to show up to take me to prison for vandalism. And when I wasn’t doing that, I was reassuring myself that there was nothing at the crime scene to tie to me; that I was innocent until proven guilty.

Yet, when I woke up on Monday morning, all of the positive things I’d been thinking about just disappeared. I was even more riled up and nervous than I’d ever been before. Especially when I’d shown up to school to find Jesse’s car missing.

A few minutes after the discovery, I was standing at my locker, pulling out the books I needed for the day. At the last second, I made a grab for a thick Algebra book that I didn’t even need. It eased some of my jitters by just having it on me; it would serve well as a defensive weapon. I had high hopes that I wouldn’t need to use it though.

I mean, maybe Jesse’s car was missing because he’d stayed home, having caught something with whomever girl he’d been with that night. Maybe I hadn’t even vandalized his car at all—maybe I’d gotten the wrong one and was spending all of this time worrying over nothing—

Slam!

I jumped away from my locker with a loud curse. A hand was planted firmly on it, and I turned beside me to find the owner of it was none other than Jesse.

“Oh,” was all I could let out at the sight of him.

He leaned one shoulder against the lockers and held up his other hand. “You forgot something.”

I lowered my eyes to his fingers, and I tried not to let my panic seep into my expression when I saw that he was holding my mother’s lipstick. I met his eyes, trying to put on a show of bravado. “I’m more of a Chap Stick kind of girl.”

“Thought you’d say that,” Jesse said. He reached into the pocket of the jacket he was wearing and produced what looked to be a cloth. When he held it up to me, did I realize what it was with an open mouthed look. “Now, was this, or was this not, a piece of the shirt you were wearing?”

I pressed my lips together. “That could have been anyone’s.”

“So if you were to show me that shirt you had, it wouldn’t have a piece torn out of it?”

I opened my mouth to deny it. To deny it all. But then I sighed loudly and shook my head. “God. Okay. I want to say I’m not sorry, but I am, Jesse—”

He pushed away from the wall so suddenly that I broke off. “So you admit that you did it?”

I backed away, slightly wary and wondering if this was the start to the violence I’d foresaw when I had still been thinking about the idea of ruining his car. “Yeah, I did it,” I admitted in a rush.

“Why?” Jesse demanded. “I thought we were going alright, weren’t we? I mean, you were giving me attitude—and don’t get me wrong, I like it. It keeps things interesting. But what did I do to get you this mad?”

I swallowed, taking another step away when he moved to close the distance. “I—I just…” I sighed heavily and waved a hand as if that would get the words to come. “I just thought it was a good idea at the time.”

Jesse chuckled darkly, looking away for the second. “When exactly did it become a good idea?”

“Around the time you walked back to that one group and latched onto a girl precisely,”—I held up two fingers to emphasis—“two seconds after talking with them.”

His eyes shifted back to me. He studied me for what seemed like a millennia before saying, “You sound really jealous.” My face must have gave way to the annoyance I suddenly felt, because Jesse smiled lightly at the sight of it. He moved closer to me. I had a growing feeling I was being cornered into the wall. “You’re acting like we’re a thing,” Jesse went on, reaching a hand out to touch my waist.

I shifted out of his reach. “I’m not jealous,” I spat. “And I’m not acting like we’re anything. I did what I did because no girl you’ve ever wronged returns the favor.”

“I’ve never wronged you though.”

That brought me to a pause.

Because it was true. He hadn’t wronged me like Lauren or any of the other girls before her. He hadn’t even talked to me until only a few days ago.

Even though his assumption irritated me, I couldn’t really blame him for having it. I knew that I did what I had because I was foolishly thinking I was doing some great, noble favor for all of the girls I’ve seen heartbroken thanks to Jesse, but to him—as well as any third party observer—it really seemed like I was playing the part of a scorned girlfriend.

I just didn’t realize how demeaning that sounded until now.

I breathed out heavily, glancing to the side toward the end of the hallway. Some students darted by—most likely in fear of being late to class—but there were some moving at a snail’s pace, their heads turned not-so-subtly toward Jesse and I. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be long until someone gathered the courage to walk by us to catch a snippet of conversation to gossip about.

