“You look fine. Plus, I could never really tell if you were flushed. Your orange-peach blush overpowers any visible increase in blood circulation,” Nia said with a smile. She loved to tease Cindy.
Jason stood with the popular students at the basketball lockers discussing the basketball game they had played the night before. Nia and Cindy walked past to go to their lockers located two social classes down the hallway.
Jason tapped Nia on the shoulder. “Where should I meet you to start the project?” Jason asked, looking directly into Nia’s eyes. Nia stared at him, surprised his kind could even make eye contact. But, to ease her disbelief, she resolved that his interest was purely to see if she dug him. After all, every other girl in school did. Even Cindy would’ve dated him in a heartbeat—if he asked her out, that is. Cindy only dated guys who liked her first.
“Why don’t we meet at the library?” Nia said.
“Which one?” Jason asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Really?”
“What?”
“We can meet at my house. My little brother might get in the way a little, though. He bounces off the walls,” Jason said.
“Uh … I guess we could meet …” Nia said.
“You a have suggestion.” Jason was surprised.
“We can meet at my house,” Nia said reluctantly.
“Where do you live?” Jason asked anxiously.
Nia shot him a concerned gaze. She was one of the prettiest girls in school. He was sure. “You better not be some type of stalker or anything,” she said in a semi-serious, semi-cute voice, so as not to come off as a narcissist. Narcissism annoyed Nia to the core. How could someone really be consumed with just themselves when there were so many other things in the world to be concerned with that could actually benefit people, animals, or the environment? Jason opened his five-subject spiral notebook to pages completely filled with actual notes and diagrams. He quickly flipped to a blank page in the back.
“Write it down here. I can be there at 3:30 after the team meeting,” he said.
Too much information, Nia thought to herself. “Okay,” she said.
Jason and his basketball buddies watched Nia walk away.
“She’s so stuck up, yo,” said Derek, a tall, blond jock in a basketball team anorak.
“You’re just hatin’ cause she’s not checkin’ you,” Jason said.
Derek’s glamorous girlfriend and her junior class clique walked up to the basketball players. These girls were fiercely exotic.
“I know what you’re thinkin’. It’s not worth it,” Derek said.
“Oh, you work for the psychic network now?” Jason said.
“Yo, wasn’t she Craig’s girl like a minute ago?” Derek asked.
Jason shrugged, wondering how Nia could’ve dated Craig. He wasn’t sure if it was just him or what, but it seemed like Craig could only string together one thought per conversation. “And?”
“Word was that she thought she was all that and then, boom! He dumped her for Michelle.” Derek and Craig looked at each other and cringed. Seemed like every dude knew Michelle was mean as hell—except Craig.
“Aye, you start the game on Saturday?” Vala, Derek’s girlfriend’s friend, asked Jason in a British accent. Jason turned slowly at the sound of her foreign-sounding voice to find a petite, curly-haired female beauty standing in his personal space.
“Yeah,” he said casually.
“Then I’ll be there.” Vala smiled.
“Word. Where are you going to sit?” Jason asked.
“Behind you, of course! Do you want to know what I’m going to wear?”
There was that accent again, reeling him in. Vala whispered her under attire in Jason’s ear.
“So, that’s what’s up?”
Vala nodded. “Might you find out what I can do in those?” Vala asked.
Derek pulled away from the public makeout session with his girlfriend. “Let’s grab grub y’all.” The basketball team cheered. They moved down the hall in one large herd, like hyenas—insecure and degradingly silly, yet, underneath it all, somehow fierce on the social scene.
Vala grabbed Jason’s hand, looking for a little lunch play.
“Let’s skip lunch,” she said as she led him down the hall toward the girl’s bathroom.
Vala jumped on Jason, and kissed him in the middle of the hallway. Jason’s etched muscles contracted to hold her up. He was a fine specimen of a senior indeed.
