by Allie Gail
“I couldn’t care less about the house,” I inform him frankly. “Should I be worried about me is what I’m asking!”
Laughing, he shakes his head. “All I meant was that the house is well reinforced. Don’t worry. You’re safe here.”
“Can I get that in writing?” I mumble under my breath.
“We could always leave if it makes you feel better,” he offers, misunderstanding. “You’re more than welcome to come stay with me in Franklin.”
“I think I’d rather take my chances with Elliott.” I use my fork to poke at the syrupy remains of my french toast. “If the house is as secure as you say, then why are you still hanging around?”
“Let’s just say I like to protect my investments.” He’s eyeing me speculatively and I can’t help but wonder if there’s a double meaning behind those words.
I decide to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I never knew you had a younger sister. Well…stepsister, I mean.”
“I didn’t – not when you knew me. My parents divorced when I was fifteen, and my mom didn’t get remarried until two months after I graduated high school.”
I furrow my brow thoughtfully. “So you were in…what, tenth grade when your parents divorced?”
“It happened the summer before my sophomore year, yes.”
“Oh. Yeah, I remember you seemed different that year.”
His lips quirk up. “You noticed?”
“Everyone noticed,” I’m quick to point out.
“Mm. Well, things definitely did improve after Mom kicked my dad to the curb. I guess she finally got tired of supporting him. He wouldn’t work, just expected everyone to feel sorry for him and cater to him because he was an alcoholic. All he ever did was drink up her paychecks. He’d take money out of the bank account without telling her. We came close to losing our house because of him. I think that was the last straw.”
“Was he abusive?”
“No. He wasn’t abusive – not physically, anyway. The majority of the time he was…nothing. Mostly all he did was sit around watching TV or staring off into space, completely zoned out. He lived inside his own head. It’s like he didn’t care about anything in the real world, including us.”
How sad. Always having been a daddy’s girl myself, I can’t imagine having a father like that. “Do you have any kind of relationship with him?”
“Nope. I haven’t seen the man since she threw him out. I couldn’t tell you if he’s alive or dead.”
“What? You mean he never tried to contact you? His own son?”
“Not once. I’m telling you, if it wasn’t printed on the side of a liquor bottle, he wasn’t interested.”
“Unbelievable,” I breathe, my mind racing as I piece together fragments of memories. With this insight I’m starting to rescind the foregone conclusions I’d held about him when we were kids. The outdated clothes…the ratty sneakers…the hair that constantly needed cutting. He wasn’t merely a slob who didn’t care about his appearance. His family was poor and it wasn’t his fault.
Of course, before I start to feel too sorry for him I have to stop and remind myself that none of that had any bearing on the way he acted in the years after his parents got divorced.
10th grade
You wouldn’t think world history would be this boring.
Mr. Callahan is droning on and on about the Industrial Revolution in his slow, dull monotone and it’s all I can do to keep from falling asleep. My chin is propped in the palm of my hand and I’m balanced on one elbow struggling to keep my eyes open. Is it some kind of rule that teachers aren’t permitted to exhibit any kind of personality? I swear he sounds just like a turtle. That is, if turtles could talk. He even sort of looks like one.
I tune him out and let my eyes wander around the room, mentally evaluating some of the other students who look just as apathetic as me.
Elijah Hunt. Kinda cute, but a little on the weird side. Yesterday he asked me if he could borrow one of my shoes for five minutes. What’s up with that?
Amber Owens. Heard she and Jake Hoffman are dating. Wonder if that’s true?
Colton Wells. Big muscles, really buff and athletic. Totally conceited though. All he ever talks about is his weight training routine. News flash – nobody cares!
Tim Franklin. Ugh. Clearasil, anyone? His face has enough oil on it to be considered a fire hazard.
Brianna Lawson. I like that top she has on. I’ll have to ask her where she got it.
Zach Norris. He used to eat his boogers in elementary school and I don’t care if he turns out to be People magazine’s sexiest man of the year, I will never be able to look at him without remembering that. Sick!
Shane Becker.
Hm.
I’m not sure what happened exactly, but over the summer something must have drastically changed for him. He’s like a different person, the most obvious and conspicuous difference being that he now wears glasses. You’d think a guy like him would look dorky in glasses. But he doesn’t, he looks good actually. He’s also wearing nicer clothes now, new stuff that doesn’t look like castoffs from a flea market. His chestnut hair is trimmed and no longer an unruly mess, and surprisingly he seems to be doing a lot better in school. Could it be this whole time his eyesight was the problem?
I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Lately he’s got girls flocking around him like flies to honey. Stephanie has even confided to me that she thinks he’s hot. Well, maybe he is, but I’d never stoop so low as to admit it.
I also refuse to admit that he was right about Mark. That whole business last year was an eye-opener for me. I thought, as anyone would, that my neighbor from down the street was just being nice when he would see me walking to school and offer me a ride. That’s what neighbors do, right? And yes, I admit that maybe I was crushing on him just a bit. He was good-looking and took classes at the local community college and it was exhilarating to be seen driving around in a Mustang with a college guy. So sue me, I was naïve.
