Page 77 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
Is that what I am? Yes. Yes, it absolutely is what I am. Nobody is every surprised by anything I do, ever.
And suddenly it hits me.
All of those good girls gone wrong? It’s not that they got tired of being good.
It’s that they got tired of being only that.
Sticking to the straight and narrow? That I could get behind. It’s who I am.
But being predictable?
That is supposed to be my identity?
And yet, it’s completely true.
Planning on law school because it’s safe? Check. Eating a salad with low-fat ranch every single day for lunch because it’s healthy (ish)? Check. Going out with the nice guy with the glasses who thinks I’m a nice girl. Check.
I hear a loud giggle, and look over to see none other than Garrett and too-cute Katelyn, who halfheartedly resists letting him pull her into a puddle. She squeals as he jumps in beside her, splattering them both with what has to be freezing, muddy water.
It’s irresponsible, and stupid, and . . .
I want that.
I want to be the girl that gets pulled into mud puddles and can laugh about it, because hey, it’s just mud. I want to be the girl who makes out with the guy who I’m pretty damn sure is Trouble with a capital T.
Even more than that, I want to be the girl that drives a guy so crazy that he pins me up against a wall and kisses me because he can’t help himself. I want to be so absorbed with a guy that I forget I’m in public so that someone shouts, Get a room!
I want to feel sexy and wanted, and be able to say whatever I want whenever I think it.
But the problem is not what I want to be. It’s what I don’t want to be.
I don’t want to be Zach Harrison’s perfect, nice-girl rebound. The girl his parents want him to date.
His words float back to me, as though from a distance. I like that I could introduce you to my mom someday without sweating like a pig, and I like that you make me want to be better. . .
They were nice words. Sweet words. Perfect words, actually.
But they’re words for another girl, at another time.
They weren’t perfect words for me. I didn’t want to be the path to someone else’s perfect. I wanted to be me.
I wanted to be the me I am around only one single person. The me that’s free to be cynical, a little testy, and who’s not always worried about saying just the right thing.
My eyes have never left Garrett, who’s brushing mud off Katelyn’s cheek.
I know exactly who that me wants to be with.
And I’m too late.
Five
I’VE BEEN MENTALLY preparing for this dumb President’s Gala for months, but somehow I’d always imagined that by then, Zach and I would be an item, and that I’d proudly have him by my
side.
Instead, I’m alone.
Two nights ago, I gave Zach my let’s-break-up-before-we’re-even-together speech. I’d been as honest as I could without spilling my guts about my newly realized feelings for Garrett. The two guys had a class together after all, and I couldn’t bear the thought of Zach saying anything to Garrett. Not that he would, but just in case, I’d left that bit out.
