The boy I hate, the boy I’ve always hated, is back. And he’s standing just ten feet away from me.
God, ten feet is not enough distance between us. Nope. It’s close. It’s real close. We need an ocean between us. A continent. A whole planet. An entire galaxy, maybe.
As it is, I can see him clearly.
I can see every angle of his face.
The sharp peaks of his cheekbones, the slant of his jaw, his strong forehead. Even his eyelashes, how thick and dark they are. How all together, he has to be the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen. Such a delusion, his beauty.
His meanness comes forth in his size. In the veins of his neck and the way he comports himself. All silent and watching and intense and big.
And Jesus Christ, he’s gotten bigger. He’s taller than I remember. Broader too.
Was he this huge three years ago? This… beautiful, with slick, black hair and full lips?
His shoulders look massive. Even from ten feet away, I can see his chest straining against the dark t-shirt that he has on. His entire body seems to be bursting out of his clothes: black leather jacket and blue jeans.
The clothes that are completely wrong for this occasion. The clothes that only Zach is wearing. The rest of the people are in expensive, formal attire.
And just like that, he sticks out.
He screams rebel. Bad boy. He screams that he doesn’t give a fuck.
He didn’t three years ago and he doesn’t now.
My chest is buzzing, probably the butterflies, and also with something else. Something that feels like loss.
I’ve never thought about it too much but Zach and I, we could be… a bit alike.
We always ended up in detention together. Our uniforms were always disheveled by the end of the day, like we couldn’t wait to get out of there.
And from what I could gather, Zach hated going to school just as much as I did.
I mean, I did my homework, got okay grades, but I didn’t like it. Zach was the same. He was a grade above me, and rumor had it that he was held back a year and that he was flunking every subject.
In my weakest moments when I’d cry in my pillow, thinking about going back to St. Patrick’s the next day, I’d imagine a life where Zach and I were friends. A life where he wouldn’t pick on me and I wouldn’t hate him.
But it was all wishful thinking, obviously.
He did pick on me and I did hate him.
I hate him even now as he throws a smirk at someone to his right.
Bastard.
I hate that smirk. It’s so unfair that it’s beautiful and sexy.
He’d never change.
A hand flashes in front of my eyes and I yelp, almost losing my grip on the tray.
“Aren’t you supposed to go away once you’ve served?” says the man who called for me, his eyebrows arched up in an arrogant fashion.
“Yeah, we don’t need anything right now,” the other man in the group says as he sips his champagne.
The third man chimes in, “We’ll call if we do.”
The only woman in the group, decked out in a silver gown, mumbles, “Don’t hold your breath, though.”