Butterflies stirred and hope laced their wings as I realized just how much I wanted what he was offering. His eyes held a million secrets but so many truths, and I wanted to know them all. I wanted to do this. I wanted . . . him.
“I know you’ve got Becca, but I’m not gonna lie, I want to take her place. Will you let me interview for the position?” he joked, “I promise I’ll be the best thing that ever happened to you. Wherever you go, I promise to follow.”
His warm, bruised hand reached for my fingers and squeezed them as if making an unspoken promise. I closed my eyes for the briefest second, a part of me believing every word he spoke, the other half held a million questions and another million answers as to why what he said could be a lie. I hated struggling like this. “Trust someone until you can’t, baby girl.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “We’ll text whenever, wherever. No talking, except on the first Saturday when you call. The second Saturday you’ll pick me up at three for our first date. I’ll sit with you at lunch and ignore you,” I smiled. “I WILL NOT look at your ass, or try to kiss you. That, I can assure you, won’t be a problem.”
I took a deep breath and looked everywhere but at him as I struggled with the next words. I hated to show weakness. Weakness was what brought me here and destroyed me. Yet I finally managed to look at him.
“Please be gentle with me. Please . . . just . . . I really don’t know what I’m doing, and I need you to be okay with my bipolar moods. That’s just me trying to learn how to walk. You’re gonna have to teach me how to walk, Meekai. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
He unclasped his fingers from around mine and reached out, dragging his thumb across my bottom lip. His eyes followed the slow path it made, moving to my top lip before stilling, his eyes fixed on mine. My body shuddered in response. There was no stopping it. This was new; this was something I never planned on.
“Don’t be scared of me, Violet. I promised you once, and I’ll remind you again. I won’t kiss you; I’ll wait for you to kiss me. I also promise to kiss you back. I promise that the fear you have in your eyes right now won’t last forever, because you’ll want me to keep kissing you. And just a heads up, I’ll kiss you for as long as you want. Yes, I understand you. I’ll be right beside you as you learn to walk.”
Right there, that’s what scared me.
I was afraid. I was afraid because I was stuck between two places. Wanting to kiss him, to feel him, to know him. And then there was the fear of not knowing how to kiss him, how I’d react to more than just a whisper of his touch and what I'd do when he wanted more. What would I want when I let myself fall and let him take it?
After Meekai left on Saturday, I had every demon and fallen angel play with all the ‘what if’s’ in my head. I ignored them. Fuck em.
It was Monday morning and I had a huge smile on my face. Just the thought of him, of the promises he’d made and the terms and conditions I’d accepted to live by for the next two weeks. I couldn’t shake the hopeful anticipation they stirred in my chest.
Becca sat next to me in the passenger seat, looking like the cat that got the canary. I had to keep telling her to shut up and stop staring.
She’d stolen my phone and scaled one of Gamma’s trees on Sunday afternoon like Tarzan. I yelled at her until she dismounted the tree, and I told her I officially revoked our friendship. She swooned and twirled and officially shipped us. Apparently, we were RadKai and she wanted to, “Screen-print that shit, right now!”
Meekai had texted me halfway down the driveway when he finally left. He always had to have the last word.
He’d texted me a link to a Spotify playlist he’d decided to make for me. One song at a time.
Meekai: I’m adding one song at a time to a playlist I'm making for you. That way you won’t skip ahead and cheat. I called it Thirteen Hours From Where You Are.
PS: I can’t wait until we’re BFFs and get to have pillow fights and braid each other's hair ;)
PPS: You’re still not allowed to look at my ass or try to kiss me. I’m not an object Radley ;)
Shit. I gotta stop texting you from halfway down your Gamma’s drive. I'm almost outta gas. This is the way you make me feel. You sound like this song, Violet xo
**Spotify link**
I’d sat and stared at the message smiling like I hadn’t already read it a million times. At the bottom of his text there was a Spotify link. I tapped and listened.
