Glass Cutter

I woke up the next morning around six and heard voices coming from the kitchen as I made my way out of the bathroom with the intention to go grab some coffee before getting ready for school.

“Thank you,” I heard Oliver say, stopping me in my tracks.

“Yup,” my mom answered. “So I have to ask you, Oliver; what on Earth made you think driving here in the middle of the night, piss drunk, was a good idea?” She didn’t sound angry. She actually sounded genuinely curious.

There was silence between them for a few seconds before he finally answered. “I just miss her...but she doesn’t wanna see me anymore anyway, so I guess it was just another one of my bad ideas.”

“Why her best friend?”

“She told you, huh?” He sounded embarrassed. My bitter resentment wanted to tell him that in that case, he shouldn’t have been doing things he didn’t want people knowing about.

“She’s told me what I assume is everything.”

“I just wanted to make her jealous,” he answered softly.

“Did she end up sleeping with those guys from Seattle, Carrie?” he asked after a moment of silence. His voice was so small, like thinking that I might’ve done so really saddened him.

“She did some things with the one that Delilah was dating,” my mom began, “and kissed the one she got high with, but as far as Tommy Dennings is concerned, she claims they just talked the whole night.” Even though I wasn’t the one that had broken the news to him, I was at least somewhat relieved that he knew I hadn’t given myself up that easily.

Quite honestly, I hoped he felt guilty for his reactions to it all.

“I fucked up bad.” It sounded like his throat had tightened up, but I wasn’t sure if I was just imagining what I wanted to hear. “That’s why I’ve decided I’m moving to Seattle;” and all over again, it was like my world was crashing into pieces. I was hurt with Oliver, but I didn’t want him to leave for good. I felt the tears sting the backs of my eyes—because what was I supposed to do without him?

“It’s not irreversible, Oliver.” My mom sounded so calm. It was as if she’d been expecting it, just waiting for him to come to her with such drastic news.

Nothing was said for a long while. I just sat down at the top of the staircase because I was afraid that if I walked back to my room, they’d hear the floorboards creak and wouldn’t talk so personally anymore, knowing I was awake.

“Say I were to stay,” Oliver finally spoke again. “What do I do?”

“Just be there for her. Be her friend. She’ll come around eventually, and things will be able to go back to the way they were. You just need to be patient. It’s not gonna happen overnight—and you can’t expect it to.” My mom was no psychic, but I couldn’t say she was wrong. If Oliver could just stop making out with all of his ex-girlfriends, I could eventually trust him again.

“Think about it,” my mom added. “Think long and hard before you run away so quickly.”


“Oliver’s still on the couch,” my mom’s voice chimed.

I rolled onto my back and glanced at the clock to see it was almost eight. My mom looked stunning for her job—a receptionist at the local dentist office—in a navy blue pencil skirt and white, silk blouse, her blonde hair slightly waved, and a pale, pink color on her lips. I was actually jealous because she looked well, and I wanted that.

“Are you sure you wanna stay home from school?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Maybe focusing on something else will help.”

I nodded. “Yeah, my mind’s just wandering today.” All I could think about was how much worse I’d feel if Oliver left to Seattle.

She pursed her lips before making her way over to my bed and sitting down beside me on my cream-colored quilt. “Did I ever tell you about when your father and I almost broke up before you were born?”

I shook my head. My mom never really spoke to me about my father. I was intrigued about what she had to say.

She sighed and patted my thigh affectionately. “Your dad was never much of a drinker—you know. He was always very friendly, and when he drank, he was just too friendly; but at least he knew it.

“Well one night, his friends took him out, and this girl—she was the it girl of our time—” She grinned at whatever memory was coming back to her, somewhat laughing under her breath. “—decided she wanted your father for herself.

“So she kissed him at one point in the night, and I just happened to be walking into Ringo’s,” the only bar in Menlo, “at the same time. To say the least, I was pissed.” My mom lowered her eyes at this to emphasize the severity of her emotion. “I didn’t talk to your father for at least a month. He sent me endless apologies—flowers to my parents’ house, mixed cassette tapes to my job, letters to my friends—and I wouldn’t budge because I was just so mad.