“Okay,” I said, turning my eyes back to Jesse. “So the car thing was a bit much. Not to say you didn’t deserve it though—but, from me, I guess it was. I mean, maybe I should have just stuck fish in your locker instead. Or maybe even ran around the school spreading a rumor that you have an STD, so that…” I paused. “…girls could stop…going out with…you…”

I fought the urge to stomp my foot. Why do all of the good ideas come too late?

“It’s still pretty extreme for someone I’ve never gone out with though.”

“Oh, give me a break,” I snapped. “I might’ve been in the wrong, and I might regret doing it—a little—but I hope you learned your lesson from it. Consider it a warning. Not all girls you’re bound to go out with are pansy asses. One day you’ll meet one, and leave one, and your car is going look way worse than how I left it.”

Jesse stared at me; with unmoving eyes and an impassive look on his face that didn’t give any indication as to what he was thinking. And then, after a moment, he backed away and nodded. “Okay,” he said.

Okay. Now I should make a break for it before he decides to press charges.

“All right, then.” I quickly scooped up my bag with my free hand and swiveled around on my heel. I quickened my pace as I walked, wanting nothing to just flee the scene.

“Can I just ask you one thing, though?”

I came to a stop, but remained facing away. Would he chase me down if I ran for it?

“You kind of owe me,” Jesse drawled out.

Sighing, I turned back around.

Jesse stood with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. Clearly pleased with my cooperation for a change, he seemed to savor the moment before saying, “So everything annoys you. Or at least, it seems like everything does.” He studied me. “For you to…do what you did, you must hate me. And by the looks of it, you’ve probably felt like that since before I even talked to you.”

He didn’t continue right away, probing me to ask, “What’s your point?”

“Well, I want to know why.”

I pressed a finger to the temple of my head. “I think the answer to that is pretty obvious.”

“I want you to say it.”

“You act like a misogynist,” I answered him, forcing myself not to look away. “Girls aren’t toys that you can play with and then replace when you break them. It doesn’t work that way. It shouldn’t work that way. So there. That’s why I hate you so much.”

“So much?”

A shrug served as my response.

“Enough to trash my dad’s car?”

I finally broke eye contact to look down at the floor. “No. Well, no—yeah. Yeah, actually. You had it coming."

While I hadn’t been looking at him, Jesse had moved. I just hadn’t realized how much until I looked up and he was standing so close to me that I was too startled to move right away. “At what cost, Carson?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

He moved closer, but before I could spring back, he wrapped a hand around my elbow, keeping me where I was. “I said you were cute before.”

The Algebra book was still in my hands. I raised it.

“But destroying my car just made you hot.”

And I dropped it.

The bastard smiled at my response and released me, backing away as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “See you in class."

I could only stand there gaping as he smiled at me and sauntered away.

A few seconds later, the tardy bell sounded.

Shaking away the shock at how horribly this whole plan backfired onto me, I kneeled down and plucked my book from the floor.

See you in class, he'd said.

Damn him for making the prospect of ditching more inviting than usual.

I fought against the urge to skip it though. Some part of me didn't want to give Jesse the satisfaction of rendering me incapable of facing him after our encounter. And I didn't really want to face him; my pride is what drove me to walk to class like a good student.

I showed up to class three minutes late. It wasn't late enough to get me scolded, which was uplifting considering I wasn't up for standing in front of the classroom being reprimanded while Jesse lounged in the back of the room, smirking so hard the whole room felt it. Ms. C spared me by nodding her head at me and gesturing for me to sit down.

It was when the lecture started that I was beginning to regret not opting to ditch class. I might as well have been sleeping for all of the attention I was giving to my education.

That was mostly because the first thing I did wasn’t jotting down notes—which wasn’t really a surprise; jotting down notes for a test wasn’t an everyday occurrence for me—but instead drew stick figures on the empty pages of my notebook. And the realism of the drawings was startling.

The last time I’d done this sort of thing in class, I had been in the process of losing my sanity.

But now, looking at a drawing of an electrocuted Jesse, I was pretty sure it was long gone.