But asking me if I’d send him naked pictures of myself? Gross! I mean, it was just so unexpected. Out of the blue, he asks me that. Almost begging. I couldn’t believe it.
I think maybe that was the point where I realized that not all adults can be trusted. That’s kind of a sad discovery to make. It’s like the turning point from childhood to cold, harsh reality. I thought about telling my parents about it, but it was way too embarrassing. Now I just ignore Mark whenever I see him. He’s such a creep!
What’s weird is that Shane could see right through him when I couldn’t. And he didn’t even know anything about Mark. So does that make him smarter than me?
As if he senses me looking at him, he turns his head and catches my eye. To my surprise, he smiles. I hate to admit it, but Shane’s smile is…gorgeous.
I haven’t yet decided whether I want to return his smile when he starts scribbling something on a piece of notebook paper. Curious, I watch to see what he’s doing.
He holds up the piece of paper and my mouth drops open as I read what he’s scrawled.
Sent anyone to prison lately, Felony?
I give him the middle finger salute and turn my attention back to the thrilling history of the Industrial Revolution.
~ Chapter Ten ~
The store is packed, the checkout lines longer than I’ve ever seen them. Everyone is scrambling to stock up on groceries before the weather gets nasty. The harried employees are working at breakneck speed to restock the shelves that are just as quickly wiped clean.
I’m shoving cases of bottled water underneath the grocery cart when Melanie remarks out of the blue, “You never mentioned whether or not you’ve ever been married before.”
Straightening, I tell her, “Nope. Never been married. Never even come close.”
“Why not?”
Her blunt curiosity makes me smile. “I could ask you the same thing.”
She cocks her head to one side and studies me, but says nothing. I can’t help but wonder what she
sees when she looks at me like that. Whatever it is, I hope it isn’t the same thing she saw back in high school.
“I only intend to get married once,” I explain, relenting. “So when I do, I need to be one hundred percent certain that the woman I marry is also my best friend. The one I can see myself still madly in love with fifty years down the road. Does that answer your question?”
“Maybe you’re gay.”
For a minute I think she’s reverted to insulting me, but when she bites her lip to hide a smile I realize she’s just teasing.
Tossing a jar of peanut butter into the cart, I give her a reproachful look. “If you have any doubts regarding my sexuality, I would be more than happy to clear them up for you. Just say the word.”
She simply raises an eyebrow and pretends to be engrossed in selecting a box of granola bars from a sparse display. I'm still trying to figure out how I'm going to sneak a box of condoms in without her noticing. This was something I hadn't considered before asking her to come along. Me and my bright ideas.
Maybe I should just pick some up later.
“What made you decide to become a veterinarian?” she asks, ostensibly as a diversion. She has the most peculiar habit of bouncing from one topic to another.
“What made you decide to become a writer?” I counter.
“I like to write.”
Well. Ask a stupid question...
“I've known since I was a kid that's what I wanted to do,” I tell her with a shrug. “I've always been good with animals. They're a lot easier to figure out than people are.”
“That's ironic, coming from you.”
“What do you mean?”
She meets my gaze for a split second, then quickly looks away. “You're not exactly easy to figure out yourself.”
“You don't have to try and figure me out, angel. If there's anything you want to know, just ask. I have nothing to hide.”
“What did you just call me?” For some reason she suddenly seems tense.
“Angel. Why? What did you think I said?”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t like it. Don’t call me that. Ever.”
“Well, pardon me. Do you prefer Felony?”
She huffs a dry laugh. “Not particularly!”
“End of an era, huh?” I can't help but grin.
“Why did you stop wearing your glasses?”
And she's off again, flitting to another subject like a hummingbird with ADD.
“I got contacts.”
“Can you see without them?”
“I can see, yeah, but everything’s really fuzzy.”
“I thought the glasses looked nice.” Without waiting for a response, she wanders off down the aisle to grab a case of soda. I get the feeling she drinks a lot of that stuff.
Interesting. Melanie Lane just paid me a compliment. I’m thinking I should probably get my ears checked. Could be my hearing is as bad as my eyesight.
We’re done with the shopping and are searching for a checkout line that isn’t stretched all the way to Louisiana when I decide I may as well snag what I need while I’m here. I mean, why shouldn’t I? I don't have to justify myself to her, after all.
“Uh...here.” I hand her my debit card and she takes it with a questioning look. “I just remembered something else I need. Be right back.”
Before she can protest, I take off in the direction of the pharmacy. I know she's probably going to be pissed when she sees what I bring back, but I'd rather have them and not need them than need them and not have them.
I plan on needing every single damn one of them.
Feeling optimistic, I get the economy pack. Who knows how long this storm will last?
She's still waiting in line when I return. There are three people ahead of us and the woman at the register is bitching to the cashier because one of her items rang up as $2.99 when it was supposed to be $2.89. A lousy dime? For crying out loud – we're going to be here forever.
