Melt With You

by Addison Moore

  “Shut up.” I take it from her and sniff the fruity-scented gloss. “Thank you. And I’m not gifting anyone my cherry.” Not that I wouldn’t seriously consider it if he asked—not that he would.

  “I bet he’s into you.” Heather leans in with that devious look in her eyes she gets when she’s stirring up trouble. Jennifer and I always say we keep Heather around because she makes things interesting. I sort of like where she’s headed with this, even if it’s the furthest thing from the truth.

  Jen smirks. “I bet he’s into you not suing him.” She leans in and offers a brief hug. “I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t let him try any monkey business. You’re practically an invalid. You should bring a knife in case you have to fight him off.”

  “Right. I’m sure Joel is dying to add sexual assault to his roster of vehicular indiscretions.”

  “You’ll need lots of this tomorrow.” Heather tosses my Tickle deodorant at me. “You know, for when you get all hot and bothered.”

  “I’m hot and bothered now.” I stick a pencil down the front of my cast and scratch the hell out of my leg.

  Jen shakes her head with that forlorn look to her face. “I’m sorry, Mel, but you just said it. That’s exactly what you are to him—an indiscretion. I don’t want you to get your hopes up and think you’re taking Kelly’s place.”

  Heather smacks her. “And you call yourself a friend? Let me gag you with a freaking spoon down that pie hole.” Heather likes to invoke her inner Valley Girl in a sarcastic—ironic way to drive the occasional point home.

  “I call myself a good friend,” Jen corrects. “I just don’t want to see you get your heart broken. It’s like bad enough he broke your leg. I don’t want you to trick yourself into believing this was some lucky break—pun intended.”

  Lucky break. I sink into my mattress because deep down I think the three of us know that’s exactly what I’m hoping it will pan out to be. I hate that Joel Miller has the power to reduce me to a heart-shaped Harlequin puddle.

  We say goodnight as they take off.

  I pull out my worn copy of Flowers in the Attic and try to dive into the twisted world, but my mind keeps drifting right back to Joel and those rain-washed eyes. I can’t believe Joel Effing Miller will be driving me to school tomorrow morning.

  Maybe this was my lucky break.

  * * *

  Morning comes, and as miserable as it was wrangling on my miniskirt, I’m excited to be ready for the day. Usually the first day of school has a way of feeling special in and of itself, but today feels as if I’m headed to prom, not to homeroom. Thankfully, Laurie has been a huge help. It’s not too often my sister does anything nice for me, but this morning she not only helped pull my clothes on—granny panties and all!—but she also helped prop me against the bathroom sink so I could apply my makeup.

  Ben has already left with our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Johnson, whose daughter, Holly, attends Dean with him, and Laurie’s friend, Lisa, has picked her up. They commute down to San Ramos Community College together.

  It dawns on me, as I sit on the heated retaining wall just outside of my home, that perhaps Joel’s offer to take me to school was just some stupid prank. Kelly is his plus one after all, and she’s been known to jab me with the knife of her pettiness a time or two. What if this is simply a way to get back at me for getting in her boyfriend’s way? I know that’s what she’s thinking—that this is all my fault—a ploy to ruin them. She’s too self-centered to think otherwise.

  Just as the sun melts the powder on my face, and the scent of Noxzema stings my eyes, an all too familiar charcoal Toyota pickup takes the turn.

  Joel Miller grins wide from behind the windshield and gives a casual wave once he sees me. He’s got his Wayfarers on and is channeling his inner Tom Cruise in that coming-of-age lesson in capitalism, Risky Business. Heck, I’d help Joel Miller start up a prostitution ring any day. Wait! What am I saying? Down, girl. This is just a ride to school, not a capital venture that borders on all things illegal.

  “He showed up,” I whisper with relief, pulling together my crutches and book bag, but Joel jumps out of the truck before I can properly gather my things.

  “That’s what I’m here for.” He snaps up my backpack and helps me hobble to the truck. The scent of his clean smelling aftershave envelops us. It’s a heavier scent than my father’s Old Spice, and something far more subtle than Ben’s Hai Karate. “You look nice.” He gives a pleasant smile as if he means it, but in the most platonic way possible.

