Chapter Text
Before we begin, there are a few things you should probably know about me.
First, I’m not the most ladylike girly girl in the world. In fact, if I had a nickel for every time my mother had to beg me to sit or walk or dress or breathe more like a lady, I’d probably have enough money to buy that new pair of Jordans I’ve had my eye on all year. But then again, this is the same woman who legitimately sobbed when I told her I was quitting ballet in favor of basketball. Sometimes I still find her curled up in bed with a glass of merlot, watching my first and only ballet recital video. It’s kind of sad, really, and if I had the energy to put in the effort to be the little lady she wants me to be, maybe I’d do it. Actually, screw that. Who am I kidding?
I should probably also mention that at one point in my life, I wanted nothing more than to be a princess. It was a strange, strange time, but it wasn’t really my fault. There was this frankly fantastic (though criminally underrated) cartoon called Princess Power about these three beautiful princesses who also kicked ass and fought crime and stuff, and for a time, it really skewed the whole idea of what a princess was for me.
It’s not like the show was a huge hit. After the first few episodes didn’t garner heaps of praise, they released the rest of the first (and also last) season at like 3 AM on Tuesdays, so if you were a seven-year-old with no DVR, you were pretty much screwed.
If not for that show, I never would have become such good friends with Raven and Octavia, even though we played basketball together. We were seven, and the fact that we were all obsessed with the same obscure cartoon was enough of a basis for what became two of the most important friendships of my life. As it turned out, neither of them had DVR. I think my mom was just so thrilled that I was finally making friends with girls that she didn’t even mind having midweek play dates.
Anyway, back to me wanting to be a princess. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to be a princess, but more so that I wanted to be Princess Kiki. She looked a bit like me, with sort of wild blonde hair and green eyes, and she had a ruby-encrusted crossbow, which was maybe the most awesome weapon ever. For my eighth birthday, I begged my mom to let me have a Princess Power-themed party, but she didn’t really get what I was asking, and it turned out to be just princess-themed. And my Kiki costume really didn’t come across without the crossbow. Instead I just looked like some generic princess. Octavia’s older brother, Bellamy, still has the nerve to call me “Princess” to this day because of it.
Not long after the series finished, we all but forgot about our obsession with Princess Power. We stayed best friends, though.
Maybe the most important thing to know about me, because I think it says a lot, is that I still write snail mail. I’m the kind of person who gets all wistful and nostalgic for the good old days, even though I really wasn’t alive for them. But there’s something really beautiful and thoughtful about selecting your stationery and pen, having to think about what you say before you write it because you can’t just backspace it if you don’t like it. It’s calming, somehow. Mostly, I just write letters to my grandma in Toledo, but I’ve also been known to randomly write a letter to Raven or Octavia when I’m having trouble expressing something. Sometimes it’s when I’m mad at one of them, but more often than not, it’s just random feelings bullshit. I’m not particularly great at expressing emotions. I bottle things up. Supposedly, that’s not healthy.
Writing letters is also how I get over being in love. But we’ll get to that later.
-----
Of all the days to get a flat tire, this one is not ideal. I’m not sure there’s ever a good day for a flat tire, but when you’re on the way home from getting your ass kicked up and down the court by Tondc High, it just feels cruel and unusual.
I’m less than a mile from home, just a few blocks from Octavia’s, and I think about calling her but then I realize that a) my phone is about to die, and b) she would be ridiculously unhelpful. She’s been obsessed with this senior who goes to Tondc since he (as she tells it) saved her life by pushing her out of the way of a runaway shopping cart in the Target parking lot. He was at our game, and if I call her now, she’ll just stand there, watching me change the tire while speculating a mile a minute about what Lincoln might think about the fact that she went 0 for 8 from the three-point line tonight.
It’s fine. I know how to change a tire. My dad made sure of that. I’ll be fine.
My phone buzzes, rattling around in the cup holder. My heart does some kind of acrobatics it really shouldn’t do when I see who’s calling.
“Hey Finn,” I say, breathless, when I pick it up.