“What is this I see?” Mr. Sui yelled from the east side of the hallway. Jason immediately stopped kissing Vala. Mr. Sui moved like a king cobra down the hall in his polished, black-leather shoes. Jason dropped Vala. She quickly landed on her feet.
“Stop right there!” Mr. Sui sternly said as he approached. “This is not proper conduct for students in or out of school. This may be a time when hormones are raging, but you must conduct yourselves with discretion at the least. You should act with reservation and respect yourself!” Mr. Sui said in shock over Jason’s behavior and unaware of Vala, which made the situation even worse because that meant she was an underclassman. “What happened to respect?”
“Technology,” Vala replied smartly. Jason rolled his eyes at the embarrassing speech from his current teacher and Vala’s antagonizing behavior. He directed his focus to the wall.
“In the Internet age, anything goes.” Vala stared Mr. Sui in the eyes, unafraid of his whole parental control act.
“I will see to it that you both break this up and walk in different directions. You walk down this hall and you down this other way. Get to class.” Jason and Vala looked at each other, unsure of what to do or say. In the midst of their awkward moment, Mr. Sui shouted, “Now!”
Damaged would describe the way I feel, literally and figuratively. By weeding out all the loser guys and waiting for the right one to really love, you think you’re avoiding becoming one of those jaded girls—the girls who are cynical about love. They can’t trust anyone. They think every move the opposite sex makes is just for the purpose of humiliating or hurting them for sport. Yet, somehow, I ended up becoming wreckage. I’m just what is left of a girl who used to believe in love.
Forever,
Nia
Chapter 1
The doorbell rang. I could feel my heart start beating in double time. I need to get a life! The entertainment was here. I looked at him through the peephole. He appropriately had a swelled head through the tiny looking glass. I was hasty with opening the door. God, every bone in my body wanted to hate him.
“Hey,” Jason said. I tilted my head all until I caught myself gawking at him like he was a science project. “Going to invite me in?” he asked.
“The door is open … isn’t it?” I said. He stared at me blankly. “Come in,” I said.
Duh! This guy definitely has some screws loose. “I’ve been thinking about the project,” I continued. He turned and looked at me in shock. “No, really, I’ve been thinking about the school project,” I said. He nodded his head like he understood me. Girls usually spoke in code to boys like Jason. When they said “doing” a project they usually meant “doing” him. Kind of gross in a feminist kind of way. I guess he thought I was lying. Women are smart, not sex objects. We’re not like guys, who think about sex every five minutes. Of course, at times it seemed that no one had clued in the girls at my school about such characteristics.
“Right. I just wonder how dumb you think I am. I know I’m here for the school project. I got it, loud and clear,” he said flatly.
A tiny part of me was disappointed. So there was nothing between us? I didn’t want him, but I wanted him to want me, at least in light of our history. It was hard to admit there were some things I couldn’t control. Being around him brought back this good feeling I used to get when I had a boyfriend. Part of me liked to stand next to a boy in all of my five-nine stature and look up at him, knowing that he dug me.
Oh, and there was the fact that at the end of sophomore year we kind of talked in between a v
ery, very sloppy, back-of-the-staircase kiss. He never called me that summer. The next semester, I walked passed him like I never knew him. Even Cindy didn’t know about that. We became best friends junior year. We had a rule about secrets: If it was a secret before we met, we kept it that way, but if it was a secret after we met we were obliged to dish.
He waited for me to walk through the entrance of our Art Deco dining room. I cut my eyes. That courteous crap wasn’t going to fly with me. He caught a glimpse of the elaborate marble chess set in the living room. I could see he wanted to ask me something. He almost put his hand on top of mine when I reached for the chair.
“I’ve got it,” I said. I pulled out my chair and sat down. He watched. I made sure I caught his eye when he sat down right next to me. What the hell did he think he was doing?
“What are you doing?” I lashed out at him. Who said he could sit down right next to me? He should have sat far away, like across the table. If we were going to get this project done, we needed to go over a few things. He didn’t even answer me, he just sat down. But I never guessed he would bring it up.
