Chapter Seven
Margie stood in front of the library the next day. She wasn’t sure what she was doing there. Lance had said he would meet her there, but that was before all this happened. Before she had her heart ripped out of her chest and shredded to pieces. She didn’t even know if Lance would turn up. He might have either forgotten or assumed that she wouldn’t come. As always, she hadn’t seen him in class that day. She couldn’t remember the last time she had actually seen him in class.
She pushed open the doors to the library and stepped in. Mrs. Brown raised her eyebrows and looked over to where Lance was sitting. Margie followed her gaze and saw him at the same table as before. The books he had borrowed from her were neatly stacked in front of him and he was making notes in a notebook, his brows furrowed in concentration.
She felt her heart soften, but she caught herself before it went too far. This was a guy who had humiliated her and treated her like someone who he had to pity.
She breathed in deeply, licked her lips and walked towards him. Lance looked up. His green eyes looked serious and slightly worried. His mouth was set in a straight line. He looked like he’d been waiting a long time.
“I didn’t know if you’d turn up,” he said in a near whisper, aware of the quiet atmosphere of the library.
Margie felt her nostrils flare as she came closer to the table and hovered over him. She hadn’t bothered with the lipstick today. She’d resorted to flared old baggy jeans, a flannel shirt and a cotton t-shirt underneath. Her red curls were untidily tied into a plait. She looked at him for a few seconds and then, without offering an explanation, started to collect the books he’d brought into her arms.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice rising a little.
With one arm Margie swung her backpack to the floor. She unzipped it and poured all the books into the bag at once, then straightened up again.
“Margie? What the actual fuck?” Lance said loudly this time, and she looked up sharply at him.
“Will you at least tell me what’s going on? You left me hanging at the game yesterday and now this. I don’t even know what’s happening!” he hissed through gritted teeth, leaning closer to the table and looking up at her. He looked like a stubborn child who wanted a toy he couldn’t get.
“I’m quitting. I quit being your tutor. Find another one,” she said, swinging the backpack onto her back again.
“What? Why?” Lance stood up from his chair now. He towered over her again and she had to crane her neck to look up at him.
“Do you really want to know?” she asked him, keeping her voice low.
“Yes! What on Earth did I do in the last few days to deserve this from you?” Lance inched closer to her. Their faces were barely apart. She could breathe his scent in and it made her knees buckle again. She wanted him.
Margie shook her head and licked her lips.
“You used me. Then you told your friends about it.” Margie said slowly, trying to come across as calm and composed.
“Used you? For what? As my tutor? You offered to help me. I’m sorry you feel that way.” Lance crossed his arms over his chest and she noticed how his muscles flexed. He looked gorgeous, no matter how much she hated him right now.
“Yes. I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry that I didn’t see it sooner.” Margie’s nostrils were flaring again. She wanted to get out, didn’t want to be weakened by his face or what he had to say.
“And I told my friends about what? About you? Why wouldn’t I tell them about you? I didn’t think we were supposed to be a secret.” Lance’s voice was raised again and this time, Margie rolled her eyes.
“Who are you kidding Lance? I know what you told them. I’m sure you all shared a good laugh over it. Did you tell Chloe too? To make her a little jealous and improve the sex?” Margie turned on her heel now. She didn’t want to stay and talk to him anymore. She wasn’t sure what else she might end up saying to him. It wasn’t like her to argue, especially not over something like this.
“Margie, wait!” Lance caught her arm and she turned to see where their skin touched. She felt a sharp electrical surge run up her spine. Despite the circumstances, it was lovely to be touched by him again. She immediately hated herself for feeling that way.
“Please let me go, Lance.” Margie tried to wriggle herself free.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Yes, I told my friends about you. So what? And Chloe is just a friend. We dated for a while, but I’m not interested in her anymore.” Lance was pulling her towards him, while she was trying to struggle free.
“You told them about that night too, didn’t you?” Margie hissed. She was hoping nobody else in the library could overhear their conversation now.
“I may have. I may have told Bryan. I’m sorry. Should I not have?” Lance’s face was reddening now as Margie threw her head back and laughed.
“Of course you did. I heard him talking about it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get as far away from you as possible.” Margie tugged her arm free off him and started to walk towards the library door. She walked past Mrs. Brown, who threw her a confused and angered look. Clearly, they had been too loud and probably were even overheard.
Lance didn’t call out to her, and Margie was thankful for that. She wasn’t sure how she might have reacted if he did. Instead, she heard his footsteps. Margie quickened her pace, so much so that she was nearly running down the hall towards the front doors of the building.
