by Ginger Scott
“Owwww, Mommy!” the boy is yelling, twisting his neck over his shoulder. I walk toward Leah and give her my hand to help her up, letting Paige take over the role of bad cop. Another woman rushes to the sand and grabs Paige’s arm, jerking it away from the boy.
“Get your hands off my kid!” the woman practically spits at Paige. Paige doesn’t flinch, instead taking a step toward the woman, leaning in close, her hands on her hip.
“You should teach your kid how to treat girls. This little creep was going to pour water all over her. He was teasing her; I saw the whole thing!” Paige is seething. I feel Leah clutch my leg and I look down at her, worried she’s scared. She’s smiling. She’s watching Paige stand up to someone, and she’s grinning ear-to-ear.
“I should have you arrested!” the woman yells as Paige is turning to walk away. She flips around quickly, stopping at the edge of the sand where she bends down to pick up her shoes, then spins with them dangling from one hand.
“Yeah, well I should have punched you in the nose. So touché,” she says, turning back to me. Her lips are in a hard, straight line, and she passes Leah and me, walking straight to the car. We follow, and Leah skips ahead, climbing in the back seat to reach around from behind to hug Paige. I pause at the front of the car to watch, noting the initial surprise on Paige’s face at the feel of tiny hands around her neck. That shock slides into a proud grin, and she brings her hand up to squeeze Leah’s, patting it once. When she looks up at me, she drops the smile quickly, then looks down at her lap.
Don’t worry, Paige. I didn’t see a thing.
We’re about halfway back to the house, the only sound a commercial playing on the radio, and some haphazard humming coming from Leah in the back seat, when Paige finally talks. “I hate bullies,” she says, her eyes staring straight out the front window.
“Me too,” I say, keeping my gaze on her while we wait at the red light. She never turns to look at me, and she never looks nervous that I’m staring at her. I know she can feel my eyes on her; I catch hers moving to take me in once or twice from the side. But she lets me look, and she doesn’t elaborate on her statement. I don’t ask, but I wonder who was the bully in her life—and maybe, was it her?
Paige
“We’re all going to Sally’s for dinner. I thought maybe you’d like to come?” Cass asks. I wasn’t going to answer her call, but I’m walking to campus, and I have to pass the row of frat houses. There are always people hanging outside, and I’d rather be busy on the phone than run into someone I know.
“Oh, uhm…thanks,” I say, kind of surprised that my sister is asking. I had a feeling that the progress we made at home would stop once we got to school. Maybe she just wants to thank me for helping her prank the guys. “I would love to, but I can’t. I have…plans…” I fade my words at the end, suddenly worried I’ve said too much. Cass doesn’t know where I’m living. She doesn’t know much of anything about me right now. “Delta thing,” I add quickly, straightening my posture as I lie through the phone, as if she could see me.
“Oh, okay. Maybe…maybe later this week?” she asks. I feel bad.
“For sure,” I say, looking to my right at a group of guys sitting on one of the front porches. They watch me walk by, and I hear one of them say something to the others; I’m pretty sure one of the words was ass. I step a little longer, but I also let my hips move a little more.
I’m not sticking around, boys, but you’re welcome to watch.
Cass says goodbye, and I push my phone in my purse, glad that I was able to stretch my conversation with my sister long enough to make it to campus. I pull the folded campus map from my front purse-pocket, noting the buildings I’ve highlighted. I walk to the first two, relieved when I realize how close they are to each other. They’re different from the buildings I went to last semester, but they’re all familiar. I hate feeling lost. I move to the last one, my Friday lab class, the farthest one from where I’m living now. At least the class is in the late morning, so I won’t have to walk through campus at night.
Satisfied that I can find my way Monday, I begin my trip back to Houston’s house…my house. I’m nearing the library when I see Houston sitting on one of the concrete blocks outside the main doors. I stop immediately. I’m not sure why I stop, but I do, because he’s here, and I have a feeling he’s here waiting for me. That’s not okay. I don’t want him here waiting for me.
I pull out my phone and fire off a text.
What are you doing here?
I wait and watch as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, then gets to his feet, looking in all directions until he spots me. His shoulders slump, and he pulls his phone up in both hands in front of him, his fingers working while he walks slowly in my direction. Oh no, buddy. You stay put!
Something came up, I didn’t want you to go home and see the house empty, or freak out or…can we just talk in 15 seconds?
I’m reading his words and taking slow steps backward when I hear his voice.
“Paranoid much?” he asks.
“Stalker much?” I say back. He smirks, then pushes his phone back into his pocket.
“My mom called. She has to work late. Church is having a carnival. Leah found out, so she wanted to go. I just dropped her off with my mom, but I didn’t want you to think we abandoned you, so…” he says, holding his hands out as if he just performed some amazing magic trick and appeared here in a puff of smoke.
“So, you came to rescue me,” I say through pursed lips.
“Uh…yeah, I guess,” he says.
“I don’t need rescuing,” I fire back, pulling my purse over my body. My shoulder hurts, and I’m tired of carrying it. I want to go home.
“No rescues. Got it,” he says, taking a deep breath. We start to walk back in the direction of his place, and I rewind what just happened in my head. I may have overreacted a little.
“Sorry,” I say, under my breath. “I’m a little…stressed, maybe?”
I’m not stressed. I’m angry, and I’m sad, and I’m confused. I’m a lot of things, but none of them are really very happy. I glance to where Houston is walking next to me, his thumbs in his pockets. He’s wearing the same jeans he wore last night.
“Don’t you own other pants?” I ask through a laugh.
He stretches his hands out, leaving his thumbs in his pockets, and I move my eyes up to his quickly, not wanting to stare at his hips, his zipper, his…crotch.
“My closet can’t compete with yours,” he says, his eyes narrowing on me.