“I didn’t know how he could do it to me.” I could relate to that thought. “How could he claim to love me so much and yet go lip-locking some...bitch?” We shared a smirk with each other at the rare occurrence of profanity leaving her mouth. “And believe me, she was a bitch—a big one.

“But one day he decided to come to my parents’ house, where I was staying at the time—much like Oliver came over last night—” My smile faded at the mention of his name. “—and he was very much drunk, also; and he told me he couldn’t live without me. He proposed to me, and we got married at Niagara Falls two weeks later.”

I bit down on my bottom lip. “Oliver isn’t gonna ask me to marry him, Mom,” I mumbled. He might not even stay in Menlo anymore, I thought sadly.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not saying that, Amanda. My point is that sometimes we have to learn to open ourselves up to forgiving so that we can then be opened up to being forgiven. You’re not perfect, either, right?”

I rolled my eyes back to her, trying not to think about the stories I’d shared concerning my adventures in Seattle with Alex Ward and Dane Hawthorne. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?” I grumbled.

She patted my thigh and stood back up. “Just promise me you won’t listen to Taylor Swift on repeat all day, okay?”

I pursed my lips. “Yeah, I promise.” Truth be told, though, it didn’t sound like that bad of an idea.


I indeed ended up breaking my promise to my mother.

About an hour after I heard the side door in the kitchen close, signaling my mother’s departure, I finally gave up on trying to go back to sleep and decided to type good breakup songs into the YouTube search bar. “Style” was the first song on the list that I recognized—so after three replays, it just turned into me streaming her entire 1989 album.

The ninth track was about midway through when a light knock came from my door frame. I rolled over and saw Oliver standing in the doorway, looking disheveled as ever. His button-up was completely undone, exposing his colorful torso, and his pants were so wrinkled that it almost looked intentional.

“Thanks for not kicking me out last night,” he murmured, scratching the back of his neck.

“You’re welcome.” I got up from my bed to pause the music on my laptop. “How’d you sleep?” It was all I could ask to keep myself from begging him to not move away from Menlo.

He shrugged. “Alright, I guess. You?”

I sat down on the edge of my mattress and pursed my lips. “Same.”

He slowly shuffled over to my bed and made his way beside me. “I’m sorry for coming by last night—you know, in my condition.”

“It’s okay.”

It was quiet for a long time before he finally sighed. “Can we just start over, Amanda—just be friends for a bit to even things out?”

“That sounds good.” I didn’t know how that would work if he intended on moving a hundred miles away, but I wanted him in my life, whether it was as my romantic interest or just my friend. I wasn’t quite ready to let him go—and maybe that was selfish of me, but he was, too.

He offered me a small smile, though it was clearly strained, and stood up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

I nodded; and with nothing more, he made his way out of my room, and I heard the front door downstairs quickly open and shut.


The next day, I passed Delilah’s Mercedes, with Laura Heely and Desiree O’Brien at her side, as I pulled into the school parking lot. It was weird pulling all the way to the back of the area just to avoid her, but I wasn’t really in the mood to discuss Roy Radke’s party.

As I gathered my books from the passenger seat, Tommy’s mostly lanky frame came into my side view, his black and red varsity jacket wrapped around his torso and a pair of snug, light, blue jeans around his legs.

He grinned at me as I noticed him and waved. “Hurry up, it’s cold out here,” he complained.

I smiled back to him as he opened my car door. “Hey, Tommy,” I offered as I stepped out into the cold and locked my car up.

“How’d you enjoy yourself skipping yesterday, you badass?” He playfully elbowed me, laughing as we made our way toward the front of the school.

“My mom made me promise I wouldn’t spend the day listening to Taylor Swift—” I began.

“And let me guess,” he interrupted. “You listened to Taylor Swift all day?” He gave me a knowing smirk.

I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Her 1989 album is so good, Tommy.”

“I don’t care what anyone says—‘Style’ is one of her best songs.” For some reason, it didn’t surprise me even a little bit that he was into her. “But you should still stop while you’re ahead of the game. At least right now, no one has to know.”