  Heck, I’ll take that compliment every day of the week.

  “Thank you.” He helps me hop into his truck with one hand tucked warm under my arm, the other hot on my waist, and I die a little on the inside. Joel Effing Miller is touching me. My insides evaporate. My heart thumps out a riot. I can feel the burn of where his hands were long after he gets in the driver’s seat, and we take off for Glen.

  His truck still holds strong that new car smell I’ve only ever had the privilege to inhale when Jennifer took me along on an all-day outing the time her parents went car shopping. They settled on a used Honda that only had seventy-five hundred miles on it and a small crack in the rear windshield. But Joel’s truck is fully loaded with all of the bells and whistles the automotive engineers could muster. Not a cracked windshield in sight. The stereo system glows in reds, blues, and greens as the lights bounce in rhythm to the music. A tape hangs out of the cassette player like a stiff gray tongue. My dad still has an 8-track player in his car, and that’s a secret I’ll take to the grave if necessary.

  “So, tell me about your parents.” He shifts in his seat, and I jump a little because, swear to God, it feels as if he just read my mind. His fingers flex over the steering wheel as we take the turn up the street. “Do they both work?”

  It comes out nice, politely inquisitive, but I can’t help but think the interrogation has more to do with what kind of lowlifes make their femur-fractured daughter hobble to class on the first day of school. Not that I could ever hobble there on a good day, let alone with these ridiculous sticks I’m stuck with.

  “My mom works at Dr. Markson’s office. She sells Mary Kay on the side, so if your mom wants any, just let me know. I’m sure she’d be happy to share her discount.” Crap. Mom would very much not be happy to share her discount. Not that Mrs. Miller needs a discount to begin with. I’m sure Mrs. Miller lives at Merle Norman and has the entire new Clinique line at her fingertips. She could order an entire catalog of Mary Kay products without even blinking an eye. She couldn’t care less about my mother and her pink Cadillac dreams.

  “Cool.” He bobs his head a little too long. I take a moment to linger my gaze over his features. His black hair is curly on the tips, thicker than I had imagined in this close proximity. “I’ll let her know. And what about your dad?”

  My Dad? A film of embarrassment coats me as my face heats ten shades. I’ve never in my life paused before telling anyone what my father does for a living, but for some reason, relaying what he does to Joel feels like I’m betraying my father, making him sound like something less than he really is.

  “My dad works with Joe Copeland down at Mr. Fix It. Joe owns the place.” I emphasize that last fact as if by sheer proxy that takes the patina off the fact my father is a mechanic.

  “Nice. A few of my friends use Mr. Fix It. They seem pretty happy with it.”

  “Nice.” Shit. Nice? Well, that was original. This entire conversation is crashing and burning fast.

  He turns up the radio, and Annie Lennox fills the air with her rich, melodic howl as she belts out “Sweet Dreams.”

  “I love the Eurythmics,” I say, and the air thickens unnaturally around us. I’m betting right about now he’s regretting letting me come anywhere near his truck—twice in one week, no less.

  “So, I’ve got practice after school, but if you don’t mind waiting, I want to make sure you get home okay. I can set you up in the stands, and you can get some homework done if you like.” />
  If I were eating, I would have choked to death.

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t mind waiting.” A horrible sinking feeling presses over me like a pickup sitting on my chest. What if he’s just saying these things to be nice, and I’m stupidly taking him up on whatever spews from his mouth? What if all along he’s secretly hoping I’ll just say no? “I mean, it’s fine. I’m sure someone else can give me a ride. I probably shouldn’t have accepted this one. I’m like a total burden to you right now. Are we picking up Kelly?” Shoot me now. Not only am I having a verbal conniption about being offered a ride, I somehow manage to guilt him into talking about his girlfriend.

  Joel gives a little laugh. “You’re not a burden. I insist. It’s the least I can do.” The smile glides off his face as he stares out at the road. “And, no, we’re not picking up Kelly. She’s driving today, so everything is fine.” He pats my hand, and my skin blisters in his wake.

  We’re not picking up Kelly. The thought makes me bite down over a smile.

