But Trista and Travis Tyler probably weren’t like most parents. For one thing, they were really cool and fun. They’d do things as a family, not every weekend but often enough. They even had family game night (Thursday), and it wasn’t unusual to go camping, bowling, attend some kind of race or sporting event or visit an amusement park over the weekend. And they never hesitated to invite me along.
Last winter break they even let me go with them on vacation. We stayed at a ski lodge for five days. Because it was pretty much a disaster any time I had skis on my feet, I spent most of my time playing in the snow, making snow families or snow angels, with then seven-year-old Tatum or getting my butt kicked at checkers, by the fire in the lodge, by then nine-year-old Tanner.
But, alas, after spending four consecutive weekends with the Tylers, Mom decided I needed to spend the weekend at home. A normal teenage girl probably would have whined and complained and begged and pleaded to spend the weekend camping with her best friend, but it was pretty much decided that, normal, I was not. Also, I knew my parents would say no anyway, so I didn’t bother to argue even though, aside from practically salivating over the idea of a s’more, I really wanted to go camping with the Tylers.
Instead I sat at home on my rump and reread Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince for the umpteenth time. I was of the opinion that J.K. Rowling really needed to get the next and final book out already. I’d nearly wet my pants when I finished Half-Blood Prince and was in complete denial about a certain character’s death. I’d spent too many nights to count online reading theories about how the series would finally end.
When I first started reading the Harry Potter series, I used to pretend that I was related to Hermione Granger. I thought it was coolest thing in the world that we had the same last name. I’d accidentally let this belief slip to my dad, and, because he had no imagination whatsoever, he ruined it for me by explaining that when our ancestors came to the United States from France many years ago, they changed the spelling of our last name from Grainger to Granger. Then, as if to add insult to injury, he had to add that Hermione wasn’t even real.
Ouch, way to kill the dreams of an eight-year-old, Dad.
From then on out I kept my theories to myself, and sometimes I still liked to pretend that Hermione was my British third cousin twice removed, or something like that. Even though I had no idea what that even meant. Family genealogy lingo totally confused me. Why were people removed? It sounded like a form of disownment or something.
After spending the majority of Friday night and part of Saturday morning rereading Half-Blood Prince, I decided to move on to another book to distract myself from my impatience for the seventh Harry Potter book. I decided I really wanted to reread another of my favorites, The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky.
I considered Charlie to be on of my comfort characters, which were just characters I thought I could have been friends with if they existed in real life. Never mind the minor flaw that Charlie was a high school freshman the year I was born.
It had been a while since I’d read it last, and, because I’d never been neat and tidy like Mom, my room was what I liked to call “organized chaos.” Even though it looked like a mess, I usually knew where things were, but after searching high and low for my copy of Perks, I came to the conclusion that, aside from maybe needing to clean up some of the chaos, the book wasn’t in my room.
I tried to recall where I’d last seen it. Then I remembered I’d reread it late last spring while vegging out on the couch. Of course I knew Mom had cleaned the living room many times over since then, so I decided to ask her if she’d seen it or put it somewhere.
Mom was in her bedroom doing what she loved to do during her downtime: scrapbook. Mom had an obsession with documenting everything in scrapbooks. She had one for each of us—and by “us” I mean Skylar, Luke, and myself—from every year of school. Then she had them for holidays and other special occasions. I found the whole thing kind of odd because she never seemed to stop and smell the roses so to speak, but I guess maybe she was just too busy and scrapbooking was her way of taking it all in after the fact. Or maybe she just wanted to do something pretty with all of the pictures that would otherwise sit untouched in boxes under hers and Dad’s bed.
“Mom? Have you seen my copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower?” I asked from the doorway.
“Lime green cover?” she asked without even looking up.
“Yes.”
“In the living room in the magazine rack,” she replied as she cut some cardstock.
“Thanks,” I replied and started to walk away.
“Sky has friends over, so try not to bother them,” she called after me.
