My Deliberate Mistake

by Claire Svendsen

  Something rustles in the bushes. I freeze. I know I should run but I can't seem to make my legs move. Run, damn it run, I scream inside my head.

  “Yeah, run,” Julia laughs as Noah appears from the undergrowth.

  Today he has on a red plaid shirt and he's holding two cups of coffee.

  “You scared me half to death,” I say.

  “Sorry. Who did you think it was, the boogeyman?”

  “Very funny. I don't know who's lurking around out here, do I?”

  “Truce?” He holds out one of the cups.

  I'm still not ready to forgive him but for coffee I'll put on a nice face and pretend.

  “Sure.”

  The coffee is good. Hot. Sweet. Just how I like it. For a few moments only the sound of crickets breaks the awkward silence.

  “So did you sleep well?” he finally asks.

  “About as well as could be expected.”

  “Really? Who’s your roommate?”

  “Norma.”

  “No way,” he laughs. “You got the dude?”

  “The dude?”

  He leans in closer like he's telling me some big secret. “Everyone thinks Norma is really Norman. Be careful he doesn't murder you in your sleep or something.”

  “You think Norma is a guy?”

  “Yeah,” he laughs, spilling his coffee. “I can't believe you got stuck with the dude. Norman Bates.”

  I want to punch him in the face. I don't care if Norma is a girl or a guy but I know what it's like to be bullied and it sucks. I feel a great affinity for the hulking Norma who snored all night and nearly suffocated me with her sagging mattress, and make a mental note to be nicer to her.

  I start to walk away, leaving Noah drinking his coffee. The taste of mine is bitter in my mouth. A traitor’s coffee.

  12.

  The first class is Introduction to Oils. I don't exactly need an introduction. I’ve been using them since I was twelve and was shipped off to art camp but I sit quietly and listen as Mr. Holt stands at the front of the room and addresses us. He seems like a nice man, mid-fifties I'm guessing though I’m horrible at ages. His blue polo shirt is tucked into neatly pressed khaki pants. There isn't a spot of paint on him. I'm guessing he's the reserved artist type not the splash it everywhere and see what sticks type.

  “This is going to be an informal class,” he says.

  His voice is high and squeaky. If I have to listen to him all morning, I’ll end up with a migraine for sure.

  “I know most of you have met all ready but everyone please stand and tell us your name, a little about yourself and why you are here.”

  Great. Why does every teacher want to do this share and care shit? I don't want people to know a little about me. In fact I don’t want people to know anything about me and we all know why we’re here. Looking around the room I can tell at least half the kids need the scholarship as much as I do. The rest? They just look bored. Entitled wannabe artists who probably think this will look good on their college application. No one volunteers to be the first to stand. I'm hardly surprised.

  “You.”

  My heart skips a beat as he points to the table I'm sitting at but his gaze falls on Norma. My heart falls. Poor Norma. I feel bad for her but I don't volunteer to throw myself in front of the bus for her. She points her finger at her chest.

  “Me?” her voice quivers.

  Someone in the back whispers 'Norman' and a ripple of laughter splashes through the room.

  “Yes. You. Come on now. Name. Rank. Number. It's not that hard people. I'm not asking you to bleed for me here.”

  He might as well have been. Norma stands, her legs trembling.

  “My name is Norma,” she says.

  “Norman,” a guy shouts louder from the back of the room.

  “Settle down back there,” Mr. Holt says. “I said this class was going to be informal, not out of control. Start something here and you'll find yourself on the first bus back home with no college credit and a black mark on your record. Got it?”

  No one says anything. I'm glad Mr. Holt isn't taking any bullshit.

  “My name is Norma,” she says again as though if she says it enough times everyone will believe her. “I'm from Pensacola, Florida and I'm here because,” her voice falters. “I'm here because I really need a scholarship.”

  She collapses back into her seat with a sigh of relief. I squeeze her hand encouragingly under the table. Norma may be many things but at least she's honest about why she is here.

  When it's my turn, I smile at Mr. Holt and spout out the bullshit I've been rehearsing in my head.

  “Hi. My Name is Ana. I'm from Georgia and I'm here for the scholarship too.”

  No one laughs. No one smiles. No one cares. At least now we can get on with our work, only the rest of the morning is spent with Mr. Holt painstakingly going over brush technique and paint application. It's boring and stupid and I can’t see why we're being lectured like children.

  The glint of the lake catches my eye as he drones on about color palettes. It shines like the sun on a mirror, leaving a blind spot in my vision. I close my eyes but I can still see it there, burnt onto my retina like a cruel brand.

  “Am I boring you Ana?” Mr. Holt breaks his droning as he catches my lapse in attention.

  Be honest or lie? Honesty wins out, probably because I'm tired and hungry.

  “Actually, yes,” I say. “When are we going to get to paint already?”

  As soon as I’ve said it, I regret it. Great, I’m going to be the first one sent home with the bus ticket he threatened us with. But instead of screaming at me to get out, Mr. Holt looks around the room at our bored faces.

  “Is that the general consensus? You'd all rather just get on with it?”

