Then You Saw Me by Carrie Aarons

14

Taya

Midterms are only two weeks away, and I have to write an entire paper in French for my diplomatic relations course.

Then there is the group presentation for my customs of African nation’s course, which I despise. Not the course, it’s incredibly fascinating. But the whole idea of group presentations is terrible to me. I’m always the one who does the bulk of the work, and I hate speaking up to argue with others. So instead, I fester in my anger while I earn everyone a stellar grade.

And last but not least, I submitted my application for the UN internship. I won’t know if I got it until the week of finals, and I’m so anxious already that I need to calm myself. If I get it, I get to move to New York City in July for a six-week all-intensive languages program that will show the ins and outs of what translators do for the organization.

While I’m trying to figure out how I should carve out each country we’ve been assigned for the group presentation and how much time to dedicate to their customs, a knock comes on my door. I call for whoever it is to come in.

Austin lets himself in, and my heart skips a beat. Everything comes rushing back from the night he kissed me.

“Hi.” I breathe, giving him a flirty smile that I can’t help.

Oh my God. The notion that he just walked into my bedroom, after kissing me, hits me square between the thighs. We’re alone, in a shut-door room, as he crosses it to sit boldly on my bed.

It’s been two days since our last coffee date, and I’m still as confused as I was when I downloaded my feelings to the girls. But here I am, thinking about what we could get up to alone in this room. Bevan’s words about being pathetic come echoing back to me,

“Uh … hey.” He rubs the back of his neck and looks mighty nervous. What is going on? “I have to tell you something.”

Austin looks around my room with shifty eyes and stares at my desk chair. At first, I think he’s going to sit, but then he looks as if he’s double-checking himself and thinks better of it. I sit awkwardly on my bed, a pit forming in my stomach.

“See, there was this letter …” He trails off, looking down at his hands now, where I see an open envelope.

I’m not sure what the hell is going on, but a lump is working its way up my throat. Austin won’t look at me, and a sense of dread blankets the room.

You know that feeling you get? That hot-cold, you’re about to throw up, sense that something is about to go terribly wrong? Yeah, I have that at this moment.

He hands over the letter, and the minute I see the yellowing notebook paper and my handwriting, my throat goes bone dry.

“What is this?” I ask, my brain playing tricks on itself as I try to stay sane.

Austin looks anywhere but at me, and when he speaks, his voice is so high I want to cringe. “Well, um, I think we had the same English teacher at Webton, and we did those time capsule things. It looks like maybe there was a mix up …”

He doesn’t have to say anymore to get me to understand, and he seems to know it. Which is why he stops talking, and a blush creeps up his neck.

I look down at the papers in my hands, and nausea hurdles from my stomach to my throat. The freshman year letter, the one I was supposed to write to my college self.

“How did you … where …” I think my brain is imploding, because I can’t form words.

I don’t want to look at Austin, but I can’t help it. My mouth is open like a fish hanging on a wall, and when I glance up, he’s looking at me with a mix of pity and caution. There is also something bordering on anger in there, but I can’t digest that right now.

There is no need to ask where the caution is coming from; I know what’s written in this letter. My heart and soul die a thousand deaths of embarrassment right here in front of him because now he knows about the epic crush I’ve harbored for him. Even as a mature, twenty-year-old woman, I feel as small as a middle school girl right now.

I feel like that dorky freshman he never noticed, and one who will never have another chance with him again.

“There was no name on the envelope. I had the same teacher, thought it was mine …” Austin holds his hands up as if he’s playing innocent.

“What you read here …” My voice is shaky.

Neither of us can complete a sentence; it’s all just too painful and awkward. The longer this goes on, him standing in my room like he’d rather be anywhere else, the worse the humiliation is sliding down my neck in hot, pricking waves.

“It’s fine. I don’t need to know. I just figured I should bring it to you. I’m going to go.”

Austin doesn’t bother to say another word, and I’m about to dissolve into a fit of hot tears when he finally shuts the door.

Those tears leak from my eyes, staining the paper, and I can’t believe what is happening right now. Mortification seals a hot brand on my heart, and I have to clutch my chest to breathe.

As soon as I hear his footsteps disappear up to the attic, I launch myself across the hall to Amelie’s room and slam the door closed. Pressing my back and palms to the door as if barricading it from someone, I instruct her shocked face.

“What the hell—” Am starts to address me.

“Text Bevan. Tell her to get her ass up here. We are at DEFCON one.” My voice is breathy with unshed tears.

Slowly, my best friend pulls out her phone and texts our other best friend. “Did you finally fuck Austin? Is this what this is about?”

Hearing the word fuck come out of Amelie’s mouth breaks whatever spell I’m under. And I start cackling like a maniac. My best friend looks at me even weirder than she was before.

“If only that was the case.” I laugh so hard I start to cry, and I’m basically sobbing by the time Bevan comes up.

“What the hell is going on?” she asks, eyeing us both suspiciously. “Why did Amelie text me that we need to hide a dead body?”

Amelie shrugs in my direction. “With the way crazy is acting over there, I figure that’s what this is about.”

I throw the letter on Amelie’s bed and point to it like it might spontaneously combust.

“What’s this?” Bev asks, picking it up.

Amelie looks it over as Bev tries to read it and then exclaims, “Wait, is that the letter we wrote in Mr. Belding’s class freshman year? I remember those! You got yours already?”

I shake my head like it’s about to topple off my neck. “No. No, I did not. At least I wasn’t supposed to. And I’m not the one who opened it.”

“What do you mean?” Am cocks her to the side, confused.

“Austin found this first. There is no name on the envelope. He had Belding, too.” I nearly scream this, not caring if the guy in the attic can hear me.

A howl works its way up my throat, and I have to stifle it, grabbing one of Amelie’s pillows and groaning into it.

“Oh my God, he read this?” Bevan’s head shoots up from the letter.

“Well, guess you got to the good part,” I grumble, my cheeks growing hot again.

I feel myself start to break down, to dissolve into sobs, and Amelie comes over to wrap me in a hug.

“I’m so freaking embarrassed,” I cry to them, and my best friends surround me.

Not only is whatever was happening between Austin and me completely over, but I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from this level of humiliation.