  “Is she okay with this?” Not sure why I’m pushing the subject, other than the fact I’m afraid to have my partially ambulatory ass kicked later today. Knowing Kelly, and her possessiveness, this is a real possibility. Last year, there was a girl from St. Luca’s, Stephanie Bateman, who dared to ask Joel for his phone number, and rumor has it, the Beaver Brigade sharpened their claws and snuck into the girls’ locker room at the pretentious Catholic school and did a little slicing. That poor girl needed stitches and a tit transplant—well, that’s what Jen said. And oddly enough, the people of Glen Heights think it’s the San Ramos kids you need to look out for.

  Joel tweaks his head as if considering whether or not Kelly is okay with this. “It doesn’t really matter if she’s okay with it. She doesn’t have a say. I do what I want. And right now, I want to help you.”

  A smile comes, and this time I don’t fight it. Joel wants to help me. I give a dreamy sigh as we pull into the student lot. All eyes are on me as Joel helps me out of the truck. I feel like Cinderella stepping out of her pumpkin chariot while Prince Charming carries my backpack all the way to homeroom. Well, if Cinderella had a broken leg, and Prince Charming was the star quarterback of Glen Heights High.

  Joel leans in and offers a crooked smile. “I’ll meet you here when the bell rings. I’m going to help you to all of your classes today. Don’t talk to your friends too long ’cause I don’t want to be late either.” He nods as if he’s teasing, and my insides melt like butter. The tiny Mr. Sardona living inside my head frowns severely at the overused cliché.

  “I won’t,” I say, dumbstruck by his proposal.

  And Joel makes good on his word. All morning he meets me at the class he last dropped me off at and helps me hobble to my new destination. And when we have to climb up a flight of stairs, he tracks down the janitor and makes him take me up the service elevator instead. When the doors glide open, there he is. Joel is faithful and sweet, and I’d be lying if I didn’t love all of the attention this has garnered me—first, from Joel, and then, from my social-climbing hungry classmates. I bet half the girls are wishing they had the dumb luck to get backed into by Joel Miller’s truck. I’m actually not one of them. My leg hurts like hell, and my mother didn’t so much as offer me an aspirin before she left the house. Not to mention my armpits are starting to throb from my crutches digging in.

  I sit with Heather and Jen during nutrition, and Amy and Peter actually stop sucking face long enough to gawk at the miraculous event that has taken place in my life.

  “So, like are you two a thing?” Amy snaps her gum so fast it sounds as if a dozen firecrackers are going off in her mouth at once.

  “No.” I glance at Barbie Doll Lane, where Kelly has her arms firmly planted around Joel’s waist. It’s her version of pissing a circle around him. She can’t be pleased that her man has hauled around another girl’s books all morning. She does look cute today, with her pink ballet flats, her bright blue leg warmers over leggings. And it irks me to no end that the entire aforementioned attire is nearly impossible for me to pull off the next three months. Stirrups are my favorite, and now they’re completely off the table until Thanksgiving at least.

  “Boy”—Jen shakes her head—“you know she has to be pissed.”

  Heather rolls her eyes while adjusting her banana clip. I wish I could wear one. Each time I get the curvy plastic in, my thin hair slips right out. “She never was good at sharing her toys.” Heather and Kelly were neighbors for a while before Kelly’s family moved to Glen Heights. She and Kelly were actually quasi-friends and logged some serious time at one another’s houses playing Barbies and Merlin. Heather says Kelly used to make out with her reflection in a handheld mirror during their sleepovers in an effort to teach her how to French. I told her she was lucky they moved before Kelly tried to teach her how to touch herself. Then in eighth grade, Kelly spent the night with both Amy’s cousin, Tess, and Heather, and let’s just say the name Masturbating Masterson was born from that night of midnight confessionals, where Kelly admitted to sexually accosting bananas for the benefit of her good pleasure.

  The bell rings, and we watch in horror as Joel peels Kelly off him before heading in this direction.

  “Holy shit.” Peter shakes his head in disbelief. He’s decked out in his Ska garb from head to toe—his signature black and white checkered fedora securely planted over his head. Peter is forever telling us about cool British bands before they hit it big in the states. Last night, I listened to a mixed tape he made each of us last summer, and now my new favorite band is Scritti Politti. “Enjoy the ride,” he mutters from the side of his lips as he takes Amy and starts moving out. “Kelly isn’t going to put up with this crap for long.”

