Frankly My Dear, All's Fair in Love and War

9. The One Who Got Away

August

I'm not deaf. I hear what people say about me.

Dumb blonde. Dumb jock. Dumb sidekick.

Most of the noun they give me, they add the adjective 'dumb' , as if that one word represents me as a whole.

And I get it. I really do. I'm not the smartest light bulb in the class (and I think I just butchered the expression, but whatever). And the only reason why I got into an ivy league college is because I'm a legacy. And because my parents made a huge donation to the place. I'm talking about enough to make a whole new building with my name on it.

Maybe becoming close friends with Desmond Arrington has its downs. Particularly, when I'm being compared to him, I always come out short. I'm the dumb one, I'm the silly one. I'm the joker. But it's not all that bad. Sure, he might not win any awards for being the best person in the world, but he's not some monsters people often call him, too.

Desmond is just lonely, and like all lonely people, he gets misunderstood a lot.

And nobody is seeing this! Nobody has any idea about how lonely, insecure, anxious Desmond really is. I think partly it's because he's always surrounded by people. Beautiful, powerful people, who are always laughing at his jokes (they're never funny) or ready to bring his books in between classes (he's perfectly capable to bring his own books).

I met Desmond when we were six. It was the first day of elementary school, and Desmond was the only kid in the class who didn't find a partner to do a singing-dancing combo for the class-project. Other kids shunned him because he had been rude and he didn't want to share the class mascot doll with them.

I came up to him and introduced himself. It didn't end well. He didn't want me because I was too blonde and chubby to be his friend. But as he sulked off and started calling me names, I saw that he was also starting to cry.

So I took his hand and forced us to shake hands.

Since then, he became my closest friend. He was loyal and protective of me. I could call him at three AM and he would still answer even though he was in bed with the most gorgeous model he ever met (it happened!).

And I know he won't ever hurt me. At least, not intentionally.

I just... I just can't have the same guarantee for other people, you know.

Because the tall, accomplished, charming Desmond now was still the same shy, shunned kid he has been when he was six. The problem is, he has power now.

And he knows how to use it.

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At Monday morning, one of Cassie's maids knocked on her room with dogged determination.

Cassie was in a very private business of waxing her legs and everything else (and it wasn't such a pretty picture nor a good feeling) so she had to shout, with a little bit of temper. "What?!"

"Someone is here to pick you up, Miss."

"Tell the chauffeur that I'm going down at ten minutes!" she gritted her teeth as she pulled one particularly stubborn waxing strip from her armpit. Fuck it hurts. The family chauffeur Mr. Legman wasn't usually pushy about Cassie's arrival to the school. If anything, he always looked unashamedly happy when Cassie decided to push back her departure for a few minutes. That meant more time for him to spend on his precious little game on his smartphone.