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Lola can’t hear anything besides the rush of blood in her ears as she storms to the bathroom.
By now, all of the other girls had finished up their last touches and long since been on the dance floor, occasionally coming back in to brush back a loose hair or reapply their cherry lipstick. But Lola herself had never come in, not once because all she wanted was to genuinely spend time with Ben and look at where that got her—
She can barely get her breaths out right, and the feeling in her chest is split between pure grief and unbridled rage. Either she’s going to end up shattering the mirror or slumped over sobbing before it, and there was a chance that it was both. It wasn’t fair.
The moment the bathroom door slams open, two heads whip back to look at her. She doesn’t know if the frustrated tears are already spilling or not, but the expression on her face is enough to make them both snap any make-up shut and zip their bags.
As they hurriedly pass by her, the second girl—with large eyes and blonde hair—whispers to her. “Tell us who it is and we’ll get our dates to pound him.”
Lola thinks that she’d rather beat him herself. As great as that punch was, she needed more. She wanted to rip and scream and slap and kick until there was nothing left behind her. She wanted to destroy something beyond repair, the same way every person around her seemed to do to her.
Instead of voicing any of that, she simply shakes her head, and the blonde girl leaves without question. The stalls are empty, and the buzzing of the lights above her accompanies her solitude. It takes a moment for all her feelings to finally settle, and once they do, her lips part and she lets out a guttural scream that rips at her throat and echoes so loudly off the walls that she might have silenced the whole gym had she let loose in there.
Her chest heaves, her breathing ragged and then she breaks, hands clutching her hair and pulling harshly as she stumbles backwards. Her back hits the wall and she slowly slumps to the ground, ugly wails escaping her lips. She tugs at the perfect strands of her hair, so carefully pulled back for her perfect night out where everything would go her way and she’d be happy.
So much for that.
Her vision blurs until she can’t make anything out in front of her. She can feel her mascara dripping onto her dress, ruining the pure white and turning her into a bigger mess. She releases her hands from her hair, scratching at her face to stop the tears. She wasn’t going to cry over this. She was better than that. She’d go right back and tell him exactly what she thought of him and—
Who was she kidding?
Lola Lane wasn’t a fighter. She was a lover in all her heart and that was exactly her problem. She had too much of herself to give to people who couldn’t care less about her and that’s why she always ended up in these situations.
Every boy who had ever claimed to love her was just lying. Was it because she looked pretty? Half the time she stood in front of the mirror loathing the stranger that was staring back at her. That was the face of the girl that every boy she ever loved deemed unworthy. She’s too pushy, too happy, unserious, not worth committing to.
There was nothing memorable about her.
She’s positive that if anyone were to ask her exes about her—even any of her old friends—not one of them would have a thing to say about her. They never mentioned her. She was always there, living, breathing, loving. She was there, but she existed in a sealed pocket in the back of their minds, rarely ever mentioned or brought up unless she was standing right before them.
Lola wasn’t a narcissist. She didn't expect anyone to constantly praise her name whether she was there or not, but it would be nice if they would acknowledge the fact that she was a person outside of seeing her around. Her friends would bring up their boyfriends at least once every conversation, and she’d do it too. Sebastian. Jason. Mark.
And her boyfriend’s friends would come around and stare at her like an unknown person. She’d introduce herself, because of course he wouldn’t have her picture to show them. Not one spark of recognition. A friend. Classmate. Stranger. She was nothing to them but a show piece for whenever it mattered.
It wasn’t just a boyfriend thing. She doesn’t think her friends remember she’s there when she isn’t. There’s never any invitation to go out. No one thinks of Lola Lane when writing about their friends for school. No one chooses Lola Lane when there’s other people around. In a room filled with all her friends, she’s sure that there would somehow always be a way to forget her and leave her out.
All their groups flock together all the time. She exists in the space between them, never quite belonging with the popular girls nor the quieter ones. She’d switch between and they’d act like they loved her in each, but when it came down to setting fences on who was with them and who wasn’t, Lola was never on any list.
She wasn’t ever remembered. The face of an average girl who would never be great or recognized or loved by any. It never made any sense. They’d smile when they saw her, call her name and ask how she was. They’d talk and have fun but the moment she leaves, she’s no longer a being. She’s a faint memory in the back of everyone else’s mind.
And she knows she isn’t the one being too pushy or clingy. She would float around one group and ever so often a name from another group would slip through. Madison. Betty. Celine.
She knows that it isn’t unnatural because there are names she’s never heard of in their conversations too. And they’d come up, again and again and again. Riley. Harriet. Willow.
There has never been a face to connect to these names, but she knows their favorite ice cream flavors, what subject they have fifth, and what they did over the weekend.
No one even knows Lola’s birthday.
