When Loves Collide

"Kourtney."

I fidget with my Converse laces. Something erupts through me, something bold and powerful. Thick nostalgia slaps me across the face, but I remind myself not to let it get the best of me. She looks very different but simultaneously the same.

My feet turned outward, I ask shakily, "What are you doing here?"

She looks pleased with my question, and I know this by the way she smirks. Like a tiger cat who's just trapped her prey. Still smiling evilly, she explains, "I hated my old school." Rolling my eyes, I make her laugh. "What?"

I cross my arms, one over the other. "You always get your way," I snap. "That's one thing that's never changed."

This pisses her off, but thankfully, Austin becomes my hero. "Hey, babe," he cooes, and kisses me. He tastes sweet, like cinnamon drizzled onto a sticky bun. My favorite treat. He grunts at Kourntey, well aware of who she is and what happened between us. I ruffle his curly black hair, as if to say, "That will NEVER happen again."

A part of me actually believes it.

Turning towards me, Austin forces a grin and suggests, "We should get icecream after this." And by THIS, he means after the classes we are supposed to be attending. I nod. From the corner of my eye, I see her set her hands on her hips. She expects him to extend the invitation, but I know him too well.

He leans down, gives my cheek a kiss and motions across the hall. Unlike me, he takes skipping class seriously. I give him a little wave, and then he's a responsible student again.

We stand across from each other, she adjusting her grey uniform tie. “I take it that’s your boyfriend.” No, it’s just a random dude who kisses and caresses me to help his rep. I just nod. I don’t really know what to say, or whether to say anything at all. Knowing me, she must sense my frustration.

“Look. I know what I did was wrong-“ She cranes over to make sure no teachers approach us. When she speaks again, she tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear, always my weakness. I’m positive she did this intentionally. Kourtney goes on, so soft nobody can hear, “But I’d like to be at least friends.”

I stomp my feet and feel like a demanding toddler. “But you really hurt me!” I shoot back. “You know I gave up everything-“ She interrupts but I focus more on my own words. I really did give up EVERYTHING- my friends, my boyfriend (though he returned), my family’s opinion of me. At the time, though, I was blinded. I didn’t notice everyone who had slipped away.

She sighs, “I’m sorry.”

Well, at least she said it, right? It didn’t fit the ideal scenario; in my imagination, she sounded much more heartfelt and apologetic. Sweat forms underneath my thick black hair. Don’t let her do this to you again, my conscience whispers. I know she’s here, but I can’t bear to lose everyone. Not again. I worked so hard to get all of them back, and not just to go through Hell again. She stole everything, including my battered heart.

When I don’t answer, she keeps pressing the conversation. There are so many things flooding my mind, so many questions I’d love to ask. “Kailee, it was a whole year ago.” Doesn’t she think I know this? Day after day, I rip yet another page out of my calendar and just reflect. I finally consider myself happy, but only because I have moved past the trauma and pain.

Squinting my sea green eyes, I allow my body to tense. I want to be angry at her. I want to kill any trace of love I might still possess. But, most of all, I want to make her feel the same despair I did. How is it fair that she got to escape the ridicule and start over as a new person? No matter who she pretended to be, she was still Kourtney.

She can’t escape that.

English class sounds important, all of a sudden. “Let it go,” I hiss, and storm off.