Not After Everything Read Online Free

she doesn’t expect me to talk about everything and get all emotional and shit. She keeps trying, and I get that that’s what a girlfriend does, but it’s not going to happen.
    â€œGreat. I’ll wait for you since your practice usually goes longer than ours.”
    I open my mouth to remind her that I’m not going to practice, but decide I don’t feel like a pep talk, so I kiss her instead. No matter how many times I tell her, she won’t let it drop. I wish I knew if it was because she cares about me or because she’s worried about the social ramifications of not dating a football player her senior year.
    â€œShee, come on. We’re going to lose our table if we don’t go.” This from the other brunette girl who used to date Marcus—Nine, I think. She playfully tugs at Sheila’s dark hair until she pulls away from me. “Hey, Tyler,” Nine says, “where’s Marcus?”
    â€œDo I look like his keeper?”
    Nine giggles. And then she and Sheila turn toward the cafeteria.
    Sheila whips around when she sees I’m not following. “Aren’t you coming?”
    â€œNot hungry,” I say.
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    I actually am hungry; I just need to not be around Sheila and her friends. I don’t bother going back to class after downing my Chipotle—I decide my time will be better spent reading at Starbucks. Plus I don’t want another run-in with Marcus about practice, especially because I know Sheila told him I wasn’t working tonight.
    The parking lot has pretty much cleared by the time I return to school. I head toward the chanting-in-unison coming from the upper gym—our gym has two levels, the smaller upper gym for stuff like volleyball and cheerleading, and the larger main gym on the lower level for the real sports. I make myself comfortable on the ground, leaning my back against the wall to wait for Sheila. A few stragglers walk by; I keep my head down so none of them has the urge to strike up a conversation. I’m pretty safe—it’s mostly drama and band geeks. None of them would ever bother talking to me.
    â€œHey, Tyler. You weren’t in chem today,” a tinny male voice says.
    Apparently I was wrong.
    I look up to see a skinny guy with glasses—Jeff maybe?—walking toward me with some Asian goth chick. She drops her pencil and it rolls across the floor coming to a rest when it hits my leg. I hold the pencil out for the girl, who grabs it without bothering to say thank you.
    The skinny guy stares, still waiting for me to say something about skipping class, but when he realizes his goth friend has kept walking, he runs to catch up with her. I hear him whisper something about being rude and doesn’t she know my mom just died and crap.
    â€œThat doesn’t give him carte blanche on assholedom,” she says. He shushes her and glances back at me to see if I heard. I laugh to myself.
    The gym door hits my foot, so I pull myself up. Sheila practically runs into me as the cheer herd stampedes out of the gym.
    â€œTy? What are you doing here? I was just coming to find you.”
    â€œMission accomplished.”
    â€œIs everything okay?” She rests her hands on my shoulders and looks at me with intense concern.
    â€œEverything’s fine. Let’s go.” I take her bag from her and turn toward the exit before she can play up the “I’m with tragedy boy” thing even more.
    As we navigate our way to the parking lot, I can feel how much she wants to ask me about practice, but she knows it’ll just cause a fight. And that wouldn’t look good for her.
    â€œWhere’s your car?” I ask.
    â€œLet’s just take yours. You can stop by and pick me up in the morning.”
    â€œFine.”
    Sheila cranks the stereo and flips through the stations to find a song she likes. Landing on some irritating pop song, she leans out the window and sings at the