Georgia by Vance Joy, flowed out of the speakers of my phone. The first notes wrapped around my heart with a feeling I couldn’t quite place, but it felt like summer, hope and possibility. I’d laid on my back in the grass and looked up at the clouds as they rolled by, each
note and word floated and spiraled up into the atmosphere as tears found their way out. These weren't sad tears, they were new tears; tears I'd never felt before. I loved these tears. They were a promise of the best kind.
No one had ever told me a million little things in the words of a song. No one had ever thought enough of me to let me know. This is the way you make me feel. You sound like this song.
I’d shut my eyes and left it on repeat for an hour before I went inside. That hour held my favorite new memory. I wanted more new memories.
Meekai had texted me sporadically for two days. He’d told me that he’d lived by himself ever since his mama had died, but that was a story for another day.
He’d emphasized that he was very clean for a nineteen-year-old guy and picked up after himself, sending me a picture of a wash pile he was about to fold as proof.
He’d claimed he wasn’t perfect and sent a picture of a lone sock. He’d questioned why socks always ended up lost and alone. He’d feared for their mental health, believing that separation from the things we were meant to exist with was the most painful of all human experiences.
He’d sent good mornings, good nights and boomerangs of him waving hello and goodbye with each one. He’d sent pictures of his breakfast, dinner and one of Linc bending over with half of his ass hanging out.
He’d sent GIFs of cats falling off kitchen benches and videos of babies dancing inappropriately, begging the question as to what was happening with the youth of today and where the fuck were their parents? I’d reminded him they were the ones filming. He’d responded with the mind blown emoji and a link to a child welfare services reporting page.
He made me laugh. He made me feel. He made me . . . fall.
The message that had got me, the one that had my eyes welling with tears . . . a picture of a Virginia bluebell with his hand in the shot cradling it amongst the field grass that surrounded it. It was the last text he’d sent along with a message, on Sunday evening.
Meekai: One day you’ll let me hold your secrets and hold your hand. One day, Violet, you’ll realize we were destined to be anything but friends.
He remembered . . .
“Your eyes are almost violet. What color would you even call that?”
“My Gamma Milly says they’re the color of the Virginia bluebells that grow in the field behind her house . . .”
Falling . . .
As I reached for my backpack and prepared to get out of the car, my phone beeped with a new message notification. My heart jumped and my smile stretched so wide it actually hurt. I didn’t know that was an actual thing until I had to sit there stretching out my jaw to find relief.
Meekai: Good morning, Violet. Today begins our biggest test. The mission, should you choose to accept it . . . No talking! Also, a reminder that my ass is out of bounds and my lips are sealed. Don’t even think about being inappropriate (it might just break me). I’ll see you at lunch. I promise to make you feel incredibly uncomfortable with ridiculous amounts of ogling #sorrynotsorry
I shook my head and laughed. “He’s a loon, Betty. What have I agreed to?”
Becca cleared her throat from beside me? “I'm right here you know? Your living, breathing bestie, the one who can actually answer back. I always feel like the third wheel when I ha
ng out with you and Betty,” she joked.
“Hey,” Becca said on her way to class, “Do you mind stopping at the office with me? I can’t find my school ID and wanna check if it’s been handed in. I wouldn’t ask, but Mrs. Dyke will keep me there talking if I don’t take you as an excuse.”
“How am I an excuse?” I asked.
“You have Contemporary Lit first period. She knows Mr. Hennessy will lock you out if you’re not on time.”
“Nice,” I clapped back, “Use me as a Dyke shield. Some friend you are.”
We pushed through the entrance doors and made our way to the office. Mrs. Dyke was flustered at the photocopier while Miss Stella was trying and failing to keep the smirk off her face.
“Oh, Becca. Radley. You couldn’t have come at a better time,” Mrs. Dyke squawked.
“Fuckkk . . .” Becca whispered, “I thought I was coming outta here unscathed.”
