Storytime with P. Meggy "I'm Not That Girl"

Abby Childress is my best friend.



She’s amazing at everything, soccer especially. It feels like she’s always got one letter grade higher than me. Plus, I’m an A or B student, it’s not like I get terrible grades. We’re in all the same classes, and most of the time we work together. She’s absolutely gorgeous, and I love her to pieces for not being one of those girls.


You know what I mean. One of those girls.


She likes to be different, not in the “I’m acting out and trying to get attention” kind of way. For her, it’s more like “I don’t really care what other people think, so I’m going to do whatever the heck I want to.”


Let me tell you, Abby can rock it. She played on the boys’ soccer team last year, because there weren’t any rules against it and because she could. She could beat any guy on the team in a foot race, and no one can match her in skills. It’s great to watch. She bleached her hair so blonde once it was nearly white, just to have an unnatural color that wasn’t against school rules. She does stuff like that.


People just adore Abby. She doesn’t try to be popular. She doesn’t even try to be fashionable, but whatever she wears looks awesome on her. She just wears whatever she thought felt right that day, and most importantly, it would be comfortable. Get one thing straight, though. Abby isn’t major anorexic skinny. It’s not like she’s fat or anything, either. She’s actually perfectly on the average for her age and height. She doesn’t have that amazing tan either, she just doesn’t tan. People don’t seem to notice that.


It’s hard to feel pretty standing next to Abby.


Hey, don’t get me wrong. I’m not some girl who stands in the mirror wishing they were somebody else. No, people tell me I’m pretty, and I don’t have a problem with how I look. Most of the time. Sometimes, I just feel like awkward when I’m with Abby. Like I’m made out of twigs or something. You go somewhere with Abby and then tell me how self-confident you feel.


It probably also doesn’t help that she was dating the guy I’ve had a crush on since seventh grade.


Connor Montgomery. He’s the most amazing guy I’ve ever met. He’s an artsy kind of guy, kind of musical, but not the “I’m going to join a band” kind or the “I’m going to write sappy romantic love songs” kind. He just likes to hear how notes go together, how F sharp makes the key of G sound so different. Stuff like that. He’s not super smart, but not stupid. He’s nice. He’s average. Maybe that’s why I like him, it’s like he could be the stereotypical romantic interest in any young adult novel. Well, besides the ones about vampires or werewolves and stuff, but you know what I meant.


He’s also amazing at soccer. He and Abby played together when she played for the boys’ team. They worked well together on the field. I mean, I don’t quite understand the details, I do track, and I’m not very good. The thing is, even I could tell they had...well, chemistry.


Of course, Abby doesn’t know I had a crush on him. At least, I never told her. But she wouldn’t date him if she knew. Well, I like to think she wouldn’t. I don’t think she would...


They were like the super teen girl’s dream power couple. People say they’re adorable together. People said they would never break up.


Everything about Abby and Connor was perfect.


That is, until they actually did break up.


It was a Saturday, and I was still in the clothes I had slept in, reading a book I had bought the day before. I was on the last chapter when Abby called me.


“Yes?”


“Hey. Are you home?” was the first thing she said to me. I could hear that she was angry. It wasn’t just any kind of angry, it was an “I’m about to punch someone’s lights out” angry. Or an “I’m going to beat someone with a palm tree and then take their heart out and show it to them before they die” kind of angry. Furious might be the better word, actually.


“Yeah, what’s up? Are you okay?” I heard her radio blaring in the background, playing some scream-o song with a really awful guitar part, but I wasn’t planning to point that out.


“No, I’m about to kill someone and I hope it’s doesn’t end up being you. Is it alright if I come over?”


“Depends on if you’re actually going to try and murder me.” I said, trying to get a laugh from her.


No response.


I sighed. “Yeah, it’s fine.”


“Good, because I’m pulling onto your street.” She said, and hung up.


I ran downstairs, still in my PJs, and threw open the front door just in time to see Abby rocket down my driveway. When she got out and slammed the door, I worried for a moment just how serious she was about murdering someone. It all melted away when she got to me.


“Sid, I broke up with him.” She said as the tears began to fall. “He was dating another girl. He was cheating on me, Sidney!”


I hugged her for a long time, there on my front porch. Eventually, we went inside, and I tried to distract her with anything. We talked about my book, TV, music, anything but the fact that Connor was a cheater. Everything that didn’t have to do with relationships.


