by S. M. West
We arrive at Tito’s cousin’s house and follow the music to the back where the band plays a cover of Crazy Town’s “Butterfly” on a makeshift stage. Jared’s at the front, to one side of Tito. His long fingers fly over the strings of his guitar, muscles flexing, body swaying, and dark hair damp and hanging in his face.
“Wow,” Marisol, my best friend, whispers beside me.
She’s awed, and so am I. This is the first time I’ve seen Jared play.
“Yes.”
I’m transfixed. The song ends and he flips his head back, one hand pushing hair from his face. His molten amber eyes find me, swallowing me whole, and I lose my breath. We stand like that, apart physically but together, for I don’t know how long. It’s almost as if everything about the last time we talked doesn’t matter.
Tito speaks into the mic, wrapping up their performance, and the crowd cheers, some calling for another encore. The noise and commotion forces both of us to look away.
I stand among a small group, Bianca included, at the front of the stage, and my stomach spasms. There’s no shortage of girls vying for Jared Grange’s attention, and several rush to the edge of the stage, wanting to talk to him.
It isn’t like this sight is unusual. At school, or whenever I see him, he’s normally with a bunch of people and girls are always close by. But as for dating, I haven’t seen him with any one girl and I don’t dare ask, even if the question burns my tongue, screaming for release.
Time passes and I start to give up hope of talking to him. He’s managed to get rid of most of the girls, but Bianca and her best friend crowd him and Tito. Finally, he breaks away, sauntering toward the group I’m with.
“Hey.” He winks at me and lifts the hem of his white T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow.
A collective gasp erupts from the girls, mine stuck in my now dry throat, at the sight of his hard stomach.
“Dios mío,” Marisol mumbles under her breath, and I bite back a sigh.
Uncaring, he drops the damp fabric, flashing a grin for the girls before motioning for me to come with him. Surprised, I swallow past the lump of nerves balled in my throat and glance at Marisol, who offers an encouraging smile.
“Hi. You were awesome.”
He’s sweaty, smelling like a musty man-boy, but I’ve no complaints. “Thanks. “You made it.”
“I told you I would.”
“I figured your dad wouldn’t let you.”
We amble through the crowd to a table with drinks where he hands me a bottle of water and takes a beer. I beat back the urge to demand one too, even if I won’t like it. Most people are drinking, but truth be told, I’m not in a hurry to try alcohol.
As I stand beside the best-looking guy here, it’s clear he’s the reason I came.
“My father doesn’t know we’re here.”
“Look at you, naughty girl.” His finger bops the tip of my nose, and I’m both warmed and irritated by the child-like gesture.
“Jared, I’m sorry about—” He cuts me off before I can mention the last time we were at the park.
“Forget about it. C’mon.” He leads the way to a quieter spot on the lawn.
We sit cross-legged, side by side against the fence. “So, you guys have a new name for the band?”
If Tito mentioned it on stage, I completely missed it. Bianca did mention it to someone on the phone but I didn’t catch it. She is convinced she’s the band manager or at the very least, an honorary member.
“Yup. Lucid Syncopation.”
“Lucid what?” I’m not fast enough to hold back the peal of laughter I release. Stupid name. Only Tito.
He isn’t amused. “Syncopation.”
“What does that mean? Is it even a word?”
“It’s uh…something to do with music.” He shrugs, his features tightening. “I don’t know the exact meaning, but it’s cool.”
“Cool? You’re kidding, right?” I lean back to get a better look at him. “It sounds like constipation.”
“Shut up.” He frowns and a foot-in-mouth feeling lodges in the back of my throat.
“I was only joking.” I playfully push at him and he downs the last of his beer.
I can’t tell if he’s done with our conversation or not, but he waves his beer bottle at an eager blonde who has been staring at us since we sat down. She nods and runs off to get him another beer.
“Wow, did you have to train her or do girls just willingly fetch for you?”
He barks out a laugh at my sarcasm. “Nah, they just like doing things for me.”