“Okay,” I mumbled.
I almost asked her why she insisted I stay home this weekend if I was supposed to make myself scarce, but I bit my tongue because she was, obviously, very busy. Besides, she’d probably just tell me, “Don’t be smart, Cecilia.” I had never understood that phrase. Don’t be smart? Was I supposed to be stupid instead? Besides, most of the time when people told me not to be smart, I wasn’t trying to be anyway.
I walked downstairs with extreme caution. After all, I didn’t know where Skylar was, and I wasn’t supposed to, God forbid, bother her. When I heard laughter from the kitchen, I thought it was safe to enter the living room. As I made my way down the short hall to retrieve my book, I decided I’d go sit under the oak tree in our backyard and read.
I’d been able to see the sun shining through my window upstairs, and it looked like it would be nice and comfy conditions for reading. As these thoughts crossed my mind, I stepped into the living room and was surprised to see a guy I was sure I would have remembered if I’d seen him before seated on the couch.
I froze for a moment. First, because I wasn’t supposed to bother Skylar, and, second, because I wasn’t even supposed to admit to being related to her, and I had no idea how I’d get myself out of that. Short of claiming to have walked into the wrong house, I thought it might be kind of hard to deny living here since I was still wearing the sweats and ratty t-shirt I’d wore to bed the night before, I didn’t think that would be believable. I kind of felt like Daria Morgendorffer. The way Quinn always denied being related to her made me think of Skylar and Luke’s denial of me. In that moment, I felt Daria and I were kindred spirits.
Then there was my third worry, which was I had no idea who this guy was. I was pretty sure Skylar was still dating Scott, but I supposed it was possible I’d missed the memo on their break-up. It wasn’t like she really discussed her relationships with me, or the rest of the family for that matter, and she did seem to have a habit of ditching guys after dating them for about a month.
Was Scott’s month up already? I hadn’t thought they’d started dating until after school started, so by my estimation he should have had another two to three weeks before he got the ax, which I kind of thought that was a shame because he was probably the most decent guy she had brought home in a while. He didn’t have any holes in his face or any obvious physical markings of a juvenile delinquent, so Dad didn’t seem to mind him when he came over for dinner occasionally. Maybe that was it, though. Skylar was probably still pissed off about having to hide her eyebrow piercing and thought she’d rebel by not dating anyone our father would approve of.
But, no, that couldn’t be it because this guy appeared normal enough. He was slouched at the far end of the couch. A kelly green
t-shirt stretched across hunched shoulders, and his seemingly endless long, jean covered legs were sprawled in that careless guy way that girls could never sit if they wanted to be considered respectable. His long fingers were twisting together in front of him, as if they were searching for a way to keep busy.
The only thing that immediately stuck out about him was his hair. It was so dark in contrast to his fair skin, but the sun shined through the window just behind him and picked up the faintest hint of blue highlights. On a girl, I would have immediately guessed it was dy
ed, but the messy, shaggy I-don’t-feel-like-getting-a-hair-cut way he wore his hair made me almost certain this guy could not possibly care less about styling, let alone dying, his hair.
Though his head was tilted down, I could still see his high cheekbones and, what I had heard described in books many times over as a, chiseled jaw. Even without seeing his face full on, I knew he was hot, and I was suddenly thankful for his apparent study of his black Chuck Taylor’s, because I felt my face grow hot as I realized I’d been staring at him.
By Skylar’s standards that was probably considered bothersome. I was torn between whether or not I should be polite and say hello or simply get my book and flee. I was sure Skylar would prefer the latter, but it would probably make me look even more freakish and incredibly rude, so as I strode across the room and over to the magazine rack, I pasted a smile on my face and said, “Hello.”
He jumped slightly, as if he hadn’t realized I was there, but he covered it up quickly as he straightened in his seat, displaying a long torso as well as an illustration of a Nintendo game cartridge with the words “Blow Me” underneath on the front of his shirt. I bit back an amused smile.
