Dirty Little Secret

I changed my outfit a total of five times before settling on a fairly plain outfit that didn't scream that I was trying to please Tate. It wasn't that I was trying to please him, not at all. I just didn't want him to comment on how ridiculous my outfit was, or how over the top I dressed for simple occasions. Dressing up, wearing expensive clothing made me feel loved, even though I knew better that material things can't buy happiness. It comes close though, very very close.

"You look nice," a voice says behind me while I am getting books out of my locker.

I turn around to expect Eric, but Tate is looming over me with a familiar grin. I smile at his comment. "Thanks, I'm not over the top today. No bull fighting, or tear with the Queen of England."

"You're wearing teal shorts; it's still over the top. But its better," Tate adds as he sees my face start to scrunch up.

"Hey baby," Eric says approaching the both of us. He wraps an arm around my waist to pull me in close. He kisses me fully on the mouth, which is the most PDA we have ever done. "What are you doing here, Daniels?"

"I was just telling Corinne here, that she had a mermaid theme going on with the whole bight shorts thing going on," Tate smirked. I smiled seeing how easily Tate was able to get under Eric's skin.

"Don't talk to my girlfriend like that or I'll kick your fucking ass, creep."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Anyways Cori, are we still on for tonight?" Tate asks me, intentionally trying to get a rise out of Eric.

"What are you doing tonight?" Eric asked me panicked.

"I'm going over to Tate's to work on our project together," I say as if it isn't a big deal.

"I bet you really want to kick my ass now, don't 'cha?" Tate gave a small laugh, thoroughly enjoying himself. "I'll see you in bio, Cori."

I smile, allowing myself to let out a small laugh. "See ya later Tate," I call after him.

"I don't want you being friends with him, understand," Eric says, gripping onto my shoulders tightly.

"You can't tell me who to and who not to be friends with. Tate is a good guy, he's just an ass."

"I mean it Corinne. It's me or him; I don't want you talking to him."

I looked at Eric, shocked. He was never one to set rules for our relationship. He ran his hand through his short brown hair waiting for me to respond.

"Eric, I have to work with him. He is my lab partner. I need to get an A in this class in order to graduate with honors, and I can't do it without talking to my lab partner, which is Tate. I've already tried switching but Mr. Tregus won't budge. You'll just have to trust me, okay?"

Eric lets out a loud huff but in the end he nods his head. He gives me a small kiss before leaving me alone again. I grab my books from my locker and head to my first class.

**

Tate smiles at me once he sees me enter MR. Tregus' class.

"You got me in trouble," I grumble sliding into the chair next to him.

Tate smiles but said nothing. We didn't work on our project, instead Mr. Tregus goes into detail about some trip he took over the summer, allowing most of the class doze off into some midafternoon slumber.

"Just as the shark came barreling up, I pulled the poor baby seal up into the boat, saving its life," He shouts as the bells rings. "Please be prepared to turn in your hypothesis by Thursday, have a nice evening."

"I'll see you at like six-ish, okay?"

"Yeah, have fun at cheer practice," Tate says trying to sound girly.

**

I am the captain of the cheer team, as well as class president and head of the prom committee. I thought that if I became captain of the cheer leading team, like my mom was back in the day, she would take notice. I was wrong; she doesn't even know I'm on the team, even if I tell her weekly.

I show up at Tate's house at six fifteen, still in the clothes I practice in. I pull around to the garage to see its doors open and Tate shirtless, working on his motorcycle.

"Who are you?" He asks with a large smirk on his face as I got out of the car.

"Oh shut up."

"I'm expecting my lab partner. You might have seen her, she looks like Barbie but with brown hair."

"Tate, I don't look like Barbie," I stomp my foot a bit now fully inside the garage.

"I know you aren't. The Barbie I know doesn't smell like a man," Tate plugs his nose and waves his hand around in the air, wafting the 'stink'.

"I'm sorry that I'm so sweaty but I figured that I would show you my other side of my wardrobe."

"I like this version, you're not trying so hard this way," He says seriously, grabbing a tank top from the work bench he slipped it on. "We can work inside; I don't want you stinking up my workshop."

I rolled my eyes and followed him up a stone path onto a patio with a swimming pool and finally through a screen glass door and into a modern looking kitchen.

"There are take-out menus in the first drawer," Tate says while opening up the fridge pulling out two water bottles. He hands me one as I take out some of the thousands of menus.

"Why do you have so many?" I ask sifting through the ones I have picked up.

"I don't know how to cook and my parents work late most nights and don't have time to fix anything so we opt for take out."

"Why don't you have a cook?"

"My mom thinks that is a waste of money."

"One cook is a waste of money? We have five, that all work full time. My parents don't even eat at home, it's just me. That is a waste of money."

"You and your parents don't eat together?" Tate asks, amazed.

"My parents don't even know my birthday. The only connections I even have with my dad are through his credit card, when his secretary calls, or if he and Eric golf together to make some business deal. The connection I have with my mom, I came out of her vagina seventeen years ago. That's it."

"Wow, I pictured you having some picture perfect family where your dad reads the newspaper every morning while your mom fills both of your plates with pancakes."

"You pictured wrong," I state emotionless. "Now let’s start on this project."

Tate called a pizza place while I got working out the layout of our project. An hour and a half later, we are nearly finished with the project proposal and our bellies are stuffed full with yummy pizza.

"I'm surprised you ate more than a slice of pizza," Tate said taking the last slice for himself.

"The only reason I work out is so I can stuff my face. You should see when the girls and I go out to eat. They all order like side salads without the dressing and waters but I always go with the burgers with extra bacon, cheese and fries. I don't even get a diet soda."

"I definitely have to reevaluate my views on you. You aren't who you seem to be."

I look at Tate, who is smiling softly. He isn't who I thought he was either. I thought he would be harsh and cold, like it would be working with a brick wall. But he is just the opposite. "You're different too. Why do you pretend to be so hateful?"

"Why do you pretend to be such a snooty bitch?"

"I'm not," I say defensively.

"Bullshit. You walk around school with you million dollar outfit on, thinking your hot shit. You think that people should worship you because your president of everything and you flash your daddy's credit card around for the world to see. And the sad thing is that regular people do worship you, like you're some kind of God, and you don't even give a rats ass about anyone but you're little cheer leading minions."

"Take that back," I choke out, trying to push down the tears that threatened to show. "I am not like that, I'm not a bad person."

"You are. You're selfish, and thoughtless, you don't don't care about anyone but yourself."

"Well what about you, Mr. Bad ass, Mr. 'I don't give a fuck' Mr. Outcast. You do give a fuck, if you didn't you wouldn't care what I did with my life. Defying rules and having lots of tattoos doesn't make you a bad ass and if you would just try to fit in or even seem happy you wouldn't be an outcast."

"I shouldn't have to change myself in order for people to like me, people like that, people like you are the worst types of people."

"Go to hell," I shout, grabbing my things from off the kitchen counter and stormed out.

I didn't need Tate to being shoving his thoughts in my face, even if I thought they were true.