I rush outside to the back buildings after my confrontation with David. So what if I skip my next class? It's just crummy home economics anyway. In that class I seriously feel as if I am stuck in the 1950's. It's as if they expect women to be subservient to men in any day and age now.
I dig into my bag for a pack of cigarettes and quickly find them. I find my lighter as well and light it with no problem. I inhale the legal poison into my lungs and find it ironic that they sell a product that, by law, has to say that it has the capability to kill you.
I wonder, inwardly, if your child smoked, and you didn't stop them, would you be charged with murder if they died. Maybe, I think. Or at the very least, you'd be charged with child abuse, neglect, or endangerment to that child. But in some states, you get the death penalty for child abuse—if it was an aspect to the murder you committed—so, in a way, those two crimes were one in the same.
I sit upon the concrete ground and puff on my cigarette some more. I decide to text my mother and ask her for that car I've been wanting since my birthday last November. I tell her the make and the year—a 2014 Volvo S60. This is why I'm glad my parents are doctors.
I give her the information and she says we can go shopping for it as soon as things manage to clear themselves up at work. Things never "clear up" at a doctor's office, they only get more hectic, something I knew very well. I remember going shopping for school supplies with my mother and older brother, Luke, once when I was eight and he was almost twelve. She was in another aisle—one aisle away, in cleaning supplies—while Luke and I were making a quick stop getting some tuna for our cat, James.
Our mother suddenly got a call on her cell phone from our father. We could hear him saying that there was some big emergency at the hospital—likely a teenage drunk driving accident—and that she had to get there as soon as possible. Without hesitation, we heard her running—but towards the exit! Luke and I ran after her, but she went into the underground parking garage, got into her car, and never looked back.
I remember clinging to Luke, now the ultimate authority, who was able to figure out the bus route for us to get back home. One perk about having an older brother was that he got a pretty decent allowance, so it's not like we were stranded and broke. Once we returned home, he gave me some cookies and milk and let me sleep in his room that evening. Luke was always a wonderful older brother, and there were times where he was one of my best friends.
I wipe the tears from my eyes at the memory and it is then that I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around and shrink back when I see David standing there. He swipes the cigarette from me almost immediately and quickly puts it out with his shoe. I hastily stow the box of them and my lighter in my purse and deliberately look away from him. I don't know if I can face him after my untoward accusation about him and Amber Seymour.
"Your parents are doctors, you know."
I shrug—everyone knew that. "Whoop-de-doo. Where did you go to college?"
"Very funny," David says, sitting beside me. "All I'm saying is, you don't want to get lung cancer or anything, right?"
I let out a scoff then—who would really miss me anyway, apart from Luke and Elizabeth? I mean, get real... "Would it matter?" I ask, my tone clipped.
"What are you saying?"
I turn and look at him. "I'm saying, would it matter if I got lung cancer? I mean, who would miss me?"
"Are you throwing yourself a pity party?"
I shrug. "Maybe I am."
David sighs. He puts an arm around me. "Why don't you just admit it, Rose? I mean, it would make things a whole lot easier for both of us."
"Admit what?" I ask in that clipped tone of mine.
"That you're jealous."

I turn away from him, shoving his arm off from around my shoulders. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're jealous of Amber, Rose. Admit it."
I sighed, shuddering. "If you're implying that I'm jealous of her face, you're wrong. I would never be jealous of someone for looks. Do you realize how shallow a person would have to be to do that?"
He smiles. "You're definitely not a shallow person, Rose."
"Then what am I?" I ask, peeking at him.
"You're deep," he replies.
I shake my head at him, turning my head away from him so as I can hide my tears. "It's not enough..."
"What's not enough?" he asks.
I turn and look at him. "David, you know..."
"Tell me."
"Tell you what you know?"
He shakes his head. "I don't know."
"But I know you do know, David."
He is staring into my eyes. "Rose..."
I lean in and brush my lips with his before I can stop myself. It is short and bittersweet, but full to the brim of meaning. "You know..." I whisper.
"What do I know?" he asks, not moving away from me.
I desperately want to yank his face to mine and give him the full meaning of what I'm talking about, but I can't do that. "Do you love her?" I whisper, wanting to get off me as a subject for a moment. "Do you love Amber Seymour?"
"What kind of a question is that?"
"A truthful question," I reply. "It requires an answer equally full of truth. I need to know if you love her, David."
"Why do you need to know?"

"Because I'm...best friends with Elizabeth," I say lamely. It was meant to be, I'm in love with you, but I'm not that brave, I think to myself. I can't just admit to this guy that I'm in love with him—of course I couldn't just announce it. It's just not that easy to confess something like that. All those times I was at Elizabeth's, pretending that I was fully absorbed in something girly, when I would be watching him punch at a punching bag or something. "As her best friend, I want to know."
"Would it matter?" he asks.
"Of course," I say. "If you married her, I mean. Not just anyone is worthy enough to be her sister-in-law."
"I'm eighteen. I don't want to get married yet."
"I'm never getting married," I say, pulling away from him and getting shakily to my feet as I walk away from him.
"Never?" he asks, running after me.
"Never ever," I whisper.
He takes my wrist and spins me around. "That's a really long time, Rose. What if a guy were crazy about you?"
"It would depend on the guy and how I felt about him, I guess."
"Don't you ever think about...?" He trails off.
"What?" I ask. "Getting plastic surgery? Losing weight?" I ask. If those words were knives, it definitely shows on his face. "No. I shouldn't have to change myself physically in order to get or be loved. If someone loves me, and I love him, that's great. If he expects me to change my image, and then he'll consider me, the answer is hell no. You must love yourself just the way you are before anyone will love you, too."
"No, you're right."
I give him a nod. I turn away from him and walk back into the school, and I can hear him walking half a step behind me.