I drop the condoms into the cart and nonchalantly reach for a magazine from a rack nearby, thumbing through it so I don't have to look at Melanie. Still, I can see her out of the corner of one eye. Her eyes fall on the box and for a minute I think she's about to wallop me again, the way she did after junior prom.
I have to admit – that one I deserved.
Instead she mutters something underneath her breath. It sounds like you gotta be kidding me.
I glance up innocently. “What?”
Shaking her head, she rolls her eyes and turns her back to me so I can't see her expression. But a moment later she raises one hand and presses it to her mouth.
I can't be sure, but I think she's laughing.
Junior prom
I fidget with the black bow tie that strangles my throat like a noose.
We’ve been here forty-five minutes and already I’m wishing I hadn’t agreed to come. I probably wouldn’t have, but Brianna Lawson cornered me at school and what could I say? Besides, at the time I thought it might be fun.
I’m not having fun.
Brianna’s a nice enough girl, not to mention pretty hot, but over the course of the evening I’ve decided that I won’t be going out with her again. As a matter of fact, I can hardly wait to get this night over with. I’ve never met anyone so damned agreeable in my life. She’s like a Stepford date. No matter what I say she automatically conforms to my point of view, regardless of what it is. It’s like she doesn’t have any opinions of her own, or maybe she’s just trying too hard to impress me.
I’m not impressed.
We sit at a table drinking punch while watching the crowd bounce around to Shut Up and Dance. Slow dances I can handle, but I am not about to go out there and make a fool of myself flailing about like that. So to kill time, I test the Stepford theory by asking Brianna what kind of music she likes to listen to. True to the pattern so far, she deflects the verdict back to me.
“Oh, you know,” she waffles with a vacant smile. “Pretty much anything. How about you? What’s your favorite song?”
“Rob Zombie’s Pussy Liquor.” Smiling back, I wait to see how she reacts. Honestly I just threw that one out there to be obnoxious. I have her pegged as the bubblegum pop type, but will she admit it?
“Oh my gosh, are you serious? I love that song too! That’s so weird. I can’t believe how much we have in common.”
Ri-i-ight.
Because I’m bored and for no other reason, I decide to press on. Just to see how far she will take this charade. “Really? You’re into Rob Zombie?”
“Oh, I just love him!” she gushes.
“Cool. So which of his songs do you like best?” It’s probably mean of me to set this trap, but her cutesy phoniness is getting annoying.
“Which do I like the best? Oh. Hm.” Pretending to think it over, she tilts her head and taps a manicured fingernail against her lips. “Well, I can’t decide. I pretty much like them all. Especially the one you just mentioned. That’s my favorite.”
“Dragula?”
“Yes! That one.” She beams at me brightly and I want to facepalm my own forehead.
Out on the dance floor, I see Melanie with her arms around Jake Hoffman’s neck. Lucky bastard. Not that I don’t like Jake – we get along fine – but seeing him all over Melanie makes me itch to rearrange his face for him. Must be the caveman in me. I could easily see myself throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her off, kicking and screaming.
Damn, I kinda like that. Maybe I’ll use that image while I’m jerking off my frustration later.
Because clearly I am not getting lucky tonight. Not that I couldn’t – the way Brianna’s fawning over me, she’s practically a sure thing – but no matter how hot she is, it’s just not worth it. If I so much as kiss this chick, there will be no getting rid of her. I have a feeling the clingy little barnacle in green satin would stalk me from now until graduation. I don’t need that kind of aggravation.
Melani
e’s wearing red tonight.
I’ve never seen her look more beautiful. It’s hard to keep my eyes off her, and yet it almost hurts to look at her for long. She could outshine a goddess. There are white flowers woven through the hair that hangs down in soft curls, and when she dances with Jake, the fabric of that eye-catching red dress swirls gracefully around her legs. What I wouldn’t give to be the one holding her in my arms.
Do I have balls enough to ask her for a dance?
Not likely. For one thing, she finds me repulsive. And then there’s the little matter of our respective dates. Jake probably wouldn’t mind if I cut in, but Brianna won’t like it. For that matter, Melanie won’t like it. She won’t want her perfect night tarnished by someone she can’t stand.
So I move to the slow songs with Brianna and try to put the idea out of my head. But now that it’s there, the damn thing has put down roots and is only growing stronger.
Half an hour later I see my chance. Brianna’s excused herself to visit the restroom with a cluster of girls – why do they always go in groups like that and what do they DO in there? – and Melanie is wandering over to the refreshment table alone. I don’t know where Jake has disappeared to, and I don’t care. I’m going to ask her and if she tells me to go screw myself, then so be it. At least I can say I tried.
But when I sidle up beside her, I can’t seem to find the words.
I am so out of my league here.
By some bizarre coincidence the song that’s playing is The Lady in Red and I know that it has to be a sign. There was never a song that was more perfect for this moment. The stars are in perfect alignment and the universe is giving me one shot.
She turns her head and I part my lips to speak but nothing comes out. I don’t know what to say. What do you say to a goddess? She’s giving me a strange look and I’m blowing it and I know this may be the only opportunity I ever have to feel this girl in my arms. So I do the only thing I can.