Vile Hunger
THE STRANGE BOY
The strange boy stood outside, again....
Emily imagined that he waited for her...
In truth, however, he just waited for the bus.
She watched him from her bedroom window, twirling a strand of her dark hair, as she did so.
Again, Emily was struck by how strange he was.
Not strange in a physical way, though. Physically, he looked kind of cute.
No, it was more like he didn’t fit in, and usually just kept to himself.
They had a class together, but he always just sort of faded into the background.
Most of the time, he had his face buried in some book, or like now, stared off into the distance, lost in thought.
Emily wondered if he even liked girls, and by girls she meant herself.
She had spent the better part of the summer finding reasons to bump into him. Usually he hung out at the library or at the store, and for that summer so did she. She’d even gone so far as to wear skimpy outfits (well as skimpy as her dad would allow anyway, which meant T-Shirt and shorts) hoping he’d notice.
He hadn’t.
Now, they were both two weeks into their senior year, and still nothing.
She had tried to “accidentally” bump into him at school, hoping that would start a conversation, but met only with a wall of silence.
Any sane girl would probably have given up on him by now, but she felt some strange connection to him—maybe because he seemed so lost.
Emily sighed, and now stared at herself in the mirror.
The scars were still there, they hadn’t magically disappeared over night.
Back in her freshman year she had developed a bad case of acne, which hadn’t exactly made her very popular.
The bad acne had continued to plague her throughout her sophomore year, finally clearing up when she became a junior.
But, when the acne had cleared up, it had left deep, red scars on both sides of her face. And like an infection, the scars had spread, reached down towards her chest and upper back.
Nothing seemed to get rid of the scars.
Moisturizers, cold creams, acne pads she had tried them all, and nothing had worked.
Not even makeup helped.
She had pretty much given up and accepted her fate.
That is until the strange boy showed up, and made her heart ache, and made her worry that she would never be pretty enough for a man to want her.
Emily turned away from the mirror, feeling very stupid for wallowing in self-pity.
Her dad had taught her better than that.
It was at times like this, however, that Emily wished she had a mom to confide in.
But, her mom had died a long time ago, and Emily really didn’t remember much about her.
Emily suddenly heard something tapping on the roof.
Outside it rained, rained hard, and her strange boy stood outside without a coat or even an umbrella.
Emily turned away and bit her lip.
You need to stop being such a wuss, she thought. Go down and talk to him.
“But what if he rejects me?” She asked herself. “What if he makes fun of me?”
She touched the sides of her face.
“I’d die if he did that.”
Emily cried out in frustration.
Umbrella in hand, she raced downstairs, not letting herself stop. Knowing that if she did, she’d chicken out.
* * *
“Hi,” Emily said, and then gasped trying to catch her breath.
He looked at her strangely.
“Do you want to come inside me?” She asked. If her face hadn’t already been red, it certainly would be now.
“Whoops,” she said, laughing nervously. “Freudian slip.”
“What I meant to say,” Emily began again, “is do you want to come and wait inside with me?”
She started twirling a strand of her hair in a flirty gesture.
But her hair felt sopping wet, so instead she wrapped her hands around the umbrella handle.
“I’m Emily, by the way,” she said.
“I k-know,” he said, stuttering a little.
Nervous, shy, probably hadn’t talked to a lot of girls. These were the thoughts that went through her mind, as she quickly sized him up.
“My aunt and your dad are seeing each other…”
“Oh my god,” Emily said, interrupting him. “You’re Rosie’s nephew? Martin, right?”
He nodded.
Some detective she turned out to be. Her mystery boy practically lived right across the street.
A strange feeling ...