So boring

I hated to admit that I'd looked for Clay all day but he'd successfully avoided me. Had I unwittingly ruined our friendship? Was I trying too hard to hold on to something that had barely begun? I was the worst kind of pathetic. I should have been focused on kicking ass in my last year of school. Thinking of where I'd go to college. Working my butt off to get the cross-country team to state. I had a million and one other things going on in my life but the only thing I could think about was him.

Clay fucking Reed.

He had royally screwed up my head in the short time that I'd known him.

And I couldn't even claim to know him that well. I had really thought we had the beginnings of something. But I'd be damned if I would invest energy into something that wasn't reciprocal. I had worked myself up into a ball of determination. I would not allow myself to obsess over some boy. I was better than that. I had more going for me than being some stupid girl who fixated on whether a guy would give her the time of day. That was not the person I was. My internal monologue had me fired up. I could practically hear my own per- sonal soundtrack. I hummed a tune with an angry beat the whole way to my locker. I was feeling strong and untouchable.

And then a piece of paper fluttered to my feet. It had been shoved between the slats of my locker and had fallen out when I opened it. Probably some stupid flyer for the pep rally. I started to ball it up and throw it away when my name caught my eye.

Maggie.

The handwriting wasn't familiar to me but somehow I knew it was his. So,

just like that, all my newfound strength went straight to hell. I opened the folded paper and smoothed it out. It was an amazingly intricate charcoal drawing of a gothic-looking butterfly. The detail was unbelievable. It looked like one of those cool tribal-art tattoos. It was edgy yet delicate at the same time. I couldn't quite believe that Clay could be capable of such beautiful artwork. His aloof coldness belied the sensitive soul who was able to commu- nicate so much through a drawing. Then I noticed some writing at the bottom.

In thin, sloping script it read, Goodness is your virtue. Quiet beauty your weapon. I almost stopped breathing. The words sounded like some sort of love poem. What did he mean by them? And why could he act like he wanted noth- ing to do with me one minute and then practically lay his heart out on the table the next? It made no sense.

I looked up and found Clay standing a little way down the hallway, watching me. Our eyes met and an undeniable electricity passed between us. Did he feel like I did? What did this drawing mean? Was he trying to tell me something? I gathered up my book bag and shoes for cross-country and walked toward him.

He watched me the entire time with a hesitant look on his face. I stopped infront of him and held up the drawing. "You did this?" I asked him, although I already knew the answer. Clay nodded.

"I didn't know you were an artist. This is... just...wow." God, why did I have to be such a moron?

Clay's lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. "Thanks," he said simply, still watching me in that intense way of his. "And the words at the bottom? Did you write them?" I asked, trying to pull something out of him that would get him to open up. To tell me what he was thinking.

Clay pushed himself off the locker and started walking with me down the hallway. "No. It's a Japanese poet I really love. That particular poem made me think of you. You should read it." Japanese poetry, huh? Deep stuff.

He was reciting pretty Japanese poetry to me. A guy didn't do that sort of thing unless he liked the girl, right? I mean, that was the only thing that made sense. But then, what was with the arctic freeze-out earlier?

Ugh! There was that obsessive self-doubt again. It had to stop! "Well, thanks," I forced myself to say coolly. There was no way I would let

Clay know what he did to me. It was becoming a bit embarrassing, Clay took hold of my hand and pulled me to a stop. I should probably have moved out of his grasp. That would have been the smart thing to do. Not throwing myself headfirst into this crazy whirlwind that seemed to suck me in and refused to let go. But I liked how his hand felt around mine way too much to do that. So I looked at my shoes, finding them suddenly very interesting.

"Mags. Look at me," Clay said softly. The way he said my name made me feel fluttery inside. Like that beautiful butterfly he had drawn for me. Damn him. I looked up at Clay. His dark brown eyes were full of contrition and I found it impossible to stay distant and closed off.

"I'm really sorry for how I acted earlier. I was an ass. Do you forgive me?"

Did I forgive him? Um, yeah, of course I did. But I had to play it cool.

"What was your deal? I mean, why did you storm out of the cafeteria like that?" Clay sighed and dropped my hand. I felt the loss of his warmth immedi- ately.

"I was feeling uncomfortable and insecure. I know your friends didn't want me there. And it came out as anger instead. I have a bad habit of taking it out on whoever's closest to me. I'm not always the nicest guy, Maggie. I have a lot of crazy baggage that you don't need or deserve."

There it was again, a somewhat personal admission. One that gave me only the teensiest idea of what was going on behind his hard exterior. But not enough for me to understand him. I did know that his words were meant to give me pause. For me to think about what it meant to be close to him. I looked down at the beautiful picture he had given me and I didn't want to think about his baggage or his insane mood swings. I just wanted to be around him.

"Just promise to talk to me when you're feeling that way. I can help you with that baggage, you know." What was I saying? I had never dealt with anyone's baggage! I didn't even know what it was! My life and my friends' lives were pre- dictable and boring. I couldn't imagine what it was he was alluding to. But I needed him to know I was there for him. No matter what.

Clay looked at me again and I felt my stomach turn to jelly. "You're pretty amazing. You know that?" he asked me with a smile in his eyes. I puffed up at his compliment.

"Thanks. I think so, too," I joked. Clay finally laughed, the seriousness of our conversation lightening a bit. "Where you off to? Do you wanna go grab something to eat?" Clay asked, looking down at the running shoes in my hands.

Crap. I had cross-country. I couldn't miss another practice or I would be sus- pended from the meet for sure. Coach Kline would kill me!

So what did I say? "That sounds great."