“Hey,” he says, his voice always a little deeper on the phone. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Just seems like you should have gotten home by now. I mean, I know you had to shower and all but…” he trails off. Irrationally, I think he might be picturing me in the shower, but that would be ridiculous. I don’t even tell him that most girls never shower at school, no matter how much we stink.
“Glad to know my creepy next door neighbor is always looking out for me,” I joke, then cringe because it was a terrible joke. “But, yeah, I’m fine. We actually had a pretty lengthy team meeting, which is most of the reason I’m not home yet. You might have ESP, though, because I just got a flat tire.”
“Seriously? Where are you? Let me come help.”
“I’m on Magnolia between Lennox and that other street I’m forgetting the name of.”
“Kingston?”
“Probably. But you really don’t have to come help. I think Papa Griffin would be proud if I changed this tire myself, like he taught me.”
Finn is quiet for a moment. I know it’s awkward for some people when I talk about my dad. But the way I see it, he’s dead, and not talking about him won’t change that. In fact, I kind of talk about him all the time.
“I’m coming anyway,” he says, adamant.
“Please don’t. I’m fine I swear.”
“See you soon,” he says, and hangs up before I can protest anymore.
I’m trying incredibly hard not to be in love with Raven’s boyfriend, but he’s not making it easy. I really hope something comes up and he doesn’t come.
I pull the jack and the spare out of the trunk and get to work.
I’m just starting to jack up my little Honda Accord when a set of headlights pulls up behind me and the jerk just sits there and doesn’t go around. Doesn’t this clown see that I’ve got my hazards on and that I’m, you know, changing a tire? I start waving my arm wildly in a “go around me, for Chrissake” gesture. For a split second, I think it might be Finn, but even he doesn’t drive that fast.
“Princess? Is that you?”
Anyone. Anyone but him. Please.
“It is you! What happened here?”
“What’s it look like?” I spit back.
He turns the car off and once the headlights are no longer blaring in my eyes, I can see that yes, it is in fact Bellamy Blake, undoubtedly on the way home from his girlfriend’s house because there’s no way he’s on the way home from our game. Bellamy Blake has never been one to deign to appear at a girls’ basketball game.
“Tough loss, by the way. Brutal, really. But we all have our off nights, right?”
Or maybe he did. I have no desire to talk about this right now. I already have every turnover and bricked layup playing in my head on replay. The last thing I need is some kind of phony pep talk from this guy.
“It’s Friday night. Shouldn’t you be out at some senior party holding Roma’s purse for her while she takes selfies?” Okay, that came out slightly nasty, but he can handle it.
“We broke up, actually,” he says, and it really seems like he doesn’t give a shit. Which is probably a product of the fact that Bellamy Blake and Roma Caruso have been together for over three years, not counting the at least 17 times they have broken up. If Bellamy comes off as unfeeling, it probably has more to do with the fact that he knows they’ll be back together by next week than anything.
“Again?” I say, without meaning to.
“Yes, Princess Smartass, again. And you know, I’m actually thinking about letting it stick this time.”
I make a sound of disbelief and turn back to my tire, jacking anew.
The last time Bellamy and Roma took any significant time off from their relationship, Bellamy actually started casually dating someone else. Her name was Echo, and Roma decided to start a rumor that she had herpes. At school, people started shouting “HERP!” as Echo walked by and posting up really graphic photographs of herpes outbreaks on the outside of her locker. She ended up getting a special waiver to transfer to Tondc. Bellamy and Roma were back together within the week.
The car is all the way up. I start to remove the bum tire. “Good luck with that.”
“No really. There has to be something… more, you know?”
I glance at him and shrug, trying to concentrate on my tire and not look at him for too long. When he’s being all earnest and sincere, it’s hard to deny how damn good-looking he is.
Bellamy’s attractiveness isn’t conventional, but then again it kind of is. His hair is dark and soft-looking, but shaggy in a way that mostly went out of fashion something like a decade ago. It works for him, though. His nose is slightly flat and he smirks too much, but sometimes when I look at him, all I see is eyelashes and angles and intriguing freckle constellations. I mean freckles, God.
You could plop Bellamy Blake down anywhere in the world and the girls there would swoon, varying international beauty standards be damned. Most hot guys are a matter of opinion, but I’ve never heard anyone interested in guys say Bellamy was anything less than attractive. He is hot for a fact. He was also my first kiss, which I don’t like to think about.
