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Authors: Paige North
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“You know. Since that day in the cafeteria.”
He laughs bitterly. “Guess a lot of things went on after that, huh? It was the punch that tore the world apart.”
I nod, thinking more about it. Goosebumps pop up on my arms.
“What was that asshole’s name again?”
“Stephen,” I whisper. I look over at Dax nervously and gather my hair into a ponytail to ward off the breeze threatening to blow my hair into a rat’s nest. “The rest of high school was hell for me, after that.”
“And you blamed me,” he mutters. “Got it.”
“No, I didn’t,” I assert.
“Don’t give me that shit. You did. I got expelled, and you stopped coming around to see me after that.”
I shake my head, but the truth is, yeah, I did. “I had to. My parents grounded me.”
“Even after that, though.”
I shrug. My parents were both teaching that day, so they learned right away that Dax got into a fight with Stephen Andrews over me. That blew the whole thing open. They didn’t know the full extent of my relationship with Dax, but it didn’t matter.
They grounded me. They said I’d been changing over the past few months, and now they knew why. They forbade me to see him again.
If that was all, though, I might’ve tried to find a way to sneak out and see him. But at school, I became an outcast overnight. Rumors swirled about me and Dax. None of the students knew quite what to make of me anymore, so they ignored me. For months afterwards, I would go home, alone, and cry.
I hated Dax for making that scene, without even asking me. I hated him for making me want him so bad and uncontrollably that I was willing to go against my parents and lose their trust. I hated him for doing things like getting himself expelled so that my parents would never, ever approve of him. When Dax threw that punch, I felt like I lost everything.
So yes, I blamed him. Maybe I still do.
“Well, you started going through your laundry list of girls again, so I didn’t see the point,” I grumble, scowling at him. “And then I came by to tell you I was going to Boston, hoping you’d wish me well, and you were a total dick to me.”
“Can you blame me? You came by to rub it in my face that you were going to Boston, leaving all us hicks back in Friesville to choke on your dust,” he clarifies.
“No, I didn’t,” I say. “I thought you would be happy for me. I guess that’s too much to have expect from Dax Harding?”
He snorts. “Yeah.”
“I mean, have you ever been with a woman you haven’t treated like shit?” I spit out, recalling all the rumors about him. God, there’s been so many. Once I heard that he’d slept with two different girls in the same night, at the same party. And then there was the rumor that a certain dumpster was named after him because it was where he used to take girls to give him blowjobs between classes.
The more I think about it, the more disgusted I get. It’s a damn good thing I stopped things from going any further last night.
The rest of the ride is silent and strained. I spend much of the time looking out the passenger’s side window. It’s only when we’re halfway through the state of Massachusetts that I sneak a glance at Dax. Though I doubt he’s ever been outside the Pennsylvania state lines, he looks just as unimpressed as ever. By the time we get into the city and we’re navigating pretty heavy traffic past the Fenway exit on Interstate 90, he only looks annoyed. “What is this, NASCAR? I’ve never fucking seen such asshole drivers before.”
“They’re called Massholes. You’ve really never been out of Pennsylvania before?” I ask him incredulously.
He gives me a sour look. “You know us backwoods people,” he says with a mock Southern drawl, “We’re too busy screwing our sisters to travel much.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, stop it. Take this exit.”
He veers to the right onto Boylston Street. We end up at a standstill for a while, even though it’s Sunday afternoon, but I
He laughs bitterly. “Guess a lot of things went on after that, huh? It was the punch that tore the world apart.”
I nod, thinking more about it. Goosebumps pop up on my arms.
“What was that asshole’s name again?”
“Stephen,” I whisper. I look over at Dax nervously and gather my hair into a ponytail to ward off the breeze threatening to blow my hair into a rat’s nest. “The rest of high school was hell for me, after that.”
“And you blamed me,” he mutters. “Got it.”
“No, I didn’t,” I assert.
“Don’t give me that shit. You did. I got expelled, and you stopped coming around to see me after that.”
I shake my head, but the truth is, yeah, I did. “I had to. My parents grounded me.”
“Even after that, though.”
I shrug. My parents were both teaching that day, so they learned right away that Dax got into a fight with Stephen Andrews over me. That blew the whole thing open. They didn’t know the full extent of my relationship with Dax, but it didn’t matter.
They grounded me. They said I’d been changing over the past few months, and now they knew why. They forbade me to see him again.
If that was all, though, I might’ve tried to find a way to sneak out and see him. But at school, I became an outcast overnight. Rumors swirled about me and Dax. None of the students knew quite what to make of me anymore, so they ignored me. For months afterwards, I would go home, alone, and cry.
I hated Dax for making that scene, without even asking me. I hated him for making me want him so bad and uncontrollably that I was willing to go against my parents and lose their trust. I hated him for doing things like getting himself expelled so that my parents would never, ever approve of him. When Dax threw that punch, I felt like I lost everything.
So yes, I blamed him. Maybe I still do.
“Well, you started going through your laundry list of girls again, so I didn’t see the point,” I grumble, scowling at him. “And then I came by to tell you I was going to Boston, hoping you’d wish me well, and you were a total dick to me.”
“Can you blame me? You came by to rub it in my face that you were going to Boston, leaving all us hicks back in Friesville to choke on your dust,” he clarifies.
“No, I didn’t,” I say. “I thought you would be happy for me. I guess that’s too much to have expect from Dax Harding?”
He snorts. “Yeah.”
“I mean, have you ever been with a woman you haven’t treated like shit?” I spit out, recalling all the rumors about him. God, there’s been so many. Once I heard that he’d slept with two different girls in the same night, at the same party. And then there was the rumor that a certain dumpster was named after him because it was where he used to take girls to give him blowjobs between classes.
The more I think about it, the more disgusted I get. It’s a damn good thing I stopped things from going any further last night.
The rest of the ride is silent and strained. I spend much of the time looking out the passenger’s side window. It’s only when we’re halfway through the state of Massachusetts that I sneak a glance at Dax. Though I doubt he’s ever been outside the Pennsylvania state lines, he looks just as unimpressed as ever. By the time we get into the city and we’re navigating pretty heavy traffic past the Fenway exit on Interstate 90, he only looks annoyed. “What is this, NASCAR? I’ve never fucking seen such asshole drivers before.”
“They’re called Massholes. You’ve really never been out of Pennsylvania before?” I ask him incredulously.
He gives me a sour look. “You know us backwoods people,” he says with a mock Southern drawl, “We’re too busy screwing our sisters to travel much.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, stop it. Take this exit.”
He veers to the right onto Boylston Street. We end up at a standstill for a while, even though it’s Sunday afternoon, but I
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