It Was Meant To Be

Molly dreams of two things: getting into her first-choice university and finding true love. Music-loving slacker Zayn also dreams of two things:winning the battle of the bands- and winning Molly.He is determined to make her fall in love with him.

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20. Already Over It

 Already Over It

14th October, 9.25 a.m.

 Molly's POV

“That did not just happen,” I whisper.

Joe Zedepski dropped his calculator. For the third time today. In the last ten minutes. It’s a miracle the thing still works after all these years.

I write on the side of my page:

If I spontaneously combust, it’s Joe’s fault.

I point to what I wrote with my pencil. I glance at Shania. She’s read it already. She writes on the side of her page:

Can someone get this guy a pocket protector?

Maybe it’s sleep deprivation from being up until two in the morning every night this week doing what should be an illegal amount of homework. Or maybe it’s that I’m starting to feel like I’m with the wrong boy. But for some reason, I’m having a laughing fit.

At first I don’t make any noise. I cover my face and try to think sad thoughts . But it doesn’t help. I’m cracking up uncontrollably. And Shania’s going to start , and it’s going to be bad. I can already see her trying to resist . We’re always laughing at the worst times when it’s mad wrong to be laughing. I’m sure it’s stress related.

“Would you girls like to share the joke with us?” Mr Perry booms.

This guy has no sense of humour. Like, if there was an actual medical condition for lack of sense of humour, Mr Perry would have the most severe case.

We don’t say anything. I pretend to take notes.

“Simmer down, please!” he says.

Which is of course even funnier than the pocket protector thing. So now it’s even harder to calm down. I push my hair behind my ears. I nod a little to appear competent. I bounce my foot up and down. I try to get it together.

After class we meet Elizabeth in the hall. They both stand there, looking at me. Then Shania’s like, “Are you sitting with us at lunch or what?” Elizabeth looks at me expectantly.

I’ve been dividing my time between their table and Andrew’s, over where life is all shiny and sparkly. The thing is, Andrew said there isn’t room for Elizabeth and Shania at his table. I guess it is pretty crowded at Andrew’s table, but it still feels like he’s dissing my friends. And they feel it, too.

“Um. . .” I know deserting them is wrong . But I’ve wanted to taste the high life for so long. I’m not ready to give it up yet.

“You think about that,” Shania says. She motors down the hall.

“Shania—” Shania turns around.

“And FYI? You’ll never find something real at that table.” And then she’s gone.

“Elizabeth—”

“Look,” Elizabeth says. “I know how much you like him. I’ve been there. Just don’t turn into one of those girls who ditches their bfs for some boy.”

“Of course not! I just. . .” How can I explain what sitting at Andrew’s table means to me without hurting her feelings? “Maybe I . . . like, I could sit with you guys more and. . .” Even I can hear how lame I sound.

“Yeah,” Elizabeth says,

“maybe. . .” And then she’s gone, too.

After the first two hours of calc homework, I can’t decide between ripping out every single page of the book to burn them individually or just burning the pages all together in one huge bonfire.

“I hate this!” I yell. I fling the book across the room. Since my room is about the size of a postage stamp, it hits the wall right away and thumps on to the carpet. My room is so small it makes me feel constricted and edgy, like there’s no escape.

Like Andrew makes me feel sometimes.

The past two weeks have been disappointing. Andrew and I just aren’t connecting the way I thought we would by now. We don’t have that much in common and his sense of humour is lacking. Not like Zayn, who always makes me laugh and Andrew totally goes along with what Matt and Alex do. It’s not like I suddenly hate Andrew or anything. . . I still feel like I want to be his girlfriend. But I can’t help thinking about Zayn, too. . .

Andrew’s lying on his stomach on my bed, reading his history book.

History is his favourite subject. Stuff that happened a million years ago to dead white men. Thrilling. How can he actually like that stuff? How can I like someone who actually likes that stuff?

“Molly, take it easy.” Andrew gets up and kneels next to my chair. “You’re brilliant. What could you possibly not get?” He rubs my arm.

I try to focus on the problem. But sitting at my rickety pseudo-desk makes it impossible. “I’m. . .” Mum’s idea of a desk was to put a board over some cinder blocks. The cinder blocks are covered with burlap. I am not kidding. So here I sit, just like every night, churning out an endless deluge of homework. It’s only October, but I’m already over it.

Andrew is still kneeling next to me. He keeps rubbing my arm. “I think you need a break.” He takes his hand away from my arm and gently runs it down my leg. “When’s your mum coming home?”

Mum works late on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and it’s Tuesday. We have at least another two hours alone. Not that it matters anyway. Every time Andrew comes over, we end up making out, even with my mum in the next room. And my door doesn’t even lock. And I know she knows what we’re doing. But it happens anyway because she doesn’t care.

“Later,” I say. “Why?”

“I thought we could . . . you know.”

I’m like, “What?” Even though I know what. It’s the same thing he brings up every time we make out.

“Nothing,” he says. “Just this.” He starts kissing me.

It’s weird how one minute I’m all tense and the next minute all my stress disappears. Andrew is gorgeous. Andrew is kissing me. Andrew can make me feel better. I kind of get why some relationships are only based on physical attraction.

He pulls me over to my bed and we sit down. He kisses me harder. I’m having a hard time remembering why I was upset before.

But then he reaches down to the floor and unzips his bag. And takes out a condom. And puts the condom on the bed.

How tacky is that?

Andrew says, “You know you want to.” Then he smiles at me like he’s the most irresistible thing ever.

How condescending is that?

“Um . . . actually?” I say. “I’m not ready for that.”

His smile dissolves. “Why not?”

“I’m just not.”

“Maybe you need some convincing,” he says. He starts kissing me again. The bed springs creak.

Nothing about this feels right any more.

I push him away.

“What is it with you?” he says.

“What?”

“You always do this.”

“Always? Like it’s been that many times?”

“What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid,” I say.

“It’s only been five weeks.”

“Exactly. It’s been five weeks.”

“No, it’s only been five weeks. That’s nothing.

” “How long do you need?”

“I don’t know. Longer than this.” Andrew stares at me.

“You’re never gonna have sex with me, are you?”

“Huh?”

“What’s the problem?”

“Nothing.”

“Why do you always say ‘nothing’?”

“Because nothing’s wrong.”

“Look,” Andrew says. “I know something’s wrong. So what is it?”

I miss being able to put on my pyjamas and chill in front of the TV and actually get all of my homework done before midnight. I mean, making out with my boyfriend would be preferable if it felt right. I might even want to sleep with him. But something’s still missing . “It’s just . . . I need to get my homework done.”

“But we always do homework.”

“That is so not true,” I tell him. “We always make out, and then I don’t have enough time to do anything.” I look at the condom. “And now. . .”

Andrew looks at the condom. Then he leans towards me. “I really think we should,” he whispers.

“Why? Why is this so important to you?” I know guys are obsessed with sex, but this is ridiculous. Andrew’s pushing it so much you’d think he’s desperate.

“Because you’re beautiful.” He kisses my neck. “And sexy.” He kisses my collarbone. “And I was hoping our first time could be together.” He kisses my shoulder. “What?” What did he just say? Our first time? There’s no way he’s a virgin!

 Andrew stops kissing me. He’s like, “Oh, no, I meant . . . for you . . . it would mean a lot for. . .” But we both know what he meant.

 Andrew’s actually a virgin!

 

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