She doesn’t expect people in Brooklyn to remember, but even when she was down South, no one could recall it. It wasn’t a difficult thing to remember. These were people she grew up with, and yet every year, her days would pass without a single wish. It wouldn’t bother her so much if her friends wouldn’t go all out with each other, going out to celebrate and giving gifts.
Then the last day would roll around, and someone might ask her when hers was. She’d say it was earlier. It passed. Regret. Empathy. Sorrow. All those fake emotions, lying about remembering it the next time. The day would roll back around. No one would say anything. The process would repeat until she started to lie about it. November. May. August.
It didn’t matter, because no one caught on. The numbers would change. 4. 13. 27.
Not one person noticed the change.
Because Lola Lane was a temporary name that would only exist for so long before she moved away. They pretended they cared when she did. But had a teacher not mentioned during class that she was going, she doesn’t think anyone would have noticed her absence at all.
She had sworn to herself that Brooklyn would be a change. And she had convinced herself that it was when she met Benjamin Brookes. He was never pushy with her, never seemed to ignore her, and it felt like she had finally met a boy that wasn’t going to mess with her just for the sake of it. One that actually cared to build a connection and love her.
There were signs. Of course there were signs. He didn’t want to touch her, to let her love him or ever act like a couple. She wondered if she had pushed it too quickly. Maybe he wanted to be friends first. She was fine with that. She kept her distance as well. She didn’t force him into anything, instead taking baby steps in the right direction. It felt painfully one-sided, but she was willing to deal with it.
Donna said that he didn’t have experience with relationships. She had enough of them. It was a change of pace, and it felt good to take things slow for a while. Then months stretched into a year and then it all just felt wrong.
And out of nowhere he flipped and started being affectionate back, as mild as it was, and she really thought that she might have found someone for her.
What a fool she made of herself. She should have known. It was right there, standing before her like her reflection would. So clearly, so obviously noticeable to everyone else around her. When had she become such an idiot?
He was disgusted to be around her. He never loved her. She was probably just a change for him. She was good for his reputation. It made him seem better to everyone else. Less of a loner. A person who could actually get with someone like her. Dumb. Naive. Innocent.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t ever doubted their relationship. At times, it felt like he cared for Ricky more than he cared for her. Ben and Ricky didn’t even get along for the longest while. When did that change on her? Maybe they were both mocking her behind her back. Ricky could have put him up to it. She was the butt of their joke.
Deep down she knows that it’s the wrong assumption. Because nobody cares about Lola Lane enough to do something like that.
She was the talk of the school when she arrived. For once, it felt like people actually mentioned her when she wasn’t there. She didn’t care that it was because she was new. They knew she was there and that’s all that mattered to her. She met new people and they talked about others to her and they would talk about her to others.
They actually made an attempt to talk to her, and whether it was because they thought she was a pretty face or that she’d get them to the top of the school hierarchy, she couldn’t seem to care. If she could make an image for herself, that would be enough. She wouldn’t change. She’d remain the way she was. Kind. Lovely. Peaceful.
It might push away the meaner folk, but Lola had never believed in being hateful. It wasn’t right. Unless someone had truly wronged her, she continued to love so deeply for people who wouldn’t glance in her direction twice. It was so hard to stop.
She loved her exes and her friends and everyone who gave her an ounce of attention while she was there. And while she might dislike them now, she still finds a bit of love for them. She hopes that they’re all doing okay, even if she isn’t there with them.
It might be the problem. She can’t seem to notice when others are wrong because of her desperation for approval. She just wants to be loved the way she loves. Was that so much to ask for?
She can’t get the image of Ben’s face out of her head. The smugness of his confession. Like he was above her and she was nothing more than an obstacle—a girl—in his path. He was drunk, sure, but everyone always said that drunk words were sober thoughts and if this was what he was hiding?
To hell with him.
He didn’t deserve her.
He didn’t deserve shit.
Not a relationship. Not love. Nothing.
Pushing herself up, she inhales deeply. The tears had stopped, instead replaced by a burning red that made her want to run out and leave and never come back. It was too stuffy in the bathroom, and she doesn’t think she could handle anyone coming in, be it Donna or a stranger.
She can’t stop herself from finding her reflection in the mirror. She looks pathetic. Her mascara was smudged under her eyes, her blush streaking down her face like scratch marks. Her hair was completely out of order, tangled and sticking in every direction possible. Her dress was stained with her ruined make-up.
For once, Lola didn’t care what she looked like when she pulled the door open. The girls from earlier were standing outside, as if guarding the door the entire time—however long that might have been—for her. The blonde girl perks up, but she’s too upset to bother to thank them for something that might not even be true.
She knows that Mr. Wilkins is probably monitoring the main entrance, so she shoves through the crowd to the back door that only opens from the inside. She can’t tell if people are staring or not as she moves between them, gritting her teeth as the suffocating feeling increases with every step. She wants to go home. She wants her mom.