  Inspired by my insubordination there is a rouse of 'hell yeah' and 'damn straight' from everyone.

  Mr. Holt shrugs, then throws his arms wide. “Alright. Have at it.”

  There's not much time left until lunch but I don’t care. I'm so happy to have something to think about other than the lake. I squeeze dark oils onto my palette and begin slathering them onto the canvas.

  “Don't forget,” Mr. Holt says. “Let your personality shine through your art. This isn't about structure and rules. This is about letting go.”

  “You could have fooled me,” Norma whispers. “The way he went on about high tensile brushes, I thought the guy was going to have an orgasm right there. He sure has a hard on for the brushes.”

  “I know,” I say.

  I see Emily looking at me out of the corner of her eye, brush held high like a cigarette. She's got yellow paint on her canvas. How cheery and sweet. She smiles apologetically like she's sorry I've been stuck with Norma. I send back a sarcastic smile that I can see she accepts as a real one.

  “I’ll see you at lunch,” she mouths.

  Whatever. I know she was one of the kids calling Norma out at the start of class. Her phony smiles and fake friendship don't fool me. By the time Mr. Holt calls brushes down, I've got almost the whole canvas covered in a wash of navy blue and deep purple.

  “After lunch you'll be visiting Mrs. Brown for your drawing class so just leave your canvases where they are and we'll pick it back up tomorrow. It will give the paint a chance to dry and I'll have a look and see if any of you possess any actual talent.”

  I stare at my canvas. It’s nothing but a messy swirl of colors. Then I look over at Norma's and see she's started to paint the lake. My blood runs cold. I don't need this shit. I've come here to get away not get bogged down in the past. I don't want to remember or be reminded. Of all the things she could have picked to paint, why did it have to be that? I've turned my chair so I'm facing away from the window but as everyone bustles about cleaning up their stuff, I steal a glance over my left shoulder. The lake still glints with steely brightness, winking at me like it knows my secret. I shut my eyes and turn away.

  13.

  Emily drones on and on about changing rooms w
hile stuffing a ham sandwich into her mouth. She says the room assignments are supposed to be same sex and she's worried that Norma might rape me in my sleep.

  “I'm a very light sleeper,” I say, irritated. “In fact I hardly sleep at all so it’s not exactly a problem.”

  “But don't you care that you’re rooming with a guy who thinks he's a girl?”

  “To be honest Emily, I couldn’t really give a flying fuck.”

  The smile slides straight off her face and into her zero calorie fruit drink that has no actual fruit in it. I think this is one potential friendship I’ve just sabotaged for good.

  “Well, fine then. That’s just fine but don’t come running to me when you’re knocked up with some freaks baby.”

  “Get a life Emily,” I shout.

  Everyone looks at us including Norma, who turns red and buries her face in a handful of chips and Noah, who smiles sadly at me. Fuck this shit. This is worse than the nut house. At least everyone there isn’t afraid of who they are. They don’t hide behind fake smiles and bullshit.

  I’m about to storm out of the kitchen when my heart jumps into my throat. There he is. Fixing a sandwich in those sexy, clay stained overalls. Mark. I open my mouth to say something, try and catch his attention when I see him put his hand on another girl’s shoulder. She’s standing next to him, smiling as she talks. Laughing at something he says in reply. My heart slides all the way down my throat and lands in the pit of my stomach. I stare down at my uneaten sandwich. Everything around me sounds muffled. Everything except Julia.

  “What did you expect? That he only had eyes for you? Did you think you were special?”

  I’m about to actually vomit for real when Norma nudges me. I look up to see Mark standing there, a cheerful smile on his face.

  “Ana, did you get settled in okay?”

  He stands there waiting expectantly for an answer. Acting like he’s just welcoming the new girl, not staring at the person he had his finger inside last night. Everyone at our table is looking at me. Probably wondering why I’m being singled out by the only seriously hot guy around for miles but I can’t speak. My eyes slide past his chiseled jaw to the girl who has trailed behind him. The one he had his hand on. I know it’s not rational to care. I don’t own him. I let him get me off. So what? But I do care and it scares me.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  I run from the room.

  14.

  I’ve blown it with Mark. Whatever we had. Whatever that was. I’m pretty sure it’s never going to happen again. The delicious daydream I had in the shower this morning? Crushed. I know what guys need. I give them that. They get the sexy, naked me who’ll let them do whatever they want and won’t give them any grief when they don’t call the next day. They get to have a good time and I get to forget. And anyway, why should guys have all the fun? Is it wrong for a girl to want to get laid with no strings attached? I could have had that with Mark but for some reason my stupid heart had to pick that exact moment to splutter to life. Now I’ve blown it. Those hands, the ones that molded my body into the most mind blowing orgasm I’ve ever had, are never going to touch me again.

  I slip outside where the heat and storms are building like yesterday. I lean back against the warm brick wall and wish the building would swallow me whole. I’m stuck in a nightmare.

  “Having fun yet?”

  It's Noah. He's followed me and is standing in the doorway, the cold rush from the air conditioning sending a sharp chill around my ankles.