A loud smack of gum had all eyes turn to a girl who sat with her legs crossed and her face buried in a copy of Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. Something familiar was bursting through her ear pods as her hand kept the beat.
I couldn’t help but smile at the way she was confident and free enough to follow the beat without worrying who could hear, or who had something to say about the relentless tapping. She had long wavy dark brown hair, with hot pink through the ends. She wore a black baby doll dress with delicately embroidered daisies and a black denim jacket with knee-high black socks and a pair of scuffed black Docs.
She reminded me of a pixie with edge. Delicate features and full lips with a perfectly placed beauty spot below her left eye. Her ocean-blue eyes met mine for the briefest second before she turned back to her book and flipped over another page like she had all the time in the world, blowing and smacking another loud bubble.
“Girls,” Mrs. Dyke said. “This is Brooks,” she swept her hand towards the edgy pixie.
Not one iota of recognition. She stretched her gum out with her finger and pretended she wasn’t being spoken of or referred to. I kind of admired her, even with her music blasting through her ears I was pretty sure she heard her name. For the slightest moment she stopped stretching her gum. She heard.
Mrs. Dyke let out an exhausted breath and gestured for Becca and I to come closer.
“Girls, I’m so glad you’re here,” she began, leaning over the front desk onto her elbows.
“It’s Brooks' first day and I was wondering if you could show her around and… exercise some . . . patience?” She blew her bangs out of her eyes, fiddling with some overhanging strands that found their way to her mouth. “Brooks is living with me in a foster care arrangement and will be finishing her senior year here, much like you two. I think you’re the perfect pair to do me a huge favor and show her around. Have lunch with her, generally make the first day easier?” Her eyes pleaded, moving back and forth between us.
Another gum smack followed by shuffling and an extra set of eyes leaned into the hushed conversation.
“Anita, you realize you’re not whispering right?”
Anita? Mrs. Dyke had a name.
“Brooks, we’ve discussed when we’re at school, you’re to refer to me as Mrs. Dyke.”
She scoffed out loud. “Sure, Anita.”
Mrs. Dyke let out a frustrated harumph, rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Radley and I would love to show Brooks around, Mrs. Dyke. We’re all new here, so it’ll be nice to hang out,” Becca said as she tried to settle the unease.
“Thank you, Becca. It would make me feel a lot better. First days are always the most difficult.”
“Not unless it’s the second day, Anita. The second day at my last school I was rounded up and shoved into a locker. The third day, I never turned up and now I’m here. Wanna hedge a bet to say what my fourth day into the school year will bring?”
She might have been abrupt, but I knew where she was coming from, and I felt the pain even though she delivered it in a monotone voice to disguise it as anything but hurt. Being in the foster care system isn’t an easy place to exist, and a big part of me felt the need to help her with her fresh start, too.
I turned to Brooks, Miss Pixie Punk who thrived on a beat, as Becca asked Mrs. Dyke if her lost ID had been handed in.
“Hey.” I waved. “I’m Radley. I started here last week and so did Becca. We’d love to show you around if you wanna hang.”
I gave her a reassuring smile as she looked at me with a complete poker face. I had no idea what she was thinking, but I knew I had nothing else. I could still hear the beat coming from her ear pods and recognized the beat with her closer.
“Is that Night of The Hunter by Thirty Seconds to Mars playing?”
She blinked. Her lip curled up ever so slightly. So, it was music that gave Pixie Punk the life the lost so often escaped to. I liked it because I understood it.
“It’s one of my favorites,” I continued.
She nodded and there was almost some unspoken recognition, like those five words spoken to her were more than any type of thought-out question ever could be. Music was her language, and I was positive she could see I spoke the same dialect . . . broken, lost and no fucking idea.
After a few seconds of a stare down, she finally replied.
