Callie Reeves is a perfectionist. She has control over everything from her friends to her grades, the cheerleading squad she captains and anyone inbetween - even when it comes to dating.
After creating a list of rules to keep her no-strings attache...
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I fidget with a loose fray of the cast while Sam sets up the USB on the computer. Currently, we're the only people occupying our English classroom because Sam asked to practice beforehand. For some reason she agreed when I doubt she was as lenient with everyone else.
"So you do the first three slides," Sam mentions, bringing up the PowerPoint and almost blinding me with the projector light. "Then I'll do the next three, then alternate the last two so it's split."
"I don't know why we even need a PowerPoint when it's just exactly what we're saying expanded." I squint at the bright light and step out of the way.
"Probably for those who suck at public speaking and forget what they have to say," He picks up the control, moving to stand on the edge of the screen so he doesn't get blinded either. "Do you want the control?"
I reached across and he hands it over, pulling back. I notice the slight shake before he pockets his hands. Trailing my eyes up I see him divert elsewhere to avoid acknowledging the tremor. Is he nervous?
"Do you have a problem with presentations?" My question is soft, masking all shock that someone as confident as Sam would have stage fright.
Sam looks up at the back of the classroom. "You never responded to the note I gave you."
"Avoiding the question?"
"I thought I'd take a page from your book," He quips back and glances my way, exhaling as he realizes his words were unnecessary. "But after this presentation - we have no reason to speak to each other . . . considering you're still sitting with those people you call friends . . . unless you agree to the new rules."
I twist the remote in my hand, suddenly wanting to hide from the spotlight being put on me. Of course he would choose to do this now. Exhaling deeply I shrug and pick at the rubber on one of the buttons.
"I don't know if I can," I answer honestly, aware of him shifting and about to open his mouth. "Things are so complicated that I don't know how to respond anymore."
"You're making it complicated. It's not difficult to be friends with someone." He sounds drained as opposed to the bitterness I was expecting.
"It is when someone doesn't solely have platonic feelings. That just doesn't disappear," I bite the inside of my cheek and stop picking at the rubber to brave a gigantic admission. "I like being around you - you make my day better . . ."
My heart feels like it's about to explode out of my chest but I don't feel any guilt - just fear for his reaction. But I'm not getting an obvious reaction from him. No smile, shock, anger, or surprise - until about ten seconds of heart-pounding silence.
"You make my day better too," The acceptance eases a constrictive pressure on my throat, allowing me to breathe in relief. "So it's settled then - we'll still talk."