I’ve probably been silent for too long because Bellamy feels the need to speak again.
“Can I help with anything? I haven’t offered yet because, frankly you look like you’ve got it covered, but I should have asked anyway.”
“I’m fine, but thanks.”
“Have you been stranded here long?”
“Just a few minutes.”
He moves to sit down next to me on the curb. He smells clean and vaguely spicy.
“Am I helping or hurting by keeping you company?”
I have to laugh. “Neither. You’re kind of just a vague annoyance.”
“I’ll take it. I’ve been called worse, usually by you.”
Why am I smiling? Am I flirting with him?
“Someone has to keep that head of yours deflated.”
“I should probably stick around, then.”
Then I remember that Finn will be here any minute and I realize how that might look to Bellamy, that the first person I would call for help is Raven’s boyfriend. Even though he called me. It’s irrelevant, really.
“Actually, someone’s coming for me, so you really don’t have to.”
His smile dims a little. Is he… disappointed?
“Oh, okay. Yeah. I’ll just get out of your hair.”
He stands up and hesitates, like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know if he should.
“Out with it,” I deadpan.
“I just wanted to say… it’s been a while since I came to one of your games, you and O’s that is. And I really only came because I knew that guy Lincoln she doesn’t think I know about would be there and you know how I feel about O having guys in her life.”
He’s hesitating again, shuffling his feet a little like a bashful kid.
“And?” I prompt.
“And I thought you should know, because I know how hard you take losses, that I’ve never seen anyone do anything with more intensity than you playing basketball.”
I blink at him, unsure of what to say. I’m not sure it’s exactly a compliment, and if it is, I don’t take those well.
“What? You mean, when I threw up enough bricks to build a house?” I scoff.
He half-grins. My breathing picks up speed inexplicably.
“No. You just, you know what you want and you go for it 100%. So what if you played like shit tonight? I bet that’s never happened two games in a row.”
“I guess you’ll just have to come to our next game and find out.”
“I might have to do that.” He backs away toward his car. “Goodnight, Princess.”
“’Night.”
He’s climbing into his car and I can’t stop myself. “Hey, Bellamy?”
He stops and looks up at me.
“Thanks.”
He doesn’t say anything, just grins and gets in the car and then he’s gone.
If there’s one good thing about Bellamy, besides his freckles, it’s his honesty. Bellamy’s not going to try to act like tonight’s game wasn’t that bad, because it was.
I’m putting the bum tire in the trunk and trying to clean the grease off my hands with my sweat towel when Finn pulls up.
“Holy crap, Clarke, you’re done already?” he asks, bursting out of his car and jogging over.
“I’m pretty skilled, you know.”
“Okay, well, um… can I help with anything?”
I stare deliberately at my surroundings, which include literally nothing to be helped with. He laughs, a breathy, almost trill of a sound that I crave.
“Point taken,” he says, eyes on the ground. “So… you want to hang out or something? Get pizza or coffee or whatever else you feel like?”
I want to. I really, really want to. But I also really, really shouldn’t.
“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with Raven?” I ask, casual. Probably too casual.
“Do I even have to answer that?”
He really doesn’t. It was a stupid question to begin with. Raven is the most competitive person I know, and she’s pretty much impossible to be around after a loss. Last year, she lost a robotics competition to a guy two years older who goes to Ark Prep. That night, she punched a hole through Finn’s bedroom wall and destroyed his laptop when the snow globe she threw at his desk shattered. Sometimes, Octavia and I still have to come with her on what she calls “surveillance missions” to Ark Prep, during which we dress in all black and peek into the window of the engineering classroom to spy on her “arch nemesis,” a senior with questionable facial hair named Kyle Wick.
“Yeah, forget I asked. But I think I should just go home. There’s this thing I have to write-“
“On a Friday night?” he interrupts.
“Yeah, it’s just this, uh, letter to my grandma,” I lie. “She gets worried if I don’t write her back immediately.”
“Can’t you just, like, call her?” he asks.
“I mean, yeah, but that’s not how she and I do things.”
He shakes his head, grinning, then moves toward me and puts me in a loose headlock.