It was hours before she left to go back home.


The next person at my door was Connor Montgomery.


“What do you want?” I asked, crossing my arms. I couldn’t help but be mad at him, I mean, he had broken my best friend’s heart earlier today.


“I was looking for Abby; I was told she was here.” He said, looking all sorts of distressed and somehow still attractive. No, not attractive, liars aren’t attractive.


“She left. Thirty minutes ago.”


The corner of his mouth lifted into a little grin. “I thought you would say that.”


Hundreds of thoughts were rushing through my head. Primarily, “What does he mean ‘I thought you would say that?’” and “Oh my gosh, I’m standing on my front porch with a guy wearing pajama pants and an oversized T-shirt.”


Thankfully, I only voiced the former.


“Breaking up with Abby...well, it made me realize why I went out with her in the first place.”


“What?”


“How do I put this without seeming like a jerk?” Connor said, running his fingers through his hair. It wasn’t fair how he could do that and still look cute afterwards. If I did that, I’d end up looking like I had some nasty bed head.


“A jerk?” I forced a laugh. “Connor, you were cheating on my best friend.”


He shook his head and sighed. “I wasn’t cheating on her. I wouldn’t do that. Abby wouldn’t listen to the whole story. You know how she is...”


“Whatever. Sorry, Connor, if I choose to believe Abby before I believe you.”


“I didn’t cheat on her, Sidney! You know I wouldn’t!” He was pacing, now, back and forth in front of my front door. “I wouldn’t cheat on her, because I only dated her to get to know you! I only wanted to get close to you!”


He stopped pacing, now, and turned to face me. The expression of surprise he wore, mirrored mine. We stared at each other for a moment, not quite knowing what to say.


“I finally said it.” Connor said.


“That is an awful thing to do, Connor. Do you think I’d want to know you, now? Now that I know everything you and Abby had was a lie? She adored you, Connor!”


“It wasn’t, no...That’s not what I meant, Sidney. Just hear me out. The whole thing, and not just what Abby told you.”


“I’m listening.”


He started pacing again. “The girl Abby saw me with was my cousin. My cousin, Sid! I tried to explain it to her, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She started shouting at me, and finally she broke it off, and left.”


“Well, if you never really wanted to date her, I guess that wasn’t a big problem, was it?”


I was shaking. I didn’t know who to believe at this point. What if Connor was telling me the truth? Abby really was prone to get mad and not listen to the whole story. It sounded like something she would do. But she was my best friend; I would believe her any day over some dumb boy. Best friends. I’d never lie to her.


But she had lied to me. It was never anything this important, and it wasn’t ever a really big deal. She had ditched me before, for cooler friends. She may be my best friend, but to her, I was expendable.


What if I chose to believe Connor? I could be wrong, and he could really be a two-timer. In the end, everything would fall apart the same way it did for Abby. But unlike Abby, I wouldn’t have a best friend to go to when it really did.


What if I was right? Abby would hate me forever, but her life would be in pieces. I mean, I have had a crush on Connor since seventh grade. If he was telling the truth, he was with his cousin, and he likes me. He wanted to get to know me. Abby may not be happy, but I could find someone else to be friends with. I’d be happy.


But I’m not one of those girls.


Am I?

Someone Like You

Someone Like You

Couples like Connelly O’Flanagan and Mason Cross were never supposed to happen.  Soul mates were supposed to find each other, quickly and easily, with a happily-ever-after as the grand finale.  The four years the mentioned pair spent together, oddly enough, sound like completely different stories, depending on who you ask.  Bitter or sweet, a recurring nightmare or a fond memory, the best days of one’s life and just another stretch of time for the other. 

As was already mentioned Connelly and Mason should have never begun a relationship, let alone continue one for four years.  When they met in their junior year of high school, Mason had just moved to Brighton.  Connelly had lived there her whole life.  Connelly was a charming cheerleader and gymnast with average grades and a blooming social life.  Mason, sarcastic and witty, quickly earned a reputation as someone with places to go in life, whose extracurriculars and straight A’s made that fact even more obvious. 

These two people should have never interacted, what with the great divide in the social hierarchy.  They did not meet as any cliché couple might.  Connelly did not request Mason’s help on her Algebra, though she badly needed it.  Mason did not explain to Connelly how she could better her gymnastics, though, with his obsession with physics, he could have done so.  A teacher did not place them in a group together or force them to be lab partners.  The pair did not have classes together or the same lunch period.  Each hardly knew the other existed. 