Every voice mashes together and the song in the background is ripping apart her brain and it just hurts. If she hears her name she ignores it. The last thing she wants is to talk to anyone associated with Ben, whether that be him or Donna or Brady or anyone.
The air outside is fresh enough to cool her off a bit, the tranquility of it easing her nerves by just a bit as she stumbles towards the road before dropping onto the curb. Kicking off one heel, she rolls her aching ankle, resisting the urge to let the tears fall again. She was already drained enough, and the last thing she needed was another breakdown that would make it harder to breathe.
No one was going to leave until late in the night. The sound of the door she had just come through opening again startles her, causing her to stiffen and turn impulsively. She was expecting maybe Donna, a stranger if not, or some other drunk kid about to hurl. Instead, it’s the last person she’d ever predict to walk through that door, wearing the last color she would ever assume.
“Lola?” Kenny asks quietly, letting the door ease to a stop behind him as if he cared about making too much noise.
“If you’re going to flirt now you’ve picked the worst time.” Her voice sounds unnatural, completely hoarse and unbelievably painful.
“Huh? No, I…uhm,” he scratched the back of his neck, “just wanted to check on you.”
The look he’s giving her seems concerned. It’s probably because she looks like some sort of unholy monster.
“I’m not in the mood right now for games.” She breathes out, turning back to face the road. Kenny stays silent, and instead of leaving, shuffles forward until he drops down right beside her. Their shoulders don’t brush, their knees don’t bump, and neither of them says anything for a long minute. It’s not romantic. It’s hopeless.
It takes a while, but Kenny finally speaks again. “Did you want to walk home?”
“I will. In a bit.”
“Isn’t it far?”
“Nowhere is too far.”
Kenny chews on his bottom lip, his foot starting to tap against the ground. “It isn't safe, though.”
“If you’re offering to walk me, I don’t want it.”
“Shouldn’t you wait for whoever you came with? Brookes?”
Anger bubbles up in her chest again, and before she can stop herself, the words spill. “I don’t give a fuck about Benjamin Brookes!”
The words are followed by a heavy silence, the tension thick enough to make her uneasily uncomfortable. She doesn’t think she’s sworn aloud like that since…since her last break up ages ago.
Kenny winces. “He did you that bad?”
“I can’t even believe him.” She mumbles in disbelief. For a moment she forgets that it’s Kenny of all people sitting next to her because she has the overwhelming urge to just tell someone about it. To start talking and not stop until her voice has gone so raw that she can only whisper, and even then she’d try to keep going.
She gains her senses quick enough when he quietly asks about it.
“I’m not talking about this to someone always high off his ass.” She furrows her eyebrows, wiping at her smudged mascara, the dark marks leaving stains on her gloves.
“I’m not.”
“Not what? Always high? Please, I—”
“I mean now. I’m not high, or drunk, or anything. I can listen.” He cuts in, firmer than he had been before. Maybe it’s the light playing tricks on her, but there’s nothing about him that indicates a lie. His eyes are normal and attentive, his skin isn’t flushed or unnatural.
For some strange reason, she actually believes him.
Maybe it’s just her desperation to finally be heard that causes her to open her mouth and start spilling. She doesn’t delve too deep into the things that have been causing her pain for her whole life, but she scratches the surface and focuses more on the present and Ben.
“I mean, what was the point of it all? He could have broken up with me at any time, or told me from the beginning that he’d prefer staying friends. But no, he just kept up this lie and everyone else tried to tell me that it was just how he was. I knew it was wrong and that it was a lie but…ugh, I don’t know, I really thought that he was different and that if I stayed through that phase that we’d be meant to last.”
She takes a deep breath shaking her head. She can feel more tears coming, but she can’t stop now. She needs to keep talking to ground herself.
“I don’t know why I keep putting myself through this. I tell myself that it’s just one more leap of faith and then they all do the same thing and it’s like—why did I even try to make this work? Why do I keep loving when it all ends the same way?”
Kenny leans back on his palms. “It’s only natural. That people keep trying. No one’s gonna settle for an answer they don’t want. So the cycle repeats.”
“I just…I don’t know why it’s me. I don’t mean to compare, but Donna and Brady are so strong and they’ve been going for so long. Why do I keep bouncing around like a…like some sort of round heeled—”
“Don’t finish that.” His voice sounds oddly strained. “There’s nothing wrong with liking more than one person.”
“It becomes a problem when they’re all the same asshole.” She scoffs. “I just don’t understand why it was me. Is it because I look pretty enough to display? That everyone wants their own turn to have me as a trophy?”
Her gloves are already ruined. The tears keep coming, dripping down her face. She really loved this outfit. She pulls them off, flexing her fingers. She always put effort into looking okay at the least. Prettier girls were more important. “Look at me now. I’m a mess. I’m ruined.”