“Hey,” he replied, as his eyes, an odd combination of browns, greens and flecks of gold, flickered down to my hands. Then his full, pink mouth spread into what could only be described as a breathtaking smile. “Is that The Perks of Being a Wallflower?”
Like an idiot, I looked down at the book. It wasn’t as if I really needed to check. I knew it was, but I was surprised he knew the book. I looked back up and nodded.
“It’s a good book,” he commented.
“I know,” I replied. Then I wanted to open my mouth and insert my foot. I know? What kind of answer was that? Now it sounded like I was trying to be a smart aleck. I felt my face grow hot again and I tried not to grimace at myself. I hated when Mom made those kinds of faces. She always looked like she was constipated, and the last thing I wanted was for this hot guy to think I needed to, but couldn’t, poop.
I took a deep breath and tried to redeem myself. “I mean, it is a good book. I’ve read it a lot of times. It’s one of my favorites.”
The guy smiled, taking my breath away yet again. “Then I guess I didn’t need to tell you it was good,” he replied. “I’m Jackson, by the way.”
“I’m Silly,” I said without thinking.
The confused look that crossed Jackson’s face made me realize he probably thought I was saying, “I’m silly.” With a name like mine, introductions could be awkward, so I quickly clarified, “It’s short for Cecilia.”
“Oh,” he nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too,” I replied just as Skylar entered the room, carrying a glass in each hand, with Scott trailing behind her, nursing his own drink.
“Hey Silly,” Scott said.
“Hi,” I replied as Skylar looked me over before turning to Jackson and handing him a drink.
“I hope my sister wasn’t bothering you,” she commented as she sat down on the loveseat next to Scott.
Jackson shook his head. “Nah, not at all. Actually, I was probably the one bothering her.”
“Oh.” Skylar seemed surprised by that statement, but her eyes landed on me, and they held a hint of annoyance—probably because Jackson hadn’t given her a reason to bitch at me later, but she shrugged, as if to say, “Well, okay then,” as she snuggled up to Scott.
I rolled my eyes as I backed out of the living room without another word. I felt sincerely sorry for Jackson if he had to sit there and watch my sister and Scott cuddle.
I hated public displays of affection. I mean, handholding and a peck or two on the lips wasn’t so bad, but getting all cuddly in front of people like that just seemed rude. I thought it was especially wrong to do it in front of your family. Of course, there was worse. Seeing a tongue down my sister’s throat or my brother’s hand inching up a girl’s shirt was beyond disturbing. I suspected I would probably need a lot of therapy when I was older.
After making a quick exit, I went back upstairs and grabbed a hoodie from my room. Even though the sun was shining, I was sure it was a little chilly outside. Then I went back downstairs and snuck past the entrance to the living room and made my exit through the back door, which was through the utility room. I considered the utility room Mom’s favorite room of the house. Oddly, she seems to enjoy doing laundry. She actually smiled while she matched socks. And, again, I’m supposed to be the weird one?
I crossed the yard and smiled as the cool breeze rushed over my face, causing my hair to blow behind me in the wind. I loved fall. It was just such a pretty season. The leaves turned colors and started to fall from the trees, and they littered the ground with their rich hues. It just made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
When I was little I used to love to play in the leaves. I could stay outside for hours, throwing leaves and jumping in them. I would wear myself out before I came inside. Mom usually made me go take a bath because I’d be filthy, but then she’d make me a steaming cup of hot chocolate. I believed hot chocolate was, aside from super yummy, good for the soul.
Unfortunately, it was still so early in the fall that the leaves were still on the trees. Only a few had fallen and they crunched under my feet as I made my way to the oak tree. I liked to call it my reading tree. As long as I had a good book (or two), I could spend hours beneath it. Once, when I was younger, I snuck out in the middle of the night with a flashlight, my book and a blanket and curled up at the base of the tree and tried to read. It didn’t work out so well. I wound up with a cramp in my wrist from holding the flashlight, and I got kind of scared out there all alone. I never tried that again, but it was still a fun adventure. The best part, though, was that I didn’t get caught.