“I lost your number. I … I thought you were pretty and stuff. …”
Wait a minute. He thought I was pretty even when I had full cheek acne, although I did have a mean blowdry and fly ’70s flip bangs. I couldn’t believe I was becoming one of those superficial girls I disdained just to prove I was too fly for him. By the way, I haven’t used the word “fly” this much since sixth grade. This was going nowhere but down.
“Save it. It’s just fine. We’re seniors. That was a long time ago,” I said.
I could see in his eyes he didn’t believe me. “The economy is in a recession, an undiagnosed recession. That’s a hot topic,” I said.
“Nia, I’m not trying to get you back,” he said.
My mouth dropped. It was like a slap in the face. “We weren’t even dating!” I yelled.
“I just want you to know what happened. I would never not call a girl. Especially one like you. … Look, I lost your number in my locker or something the day of my last final. I just couldn’t find it. I called everyone I knew, but apparently you weren’t social—at least that’s what one of my boys said.”
Jason wanted to say who said it. I could see it in his face. Was he blaming me for him not calling me? Can we say arrogant?!
“So it would have been better for several other boys at school to have my number? Hmm. What kind of girls do you deal with?”
Jason shook his head. “Nah, it’s not like that. That was rude. I’m sorry.”
“So what ideas do you have for the project? Me being a social recluse and all, I don’t get out much. But I do fill up on CNBC. What’s your source? Sports Illustrated?” I said.
“I didn’t think of any on the way here,” he said, disappointed that his lack of a topic suggestion proved me right, that he was behind the ball.
My eyes searched his face. I had promised myself I wouldn’t be a jaded cliché. You know, girl’s boyfriend breaks up with her, and girl hates all boys. He was looking at me but not the way I wanted him to. “I was wrong,” I said.
“That was big of you.”
Now I was the one who was shocked. That was something I would totally say. I laughed lightly under my breath.
“Um … I’ll do some research on the current economic conditions. … Gas prices, retail sales, stock market points,” Jason said.
“I’ll check into real estate prices, analyst opinions, and federal reserve interest rate news,” I said.
He was taking detailed notes. He looked at me, then down at my hands, as if he expected me to do the same.
“Let’s say we’ll collect one year’s worth of research,” I added.
“All right.” He sighed as if he was relieved. “I’ll do some tonight.”
“Me, too,” I said. I pushed my chair back, and he flew out of his seat. He pulled my seat out a little more.
“I got it,” he said.
“It’s already out.”
He held his hand out.
“I can get out of my seat by myself. This isn’t 1890.”
Yet again he looked at me, disappointed.
“But thank you.”
How could this guy make me feel so … so unnecessarily sarcastic? The problem with knowing you’re being sarcastic is feeling like you’re missing out on his reaction if you’d been nice. It’s a good thing I didn’t have to admit these feelings to anyone out loud. He trailed just three steps behind me all the way to the front door.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I’m not inviting myself. Um, but I will be here tomorrow, if that’s the plan,” he said.
So I wasn’t the only one feeling like she was under a microscope. I turned to him, and he kept moving toward me. Before I knew it, he was all up in my area.
I confess. It took all the strength I had to reach for the door at that moment. He put his hands out in between us like he didn’t want us to touch or to run into each other. “Uh, sorry. You just stopped.”
“Am I to blame for everything?” I asked.
He just shook his head and smiled. “Later.”
He touched my shoulder like I was a football buddy, then my blood started to boil. Wait, that’s basketball buddy. It’s all coming back to me. I remembered why exactly I hated his type and why I should not get excited at the sentiment of his touch even if it was masked as a chummy goodbye. I slowly slid his hand off my shoulder. I didn’t want to accuse him of wanting me again. At this point, who cared?
“Goodbye.” I closed the door behind him. Too bad that wasn’t the last of him.
