The Only Exception

Two

I groan in defeat as I opened the door to the sight of a guy, bopping his head along to the music, his man bun bouncing along with the beat of the song. He looks pretty immersed.

“Darn it, Mackie! Don’t you ever go home?” I cried out as I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me. Grudgingly, I lean against the door frame, scowling at the guy.

Machiavelli Stevens, one of the head editors of the school publication, is probably the coolest guy in school. Typical rocker type but with a bit of a nerdy vibe because of his obvious intelligence and street smarts. He's about the most nonchalant person I have ever met.

He is the one in charge of the events and entertainment section of the school magazine, so, he’s in the middle of everything that was happening.

It’s a little bit too much to say he’s the director of the social scenes in school, since he does not really hang out with the popular crowd that much. However, the guy does have a lot of influence when it comes to the social scene and a student's social standing in school.

Nobody can exactly say when he became the social director of some sort. But everyone seemed to look at him like he was the top guy at the moment, so it was kind of automatic.

If Stevens spoke about you, it’s either you are his friend or you are worth his time; or you are someone he does not like, which will doom you into becoming somewhat of a social pariah.

But, for me, he’s just that newspaper dude I met in sophomore year who took a chance on me and allowed my inexperienced self to start contributing my photos for the paper.

So, in spite of the situation of him beating me to school this morning, I still find it difficult not to accept defeat and curb the urge to smack him a little bit.

Yes, even if he is sporting a huge, smug grin right now; his hand already extended, anticipating the dollar bill that I am about to hand him.

I can’t recall how this silly ritual started, but it has become a crazy tradition between us. The rule is that whoever arrives to the newsroom first, will receive a dollar from the tardy one.

“You snooze, you lose!” Mackie drawls out, his voice barely audible from the blasting music. I roll my eyes at him as he wiggles his eyebrows behind his RayBans.

That’s another quirk that the guy seems to have. He does not take off those damn shades for the most part. It would be absolutely obnoxious and silly if it were another person, but with Mackie, it seems to fit him and his status well.

“Whatever!” I reply as I slap the dollar into his waiting hand. I gestured for him to turn down the volume as I placed my bag on the empty space on his desk.

I do not have my own desk in this room since I’m an unofficial contributor. For some reason, Mackie does pick most of my photos for his popular section in the paper.

“Why don’t you just upload your photos and email them to me?” Mackie says after he lowers the volume of his speakers low enough for us to have a decent conversation.

“I don’t want to just send a bunch to Mr. Cutler’s email, then have none of them picked, you know!” I reply, opening the file folder on my iPhone. “Now, help me choose one so that I can get to class.”

Mackie sighs, stands up and peers over my shoulder to take a look at the photos that I have on my phone. I can feel his warm, minty breath fanning down my neck, and it gives me a slight shiver. I roll my shoulder a bit to shake off the goosebumps that erupted across my skin at his close contact.

I swear Mackie smirks at this action, knowing exactly how his proximity was affecting me. The arrogant jerk!

“That one is pretty good,” he finally announces, pointing at the group shot that I took during the welcome back to school shindig. We looked at the other pictures and decided on three shots to send to Mr. Cutler for approval.

I swiped to the very end of the file and then, grinned hugely as I held it up closer to Mackie’s face. It’s a photo of Carley Matthews, one of the school’s cheerleaders.

“I thought you would like this,” I teased as he looked at the photograph. It’s hard to decipher his expression as the dark sunglasses prevent me from seeing his eyes.

He grins as he moves away from me but not before tugging at my curly hair. Mackie returns to his seat, opening the airdrop feature of the MAC in front of him. I automatically send the photo as I usually did with the ones that I am submitting and, of course, the one of Carley. For some reason, he’s Mackie’s eye-candy for the week or, I don't know, maybe a few days?

I admire Mackie as he sits on his chair, leaning back, his face still not giving anything away. I guess you can say he’s a cooler version of Steve Harrington from Stranger Things except that he has his hair tied into a man-bun.

“Why don’t you just ask Carley out? I’m sure she’s dying to hook up with you!” I commented, seating myself on top of his desk as I tried to peer through his super dark tinted glasses.

He snorts, “You know I don’t date.”

Sheesh! Why was it so natural for him to be so cocky?

I usually cringe and steer clear of guys with that kind of attitude, but for some reason, Mackie makes it look like he is made for it.

I shrug, totally not buying his I’m-too-cool-for-anyone vibe and look at the clock. It’s almost time for first period and since I don’t fancy walking through a crowded hallway, I have to get moving.

“You don’t date, you just act like some freaky stalker who collects photos of his crushes,” I say out loud, taking a final jab at his cockiness to shake his ego a bit.

Mackie gives me a shrug, as if being a psycho-stalker is a normal, positive occurrence. “Hey, I have the right to want them,” he responds with a grin. “And, they can sure as hell want me. But no feelings need to be involved.”

“Unbelievable, but whatever. Please do pass my photos along to Mr. Cutler.”

He purses his gorgeous pink lips and nods at me as I say goodbye, heading towards the door. I grab my phone as soon as I step out of the office, speed dialing Gail, who picks up on the second ring.

“Did you grab your stuff from my Jeep?” I ask, treading down the stairs, careful not to trip.

I do tend to be klutzy. I always have that habit of thinking there’s one more step left, but actually, there’s none, and you end up wobbling or experiencing slight vertigo as you realize what is happening.

“If you mean my drooling boyfriend, then yes!” Gail replies, her voice vibrating through the phone as she giggles.

“Did you take a picture?”

She huffs as if to say it was protocol. “Sending you a copy now!”

I hear Joel letting out a loud protest just before the call is lost within squeals of laughter which suggests a battle over a phone.

So, I hung up and headed towards my classroom, glad that the hallway was still not that crowded.