“You’re a real weirdo, Griffin,” he says, fond, and gives me a very gentle noogie. From my position under his armpit, I can smell his cologne, all woodsy and sweet. I helped Raven pick it out last Christmas.
I shove him off me. “Whatever. See you later,” I say, retreating to the driver’s side.
“You know what?” he grins, “I think I’ll follow you home. Just to make sure you don’t destroy any more of your tires. I know you’re new to this driving thing.”
“Very funny,” I say, climbing into my car. Because of course he’ll follow me home. He lives next door. As if I could ever forget.
When we get home, he gives me a cross-eyed salute from across the hedge and I just grin back at him like a moron. I need to get this under control, like now.
-----
In my lifetime, I have been in love with five people.
The first was a childish passing fancy for my then-best-friend Wells Jaha, which was probably more possessive jealousy than actual romantic love anyway. Wells started going to a snooty private school at the start of first grade. He actually lived in Finn’s house before Finn’s family, and even though he went to a different school, we continued to play superheroes in our backyards all the time. But then I started noticing he was making all kinds of new friends, and I was terrified of losing him. This fear drove me to believe I was in love with him. I pined away silently, not really knowing how, and Wells got busier and busier with sports leagues and new friends.
At this point, I was already well into my pen pal correspondence with my grandma, and one day sometime toward the beginning of second grade when I sat down to write to her, instead of “Dear Grandma,” what came out was, “Dear Wells, I don’t want to love you anymore.” And then I just kept writing, spilling my guts, and afterward, I felt better. When I finished my letter, I put it in an envelope, addressed it to Wells, and even put a stamp on it, then hid it in a shoebox under my bed. And so my un-love letters were born.
I will note that it was also around that time that I became friends with Raven and Octavia, so maybe that had more to do with me feeling better than anything.
Wells and I stayed friendly until he moved across town the summer before high school. Now we don’t really see each other, which is too bad because he’s really good at doing impressions of presidents and it’s hilarious.
The next time I fancied myself in love was 6th grade. Our middle school had a bunch of elementary schools that fed into it, so there was a whole new crop of people I’d never met. One of those such people was Monty Green. He sat next to me in English and science, and we helped each other out. You could already tell back then that Monty would go on to be in all the AP science classes, and in case it wasn’t obvious from my constant letter-writing to my grandma, I was a practiced and precocious writer and also an avid reader. Monty was shy and kind of quiet, but with a really cute smile, and he wasn’t gangly and awkward in the way that a lot of sixth grade boys were. I remember thinking he had such graceful hands, and I used to spend hours when I got home from school trying to sketch them from memory, but I could never quite capture them.
I think what I liked most about Monty was that I never felt like I could fully draw him out of his shell. He was a challenge. I always felt like there was so much more that he was thinking, just lurking underneath the surface, and if I was just dazzling and charming and witty enough, I’d find out the world of fascinating ideas that he undoubtedly kept locked away. I asked him to the sixth grade dance and he looked really pained about it, but said no, and made some excuse about his parents. That night, I wrote him an un-love letter, addressed it, stamped it, and put it in the shoebox that I still kept under my bed.
I recently found out that Monty is gay. He’s not actually out at this point, so I probably shouldn’t know, but I was recently over at Octavia’s at the same time Bellamy had his best friend, Nathan Miller, over. Miller (everyone calls him that) was the first guy I ever knew who was both gay and out. He’s also one of the best athletes in school and I’d even go so far as to call him macho. Needless to say, I have him to thank for correcting a lot of stereotypes I might have believed about gay guys. Anyway, I was rooting around in the pantry at the Blakes’ looking for some chocolate covered pretzels that Octavia swore were there but weren’t, when I heard Bellamy and Miller come into the kitchen, probably to get water or something. They couldn’t see me and instinctively, I stood stock still.
“I mean, I get being in the closet,” said Miller, “really, I do. Being young and gay isn’t easy, and from what Monty tells me, the Greens are as traditional as high tea. But you know I’m not into sneaking around.”
Bellamy was quiet for a moment, probably doing that thing where he strokes his chin as if he’s some old wise man with a beard.
