It Started with a Bet...

"Haley, honey, what's this?" Mom's randomly entered my room while I'm trying to do homework. She's taken it onto herself to talk to me for 5 minutes every day, no matter how late she gets home. It's nice of her, I guess.

"That's a dress," I say, looking over at her. She's standing with her back to me, staring at the bulletin board we moved from my house. It's bare, save the drawing of the Impossible Dress.

"The Impossible Dress," Mom says, waiting for me to explain. I don't.

"Haley, I need help on this math problem. Woah, Mom, you're home kinda early for a Friday." Trevor pauses at the doorway. Mom shrugs.

"I'm on time."

"Usually you're late." She shrugs.

"Did you have dinner?" I turn back to my math homework while they continue their awkward conversation. Eventually Mom leaves. Trevor flops face up on my bed.

"Math problem?" I reminded him.

"What did you guys talk about?" I shrug.

"She walks in, says hello, asks about that drawing," I point to the bulletin board, "I say it's a dress, she agrees, you walk in." He lets out a deep sigh. Is he getting jealous? "You guys are pretty close aren't you?" I ask.

"Very." He sits up suddenly. "Are you trying to make me feel better?" I flush suddenly. Is that it? Really? I shrug.

"Which math problem were you having trouble with?"

I haven't reached that problem yet, but we puzzle over it together anyway, eventually reaching the conclusion that Trevor's answer is right, and the one in the back of the book is wrong. It's happened before. There's something about higher level math that causes the authors to make way more mistakes in the back of the book than you'd expect.

"Thanks, Haley."

"For what?" He turns away from me, staring intently at the Impossible Dress.

"For caring." I cared? Oh. About his mom. Crap.

I'm torn now. I've always been torn. Torn between the part of me that's been healing slowly all these years and the part that doesn't want to forget. But I've never cared before.

"I don't care," I say stiffly. "I was just asking a question." I feel him tense up beside me.

"I was talking about the math problem," he lies. He walks up to the bulletin board. "The Impossible Dress, huh?" I don't respond. I don't care. I don't, right? There's only one person I care about. Right?

***
"Ha-ley," Trevor mouths during art. I ignore him. "Hal-ley." His voice is childish and teasing. I tug an earphone out and look at him.

"What?"

"Nothing." He goes back to his work. I look at Matt, who shrugs and looks just as confused.

"Hal-ey." Five minutes later. Just five minutes later he does it again. And, again, it's nothing. And then five minutes later, on the dot, he does it again.

"What?" I snap finally, smacking the table with both hands.

"Am I bothering you?" he asks in mock surprise.

"No shit, Sherlock!" Matt looks up in surprise.

"I've never seen you this annoyed. Come to think of it, I've never seen you anything but happy or really quiet." Trevor smirks at me.

"I guess I make Haley get emotional." I see what he's doing now, the little dip-wad. He's trying to "help." I glare at him. "What's this? First annoyance and now anger? Looks like I'm a pro."

I roll my eyes and ignore him, but I can't help the fuzzy feeling in my stomach. Why do I feel almost...flattered?

"Where do you want to go for lunch today?" Trevor asks as we exit the art room. He slips an arm around my shoulders. I try to push it off, but he refuses to move it.

"I don't really care."

"Oh, come on! You must have some kind of craving. Mexican? Italian? French?" I let out a snort.

"French? What kind of food do they eat?" He pauses.

"Uh...bread and cheese mostly, I think."

"Yeah, that's totally what I want." He shakes his head.

"Aren't you afraid of getting fat? You eat so much!" I turn around to glare at him.

"It's people like you that propagate eating disorders." He shrugs.

"I think you're the only girl I can say that to without feeling guilty." I punch him in the chest. "But apparently it's still not allowed."

"Wouldn't want you to get any ideas."

"What's up, Haley?" I shrug as Corey walks up to us. I feel Trevor's arm stiffen as Corey's eyes flick from me to Trevor.

"Nothing much. What's up with you?" I attempt to shrug Trevor's arm off, but it won't move. "Dude!" Trevor looks at me, annoyed.

"What?"

"Do you plan on coming to class with us? Now move it or lose it." It's like he just realized where his arm is.

"Oh." He moves the arm slowly, never taking his eyes off of Corey's face.

"So you guys aren't together?" Corey asks incredulously once Trevor's out of sight. I shake my head.

"An arm on the shoulders means nothing," I say. I ignore the fact that the two had engaged in an animalistic stare-down. Corey puts his arms around my shoulders.

"So this means nothing?"

"Yup." I ignore the fluttery feeling in my stomach as Corey's dark brown eyes look into mine. I feel like a girl again. That's the nice thing about Corey, I guess. He doesn't know enough about me to remind me of all the crap in my past.

"What's for lunch today?" He asks.

"I'm not sure," I reply. "We may not be going out at all.” Someone bumps into me as they pass. “Sorry,” I say quickly. It’s Christa. She sends me a death glare and walks away. Something tells me she didn’t bump into me on accident.

“What’s wrong with her?” I can hear the voices as I walk to class, on my way to my locker, on my way to my car. “Who does she think she is? First it’s Trevor, then it’s Corey. What a whore.”

I’d never dealt with rumors like this before. When Trina died, I wasn’t paying attention, and when I came back to school, helping me out was cool. Today, I ignore it. It didn’t affect me at all. I am strong.

“Are you okay?” Trevor asks on the way home. How did he…

“What? Why?” He shrugs.

“You seem upset about something.” I scoff at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with me.” He just looks at me like he doesn’t believe it. “Why? Have you heard something?” He pauses.

“No.” Makes sense. No one would dare mention it to his face. Wait—who cares? It doesn’t matter to me at all anyway. “But really, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing!” I say with emphasis. Why doesn’t he believe me? We walk into the house together. Dad gets up off the couch.

“Haley, I’m glad you’re home. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” I stiffen as I recognize the shadow on the couch.

“Haley!” Dr. Thornton exclaims. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”