To Mason, Connelly was just another blonde, thin, tall cheerleader who blended in with every other air-headed bimbo.  She was pretty, for sure, but not the kind of girl someone like him could ever manage to talk to.  His references to movies from the eighties would surely be lost on her, as would any word from his extensive vocabulary. 

To Connelly, Mason was just another face in the crowd.  He was handsome and dashing, with broad shoulders and high cheekbones.  He seemed to be attempting to dress like a hipster, with horn-rimmed glasses and a series of scarves that never seemed to be worn twice.  But to Connelly, he was nothing more than another hipster.  He had no name, like a person one might meet in an airport. 

Their eyes did not meet in a magical and supernatural manner.  They did not brush hands as they reached for corn on the cob in the cafeteria.  They did not spend hours thinking about the other, wondering how a person so perfect, so divine, could ever even acknowledge their existence.  They led the lives most moderately self-centered teenagers live.  They did not belong in each other’s circle and did not associate with the other for that reason.  Socializing never even crossed either teen’s mind. 

But that all changed when they attended the University of Denver.  Connelly stayed in an apartment off campus, whereas Mason chose the dorm life, rooming with some nerds he took AP physics with in high school.  They had different majors, and the only classes they attended together were in lecture halls filled with hundreds of other students, just as oblivious as Connelly and Mason. 

The magic, the chance, the happenstances that brought this unlikely team together began in November of their freshman year.  Connelly hurried out of a building as Mason rushed into one.  They bumped heads and Mason, klutzy, despite his cool manner, feel and broke his wrist.  Out of sheer guilt, Connelly accompanied him to the ER. 

Mason clutched his wrist, unwilling to admit the pain he was in.  Connelly glanced at him, trying to figure out what his face might look like if it was not screwed up in a pained expression.  Somehow, that aggrieved face was familiar. 

“I broke my wrist once,” Connelly commented awkwardly. 

“Hmm.  That doesn't make me feel better,” Mason said calmly, his voice breaking only once.

“They’ll give you painkillers.  That’ll make you feel better.” 

“One would expect so.”

Silence followed. 

Connelly sighed as he cringed.  “It’s better if you try not to think about it.”

“I've been reciting whole episodes of Doctor Who in my head.  It’s not working,” he muttered through clenched teeth. 

“Well, then let’s talk.  I've never watched Doctor Who before.  What’s it about?”

“Time-traveling aliens.” 

Connelly noted his difficulty in carrying on a conversation and wondered if it was the pain talking.  “What other shows do you watch?”

“Uh…  Bones, Criminal Minds, NCIS, Little People Big World, Gene Simmons’ Family Jewels…” 

“So I guess you like crime stuff.” 

“I guess I do like ‘crime stuff.’”  She didn’t like the way his tone dripped with sarcasm and a hint of distain.  “I am a criminology major.” 

 “I considered that one.  But I needed something easier.  Cheer takes up a lot of time,” she explained. 

“Understandable,” he commented.  “Some people can’t take the pressure.” 

Connelly’s face flared red as her temper boiled.  If there was one thing that annoyed her, other than crappy drivers, it was that people assumed that she was an imbecile because she was a cheerleader.  “And some people choose not to.” 

He shrugged; Connelly’s aggravation began to dissipate as he winced. 

A doctor saw Mason soon after, only to inform him of what he already knew, that he had a broken wrist.  Being Mason, he informed the kind doctor that a three-year-old could’ve made that diagnosis and requested more pain killers.  Connelly choked back a laugh, promising to take him back to his dorm.  She did so, and the two forgot about each other, their lives continuing normally. 

Except that’s not what happened.  Connelly did indeed take Mason home, but they did not disregard each other. 

Mason sat in front of his computer two nights later, incapable of writing his English paper that was due the next morning.  His inability was caused by his musings on whether or not a certain cheerleader could “take the pressure” like she implied. 

Mason crossed Connelly’s mind as she ran by the dorm she knew to be his.  She couldn’t figure out why the hipster interested her so; she generally preferred jocks and preps, rather than someone who shows distain for the members of both those categories. 