Lance had still not called out to her, and she continued running. This was not something she had predicted would ever happen to her, that Lance Healy would be chasing her down the library corridors.
She pushed open the front doors and was outside in the warm air. Margie had slowed her pace a little by now and started climbing down the steps. That was when she saw him run right past her. He wasn’t even running after her. He was simply trying to get away from her, just as much as she was trying to get away from him.
He did turn back to look at her for a few seconds, though, just a glance. It was a look of confusion, mixed with rage. She couldn’t be sure what it was exactly. What she was certain of, though, was that Lance was glad it was over. That he didn’t need to pretend anymore.
“Best of luck for the test, Lance!” Margie yelled out, just as he turned away from her. He glanced back towards her again, just as he made the turn towards his frat house. He didn’t smile or wave. He took that as an insult, as if she was making fun of him. He whipped around again and continued jogging. Margie sighed, the tears threatening to stream down her face again.
Did she want him to pass his test and keep his position on the team? She’d taken the books away. Did he deserve the punishment? He could easily go back to the library and take out a few other books. Why was she worrying about him?
Margie walked slowly towards her dorm. No matter what she might try to convince herself with, the truth was that she still cared, despite what Lance thought of her.
That night she went to the college bar with Claire. She dressed up for it too, in a slinky white dress she went out and shopped for that afternoon. She’d splurged on silver stilettos, a sparkly white clutch and even straightened her hair, which had taken hours. Five sticks of lipsticks, in varying shades of bright pink, red and orange, felt like a good investment for her that day. She deserved it, Margie told herself. She deserved it for being the nerd, for always outperforming and now for getting her heart broken.
She’d never been to the bar before. Claire had, and guided her to the counter where they ordered a bottle of cider each.
“I’m not a big drinker, you know,” Margie said, already halfway through the bottle while Claire took her third sip.
“You need it. It’ll help you relax a bit,” Claire said, her eyes flitting around the bar, trying to figure out who was there. Margie followed Claire’s gaze. Nobody looked interesting enough. Or maybe she was just not interested.
“Oh no. Don’t look now, but Lance Jerk Healy just came in,” Claire said, catching Margie’s eye and holding it. Margie couldn’t help but look. She had to look. She’d denied it to herself, but part of the reason she had even agreed to Claire taking her out tonight was because she was hoping she’d bump into Lance, or at least see him from a distance.
Lance came in with a group of three other guys she vaguely recognized from the frat house. Chloe wasn’t with them. She looked away sharply just as Lance’s eyes drifted to the bar counter.
“I think he’s seen me,” Margie said, her heart beating fast.
“Oh yeah. He’s definitely seen you,” Claire said, looking directly at him over Margie’s shoulder.
“Why? Is he coming over?” Margie asked, clutching the bottle of cider close to her chest. She didn’t know what she wanted. She wanted to talk to him again, hear his voice, feel his skin under her fingers. But she didn’t want to degrade herself at the same time. She wanted him to be jealous. She wanted to make him regret it.
“No. He’s looking at us, though. If you want to make him jealous, now would be a good time,” Claire said, and Margie broke into a loud laugh. She threw her head back and laughed some more, slapping her knee violently.
“What are you doing?” Claire asked, her brows furrowed.
“Trying to make him jealous,” Margie said, still smiling widely.
“By laughing?”
“By having fun,” Margie explained and took a long swing from her bottle. Claire rolled her eyes and looked back at Lance again.
“He’s not looking anymore, so you can stop fake smiling,” Claire said, and Margie’s smile collapsed instantly.
“I’m pathetic,” she said, and Claire turned to her and tried to smile.
“It’ll feel like that for a bit. But you’ll get over it. Avoid those people, stay out of his way. Keep yourself busy,” Claire said, patting her on her shoulder. Margie sighed deeply and bit down on her lip. She was going to break into tears very soon if she didn’t try and get it together.
“Hello, ladies. Do I know you?” They heard a voice. Margie whipped around on the bar stool to find a guy she hadn’t met before smiling at them.
“I don’t. Do you?” Margie asked Claire, who was grinning at the guy.
“I’m Claire.” She stuck out her hand at the guy, who shook it and then turned to Margie.
“And I’m Hank. Art Major,” he said, extending his hand to Margie. She stared down at it, looked at Claire and jumped off her stool.
“I need to go,” she said, grabbing her clutch from the counter and pushing past Claire.
“Margie!” Claire yelled after her, but she wasn’t going to look back. She needed to be alone again. If she was ever going to be able to get over Lance, she would have to do it herself, without the help of any other guy.