I glared at him. “Says the guy that knows her songs by name.”

“Yeah, you’re right; but I’m not the one that skipped school yesterday so I could listen to her and eat ice cream on the couch while reading a Nicholas Sparks book.” He grinned triumphantly as he held the front entrance door open for me.

“I’m glad you think so highly of me,” I muttered, shuffling past him with an offhanded thank-you.

“Well am I that far off?”

“Well I certainly wasn’t reading Nicholas Sparks, and I only had one bite of ice cream.” I’d actually spent the day reading articles on how to get over an ex-boyfriend, but that fact was on a need-to-know basis—and Tommy definitely didn’t need to know.

He playfully slunk his arm over my shoulders. “And that’s just what you’re admitting to.”

I rolled my eyes, glad he couldn’t see me. How pathetic did I come off, anyway?

Just as Tommy and I stopped at my locker so I could drop off my French textbook, I saw Oliver talking to Roy Radke in my peripheral. My heart sank, but I was relieved that I’d at least put some effort into my appearance, wearing a pair of black leggings, a navy camisole under a white cardigan, and my combat boots, with some light shadow and liquid liner around my eyes.

My look lingered longer than I’d intended, so when Oliver peered over and waved, I was frozen in place and caught off guard. Tommy was at least coherent enough to gesture back to him. When Oliver and Roy started walking over to us, I just turned back to my locker and buried my head inside it, the smell of fresh paint burning my nostrils.

“Hey, Amanda,” Oliver’s voice rang in my ears. “What’s up, Tommy?”

“Not much, man,” Tommy replied as I pulled myself back out into the open.

“You guys ready to start our compound project today?” Oliver asked.

Miss Grey had a notorious project that she gave out to her students. It was an assignment that was meant to show the depth in our understanding of common organic compounds, but as far as it usually ended up, it was just an easy failure on students’ report cards.

Tommy sighed, shaking his head. “More like ready to fail.”

Oliver just nodded and smiled to me as I closed my locker the quietest I could in the effort to avoid him paying attention to me. “Well I’ll see guys in chemistry,” he awkwardly concluded; and with that, he and Roy were on their way down the hall towards the front entrance, probably going to have a cigarette before classes started.

Tommy just glanced at me before we continued down the hall again. “So where are we sitting at lunch today?” How he managed to act so happy all the time was beyond me.

My stomach dropped because I hadn’t even thought of it. I couldn’t sit with Delilah and her posse because the simple thought of her made me want to vomit, and I couldn’t sit with Oliver unless I wanted to turn into a babbling brook, begging him to stay in Menlo for me.

“I haven’t even thought about it,” I murmured, trying to come up with a quick solution.

“Well we could go out,” he suggested. “I definitely don’t wanna sit with Delilah, to be honest—and if I don’t wanna look at her, I can only imagine how you feel.”

I feel like I want to kill her, I wanted to say. Instead, I just told him, “You don’t have to ostracize yourself from her for me, Tommy.” Although, I wouldn’t admit that it was rather nice of him.

“I stopped liking her after eighth grade, anyway.” He shrugged, as if his confession was nothing new. “What she did to you just gives me an excuse to finally stop hanging out with her.”

I could only stay silent and knit my eyebrows together. I felt like my entire existence was just one big misunderstanding. If Tommy Dennings hated Delilah Weston and had still acted to close to her, then did that mean there were others that held such silent disdain, too? It just felt like nothing made sense to me anymore.

“So I’ll meet you out in the front after fourth period?” he asked as we stopped in front of my English classroom.

I nodded, offering him my best smile. Tommy Dennings was no Oliver Sykes, but by that point, I needed a friend like I needed oxygen—and Tommy was just that.


Miss Grey’s sixth period chemistry class was almost over with more than thirty-five of the forty minutes having already passed, but Oliver had found a sudden interest in wanting to explore the wonderful world of organic chemistry through polymerization of 4-nitroaniline with concentrated sulfuric acid—which was his choice in our project, since I barely understood what polymerization even was. We weren’t scheduled to present our demonstration until that Friday—and it was only Tuesday—but he was too excited to “blow shit up,” as he’d put it. He did look especially cute, though, with yellow, rubber gloves on his hands and a pair of clear goggles around his eyes, so it was a little hard to be mad that he was going to make me late for my next class.

