Really? Is that hard for him to just leave me alone? Of course it is. He's just another rich boy who doesn't understand the meaning of 'cold shoulder.' Stupid boy. Even if he is hot, and such deep, beautiful brown eyes… No, he's nothing but a distraction. Just a very hot one.
The rest of school passes by in a blur of ignoring Trace. Finally, school is over and it's time for me to go to work. I work at SportzCenter in the mall. And in order to get there from school, I have to walk a block to get to the bus stop, and then ride for another four blocks to get to work on time. As I start walking, I hear a car pull up beside me and honk.
"Do you need a ride?" Trace asks after he rolls down the tinted window.
"No," I say coldly as I continue walking faster, my plaid skirt stretching against my long strides.
"You sure? I don't mind."
"Just leave me alone, okay?" I say as I keep walking. The car engine revs up and Trace drives off. Part of me is sad that he's gone, but I remind myself he's nothing but a distraction in a pretty package.
After twenty minutes, I'm finally dressed and ready for work in my black fitted v-neck top and jeans.
"Vivian, we need a new display for the baseballs. Baseball season is starting for schools, and we want them to buy from us," says my boss, Mr. Olivers.
"Sure thing. Anything in particular you want?"
He shakes his head. "Do your thing."
I walk up to the front of the store, where five boxes of baseballs are sitting by an empty display table. I think I'll do something basic. Maybe it'll bring something real and simple to this crazy fake world. And so opening one individually wrapped baseball after another, a pyramid of red and white slowly starts forming. A few customers walk in, but I pay no attention, I'm too focused on my pyramid. Soon, I have to get the ladder we use for inventory out so I can reach the top. Baseball after baseball, the pyramid is built, and soon finished. With a happy sigh, I climb off the ladder and fold it up to carry back to the store room. When I come back, I start putting the trash into the larger boxes. Then all of a sudden, I hear a horrible sound, the sound of over three hundred and seventy baseballs falling. I turn around and go to help whoever knocked them over when I slip and land on the unlucky person.
"I am so sorry, sir!" I exclaim as I start to get up.
"It's cool, it was my fault," he says.
I look up and see Trace. Really?