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“No way, man. You aren’t dating her, are you? She’s weird.” The other guy shook his head in disgust and looked right at her.
Christie bit her lip and continued to listen. What was Chris going to say? Would he tell them he thought that she was special, special enough to date? Would he tell them that they were dating? Would he say anything?
“Come on, guys, it was just sex,” Chris’s baritone rumbled, taking Christie’s breath away.
“Did she paint you in the nude?” One of them chuckled.
“No, she didn’t do any of her stupid painting, just sex. Hot sex.” His words broke her heart.
“So you’re not dating?” the blond asked again, his eyes looking right at her, causing her to look away to hide the pain his words caused.
“I would never date her; she’s a stupid art geek. Fuck her, yes, but date her? Never.” He laughed with his friends … at her.
“You should tell her that, Lowell. There she is,” the blond pointed out.
Christie suddenly grabbed her bag out of her locker and turned from them. Without looking behind her, she walked away from her locker and her locker mate since the third grade. Ten years she had wanted nothing but his attention, but not like this. She would never be the butt of his jokes again, never.
Walking out of Harry Truman High School the last time into the morning sun, she decided she was done with Chris, Christopher, and Christie. From now on, she was Agatha and would never be that naïve, trusting girl again. Agatha Lovely would never let someone that close to her heart again.