“Do you love him?” Bellamy said at last.
“Of course I love him. Otherwise, what the fuck am I doing this for?”
“Would you prefer not being with him to sneaking around?”
“Absolutely not!” said Miller, almost cutting him off.
“Then that’s all you need to know, right? He’ll tell his parents when he’s ready. You made coming out look so easy, but it isn’t that way for everyone. And I’ve never seen you happier, dude. Monty’s good for you.”
I heard somebody sigh, assumedly Miller, before he said, “Yeah. I know you’re right. It just sucks, you know?”
There was another pause, then Bellamy said, cautiously, “Would Madden help?”
Miller laughed. “You know, kicking your ass in Madden always helps.”
After they had retreated to the basement to play video games, I didn’t move for a few minutes. It had been a long, long time since I ever had a thing for Monty, and I’m no stranger to same-sex tendencies myself (more on that later), but I never thought that was what was going on with Monty. And maybe that was what I sensed all those years ago, when I thought he was keeping something close to the vest. Mostly, though, I was just standing there marveling at Bellamy. Who knew he had such… emotional maturity?
Which brings me to my next love, none other than Bellamy Blake. I had never really thought of Bellamy that way. I’d known him since I was seven and he was nine, and at that point, he was a pretty typical big brother in that he was way too cool to hang out with Octavia and her friends. He’s always been good-looking, even at age nine, but I still sort of thought of my friends’ siblings as my own siblings. When you’re an only child and you don’t know what having a sibling really means, you feel like you can have that feeling vicariously through your friends. Or at least I did.
And then one day in seventh grade, maybe six months after my dad died, I spent the night at Octavia’s and my mom was late to pick me up the next day. Octavia was taking karate at that point, and she had some sort of competition that day, so Bellamy was left to “watch me” until my mom could come get me after Octavia and her mom left.
I remember everything about that morning. My hair was in the messiest bun ever and I actually had a little mascara on, as makeup was something O and I had started messing around with. I was wearing red basketball shorts with a hole near the right knee and my boobs were way too big to make my white spaghetti strap tank top look age appropriate. My boobs have always been huge by grade-level standards, but I still wanted to wear what all my friends were wearing, and after my dad died, it was like my mom didn’t have the energy to say no, even when I was getting leered at by grown men. The whole house smelled like bacon from breakfast and Bellamy and I sat awkwardly on the living room couch, with an old rerun of Princess Power (which had made a bit of a retro comeback on Cartoon Network) on the TV that neither of us was really paying attention to.
“You smell like vanilla,” he said, out of the blue.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” I said. “I’ve been using a new lotion. You can smell it from there?”
He makes a show of taking a big whiff. “Definitely. It smells like cookies or something.”
“I’ve been thinking of going back to my old one. It doesn’t really have a smell, but I’m starting to think this one is too noticeable—“
And then he leaned over and kissed me. His lips were soft and warm and dry and I had a split second to worry about my breath and the fact that I had no idea what to do with my hands before it was over. He turned back to the TV like nothing had happened while I sat there with a million thoughts bouncing around my head. Before either of us could say anything, my mom honked and I bolted for the door. We never spoke of it.
It was the first time I thought of Bellamy that way. He was O’s brother. He was two years older. He called me Princess. But after that kiss, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Not long after that, he and Roma became he and Roma, and eventually I decided it was time to write a letter and get over it. I never told anyone about any of it, not the kiss or the ensuing pathetic crush.
I wasn’t really over it, though, until early in the summer before high school started when I met Lexa at a basketball camp held at the local college. She was a year ahead of me at Tondc, kind of mean but in a weirdly cool way, and completely terrifying. It was my first time liking a girl, and of course, it really confused me. The two hottest, most awesome girls I know also happen to be my best friends and I had never been attracted to them, so why Lexa? But human attraction is strange and doesn’t make sense, that’s what I learned that summer.
We were both point guards, so all day every day, we went at each other like a couple of prize fighters. I’ve never had better competition. Then one day after I had definitely gotten the better of her in a scrimmage, she pulled me into a corner of the locker room, pushed me up against the lockers, and kissed me, hard. We spent most of our free time from then on making out in one of our dorms, but we didn’t talk much. After camp, we never really hung out in any normal way, but she got her license later that summer, and she’d text me late at night and I’d sneak out of my house to make out with her in her dad’s car.