He held a tiny dropper in his right hand as he stood across from me at our lab table, a wide grin on his face. “This is gonna be so epic,” he mused excitedly.

I only peered down at the ceramic dish with the 4-nitroaniline powder in it. I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from his demonstration, but all I knew was that he was going to have to explain the whole chemistry behind it in our essay for the project because I had no idea.

I was actually pretty sure he was planning on blowing up our entire high school with the intent of simply blaming it on our project having gone wrong somewhere. I could just imagine him telling Principal Aarons with a giant fire behind him, That was sulfuric acid? I thought it was water. I couldn’t say I’d entirely resent him for doing it.

“Oliver and Amanda, it’s time to clean up,” Miss Grey instructed from the front of the classroom.

“But we’re almost done,” Oliver argued, holding the dropper over the ceramic dish.

“I told you everyone had to be done five minutes early to clean up. You guys can continue working on it tomorrow.”

I saw Oliver’s eyes flicker towards the dish before letting a few droplets fall onto the yellow 4-nitroaniline powder. “Oh, jeez,” he whined halfheartedly. “Now we just have to finish.”

“I’ll give you both detention if you don’t start cleaning up right now, Oliver,” she declared sternly. She looked extremely irritated, to say the least.

He squeezed a few more droplets onto the powder. “Oh, gosh, look at me—I’m just a mess. I can’t seem to hold onto this sulfuric acid, Miss Grey. What am I to do?”

By then, the entire class was staring at him and his mischievous grin, just waiting for the two compounds to react. I was certainly going to spend my afternoon in detention, but I couldn’t deny that I was excited to see what was going to happen.

Miss Grey stormed over to our lab table and grabbed the dish. “You’re supposed to leave it under the hood, so I can take care of it when you—” and just as she was about to continue chastising him, a giant, black column of solid carbon exploded right into her face with a giant puff of gray gas flaring out into her perfect hair.

Everyone immediately burst into laughter. I could even feel myself sniggering quietly, too, because even I wouldn’t have picked up the dish—and I didn’t even know what was going to happen to it. Her having done so was just asking for something like that.

“Detention for the both of you!” she shrieked just as the bell rang.

I wanted to argue with her because I hadn’t even done anything, but I was too busy trying to contain my amusement instead.


Between sixth period and the end of the day, Miss Grey had pulled her hair back into a clip and wiped most of the carbon residue from her face. When Oliver and I made our way back into her classroom for detention, she just glared at him with a clearly annoyed expression, and he just smirked back to her. “Looking good, Miss Grey,” he chided playfully.

“Take your seats,” she growled. “You stay here until three-fifteen, and I don’t wanna hear a single word from either of you, Oliver.”

He just grinned. “You got it, captain.”

Oliver and I took our seats next to each other in silence, and after a few minutes, Miss Grey left us to take a walk down to the teacher’s lounge. I didn’t say anything for a long while because I was afraid she’d walk back in at any moment, but I could see Oliver staring at me through the corner of my eye.

“What?” I whispered, the curiosity finally getting the better part of me.

He smirked. “I made you laugh today.”

“You also got me in trouble,” I mumbled.

“It’s not my fault Miss Grey thinks you should be disciplining me,” he retorted playfully.

“Like you listen to discipline.” No one could discipline Oliver Sykes, except maybe his mother—and even that was questionable.

“I would’ve listened if it was you;” and when I narrowed my eyes at him in knowing disbelief, he added with a grin, “Maybe.”

“Yeah, okay.”

A few minutes passed by in silence before he spoke again. “Listen, Jona’s having a party this weekend ’cause he’s leaving for Australia on Monday. I think he’d like to say goodbye to you, if you wanna come.”

I nibbled on my cheek for a moment, pondering the pros and cons of accepting his offer. He and I had agreed to be friends, so didn’t friends hang out? Besides that, I liked Jona, and I did want to wish him luck in his future endeavors.

I finally nodded. “I’ll tell the diner I can’t come in on Saturday.”