“I think you’re beautiful.” Kenny mumbles, his eyes flickering up to meet hers.
“My make-up is smudged. My dress is ruined, I’m missing a shoe and my hair looks like a rat’s nest.”
“You’re still beautiful.”
He’s lying. He’s lying, she thinks, forcing herself to push down any good feeling it makes her feel. He’s just like the rest of them, trying to gain her favor just for the fun of it and then get rid of her when the fun is over. He’s lying, she tells herself, as he reaches up to brush away the tears on her face. It doesn’t mean anything to him.
He’s not on anything right now. He usually was. She’d bet that he’d mess up when he was. She’d hear it really early on, the same way that she heard it from Ben. Yet she doesn’t stop him.
She opens her mouth, closes it, and decides to steer away instead. “Where’d he even get the alcohol?”
Kenny grimaces, his hand falling back down to his side. “Ah. That might have been me.”
Lola stares at him in disbelief. Of course. His eyebrows shoot up and he raises his hands, leaning back.
“Aw, damn, I’m sorry. You probably would have still been together if I hadn’t—”
“No. I mean…I think it was best that I found out, even if he probably didn’t mean to say it. I’d rather him have told me sober, but if this was the only way I’d know…then thanks. I guess if you hadn’t, I’d still think I had a chance.” She shakes her head. His shoulders slump.
“Still. I’m sorry.”
“It was bound to happen.”
A car drives by in front of them. She’d like to go home now. As if sensing it, he turns towards her, ready to get up.
“I know you said you didn’t want me to walk you home, but…” The offer settles in the air around them, and she knows that it wouldn’t be the best to go alone.
She’d really like a hug from her mama right now.
So she nods.
Kenny gets up, dusting off his pants before getting up. Lola debates walking all the way home in heels, but they lasted her dance and roaming around after Ben, so they couldn’t hurt too bad. She pushes her foot back into the shoe, and Kenny offers her his hand.
She takes it.
He doesn’t hold onto it any longer than he has to. He pulls her up and then lets go, putting his hands in his pockets as she starts walking. She's a few steps faster than him. One step. Half a step and then they’re falling right next to each other, their legs moving in sync.
It’d be around fifteen minutes to get home. It was too long for just an awkward silence. It’s long enough to address what needs to be addressed.
“I’m not keen on being the subject of anyone’s admiration for a while.” She puts it nicely. “I don’t want to think about relationships right now.”
“That’s okay.”
“I know you’ve been on and on about it but…I’m sorry.” She isn’t quite sure why she’s apologizing. “I want a lot of time for myself.”
“I’d be upset if you didn’t say that.” He shrugs, glancing over at her. “But I’d like it if we talked, just as friends. Maybe. If you’re okay with that.”
Friends. None of her other boyfriends—what is she thinking now, there was no relationship with Kenny? But…but none of her other boyfriends were friendships first. They always jumped right into a date and then a relationship.
If—and that is if—she ever humored Kenny…she thinks that it would be nice to have him as a friend first. Not just Kenny. Anyone. It would be easier that way, to tell if they were being genuine. Real relationships wouldn’t beg for one while they were still friends. They’d wait.
“I think that’d be okay.” She responds softly. “And…what’s with the shirt?”
Kenny groans, one hand reaching out of a pocket to drag down his face. “Don’t get me started. See, I trust my mom with my laundry for prom…”
He continues on about the red clothes mixing to ruin with white shirt, and it manages to break a smile across her lips. He tells her about Bobbie’s brothers and how everyone around him seemed to mock the color just for the sake of mocking.
Kenny was just finishing up another story he had jumped into when they stop in front of her house. He looks at the door and then back at her.
“Do you know the way back?” She asks him.
“Yep! Not too many turns, and I think I’ve been down this street a couple times before. I’m all good.” He grins.
She takes a step towards the gate, and then stops herself. “Kenny…I—I’m not sure how long it’ll take for me to get better.”
His expression morphs into something more solemn. “I’ll wait.”
“Even if we stay just friends?”
“I’ll wait.”
She exhales softly and nods, offering him the best smile she could. “Don’t tell anyone how much of a mess I was tonight.”
He shakes his head. “Never.”
The door is unlocked when she pushes it open, most of the lights turned off. She looks back at him once more, and he waves. She returns the gesture, and the door shuts behind her.
She can hear her parents in the living room. Lewis might be home as well. As she passes by the window there, she can see him. He’s turned around now, but he’s still standing in front of her house. He’s twirling a lock of hair around his finger, tugging at it a few times. His fingers twitch and his feet tap.
Kenny stays like that for a moment, and then he starts walking back to the school. Her eyes follow him until she can’t see him anymore.
She doesn’t feel so angry anymore. Upset, yes. But the rage has died down to a low flame, and she thinks the only thing she wants is to rest and wait.
Wait.
Lola could wait.