“I’m Brooks Easton,” she introduced. “Never ask me a question if you're looking for a lie. Never lie to me and I'll give you my truth. I don't paint anyone's nails but my own. I don't do sleepovers in cute jammies and gossip about the bad boy. I sleep over at the bad boy’s, don't wear jammies and fuck him. I'm a category five, I make no apologies, and I never want you to either. If you think you can put up with all of that, I'll do the same and put up with all of you.”
Honesty comes from one of two places.
An individual’s truth.
An individual's fear.
I think the truth bomb that just landed in my lap was straddling a fine line, and Brooks was riding both. It was completely her truth, I had no doubt, but I also saw that her brash honesty came from a place of fear . . . rejection.
Like my slogan tees served as me beating the bullies to the punch, Brooks was doing the same. That way there was no need to pretend she hadn’t warned me. Self-preservation 101. I tilted my head with understanding, considering her words and how I’d respond.
“Hmm,” I hummed. “A lot of information, a lot to consider, but how about this. I’ll promise to be myself if you promise not to just put up with me. No one deserves to be put up with. Not you, not me, no one. It wastes good time, Brooks. I know a little bit about time being lost and wasted. I’m pretty sure you do, too.”
As I spoke her shoulders seemed to relax and she nodded to herself. Something I said made its way to being heard.
“So,” Brooks finally broke the silence after my impromptu speech. “Whose Georgia, and why is she on your mind?” she asked as she pointed at the t-shirt I’d made to commemorate the first week of mine and Meekai’s attempt at friendship.
It was a silent affirmation, a message to let him know that I wanted to do this. It was a huge step, a risk, but I took that risk and was now standing with Georgia On My Mind written across my chest. Out for all to see, but only for one to understand.
Becca chuckled from behind me before cutting in. “She’s Georgia, and he’s a long story.”
I gave her a gentle elbow and bopped her nose with my finger. “You can’t be trusted, sasshole,” I teased. “Brooks, this is Becca. Becca meet Brooks.” I pointed between them, officially doing the introductions. “Long story short, be yourself, she’ll be herself, no judgement, no bullshit. Just three chicks trying to make it outta here alive.”
With that said, I waved goodbye to Mrs. Dyke and Miss Stella and made my way to my locker. As Brooks and Becca followed, Becca unloading all the info Brooks needed to know about where her first class was while she showed her to her locker.
When I was done unpacking my things and organizing myself, I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard a notification p
ing. Both were somehow choreographed perfectly in time with the other. I smiled to myself, trying desperately to wipe it off my face before I turned around. Let the games begin.
I turned to find Meekai standing there, hair mussed yet perfectly sculpted to draw out the oohs and ahhs from his female fan club as they passed by. He didn’t even try. It was kinda ridiculous. A dark green Henley, distressed black jeans and combat boots. All topped off with a well-worn, black leather jacket.
His smile made me feel like I should’ve felt it and experienced it way before now. As my eyes traced the contours of his defined jawline and full lips, I reached into my jacket pocket to check the message that was no doubt from him. We both stayed silent, my eyes never leaving his until I looked down to read the message.
Meekai: I failed.
Huh? I screwed up my face and shook my head, no idea what he meant. I failed? Is there something I missed? I looked up at him, but as soon as I did my phone vibrated in my hand.
Meekai: I stared at your ass until you disappeared into the office.
“Wha . . .” I began to speak, forgetting I wasn’t supposed to and laughed at the ridiculousness of all this, but I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.
Me: You’re a pervert!
Meekai: You shouldn’t be wearing jeans that tight.
Me: I’ll wear what I like. Even though I don’t condone your perversion, you were the one that said I couldn’t stare at your ass!
With that, I slammed my locker, put my phone in my back pocket, and turned towards class. My phone pinged three times, but I didn’t reach for it.
Another ping.
Another ping and more vibrating.
Before I walked into the classroom, I turned around to look at the spot where I’d left him. The bell sounded and there he stood, cell phone in hand and no smile, just . . . anguish?
Thirteen Hours To You Page 14