Oliver’s face lit up with an award winning smile. I felt like I could’ve died from the longing I felt at his beautiful sight.


Oliver and I arrived in Seattle that Friday night around seven. His friends’ apartment building was lit up from the ground floor to the roof, and I could hear loud shouts over the electronic music pouring from the rooftop. As Oliver and I stood outside the wooden door, waiting for someone to let us in, I wondered what he’d gotten me into. That rooftop had to have been absolutely overflowing with insanity.

After a minute or two, the door swung open, and Lee appeared with red eyes and a silly grin on his face. “Amanda, you came!” he exclaimed, pulling me into a tight hug.

I smiled at him. “Hi, Lee.”

“I really wasn’t sure if you were gonna come through or not,” he went on; “but I know Jona’s gonna be so stoked to see you. I think he wanted you here more than Oli did.”

Oliver smirked and rolled his eyes. “Go home, Lee—you’re drunk.”

“I am home! Three floors up, and you’re in my domain, asshole.”

I smirked at their banter. No matter how much I worried about how my evening was going to end up with Oliver, I was happy I’d come out. I really did like his friends.

Once reaching the rooftop, I felt my jaw literally drop at the madness. So many bodies were packed into the tiny area; beer cans and glass liquor bottles littered the cement ground; the music was so loud that I could feel my teeth vibrating; and all the while, it was under thirty degrees out in the Seattle weather, yet no one seemed to be fazed by the frigid, winter air.

I followed Oliver and Lee to a table in the corner with two giant coolers, one pastel blue and the other lime green, that were filled with ice and beer cans. Lee reached into one and pulled out two cans, handing one to Oliver and the second to me. I hesitantly accepted it because, given my track record, I wasn’t very confident in how responsible I was when I drank.

The blue can in Oliver’s tattooed hand shimmered in the rooftop lights as he brought it to his lips. A shiver ran down my spine as I remembered all the things he did with that mouth. To distract myself, I cracked my own can open, quickly brought it to my own lips, and downed a few swigs.

Conversation between him, Lee, and me remained lighthearted long enough for me to finish two cans of the Blue Moon brew and three shots of Grey Goose vodka. Eventually, Matt, Vegan, and Erika even joined us—and then Lee left to go talk to some pink-haired girl with two purple hoops wrapped around the left side of her bottom lip; Matt went inside to warm up for a bit; and Vegan and Erika strayed off to talk to one of Erika’s friends that was visiting from Montreal.

Oliver peered at me with bright eyes. “I think Jona’s downstairs with a girl right now, but we can go say hi to him in a little bit.”

By then, I could tell by my spinning vision and unzipped jacket that I was fairly drunk; so I smirked to him, and just as I was about to respond, a high-pitched girl’s voice interrupted me; “He’s actually out with Jordan, picking up some more vodka.” I swore the sight of Rayne in my peripheral was enough to make my eyes bleed.

She grinned as Oliver and I both peered at her. Oliver actually looked angry, and I couldn’t say I was really anything less than that. I just wanted to ask her who she thought she was because she definitely wasn’t my fucking friend.

“I didn’t think you were gonna come tonight, Amanda,” she went on. “How are you?”

I really wanted to say, Yeah, well I did come, bitch, and I’m just fucking ducky. What of it? Instead, I just pursed my lips, took another sip from my third beer, and walked away. I was fairly certain that if I didn’t, I would’ve ended up hitting her so hard that the stupid, black makeup around her eyes would’ve run off in fear.

“Hey!” Oliver yelled after me. I just ignored him.

“Amanda!” he called before grabbing my shoulder and spinning me around. “Why are you walking away from me?”

“Because I wanna punch you in your stupid, pretty face,” I replied. “You’re an asshole.”

“What did I do?”

“Nothing. You exist.” The response sounded a bit better in my head. The truth was, though, that he hadn’t done anything, but I just couldn’t confront Rayne without leaving Jona’s party in handcuffs, so taking it out on him seemed like a good idea instead.

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” The look of hurt on his face was almost enough to make me take it back, but I could only roll my eyes—because I was only angry at him for being attractive to a girl that was willing to take him from me. It seemed rational at that point, at least.

