The Duration of an Exchange

For most of the time we were friends, and the period in between then and now, Marjory was never a favored student. I don’t mean that she wasn’t a good one, only that she wasn’t favored. Often regarded with some disdain, she had a quick tongue and a snappy attitude. Her demeanor was fueled by a number of reasons, all of which weren’t sufficient enough for me to care about. She used several things to make her life easier; traits that allowed her to keep treating people the way that she did and continue to function as if she were the angel she wanted to be seen as. The first was her looks. Perhaps the people around her hated to admit it, but she was a beauty. Being easy to look at helped her seem more approachable. It wasn’t the stunning radiance that broads aspire to attain, but a sweet disposition. She had blonde hair, dyed that way, but pretty and curled the majority of the time. She had brown eyes, but wore green contacts once spring came around. She dressed moderately, but fashionably, and she was scarcely seen without makeup, although it wasn’t layered on her face. She adopted a simple look that contrasted her personality in a most confusing, and becoming, way. 

The second strongest reason that she wasn’t socially ostracized was that she was smart. Not only was she at the top of the sophomore class, but her familial connections helped her avoid punishment. Her friends--perhaps more her followers, to use a strange and cultist trope seen in the movies that are meant to represent the modern day high school student, though often completely inaccurate--took shit from her for the answers to homework and to get out of detention. Despite having one or two people that trailed her for an easy way to pass the semester, there weren’t many who acknowledged her existence unless absolutely necessary. If she hadn’t been blessed--or cursed with beauty depending on how you consider the situation--she would have been the side character in the high school movie for the rest of her lower educational career. 

One afternoon, I was paired with the girl for an assignment in biology. She looked rather disinterested and didn’t pay attention for most of the class, which angered me to an entirely different degree. There I was, busting my ass for a B, and she was staring at the ceiling and popping her gum, insufferably, I might add. I did my best to ignore her. 

Once the teacher was through speaking, my gaze shifted toward the girl, and what did I behold, but her mirroring stare.

“You’re cute, Jamie.” 

I raised an eyebrow, partially because I was surprised she remembered my name, and also because she didn’t have her usual resting bitch face on, which was alarming. “I didn’t know you were capable of giving a compliment,” I said, smiling. 

She looked me in the eyes and then shifted her gaze down to the floor. She was propping up her head and looking rather tired, and like she didn’t want to be there, which was understandable as well as a popular expression worn by the students of Southridge. 

“I’m capable of a lot, but I hear that I’m not well liked, you see.” 

“Did you not know that?” I asked, tapping my pencil on the desk. 

She shrugged. “I suppose I did, but it’s quite disappointing hearing it out loud. I’m beginning to think I should become a more amicable person.” 

She sat up straight and started typing rapidly on her computer, staring placidly into the screen. 

I licked my lips. I didn’t have many friends, and I sure as hell didn’t have much of a family, so socializing was not my strong suit. My grandmother was senile, I was more of a caretaker than she was, and my uncle, my legal guardian, was more concerned with his fix of Hennessy than with me. I didn’t have much experience trying to console people, mostly my efforts went toward not being a cynical ass. 

“Marjory...suck it up. Be a man--err, woman. You dug your own grave, now climb out of it,” I said with a nod. 

“You don’t have much experience with girls, do you?” 

I scoffed. “Nothing more than a distraction, right now.” 

She laughed indifferently. “Are you not capable of having a platonic relationship with a member of the opposite sex?”

“I’m barely capable of maintaining a relationship in the first place.” 

“Then why call us a distraction?” 

I rolled my eyes. “I meant in the romantic sense, obviously, don’t flatter yourself, you’re not that pretty.” 

“Did you just admit that you found me attractive in some capacity?” She said, slightly more engaged in conversation. I felt blood rush to my cheeks, and she faced me.

“Oh, have I rendered you silent, young man?” 

I scoffed. “It appears you have, Ms. Winston, congratulations, I have said aloud what you wished to hear for the entire duration of this conversation.” 

She smirked and licked her lips. “Just how little do you think of me, Jamie?” 

I shook my head and felt a flicker of annoyance at her familiarity, the ease with which she addressed me. I got the sense she wasn't going to acknowledge our previous friendship, but it was of no true consequence to me. People change, it is inevitable. “I don’t think that much of you because I do not know that much about you, but from an observation that any human is due, I have concluded rather hastily that you are not the sort to draw attention, show kindness, or carry compassion.” 

The smile slipped off her face. She clasped her hands in front of her and bit her lip, pensively staring at nothing in particular. I didn’t say anything, for I felt that if I did, I would have pushed her to her limit. What I said was the truth, but there was another that rang louder: I shouldn’t have said it. 

“I have concluded,” Marjory began, “that you, Jamie, are a judgmental, self righteous loner who hasn’t even begun to scratch the surface being the reason behind my behavior, which you have seen little of. From this conversation, several things have come to light, and the one that glares brighter than the others is that we are not compatible--” 

“Ah, but Marjory,” I interrupted, “we are. How many people have you had a conversation like this with. Do you regularly speak this way while expressing your thoughts to the high halfwits that trail you for grades and pardons?” 

“Are you aware that you have just contradicted yourself?” She asked. 

I gave her a look that suggested she elaborate.

“What I mean by this,” she started, “is that you have told me you have given me the cursory observation that everyone is due, but you know about the halfwits that trail me. You can claim that you haven’t noticed me all you want, but the fact of the matter is, your knowledge has doomed you. Your extensive opinions, although they may not seem that way, have not been in favor of your defense, but my persecution.” 

“And exactly, on what grounds are you persecuting? What point are you trying to make, and perhaps the more intriguing question, what could you possibly have to gain from proving it?” 

She smiled, slowly and sweetly. “The point I am trying to make is that however much you want to write me off for engaging in actions that are less than honorable, your observations of me, the very things that have made you come to whatever conclusions that you have come to, are contradicting your previous claim that you have not noticed me. You can’t hate someone and not care about them at the same time, so obviously, you’ve lied about something. Your answer to this question can tell me whether or not I have to worry about being amicable or not...answer carefully.” 

Now, I must admit, I was at odds. I didn’t quite know what to say. I thought about it, considered each word, each answer. I decided to respond with the truth, no matter how much it would hurt. 

“Marjory,” I began, “you are correct...Obviously, the answer that I didn’t notice you cannot be true, however, I don’t hate you. I, at the very least, don’t dislike you as much as I would have you believe. So the truth is, I neither loathe you nor ignore you, and seeing that this small exchange has made me think more than any other exam in the past month, I would like to get to a place where I don’t dislike you, however that seems to require more interaction.” 

She raised her brows. 

I didn’t feel my heart beating faster, I didn’t really feel anything different than I had been while I was talking to her before. “Do you want to go out?” 

Her eyes widened slightly, and she nodded.

And to my imminent surprise, I smiled.