It sort of fizzled out, honestly, after school started. I wrote the letter mostly as a memorial to my first same-sex “relationship,” even though I definitely wouldn’t call what we had love. Anytime we play against Tondc, Lexa and I still compete like hell. She definitely got the better of me this last time.
But Lexa was still important, and not just because she’s a girl. I was in the middle of my thing with Lexa when Finn moved in next door. I was too busy trying to sort out my feelings for Lexa to realize I was in love with Finn until after he and Raven were already together. Not that it would have changed anything, but I think it’s significant.
I always figured one of two things would happen: I would naturally get over Finn or he and Raven would break up. Even if they did break up, I care too much about Raven to go for her ex, but at least I wouldn’t feel so guilty for loving him and we wouldn’t have to hang out with him so much. But at this point, neither of those things has happened and I’d really like to just get over him.
I think it’s time to write him a letter.
-----
The shit hits the fan on what would have otherwise been a very typical Thursday morning in early February. Basketball season is almost over because with three sophomores in the varsity starting lineup (Raven, Octavia, and me, duh), you can imagine why we’re not in any position to make the playoffs this year. My grandma’s birthday is next week and I’m almost positive my mom won’t remember. Bellamy texted and offered me a ride to school, which is unusual, but I figure Octavia put him up to it because it’s so cold. The parking situation at school is horrific, with not even enough spaces for all the seniors, so if you’re younger and want to drive, you have to find parking in one of the neighborhoods around school. The people who live there charge exorbitant prices to Ark High students to let them park in their driveways or yards, and we just keep paying. My spot is about a half-mile walk to school.
When Bellamy pulls up and honks, though, Octavia isn’t with him. This has never happened before. I climb warily into the cab of his truck.
“Where’s O?” I ask.
“I think she got a ride with Finn and Raven.”
That’s weird.
“Did they have something to do before school I didn’t know about?”
“No,” he says. “I did.”
Now I’m really confused. “What are you talking about, Bellamy?”
“Obviously, we need to talk, Clarke,” he says, and he never calls me Clarke, so now I’m worried.
“Um… okay,” I say, hesitant. “What about?”
There’s a pause. He puts his truck in gear and we start moving.
Low and quiet, Bellamy says, “Just so you know, I don’t have any STDs.”
I can’t help it, I bark out a laugh. He glares at me.
“… Congratulations?”
“And also, for your information, I do not always finish off the good cereal and put the empty box back in the pantry. That’s Octavia!”
“What are you talking about?”
He huffs. “Oh, just that I’m an inconsiderate egomaniac with STDs. You should know, you wrote all about it.”
“I never wrote that!”
“Uh, yeah you did. In your letter. You even signed it, ‘Clarke Griffin, NOT Princess.’”
Oh my God. I’ve only ever written one letter to Bellamy and that sounds exactly like how I would have signed it. But there’s no way he could’ve read that letter, right?
This can’t be happening. Clearly I’m still asleep, still dreaming. I squeeze my eyes shut. I try to remember all that stuff O said last week about lucid dreaming and how she’s learned to control her dreams or something. How did she say she did it? How can I make this stop?
When I open my eyes, Bellamy’s still there and this is real. He’s even holding the letter in one hand. That’s my handwriting. That’s my Earth Day stamp. Oh, God. “How did you get that?”
“Well you know, there’s this service where these people in trucks drive to each house and drop off-“
“Oh my God, it came in the mail?”
“Yeah.”
We’re in a moving vehicle, so there’s really no escape. Suddenly, Bellamy’s rather spacious truck feels the size of a tin of sardines. I feel about as dignified as a sardine.
I do my best to affect an air of amused nonchalance. “Oh, you know what? I kind of remember that. From like, a million, trillion years ago. Lord knows what I said. I was practically an infant.” I pause. “You didn’t show O, did you?”
“No. I didn’t show anyone. Way too personal.”
“Oh, good. Can I see it?” I say, reaching for it casually, and he surprises me by snatching it away and holding it to his chest.