I noticed a long time ago that a clump of roots that had come up from beneath the surface looked like a little seat. I’d sat down, and it was a perfect fit. It had been my reading seat ever since. I sat there now, but the fit wasn’t quite so perfect these days. My butt was starting to get a little big for it, but I didn’t mind too much. A pillow to sit on probably would have helped, but I hadn’t thought to bring one. Besides, sneaking it past Mom wouldn’t be easy. She could be a little touchy about her linens getting dirty, and she was sure to notice dirt or grass stains when she washed them.
Before I could shut out the thought I wondered what Mom must think about Luke making a mess on his sheets when he was trying to rid himself of the pent up sexual frustration Skylar accused him of having. I felt nauseated for a moment as I tried to banish the disturbing notion from my mind.
Clearing all thoughts—and nausea—from my head, I smoothed my hand over the cover before opening the book. I basked in the scent of the paper. I found it soothing. Opening a book felt like entering the doorway to a new world, which was why I was so fond of my books.
Even though my room was somewhat a mess, I tried to take great care of my books. The bookshelf in my room was starting to look stuffed and overgrown, but they were all placed carefully, so as not to cause any damage to any of them. Mom had suggested I get rid of some of them to remove some of the clutter, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I had a special bond with each book. Not only did they hold great adventures and new worlds, I felt like each book held different memories. Every time I’d open a book, I could not only remember things that were going on in my life the last time I read it, I also added new memories each time I came back to read it.
I knew the next time I read The Perks of Being a Wallflower, I would remember making an idiot out of myself in front of Jackson. Of course, that wasn’t much of a surprise because I always seemed to spaz out when it came to the opposite sex. It was even worse when the guy was particularly good looking, as was the case with Jackson. I thought it was unfortunate that Jackson wasn’t ugly because then I probably could have talked his ear off about the book.
I didn’t necessarily consider myself shy around guys. I just had the awful tendency to stick my foot in my mouth and say
all the wrong things. I was convinced that Skylar took all of the genes that pertained to dealing with the opposite sex. It was because of this, and my Foot In Mouth Syndrome, that I’d never had a boyfriend. Heck, I’d never even had a friend that was a boy.
It wasn’t something I fret over that much. I just kept telling myself that I’d meet someone eventually. Mostly likely after I finally got some breasts. Assuming God decided to give them to me.
According to Tegan, though, the whole “going out” thing was totally overrated anyway. Of course she would say that since she’d actually had a boyfriend, and probably because she wouldn’t want me to feel like I was missing out.
She’d had two boyfriends, Craig and Alex, to be more accurate. They were both very good looking, but they were also jerks, in my opinion. They both liked to talk about themselves a lot, or they’d make rude comments or would act all bossy. When she was with each of them, I asked Tegan why she didn’t dump them. Her answer was that they were really good kissers. I was of the opinion that, if it were I, their kisses would have to be orgasmic in order for me to put up with any of their macho bullshit. Even then, I wasn’t so sure. After all, as Cosmo often pointed out, a guy wasn’t necessary to an orgasm.
Tegan broke things off with Alex when he tried to stick his hand down her pants, and she found out that Craig got a blowjob from a slutty girl in our class named Tara. Once Tegan got over the initial distress of being cheated on, she and I started referring to Tara as Blow Job Betty, or, if we’re in the company of others, just Betty for short.
Apparently, there were a lot of Betties in our class, though. I’d heard stories about things that went on at parties, and, frankly, it was kind of scary. I’d never even kissed a guy, and I was also a little leery about letting a guy put his tongue in my mouth, so the idea of putting other parts of his anatomy in my mouth just grossed me out.
Tierney had claimed it wasn’t that bad, but before I could ask any more questions Tegan had put her hands over her ears and started saying, “la la la I don’t want to hear this.”
Infinite (Strange and Beautiful, Book 1) Page 4