“What is it about Rayne that makes you like her? Why do you even like me, anyway?” My insecurities were getting the better of me. I was nothing like Rayne, or Delilah, or any of the girls he was known for going after, and he seemed to sincerely just want me in his life, regardless of whether or not I could help him retaliate against Delilah—so what did I have to offer him? I wasn’t sexy, seductive, or any of the qualities guys liked.

“Oh, God, you’re one of those drunks.” He slapped the palm of his hand to his forehead.

“Shut up, idiot.” I shoved his shoulder, but his lack of movement made my lack of drunken strength evident.

He groaned. “I don’t like Rayne. I don’t really like anybody except my bandmates and you, to be honest. Why is this even coming up, Amanda? You had to have known Rayne would be here. She’s everywhere—she’s like that special kid you just can’t get rid of.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Shit-talking her isn’t gonna make me any less mad at you.”

“What did I even do?” he asked exasperatedly. “I didn’t say a word to her!”

Suddenly, every single resentment I ever had came pouring out of my mouth. “You’re attractive, and you’re manipulative, and I think you fucking used me to get back at Delilah for something—whatever the fuck it was—that she did to you.

“I think you played me, and I think you let Rayne come onto you in front of me to manipulate me. You know I’d do anything to vie for your attention, and you know that seeing Rayne makes me crazy because she’s everything I’m not;” and it didn’t stop there.

“And not only am I pissed off at you for making me love you—I’m pissed off at myself for ever thinking you could truly love me. You tell my mom you were just trying to make me jealous—well I don’t believe you, Oliver. I think you’re cunning, baffling, and insidious, and you know all the right things to say.

“I don’t even know why you invited me tonight. Did you wanna see what I’m like when I’m drunk? Did you think we’d fuck downstairs in Lee’s bed, and then you could go fuck Rayne later on in Matt’s? What is your ultimate plan? Because I’ve just about had it with playing your game.

“Dane Hawthorne might’ve beat the shit out of some girl, and Alex Ward might’ve just wanted to hook up, but at least neither of them made me waste my time. All you ever did with your games was just waste my fucking time.” Oh, God. It still didn’t stop there.

“And by the way, too, you’re a fucking asshole. Hyperthymesia—really? I bet you couldn’t tell me the first conversation we had. What’s my middle name, Oliver? Do you even know my favorite color?

“Seriously, fuck you. I’m taking the train home;” and just as I was about to turn and leave, his voice, small and defeated, answered me.

“We talked about Edward Hall’s Handbook For Proxemic Research. You prefer to give people two feet of personal space, rather than eighteen inches, like he suggests. Your middle name is Lynnette, after your mom’s mom, and your first name is your dad’s mom’s middle name. It means worthy of being loved. Your favorite color is blue because it represents peace and serenity. You said you like it because it’s the opposite of how you usually feel, but it’s always been how you’ve wanted to.

“I meant every single word I ever said to you—about liking you before I even knew you, about wanting to change Menlo for you, about all of it—but if you don’t wanna believe me, then there’s nothing I can do about that.” By then, a few people were staring at us.

“You’re right—I am manipulative; but the only thing I ever wanted to manipulate you into was loving me. I did use Rayne to get to you. I knew having her around would make you jealous. I knew that night in Bellingham that I could make you want me even more if you saw me clinging onto her. I regretted encouraging you to hook up with Alex, and I wanted to make you regret it—so I did it the only way I knew how.

“And I might be cunning, baffling, and insidious, but you’re stubborn, diffident, and meek. You’ve allowed Delilah to completely shape you into everything you hate. You’re subservient, and you’ve let your insecurities get the best of you—all because of her; and as long as you keep responding to me and everyone else the exact way that she wants you to, you’ll never be happy.

“I wanted to marry you—I still do. I’d spend the rest of my life with you if you’d just fucking let me, but you’re too busy thinking I’m trying to exact some sort of revenge against some dumb bitch in our dumb town; so if you wanna go, then go. Just know that I’ll be here when you’re ready to move on in your life if you want me in it.”