Then he smirks that devious, irresistible Bellamy Blake smirk. “What, you think I’m going to give this back to you? Uh-uh. I’ve never gotten a love letter. I’m keeping it.”
“That is so clearly not a love letter,” I huff.
This time when I go for the letter, I’m quick enough to snag it.
“Fine,” he laughs. “Have it your way.”
“Thanks, suckaaaa” I say, sliding the letter into my backpack as we pull into his assigned parking space. I reach for the door handle.
“Wait,” he says, then hesitates. “I just wanted to say… I never meant to take advantage of you, stealing your first kiss or whatever. I never would’ve—“
I start to laugh in a way that sounds crazy and not at all like me. “Oh, wow. Let’s not even talk about it. Thanks for the ride!” and I literally sprint away from his truck.
I hide out in a bathroom stall and pull out the letter. God, what did I say to him?
Dear Bellamy,
Or, Not Dear Bellamy because it’s about time you weren’t so dear. This has gone on entirely too long and I’ve had enough. I can’t keep loving you. It’s stupid. I don’t want to do it and I refuse to do it for another second.
When you kissed me, did you know I’d end up in love with you? Sometimes I think that has to be why you did it, because you seem to think everyone loves you. And the worst part, the part that I really hate, is that they do! Everyone does freaking love you. Even I did. But not anymore.
How could I? You have so many obnoxious qualities:
Your room is always, always a disgusting disaster. How do you ever find anything? Do you even respect your belongings? Does it not bother you that your personal pigsty drives your mom crazy and makes more work for her than she already has?
You always finish the good cereal and put the empty box back in the pantry. That’s inconsiderate, too.
You’re always ruffling your hair like it’s some kind of nervous habit, but I’m not fooled. You’re just so damn vain and you know it makes you look all windswept and rugged. But I’m not falling for any of it anymore. No siree.
Also, why do you have to be so good at everything? I mean, people aren’t supposed to be good at sports and school and also be ridiculously attractive. That’s not fair. Stop showing off.
And then you had the nerve to kiss me. How could you do that to me? Someone’s first kiss is supposed to be special and mine very decidedly wasn’t. You stole that from me. I mean, I don’t even know what possessed you to do it, other than that you knew you could. And maybe it bugged you that I was the one person in your life who didn’t worship the ground you walked on. Maybe you just wanted to make me see you that way.
The worst part of the whole thing is that, assuming that was your plan, it worked! I had never really understood your appeal because you’re O’s brother and that’s all I knew how to see you as. Raven used to talk about how hot you were and I’d just be like, “Eh.” But now all I want to do is stare at your arms and trace freckle constellations in my head. I sit around wondering if your hair feels as soft as it looks.
I don’t know. Maybe you’re not all bad.
I mean, I remember that one time when you were in 8th grade when you volunteered to be in the school musical because you saw how upset Mrs. Henderson was about how few boys signed up. You were actually really good as Curly in Oklahoma! and even though none of the other “cool guys” would ever have dared to be in a musical before, you made it cool. When the next musical rolled around, you were already in high school, but a ton of guys signed up and Mrs. Henderson was so happy.
When Octavia got that really bad haircut in 4th grade, you shaved all your hair off and let her draw all over your bald head with Sharpies. She really liked that.
And when your friend Miller came out, I remember how cool you were about it. Octavia told me about how you made that t-shirt that said, “My Best Friend’s Gay and That’s Awesome,” and how they tried to make you stop wearing it to school but you fought back and won and it doesn’t seem to bother anyone that Miller’s gay. You did that. I still see you wear that shirt sometimes and it makes me smile.
I just hate liking you. Do you even know how hard it is for me to see you with Roma? No, you wouldn’t, would you? Because people like you and Roma never have to feel this way. I’ll bet she feels like the only girl in the world when you look at her. You’re good at making people feel special, when you want to.
I’m glad I got all that off my chest. I know for sure that I’m over you now. I’m immune to you. Like chicken pox. I caught a really bad case of you once and now I never have to worry about catching you again. Which is ironic, because if I ever did kiss you again, I would definitely catch something, but this time it’d be an STD!
Clarke Griffin
NOT Princess