Less than a minute later, my mother strolled in like the happy camper she usually was. My mother was one of those moms that your boyfriend hoped you’d look like twenty years later, if you were still together. She was elegant, fashionable, and sophisticated. She was like a young Diahann Carroll.
“So I see someone has a new boyfriend,” she said.
Did I mention she was a lawyer and that, at times, she tactlessly got right down to the nitty-gritty? “What were you doing home alone?” Note to self: Next time Jason comes over for homework, make sure to dress like it’s a homework date, i.e., sweats and a ponytail. Did I just say date? Great! As long as I didn’t say it out loud.
I signed in at Tracebook online. I had a friend from my internship last summer—well, it was more like a volunteer-type, candy-striping gig, but around college application time, we seniors have to get a little creative with our extracurricular activities. She was more like me than anyone at school. I had to check to see if she was online. She would get this whole Jason thing. I took a momentary pause to acknowledge the fact that merely getting on Tracebook to talk was admitting that there was a “thing” going on with Jason. It was like a bad chemical reaction, however those were usually followed by some sort of rash or patchy skin thing—yuck. If I could associate kissing him with that rash, then all would be well.
My mom snuck up behind me. “Nee, you wouldn’t believe it. The screen on my laptop went out today. Kelly, my new assistant, was setting up for a client meeting, when, boom, it was out. Luckily, we had borrowed the newbie’s laptop for the presentation. His was brand-new. So where’s your BFF? That is what you’re calling your best friends these days, true … or false?” she said.
“Only if we’re on a first-name basis, Susan.”
“Oh, honey, don’t call me that. There is only one person in the world that gets to call me Mom. It’s special.”
That’s also what she told me about my virginity. The “It’s special” line was multi-purpose. I now see.
My mom searched through her mail like there was a letter bomb in there. She carefully examined each piece by throwing it around with a pen before she even picked it up. That’s what too many forensic crime shows amount to these days: being petrified of your own mail. We all have our compulsions. I wash my hands with that antibacterial stuff in a tube after I touch money, doorknobs, and
anything on the public transit system.
Gary66? Who the heck was that?
“hey, remember me from last year? we sat in the back of English together. i searched your name, and this profile popped up so i thought it must be Amber,” Gary66 said on instant message.
First off, I don’t even know anyone who sends instant messages with all lowercase except for the words English and Amber.
“He’s cute. What’s his name?” my mom asked.
“Who?”
“The guy who just left the house.” She knew I knew who she meant.
“Jason.” I wasn’t looking at her, but from the lack of response, I would say her mouth had just dropped.
“Hmmm. I guess you finally got some answers out of him,” she said.
“How petty. Though he did explain himself. And, yeah, some girls think he’s cute. But he’s …” It was hard to sum him up in just one word. My voice trailed off as I turned my attention to Gary66’s next message.
“what the deal? u there. says you’re online.”
“Hello, Gary66. No, I am not Amber and no I do not know an Amber. Do not instant message me,” I replied.
Man, this was turning out to be some kind of day. Some days I could actually be sweet, or so I’ve been told.
“sorry, who ruined your day? sounds like a guy did it. i know cause that’s usually how the story goes. boy breaks girl’s heart and, well, girl gets bitter.”
“I am blocking you now. Guess I wear bitter well,” I answered back.
Who the hell did Gary66 think he was? All of a sudden, I was supposed to confess? IHD (in his dreams)—if we’re talking in alleged text messaging talk. I’ve watched one too many cell phone commercials. Now I think I can make up my own text acronyms.
Just as I turned away from the computer screen, I saw her do it. She moved her knight to kill my castle. Then my mom smugly left the living room. I bet she thought she was a genius when she was growing up. My mom was way too humble to admit it, but every once in a while I caught a glimpse of her smug nature and just wondered … did I crush all that? I moved my queen to take her knight.
“Check,” I said. My mom ducked her head into the living room. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye like I was a guilty defendant under questioning.
Cameo Page 2