  “How can you stand it?” I say.

  “Stand what?” He looks worried. Like he’s afraid I might flip out again or something.

  “Forget it,” I say.

  He steps closer and I smell his cologne. Musky and masculine, it reminds me of someone but I'm not sure who. I look at him and wish I felt more. At the train station I thought my feelings for Noah might have been the first stirrings of something real but I was wrong. That was desperation. The desperate need to be accepted, aligning myself with someone who could protect me. What I felt with Mark? Oh God, that was something else entirely.

  “Want to go for a walk?” he says.

  I think of the lake. Then I think of puking again.

  “No thanks.”

  “What, you don't like me today? I have a truck remember? I can get you out of here at a moment’s notice.”

  “My shinning knight in armor?” I can’t help but tease him.

  “Hardly but I do like the sound of that.”

  He leans against the wall, standing so close to me that we are almost touching. There is something so comforting about him. He’s like an old teddy bear. I almost rest my head on his shoulder but stop myself just in time. I can’t do that to him. It’s not fair.

  “You should sleep with him,” Julia chirps up. “It will take your mind off Mark. At least this one wants you.”

  Her words sting, just like I know she intended. I want to scream out that Mark might still want me but the vision of him placing his hand on that girl’s shoulder runs over and over in my mind on a loop. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut but it doesn’t erase what I saw. Thunder rumbles in the distance as I open my eyes. Noah is still staring at me with this sweet sappy look on his face like he wants to take care of me.

  “Another storm.”

  I point to the clouds on the horizon, hoping to draw his eyes away from my face for one second.

  “Yeah.”

  And then, despite myself, my head is on his shoulder and I'm inhaling the scent of him with my head back and eyes closed.

  “Kiss him. You have to kiss him. He wants you to.”

  Shut up. Can't I have just one thing to myself? Do I need a damn soundtrack running in my head while I’m kissing a guy? If you don't shut up, I won't kiss him. Do you hear me?

  “He wants to fuck you. He's getting hard right now while you're leaning against him. He wants to pull down your pants and take you right here against this brick wall.”

  Julia won't shut up. She’s driving me crazy. I want to jam a pencil in my ears and poke around until I stab her but I know it won’t do any good. She's not really in there. She’s everywhere.

  “Let’s go for that walk after all,” I say.

  “All right.”

  I can't tell if Noah is happy or relieved. Did he really want to fuck me up against the wall? From the look on his face I can’t tell. Julia is probably lying. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Where's Charlie?” I ask as we squeeze between azalea bushes taller than we are.

  “At home. They won't let me bring him when we have class. Besides, he'd just get bored. He'd much rather be home chasing the cows.”

  “You have cows?” I laugh.

  “Cows, horses, sure. Why is that funny?”

  “It’s not. Just you said you weren't a cowboy but you are.”

  He shrugs sheepishly. “I didn't want you thinking I was some bum cowboy hick. You didn't seem like you were too impressed with me.”

  “My first impressions of people are usually wrong.”

  He slips his hand into mine. I don’t try to stop him. It’s nice, like we’re two friends out for a stroll in the garden on a sunny day. I try to pretend we are even though I know Noah, with all his cowboy charm and good manners, wants more. More that now I’m afraid I won’t be able to give him because all I can think about is Mark. Kissing me. Touching me. Holding my hand instead of Noah who pulls me between palms and statues, taking me deeper into the garden where I’m afraid he might actually kiss me and because I’m a coward I’ll let him.

  “Where are the male statues?” I mumble but Noah doesn't answer.

  He tugs me through the overgrown wilderness, my hand clutched fast in his. Then suddenly we're running.

  “Keep up,” he calls out.

  I stumble and almost lose a shoe. Then we're tumbling down on the ground as I trip and take him with me. We laugh and he strokes a piece of stray hair out of my face. He's over me now with his sun-bleached hair
and sunburned face. I know what's going to happen and I’m powerless to stop him. I think a little part of me even wants it, longs for anything to erase the memory of the last lips who pressed against mine so I won’t want them anymore. I lean my head up as he comes down to kiss me. It's sweet and soft like he is. I drink him in but then he pulls away.

  I sit up. “What's wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He looks away. “We’re not supposed to get involved here. It's one of the rules.”

  I don’t tell him that I’ve already broken the rule, not only broken it but blown it to hell. Kissing Noah? Sleeping with Noah? That would be the least of my worries. If anyone found out what happened between me and Mark, then the shit would really hit the fan. So I pretend to be annoyed, even though part of me is glad he’s not going to push this relationship any further. I could use a friend. What I don’t need is another guy trying to get in my pants.

  “One of the rules?” I say. “Well, that's stupid.”

  “I know but it's a rule.”

  “You said that already. So what? You follow every rule?”

  “No,” he says.

  But I know that’s a lie. He's a rule following cowboy and I can tell that no matter how much he wants me, it's not going to happen. At least not here and now.

  I stand up and brush the dirt off my pants, relieved.

  “Well, I guess we'd better get back then. We don’t want to be late for class and we certainly don't want people thinking we've been out here breaking the rules.”