“I bet.”
“Here you go, Jared.” The blonde returns with a cold beer, exchanging it for the empty.
He turns to me. “You want anything?”
She crinkles her nose, twisting her pink glossy lips at me with a “Don’t even think about it” look.
“No, I’m good. Thanks.” I smile meekly and she responds in kind, relieved not to wait on me.
“Thanks.” He smiles at her.
“No problem. I’m Ellen.” She twirls the ends of her hair, grinning. “We met at Jimmy’s pool party.”
“Cool.” He tips his chin and looks at me. “So when do you have to be home?”
“Already getting rid of me?”
“Nah, but I figured a girl like you, you’ve got a curfew.”
I don’t know how to take his comment. The tone is flat, almost disinterested, but I sense an edge to his words as if trying to get under my skin. Rankle me.
Before I can think of a response that shows him I am not a child, a pretty redhead—maybe a senior?—staggers over to us.
“Jared, come dance with me.” She grabs his hand.
He laughs, jumping to his feet, barely dipping his chin toward me in…what? Goodbye, kid? So long, sucker?
A chill skitters along the side of me where he once sat, and I refuse to look at him. My chin tucks into my chest, and I’m thankful for the twilight sky. The lengthening shadows hopefully hide my reddening cheeks.
“Be back.” He hooks his arm around the girl’s waist and they meander toward the rocking house.
I’m left with a sick twist in my stomach and an overwhelming desire to go home. I’m not waiting for him. The yard is crowded, and now on my feet, I spot Bianca and Tito off to my left and Marisol flirting with a boy she likes in the other direction. I make my way to my friend first.
“I’m heading home. Are you okay to leave with Santos when he’s ready?” He’s her older brother and our backup ride in case my sister ditched us tonight.
“Yes, but let me come with you.”
“No, stay.” I quirk a brow in the direction of her crush and she blushes. “I’m going to see if Bianca will come.”
“Okay.” Marisol hugs me and then I wade through the people toward my sister and her boyfriend.
“Hey, Bianca, I’m going home.” It’s a good thing I don’t hold my breath, hoping she’ll leave with me because her reluctant gaze suggests otherwise.
She nibbles on her bottom lip, glancing at her boyfriend and then me. Tito is only an inch or two taller than her, stocky with muscles and ink. And what he doesn’t have in height, he more than makes up for with his kind heart and smooth as velvet voice.
“What’s wrong, pequeño?” He regards me with concern, resting his inked hand on my shoulder. “Stay, hang with us.”
“Tito,” Bianca whines, shooting me a glare.
Not wanting to cramp her style or invite her fury later tonight or tomororw, I shake my head. “It’s okay. I just don’t feel like a party.”
“You sick?” He places his hand on my sweaty forehead.
“No—”
“I’ll take her home.” Jared lays a hand on my hip and I jump. “I’m leaving.”
“We could walk with you.” My sister is suddenly agreeable and eagerly glances at Tito, hoping he’ll play along.
“Nah.” Her boyfriend shakes his head and smirks at Jared. “What happened to the redhead?”
Frowning
, I blink to erase the pair from my mind and step out of Jared’s hold.
“Nothing.” He shrugs, taking my hand before I can get too far.
Without another word, he leads me outside and to the sidewalk. It isn’t a long distance from the party to our homes, although the night is muggy and hot.
I pull my hand from his once we’re set in the direction of our walk. Falling behind, I get lost in my confusing thoughts about tonight, Jared, the redhead, and why I even came.
After a few beats, he must notice I’m lingering and he slows his pace until he comes to a stop. He watches, waiting for me to reach his side.
“Are you not feeling well?” There’s a fierce look in his eyes, maybe even concern, and I’m not sure how to take his question.
Indignation sparks in my belly, more at myself than anything else, wondering if there was anything I could have done differently to get Jared to stay at my side and not take off with that girl. And then I sigh—it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t owe me anything. We aren’t together.
