ANYTHING BUT ENEMIES

44. mark my words

Seven Months Later

DANE'S GAZE SEARS into me from across the room, dark eyes taunting, lips pulled up into the faintest smirk.

I narrow my eyes at him, gripping the paper in my hands tighter before looking back down at it, trying to commit all the words of my terrible poem to memory at the last second.

God, why did I agree to do this?

I hate slam poetry.

"Next we'll hear from Cleo Cunningham. Walton College," the lady on the stage says.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Dane gestures out a hand for me to proceed, and I discreetly flash him my middle finger while smoothing down my dress before climbing the steps onto the stage.

The audience is big—well, big for an impromptu poetry slam at the tiny coffee shop down the street from both of our schools.

Sometimes I really hate my impulsiveness.

I crumple the piece of paper, stuffing it into my bra before launching into my poem about working at a craft shop. I get through at least half of it before I stumble, mind blanking as my eyes fall back on my competition, cup of black coffee raised to his lips.

He's wearing my favorite shirt. The emerald one that matches the green in his eyes, the same one he was wearing the day we found out we were going to be at Fish Tank together. It's definitely on purpose. He knows how much he distracts me.

An eyebrow raises, hair falling into his face before he brushes it away, re-exposing the same hazel that hypnotizes me every night he sneaks up to my dorm, laying next to me to talk for hours.

It's only after he snorts, loud sound jarring me from my stupor, that I realize I've been silent for far too long.

I bite down hard on my bottom lip, trying desperately to remember the poem, but all I can see is his smirking face, already hear his self-satisfied voice as soon as we step out the shop.

It's time to bring out the big guns—improv.

I gasp loudly enough that I see a couple people in the room jump, clutching a hand to my heart in the most melodramatic way I'm sure anyone has ever seen. "Hark! Bane of my existence. Destructor of days, nights, and everything in between."

My hand extends out feebly toward Dane, and he points at himself in the crowd, eyes widening in what I can only describe as amused disbelief.

"A demon come to wreak havoc. Tear up the card aisles and shame the cashier."

The audience laughs at that, the man I call my enemy and (unfortunately) my boyfriend rolling his eyes.

"The fiend dares to call me..." I lean forward conspiratally over the stage, cupping my hand around my mouth to whisper, "Emo."

This earns a few more chuckles from the audience, my competition only shaking his head.

I finish the rest of my original piece taking oddly specific digs at Dane, and by the end, I think I've become a fan favorite, getting a round of applause from a couple people in conjunction with the standard array of snaps.

Unfortunately, though, in the end, Dane ends up taking the trophy for the Donahue nerds.

He makes sure to dramatically pretend to kiss the dumb hunk of metal onstage while his classmates (and, I don't know how but, friends) snap pictures.

My arms cross in defiance.

I decide to take the full route to pettiness, refusing to take any pictures and kicking my friend, Maya, who claps for him, under the table.