Page 24

The day flies by and finally it’s time for Literature. Per usual, Hardin is in the seat next to mine, but today he doesn’t seem inclined to look my way at all.
“Today will be our last day on Pride and Prejudice,” the professor informs us. “I hope you all have enjoyed it, and since you’ve all read the ending, it feels fitting to base today’s discussion on Austen’s use of foreshadowing. Let me ask: as a reader, did you expect her and Darcy to become a couple in the end?”
Several people murmur or randomly flip through their books like it’ll provide an immediate answer for them, but only Landon and I raise our hands, as always.
“Miss Young,” the professor calls on me.
“Well, the first time I read the novel, I was on the edge of my seat about whether or not they would end up together. Even now—and I have read it at least ten times—I still feel anxious during the beginning of their relationship. Mr. Darcy is so cruel and says such hateful things about Elizabeth and her family that I never know if she can forgive him, let alone love him.” Landon nods at my answer, and I smile.
“That’s a load,” a voice cuts through the stillness. Hardin’s voice.
“Mr. Scott? Would you like to add something?” the professor asks, clearly surprised at Hardin’s participation.
“Sure. I said that’s a load. Women want what they can’t have. Mr. Darcy’s rude attitude is what drew Elizabeth to him, so it was obvious they would end up together,” Hardin says, then picks at his fingernails as if he isn’t the slightest bit interested in the discussion.
“That isn’t true, about women wanting what they can’t have. Mr. Darcy was only mean to her because he was too proud to admit he loved her. Once he stopped his hateful act, she saw that he really loved her,” I say, much louder than I intended.
Much louder. I look around the room and find everyone is staring at me and Hardin.
Hardin exhales. “I don’t know what kind of guys you normally go for, but I think that if he loved her, he wouldn’t have been mean to her. The only reason he even ended up asking for her hand in marriage was because she wouldn’t stop throwing herself at him,” he says with emphasis, and my heart drops. But finally we’re getting at what he’s really thinking.
“She did not throw herself at him! He manipulated her into thinking he was kind and took advantage of her weakness!” I scream, and then the room really, truly goes silent. Hardin’s face is flushed with anger, and I can’t imagine mine looks much different.
“He ‘manipulated’ her? Try again, she is . . . I mean, she was so bored with her boring life that she had to find excitement somewhere—so she certainly was throwing herself at him!” he yells back, his hand gripping the desk.
“Well, maybe if he wasn’t such a manwhore, he could have stopped it after the first time instead of showing up to her room!” After the words leave my mouth, I know that we’ve been exposed, and snickers and gasps are heard throughout the room.
“Okay, lively discussion. I think that’s probably enough on that topic for today . . .” the professor begins, but I grab my bag and run out of the room.
From somewhere behind me in the halls, I hear Hardin’s angry voice yell, “You don’t get to run this time, Theresa!”
I get outside and am crossing the green lawn, about to reach the corner of the block, when he grabs my arm and I jerk away.
“Why do you always touch me like that? Grab my arm again and I will slap you!” I scream. I surprise myself at my harsh words, but I’ve had enough of his crap.
He grabs my arm again, but I can’t manage to follow through on my promise. “What do you want, Hardin? To tell me how desperate I am? To laugh at me for letting you get to me again? I am so sick of this game with you—I won’t play it any longer. I have a boyfriend who loves me, and you are a terrible person. You really should see a doctor and get some medication for your mood swings! I can’t keep up with you. One second you’re nice, then you’re hateful. I want nothing to do with you, so do yourself a favor and find another girl to play your games, because I’m done!”
“I really do bring out the worst in you, don’t I?” he asks.
I turn away and attempt to shift my focus to the busy sidewalk next to us. A few confused students’ eyes linger on Hardin and me for a beat too long. When I face him again, he’s running his fingers across a small hole at the bottom of his worn black T-shirt.
I expect him to be smiling or laughing, but he’s not. If I didn’t know any better I would think he was . . . hurt? But I do know better and I know he couldn’t care less. “I’m not trying to play games with you,” he says and runs his hand over his head.
“Then what are you doing—because your mood swings give me a headache,” I snap. A small crowd has gathered around us, and I want to curl into a ball and disappear. But I have to know what he will say next.
Why can’t I stay away from him? I know he’s dangerous and toxic. I have never been as mean to someone as I am to him. He deserves it, I know, but I don’t really like being mean to anyone.
Hardin grabs my arm yet again and pulls me into a small alleyway between two buildings, away from the crowd. “Tess, I . . . I don’t know what I am doing. You kissed me first, remember?” he reminds me.
“Yeah . . . I was drunk, remember? And you kissed me first yesterday.”
“Yeah . . . You didn’t stop me.” He pauses. “It must be exhausting,” he says.