“This was my first party, and I think it’ll be my last.”
Any concern with admitting I’m not a party girl has long since vanished. I don’t care. This is who I am, and I didn’t have a good time. Well, except for hearing the band and talking to Jared.
“First party, eh? You looked like a natural.”
“Funny.” I give him a wry grin, grateful for his light tone, and he winks.
My stomach flips, and I rest one hand on my middle as if to stop the strange fluttering motion. He pulls out a cigarette pack and lighter, flipping one in between his lips.
“Those will kill you,” I say casually with a deep inhale, hoping to put to rest the butterflies gone haywire in my belly.
“Fuck, not you too.” He groans and takes his first drag. “It’s my body. My life. I get to choose.”
“Fine.” I shrug, disappointed in his casual disregard for his health, but I shouldn’t be surprised.
He’s the type to do whatever he wants, whether there are risks or dangers, or perhaps even more so because of them. And he’s right. Smoking is his choice.
“Why didn’t you stay and hang out with the redhead?”
I accidently bump arms with him and there’s a subtle shift to his shoulders as he pulls away.
“Not interested.”
“You say that like you’re passing up a drink or something. You seemed interested when you left with her.” I turn to face him, and he pauses, maybe curious with what I have to say. “We girls have feelings, you know?”
“Why d’you say it like that? I wasn’t rude to her or hurt her feelings. She wanted to dance. I thought I did, too, but changed my mind.”
He inhales one more drag and flicks the butt to the ground before picking up the pace. His brisk strides feel more like a jog to me because of my short legs and I struggle to stay at his side.
“Why do you always ask so many questions?” His jaw ticks.
“Sorry. Does it bug you?” It’s such a silly question. Where is my brain?
“Yeah. But I doubt you can help yourself.”
“I can.” I flush, not sure if it’s because of insistent tone or because it would be tough for me to stop the questions.
“Yeah, right.” He’s quick and sarcastic as he calls my bluff. “Then stop.”
“Okay.” I laugh nervously, wondering how long it’ll take me to break my word.
There’s so much I don’t know about him, and he isn’t exactly forthcoming with information about himself. Or about anything.
He slows to a stop at the edge of my driveway, pivoting to stand in front of me and placing his hands on my shoulders. His touch is warm and I’m drawn to him like the flickering heat of a flame.
“Let me look at you before you go in.” Concern etches his taut, strong features.
“I told you, I’m fine. I…I’m not sick. Just…”
“Just what?” His eyes narrow and lips press together. “Eva, tell me.”
“I thought we were hanging out and then you just left. I know we aren’t together but…”
“Hey, I was a dick and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left. I figured you’d start with your questions. Again.”
His exaggerated irritaton, the slightest hint that he isn’t really upset, causes me to smile. His fingers brush some hair away from my cheek and he studies my face intently.
Dark, heated eyes pause on my lips. Will he kiss me? I want him to kiss me. Or I could make the first move. All it would take is for me to push onto my tip-toes, lean in and capture his mouth.
Would his lips be soft? Firm? Warm? Would he open for me? Our tongues touching and tasting.
“Eva?” My mother’s voice filters through the dark, slaying my fantasy like the killer in a horror movie.
I shiver as my attention shifts from Jared and his full lips to the slight figure standing at front door. She flicks on the outdoor light.
“Shit.” Jared’s hands fall from my body. “I was hoping to leave before…”
“Sí, Mamá.” I brush past him. My insides are jittery once again, but for a different reason.
“Who is that?” She looks past me at the inky silhouette of Jared standing where I left him.
“That’s Jared. He lives next door.” I motion with my hand for him to come. “He walked me home. That’s all.”
She smiles warmly. “We know each other. Nice to see you again, Jared. And thank you for walking my daughter home.”
“Hi, Mrs. Ramirez, and it’s no problem. I wasn’t going to let Eva walk home alone.”
She twists her features, now looking past us. “Where is Bianca? She didn’t come home with you?”