They passed each other on campus and awkwardly said hello.  Hello’s led to small talk, which led to coffee not-dates, which led to sorta-dates, which led to dates, which led to some sort of a relationship, which, after five months, led to, unfortunately, a break up. 

Even moments after the two split, both sides would’ve admitted that it was stupid and irrational.  Connelly wished Mason to go to a mixer with her.  Mason did not want to go.  Their argument went something like this. 

“There’s a mixer some friends invited me to.  It’s in about a month.  Wanna go?” 

“Why do you even want to go to one of those?”

“Um, wear a dress, talk to people, dance, have fun?  Where’s the downside?” 

“A bunch of drunken freshman.  Someone will kill someone else or something stupid.” 

“Since when would we take part in the drinking?”

“We wouldn’t, but what if someone slips something in your nonalcoholic drink?”

“That’s why I have you.” 

“Who invited you?”

“Jane.”

“I thought you said she’s a bimbo?”

“Well, she is.  But there will be other people there.”

“Bimbos generally invite bimbos.”

“Oh, so is that your opinion of me?”

And the dispute escalated until the two agreed that there was no way they could ever be together.  But they both knew that was false and walked away regretting every word said. 

Mason pretended to be all right, though he wasn’t.  His friends were convinced they’d broken up because she was too dumb for him.  He was sure it was all his fault. 

Connelly wept by night and laughed by day.  Her smiles turned to grimaces when she saw him.  She missed a class to cry after giving him a weak smile; he looked the other way.  But she still defended Mason when her friends claimed no one socially awkward like a nerdy hipster was worthy of her. 

They didn’t speak until the night of the mixer that had caused the whole catastrophe in the first place. 

It started when Mason was told that Connelly would be going with some blockhead from the basketball team.  Brooding, Mason wondered if she would laugh with the idiot the way she laughed with him.  He thought about her smile and obsession with art.  Staring at the painting she’d made for his birthday, Mason came to the realization that he wanted Connelly back. 

He ran from the dorm to her apartment and pushed the buzzer until she let him up. 

“Gosh, you’re beautiful,” he said as soon as she opened the door.  It was true, after all.  She wore a turquoise, strapless dress with her wavy, blonde hair swept into a ponytail over her left shoulder. 

“Thanks.”  Connelly shrugged, showing no emotion. 

They both stood there in an awkward silence till Connelly spoke. 

“Well, it’s great to see you, Mason, but I’ve got to go soon.” 

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” 

“Don’t go.”  He swallowed. 

Her eyes narrowed.  “Mason, who are you to tell me where not to go?” 

“I’m nobody.”

Connelly sighed heavily.  “Okay, I know you.  There’s a ‘but’ in there.  Let’s just get this over with.”

He spoke quickly, knowing he would lose his nerve if he didn’t get on with it.  “But I don’t want to be nobody.  I want to get back in your life.  I know this sounds crazy, but I don’t feel like we’re actually apart.  It’s like we’re just in a fight because I know both of our hearts are still in this.  Couples fight, and it happens, and I don’t want to be over because we got mad at each other.  I want to work through fights, but only if it’s with you.” 

If the story of Connelly and Mason was a movie, it would cut off after they kissed and promised to be more accommodating of each other.  He said the right thing at the right time.  She teared up and let him back into her heart.  “The End” would be superimposed on the two as they smiled at each other and the credits would roll. 

But their tale is not a movie, and not every love story has a happy ending. 

Connelly and Mason went through college, for the most part, without any snags.  Mason graduated after three years and began working on his doctorate in criminal psychology.  Connelly changed her major to criminology and minored in art history and French.  They fought as any couple is sure to do, but, as they’d promised, worked through it all. 

Until Mason left Denver.  He explained to Connelly that he was transferring to the University of New Hampshire.  And that she was not part of his plan. 

Mason move on, finished his doctorate, found a lucrative job, and got married. 

Connelly watched her life fall apart.  She was too old for anything cheer-related and struggled to find a job.  After moving to DC, she was employed as a translator.  She cried herself to sleep every once in a while, even years later. 

Mason got over everything between them, not knowing he had been it for Connelly.  Maybe she closed herself off, maybe they were soul mates.  Whatever the reason, Connelly never married, never dated. 

Sometimes she thought about finding someone like him.  Someone sarcastic but sweet, funny but serious, scathing but loveable.  Then, she would remember that all she would get is someone like Mason. 

She would never have Mason.