  Joel comes over, and second verse same as the first. All day he escorts me to my classes, and at lunch he goes as far as holding my tray and paying for my corndog and fries to boot! He sits me down with Jennifer and Heather and says a polite hello before taking off.

  “Dude.” Jennifer grips my arm under the table so hard it feels as if another bone is about to snap. “I’m like starting to drink the Kool-Aid. This guy is like totally rad. He is like really freaking nice.”

  “That’s like what I’ve been trying to tell you.” I glance back at Barbie Doll Lane and catch Kelly with her arms wrapped around his body like a seat belt. Her head turns my way before doing a double take, and that’s when I see it—that same familiar hateful smirk she shared with me every single day in fourth grade. Nope, time has not changed Kelly Masterson one bit. She’s still the same snotty, spoiled, mirror-kissing, banana-defiling brat she’s always been.

  “Don’t look at her.” Heather moves over a seat and blocks my view. “Rumor has it, she has the power to steal your soul.”

  “That’s because she’s a witch.” Jen openly glowers at her. Jen happens to have balls of steel. Jen also happens to be free from Kelly’s fury.

  “Would you stop?” I tap her wrist.

  “She’s a bitch, Melissa.” Jen doesn’t let up her heated stare. “Just know that when she tries to jump you in some dark alley, I’ll be right there whipping off my shoe, ready to give her a Huarache sandal beat down she’ll never forget.”

  Heather snorts. “Trust me, she’d rather run away than have your cheap shoes touch her. It’s brilliant. A fashion-based defense.” Heather pulls the metallic pink can of Aqua Net from her backpack and stuffs it into mine. “Just in case. Hairspray. It’s the new mace.”

  Something tells me I’ll need it for a lot more than just my hair.

  * * *

  True to his word, Joel sets me up in the stands after school. Unfortunately, I’m seated way too close to the cheer squad, so all hopes of focusing on my Algebra 2 homework is shot to hell once they begin their thundering howls. The Beaver Brigade shoots me dirty looks every chance they get, and I quickly understand that until Joel stops his random acts of kindness, and perhaps long after that, they are going to make my junior year one to remember—and n
ot for the reasons I’d like.

  Cheer and football practice wrap up at about the same time, and Fatima and Trina come over to see how I’m doing. The whole time we’re shooting the breeze, I’m glancing back to the field, watching as Kelly practically dry humps Joel on the grass.

  “She’s so nasty.” Trina flicks her wrist as she gets up to leave. “Ten bucks says he was aiming for that skank and missed. Sorry you got caught up in it, girl.”

  “I’m sorry I’m missing cheer.” True. I’ve wanted this for so long, and after having the rug so cruelly yanked out from underneath me, it sort of feels like a cruel hoax put on by the universe.

  Fatima wipes the sweat from her brow. “No biggie. I’m holding your spot. You can cheer during basketball season, and there’s always next year. Just get better. Don’t let that airhead get to you. She’s a major bitch. Everyone knows it.”

  They take off and say something to Kelly and Joel, inspiring Kelly to shoot me a dirty look.

  Joel plucks her loose and offers an easy grin my way.

  “I’m going to take a quick shower!” He jogs backward toward the gym, and I give a thumbs up.

  Thumbs up. I shake my head. Who the hell do I think I am, the Fonz? Everything I do makes me look like a geek. What’s next? Telling him I read encyclopedias for fun? Technically, I haven’t read all of the encyclopedias. Our family is still on N. My mother buys one a week from Lucky’s Supermarket when she does our shopping. They’re the nice World Books, with the brown leather covers and fancy gilded font on the spine. I’m absolutely in love with them. I love their gold-lined pages, the way the slippery paper glides through my fingers. Mostly, I love learning about a world outside of San Ramos, outside of Glen Heights for that matter.

  Joel gives another quick wave before disappearing into the gym. I wish he were hard to like. I wish I disliked him as much as I dislike Kelly, but he’s been so darn sweet I can’t help but feel the opposite.