Gone

Liam walked by my lunch table, brushing his hip against the top as he squeezed by, and I immediately brought up my gaze and glared at him. How dare he walk by me after he screwed me over so deliberately and without a bit of guilt, and then believe that he could walk by my table, not even respecting me enough to give me any space, without any repercussions. I ought to have tripped him right there so his very stainable white cotton t-shirt could be covered with the marinara sauce doused over the pasta on his tray.

“Hey, cut it out,” Manny interrupted with a laugh, waving a hand in front of my face. “You’re going to kill him with a look like that.”

I turned back to her with a raised eyebrow to communicate that there are worse things in life, but she just shook her head. “Girl, it’s been over two weeks. When are you going to move on? That guy was a total douchebag, and he deserves nothing but terrible karma. He doesn’t even deserve you hating him.”

I let out a long sigh, burying my fingers in my hair as I poked at the school Caesar salad in front of me. “I know. I’ve told myself that a million times, but it never sticks. I can’t get rid of my hatred for him.”

“At least soccer’s almost over,” Manny expressed. “Then you won’t have to see him much at all.”

Manny was right. We had playoffs that week, and if we won every playoff game, then we could go onto the state championships. And then I would never have to speak at Liam or pretend that I could tolerate him again. The very prospect made my veins hum with excitement and anticipation, just like the thought of winning the state championship did.

“Just if he invades my space at lunch,” I confirmed, popping a piece of grilled chicken into my mouth and grimacing. “I think this dressing is spoiled.”

“Gross,” Manny commented drily. “I wouldn’t eat that, then. Not that you’re doing much of that anyway.”

I decided not to answer the accusation as I pushed the bowl away from me. I’d just eat a sandwich after practice, at home, where things were never past their expiration dates, since my mother was anal about that kind of stuff.

School passed by quickly, since I no longer looked forward to soccer practices the way I once had. But I was out on the field, looking as happy and excited as ever, waiting for the rest of my team to arrive.

Right after the fight with Liam, the one when I learned that he didn’t actually care about me, I’d expected him to show up late to practice and make it clear that he didn’t respect my authority. But instead, he made things awkward by showing up when he always had, the second or third person to the field. He wanted to make it glaringly obvious that we didn’t really talk anymore, that we had no banter during warm-ups or during any drills. Which kind of made him a shitty person in my mind, but there was nothing I could do about it.

When the rest of the team finally arrived, talking amongst themselves, hopefully not noticing that Liam was being more obvious than usual, bending down to tie his cleats four times within nine minutes, I clapped my hands together and directed them to take two laps around the field.

I got a chorus of groans in response, but all it took to knock them back into line was a stern look, and they were off running.

I took a deep breath as I watched them jog. The boy in the back, who had slimmed down significantly during the season, but still hadn’t gotten up to the standards of the rest of the team, stared down at the ground in concentration, like he wanted more than anything to be able to finish the laps without weakening to the point of embarrassment. A couple of girls were talking and laughing, and judging from the way one girl kept looking down at her nails, they were probably talking about possible manicure options for the semi-formal dance the following week.

And then there was Liam, who was acting chummy with the prettier of the two girls who played defense. She was certainly a talented player, and her brunette hair had curls with the kind of bounce that maintained even when pulled back into a ponytail.

I felt a twinge in my stomach as I looked at them. The way they stared at each other exuded how smitten they were with one another, and how could I not feel a little jealousy toward that? I was almost positive that Liam had never looked at me that way. I was a conquest for him, not a prospect for a girlfriend. But then again, maybe Morgan was just a conquest, too, and he was only thinking about how quickly he could get her to tear off her clothes and give everything to him.

I snorted a laugh thinking about it, since I knew for a fact that Morgan was from a good, Christian family and believed strongly in no sex before marriage, a belief that was echoed by the thin strip of silver that had been present on her hand since the beginning of our seventh grade year.

“Okay, everybody!” I called, suddenly feeling much cheerier, knowing that some kind of pain or frustration was going Liam Payne’s way. “Let’s try some dribbling drills. If we’re going to win the first playoff game tomorrow, we’re going to have to clean it up a little bit.”

My team paired up without hesitating as I jogged over to the side of the field to grab the bag of soccer balls. Everyone had a match besides Emma, so I grabbed a ball and stood opposite her, prepared to help her understand that one had to angle her body in order to hit the intended target.

About two hours later, I called a wrap, and everyone let out a collective sigh. I’d worked them hard, but they’d notice the difference in their performance the following day when it counted.

A few people whined about how sweaty they were, their tones good-natured, as they walked away, wiping their faces with the bottoms of their shirts.

“You know,” a familiar voice spoke from behind me, and my stomach burst with butterflies and goose bumps erupted all over my skin, “it didn’t have to be like this.”

I put on my most irritated face as I turned around to face the curly-haired snob. “You’re the one who made it awkward. I was always willing to keep things civil at soccer, to leave our problems off the field, but you’re the one who feels like tying his shoes every ten seconds to avoid my eyes.”

Liam colored lightly. “I wasn’t talking about football. I was saying that you could have stopped being so uptight about the whole thing, and we could have been friends with benefits. It would have been fun.”

My spine stiffened as I snapped away from him, snatching up my water bottle and starting toward the locker rooms. “I’m not that kind of girl. If I’m going to sleep with someone, I want to be dating them. You’re not that desirable, you know.”

“I know that. Why do you think I went along with the whole charade in the first place? And don't even try to pretend that you’re not still attracted to me.”

I didn’t want to let him know that he bothered me, but before I could control myself, I stopped in my tracks and turned around again. “Of course I am. I can’t turn off my feelings overnight. But just because I’m attracted to you doesn’t mean that I don’t know you’re a fucking asshole. So goodbye, Liam, and don’t talk to me unless you want to discuss a soccer technique.”

I thought I’d feel angrier as I walked toward the locker room, after the confrontation, but surprisingly, I didn’t. I just felt…empty. Numb. Weirdly enough, that argument was like closure to me. It wasn’t a blow-out fight, but our true emotions were expressed, and I knew that would be the end.

And it felt good.