Faster We Burn

surrounded herself with so much pink. We would have dined on opposite sides of the cafeteria and only crossed paths in homeroom. She would have called me a freak and I would have called her a mindless Barbie.
    “I can always do my left hand, but I suck at my right.” She held put her hand up and I met her palm with mine.
    “I could do them for you, if you want. If that wouldn’t be absolutely weird.”
    She laughed. “It’s a little weird, but I’m okay with that.”
    We spent the rest of the night talking while I painted first her fingernails and then her toenails with pink and used a toothpick to add little white dots.
    “You’re good at that,” she said as I blew on her toes to dry them.
    “Thank you.” I screwed the caps back on the polish bottles and put them on her desk as she inspected my work.
    “I know you’re not Zack. That was never a question. Just so you know,” she said.
    I crawled back under the blanket.
    “Are you sure you want me to stay?” She traced the treble clef on my shoulder.
    “Yes,” she said, getting under the blanket with me.

 
     
    Chapter Four
     
     
    Katie
     
    Stryker never asked me for a definition of our relationship status and I didn’t feel the need for one. He was different. I didn’t want to put him in the relationship column with all the other guys I’d dated. Not that I was or was ever going to date Stryker. He wasn’t the boyfriend type. He was type-less. Not a friend, not a boyfriend. He was a guy. A guy I had sex with and who painted my toenails and let me bitch about my problems and took my sarcasm and thought I was funny.
    Stryker was right; he wasn’t Zack.
    I was still dealing with presents and calls and notes from Zack. Surprisingly, he hadn’t shown up at my door, so maybe he was finally getting the hint. Or maybe I was just being naïve. I hung out with Britt and Karina, but they just told me I should forgive Zack and let it go. Not fucking likely. But I smiled and told them I had homework to do and just ignored their texts after that. They didn’t understand.
    More often than not, I came home to find Lottie and at least one member of our little group deep in conversation that cut off the second I opened the door. I pretended not to notice and they started getting more stealthy about it. As November wore on, the presents piled up, taking up more and more space under my bed. By this time I had at least a couple hundred dollars’ worth of fuck-up gifts, but I just kicked them further under and blasted Miranda Lambert’s “Mama’s Broken Heart” when I thought about them.
    I was holding things mostly together, or at least giving the appearance of it, until one Friday afternoon when I came home early from class with an upset stomach–I suspected the shrimp scampi from the cafeteria–and was all set to crawl into bed and die, when I noticed there was someone standing in front of my door, waiting for me. He smiled the second he saw me. Yeah, no more, buddy. That shit doesn’t work on this girl anymore.
    “Hey, babe.” He was freshly-showered and wearing the shirt I’d gotten him for our one month anniversary, and standing in front of my door holding a bouquet of yellow roses that still had moisture on the petals from the florist.
    “What are you doing here, Zack? I don’t want to talk to you.” I thought he was going to keep blocking my door, but he moved aside so I could swipe my card.
    “I know, I know. I brought you these. Yellow roses mean ‘I’m sorry’. I looked it up.” He gave me the knee-weakening smile that had found me across a crowded room at that party last summer. I looked away from it, like looking away from the sun so you didn’t burn your retinas.
    “I’m sorry, Zack. I don’t want to talk to you.” I tried to push the door open, but he stopped me.
    “Please. I know you don’t want to be with me, but I just miss you. I want to tell you how sorry I am. I need to make this right. Please.” He held the flowers out to me and I reluctantly took them. They were beautiful. His words were soft and sincere and I saw a glimpse of the guy I’d fallen in love with. And if I was honest, a guy I was still a little in love with.
    He stroked the side of my face with one finger. “Please, babe. I just want to talk to you.”
    I took a deep breath and his familiar smell brought back memories of the summer, of lying in his truck bed and looking at the stars as he pointed out the constellations.
    I pushed the memory