The Coincidence of Callie and Kayden

over, be happy, live for once.
     
    On a particularly long throw, I end up running over a girl. I feel like an asshole, especially because she’s so small and fragile looking. Her blue eyes are enlarged and she looks scared to death. What’s even weirder is she knows me, but takes off running when I question how she does.
     
    It’s bugging the hell out of me. I can’t stop thinking about her face and the familiarity. Why can’t I figure out who the hell she is?
     
    “Did you see that girl?” I ask Luke. He’s been my best friend since second grade when we both realized how mutually screwed up our home lives were, although for different reasons.
     
    “The one you just ran over?” He folds up the schedule and tucks it into his back pocket of his jeans. “She kind of reminds me of that quiet girl we used to go to school with—the one Daisy was dead set on torturing.”
     
    My eyes move to the entrance doors where she disappeared. “Callie Lawrence?”
     
    “Yeah, I think that was her name.” He blows out a stressed breath as he turns around in the middle of the lawn trying to get his bearings. “But I don’t think it’s her. She wasn’t wearing all that black shit around her eyes and Callie had a haircut that made her look like a guy. Plus, I think that girl was thinner.”
     
    “Yeah, she did look different.” But if it is Callie, I need to talk to her about that night. “Callie was always thin, though. That’s why Daisy made fun of her.”
     
    “That was one of the reasons she made fun of her,” he reminds me and his face twists with repulsion at something behind me. “I think I’m going to go find our room.” Luke hurries off toward the corner of the school building before I can say anything.
     
    “There you are.” Daisy comes up from behind me and I’m overwhelmed by the smell of perfume and hairspray.
     
    Suddenly I understand why Luke ran off like there was a fire. He doesn’t like Daisy for many reasons; one being that he thinks Daisy is a bitch. And she is, but it works for me because she allows me to stay detached from feeling anything, which is the only way I know how to live life.
     
    “I sure hope you weren’t just talking about me.” Daisy wraps her arms around my mid-section and massages my stomach with her fingertips. “Unless it was something good.”
     
    I turn around and kiss her forehead. She’s wearing a low-cut blue dress and the necklace that rests between her tits. “No one was talking about you. Luke just went to find his room.”
     
    She bites down on her glossy lip and bats her eyelashes at me. “Good, because I’m already nervous about leaving my ridiculously hot boyfriend. Remember you can flirt, but you can’t touch.” Daisy gets bored easily and says things to start drama.
     
    “No touching. Got it,” I say, holding back an eye roll. “And again, no one was talking about you.”
     
    She twines a strand of her curly blond hair around her finger with a thoughtful expression on her face. “I don’t mind if you talk about me, just as long as it’s good.”
     
    I met Daisy when I was in tenth grade and she moved to our school. She was the hot new freshman and was very aware that she was. I was pretty popular, but hadn’t really dated anyone, just messed around. I was more focused on football, like my dad wanted me to be. Daisy seemed interested, though, and a couple of weeks later, we were officially a couple. She’s self-involved and she never asks where all my bruises, cuts, and scars come from. She brought it up once, the first time we fucked, and I told her it was from a four-wheeling accident when I was a kid. She didn’t question the fresh ones.
     
    “Look baby, I got to go.” I give her a quick kiss on the lips. “I have to check in and unpack and figure out where the hell everything is.”
     
    “Oh, fine.” She pouts out her bottom lip and runs her fingers through my hair, guiding my lips back to hers for a deep kiss. When she pulls away, she smiles. “I guess I’ll go back home and try to fill up my time with boring old high school.”
     
    “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I say to her as I back toward the doors, maneuvering between the people flooding the sidewalk. “I’ll be back for homecoming.”
     
    She waves as she turns for the parking lot. I keep my eyes on her until she’s in her car and then I go into the school. The air is cooler inside, the lights are faint, and there’s a lot of shouting and