I detect the worry in her tone and swallow down the lie Bianca would prefer I tell. My parents know Tito but not that he’s her boyfriend. Although I suspect my mother knows more than she lets on.
“Tito is going to bring her home.”
“She should have come with you.” She steps back from the door. “Come in, Jared.”
“No, that’s okay.” Jared flushes, casting his eyes downward, and this is the first time I’ve seen him almost shy.
“Come in.” She ushers him inside. “Eva, you should go to bed. It’s late. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
Gobsmacked, my mouth hangs open, and I’m both embarrassed to be treated like a child and worried at what she could possibly have to say to him without me here.
“But—” I clamp my mouth shut with just a look from her. “Okay. Good night. Jared, thanks for walking me home tonight.” I wave and wish I could stay.
“‘Night, Eva.” He shoves a hand in the front pocket of his jeans, looking a little concerned, and I wish I could save him.
My mother isn’t someone to fear, but I get the sense he doesn’t trust most people and especially adults.
I rush to my room, changing for bed and turning off the light. My mom likely won’t check on me if the light is out, and I want to see Jared one more time before he goes in.
Our window is open, and I peer out at the view of the Garcias’. The faint murmuring of voices can be heard—Jared and my mom—but I can’t make out what they are saying.
The wait is longer than I anticipate or would have liked but finally he strolls to the backyard of the Garcia house, returning shortly with a guitar in hand.
Instead of going inside the house, he continues across the lawn, like he does almost every night, and down the street toward the park. I want to call out to him, make him stop. Or put my clothes back on and follow him, but I don’t want to get caught. Besides, he looks like he wants to be alone.
Forget-me-not
Freshman/Sophomore year
JARED
Mrs. Ramirez knows about Eva’s late-night escapades to the park.
“Why are you telling me this?” I tense, not willing to take the blame. “I didn’t tell her to follow me.”
I can’t shake the feeling I’m seconds away from a lecture about the perils of kids in the syst
em. That’s likely why she sent her daughter to bed. I’m used to the stigma.
“You’re a good boy.” She rests her hand on my forearm. “You like my Eva. All I ask is for you to take care of her.”
Who is this woman? And what exactly does she think she has seen?
“I barely know Eva.”
She gives me a knowing smile. “Sí, and Eva likes you. She looks up to you and you look out for her.”
I open my mouth, ready to kill the implication of anything with Eva. I’m not even sure if we have a friendship.
“I can’t make her stop coming to the park.”
“This is true, and all I ask is for you to look after her if she does. Much like you did tonight. You didn’t have to walk her home—that was her sister’s responsibility—but you stepped up. Thank you.”
Now I’m fucking perplexed. No one has ever told me I did the right thing and I don’t know what to do with her gratitude, and maybe even respect.
“Jared, my daughter is an excellent judge of character. If she trusts you, I do too.”
She pats my arm once more and smiles affectionately. A wild, fiery sensation burns through my chest. No stranger has ever said anything like this to me, and it’s clear this is Eva’s mother. They are similar in their warm and trusting ways.
My rote, simple words stick to my tongue. “Good night, Mrs. Ramirez.”
The urge to run away from this kind woman is fierce, and Eva’s stares through her bedroom window only add to my fiery intense need to be alone.
Months have passed since the night of the party, and so much has changed and yet, some things stay the same. The park is still my nighttime refuge.
The thundering thump of my boots and the gentle slap of my guitar case against my thigh fills the eerily quiet night. It is Friday, and usually the street is lined with cars and most of the houses are lit up while some kind of sound—music, laughter, or talking—fills the dense, dark night.
Not tonight. Sure, it’s midnight and some will already be in bed, fast asleep, but it’s still too noiseless and that makes me uneasy.
I’m halfway to the park when the smooth rumble of a car engine devours the silence, the purr filling my ears. The vehicle inches along beside me, keeping pace, and I smile. What’s he doing here?