The Young and the Hopeless
Invitations
Joel's P.O.V.
I stared at McKala; she hadn't changed at all. Her cut-off denim shorts were still as ragged as they had been in high school, and her low-cut tank-top showed off a new tattoo on her collarbone. At least, it was new to me: a "13" that had ivy and thorns surrounding it. Her hair was now black with blonde streaks, ad it had been pulled into a sloppy ponytail. Large-framed sunglasses covered her eyes, but I could tell they were rimmed in thick black, making the green stand out incredibly.I'd been seeing those eyes in my dreams for years.
"Mickey - McKala," I corrected upon her glare, "I'm so sorry. I didn't want us to end."
"That's not what Benji said."
"He lied to both of us. He told me you felt we were fading from each other."
"No! I thought we were stronger than ever."
"See? Benji played us both for fools, like we were fiddles. I loved you so much. It killed me to lose you."
"Exactly. You loved me. As in, past tense. As in, not amymore."
"But I still do love you."
"You don't even know me anymore, Joel. I've changed so much since high school. I'm not Mickey, your high-school riot-girl who you thought was your soul mate. I'm McKala Nicole Oliver, a high school drop-out who went back to get her GED and then graduated from community college, and is now a tattoo artist's receptionist. I've changed. I'm not the same girl. I'll never be the same again. Why can't you understand that?"
"If you're not the same anymore, then how about we get to know the new us?"
"Say what?"
"Yeah. What do you say? Dinner and a long conversation? Telling each other how we've done for the last ten years?"
"Joel, I don't have time to play games."
"Who said this was a game?"
"You're serious?"
"Dead."
"Wow."
"So? What do you say?"
She sighed and ran her hand through her ponytail. "Fine. You'll need my number, though."
"Of course, unless you want me to find it somewhere online."
"Ew. Stalker."
"So what's your number?"
She reached through her car window, her top rising slightly as she leaned over further; I stood behind her while people sped past, most of the guys in the vehicles staring. When she stood straight and turned, she bumped into my chest.
"Oh, hello."
;"Hi."
"So, uh, call me sometime," she said after hastily scribbling her number on my hand - the only part of my arm not tattooed.
"I definitely will."
"Bye, Joel."
I slid into the driver's seat of my car and waited until she drove away. Finally, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the seven digits she'd given me, praying it was truly her number. . . .
I stared at McKala; she hadn't changed at all. Her cut-off denim shorts were still as ragged as they had been in high school, and her low-cut tank-top showed off a new tattoo on her collarbone. At least, it was new to me: a "13" that had ivy and thorns surrounding it. Her hair was now black with blonde streaks, ad it had been pulled into a sloppy ponytail. Large-framed sunglasses covered her eyes, but I could tell they were rimmed in thick black, making the green stand out incredibly.I'd been seeing those eyes in my dreams for years.
"Mickey - McKala," I corrected upon her glare, "I'm so sorry. I didn't want us to end."
"That's not what Benji said."
"He lied to both of us. He told me you felt we were fading from each other."
"No! I thought we were stronger than ever."
"See? Benji played us both for fools, like we were fiddles. I loved you so much. It killed me to lose you."
"Exactly. You loved me. As in, past tense. As in, not amymore."
"But I still do love you."
"You don't even know me anymore, Joel. I've changed so much since high school. I'm not Mickey, your high-school riot-girl who you thought was your soul mate. I'm McKala Nicole Oliver, a high school drop-out who went back to get her GED and then graduated from community college, and is now a tattoo artist's receptionist. I've changed. I'm not the same girl. I'll never be the same again. Why can't you understand that?"
"If you're not the same anymore, then how about we get to know the new us?"
"Say what?"
"Yeah. What do you say? Dinner and a long conversation? Telling each other how we've done for the last ten years?"
"Joel, I don't have time to play games."
"Who said this was a game?"
"You're serious?"
"Dead."
"Wow."
"So? What do you say?"
She sighed and ran her hand through her ponytail. "Fine. You'll need my number, though."
"Of course, unless you want me to find it somewhere online."
"Ew. Stalker."
"So what's your number?"
She reached through her car window, her top rising slightly as she leaned over further; I stood behind her while people sped past, most of the guys in the vehicles staring. When she stood straight and turned, she bumped into my chest.
"Oh, hello."
;"Hi."
"So, uh, call me sometime," she said after hastily scribbling her number on my hand - the only part of my arm not tattooed.
"I definitely will."
"Bye, Joel."
I slid into the driver's seat of my car and waited until she drove away. Finally, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the seven digits she'd given me, praying it was truly her number. . . .
♠ ♠ ♠
the end