My pace relaxes, and we continue to walk slowly through the main part of campus, the more steps we take, the more relaxed I become, and the more ridiculous I feel about snapping at him in the first place.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I say finally, glancing up at him. His eyes are soft, and the way he looks down at me is different from the way the guys on the porch looked at me. Those guys liked what they saw, but Houston, he actually sees me.
“It’s okay. You’re…stressed,” he says, making quote marks with his fingers in the air around the word. I laugh at my own expense, but not in agreement. “You maybe want to tell me a little more about it?”
I think about his offer, and I actually consider it. Those two weeks that I spent talking to Houston on the phone—me in California, him in Oklahoma—were nice. They were more than nice, they were the first time I’ve actually talked to a guy and had him listen. There wasn’t some pretense about parties or getting laid. He asked me questions, and I answered. He listened. The more I consider his offer, the stronger this feeling is that’s washing over me—it’s a comfort level, and maybe something else.
When I part my lips to speak, I peer up, and his eyes are intent on me, his focus is there, and it feels nice. “I caught one of the Delta girls…” I start to say, but am interrupted by deep moaning sounds coming from behind us.
We both look over our shoulders. The frat guys who watched me walk by before are now following us. They’re several feet back, and whe
n we look at them, they turn their focus to the side. Houston thinks nothing of it, turning around and looking back at me. “You caught someone doing what?” he asks. I barely hear him because I’m still looking over my shoulder. Now that Houston isn’t looking, they aren’t pretending any longer, their eyes on me again.
The one in the middle, the largest of the three, moans again, making the other two laugh. The heavier guy on the right covers his mouth, saying something that only makes them all laugh harder. I glare at them, and even though I can barely make out the shapes of their eyes, I can tell they’re glaring back, mocking me. I face our direction again, doing my best to shake them off.
“I’m sorry, where was I?” I say, knowing exactly where I was. The comfort from before is gone now, though.
“Mmmmmmmmm, oh yeah. Oh yeah, baby. Like that,” a voice says behind me. My body shivers, and my fingertips and toes feel numb, the blood retreating, leaving me feeling helpless—weak.
“Ah! Ah! Ah!” I hear again. They’re making sex noises, and I know why. My entire body is flushed, my head is furious, and my heart is dead. They’ve seen it—they’ve seen it! Which means it’s out there, somewhere, where people are able to see it.
My mind is racing, my heart is thumping, and my back is sweating—even though it’s only fifty degrees outside. I need to solve this. Houston—he can’t know! I’m about to come up with an excuse, to lie to him and just tell him to ignore those guys…when he stops me, his hand hard on my arm as he turns me to face him. He doesn’t ask me a question, but only looks at me, his eyes penetrating mine, searching deep inside me for a truth to understand what this scenario is all about. My strength fades, if only for a second, and I lose my breath, my body shaking twice as I gasp. The sting in my eyes is instant, and I know they’re on the verge of crying, so I squeeze them shut, which only makes a tear fall down my cheek. Steadying myself, I take a deep breath, then reopen my eyes to look at Houston.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice once again strong, my bluff good. He holds his hand in place on my arm, his eyes still boring through me, his mouth in a firm line and his jaw flexing as he considers everything—what he saw, what he heard, what I said, and the way I look now. I’m fine, Houston. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I don’t need rescuing!
“Like hell you are,” he grits, and he leaves me, charging the few steps behind us toward the trio of guys who are suddenly speechless. Within seconds, Houston’s fist slams into the face of the one in the middle, and his friends take wide steps back, not wanting to be the next one getting Houston’s attention.
Houston doesn’t say anything as he pummels the guy, his knuckles ricocheting off the side of his head until he drops to his knees unable to hold his balance any longer. Houston reaches down to grab the collar of the guy’s shirt, lifting him back to a stand, and stares him down, his lips moving to say something. I can’t hear him, but I see the fear in the faces of the others. I know Houston must have said something threatening. With one thrust of his arm, he pushes him off balance again, then flexes his hand at the one now bleeding from punches and walks back to me.
“Let’s go,” he says, and I pick up my steps to keep up.
We walk in silence until we’re close to home. The blood on his knuckles is leaving a trail of drops on the sidewalk, and when he reaches into his pocket for his keys not thinking, he winces.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath, reaching around with his other arm instead, protecting his hurt hand.
“Yeah, well that’s what you get,” I say, shaking my head, folding my arms and waiting for him to unlock the door for me, reminding me that I still need a key of my own.
Houston stops abruptly, leaning away from the door and letting the screen slam to a close. “Excuse me?” he asks.
“When you go all Neanderthal for no reason, then I’m not going to feel bad for you when you’re hurt,” I say, glancing at his eyes, then back down at the lock on the door. I jerk my head toward it, willing him to hurry up.
“You’re kidding me, right?” he says, staring at me and waiting for my response. I shrug my shoulders, lifting my brow once.
No, I’m not kidding Houston. I. Don’t. Need. Rescuing.
“Un-fucking believable,” he mutters, finally unlocking the door. If only he just did that in the first place. I step inside quickly, and I hear the door slam behind us. I don’t stop, instead continuing to the steps, hearing the sound of his keys being tossed on the table.
“Are you for real with this shit?” he asks as I reach the top step. I steady myself, my hand on the banister, and I turn to face him.
“If you could leave the lease paperwork on the table for me, along with a key, I’ll sign it in the morning and leave your rent check,” I say, before turning and walking into my room. With the door closed, I drop my purse to the ground and move to my hard-as-a-board bed, sitting down, then falling to my back. I close my eyes, bringing my palms to my face, and in the quiet of the house, I hear the sounds of moans taunting me from my imagination.
Chapter 9
Houston
My knuckles are already showing the bruise. I haven’t hit someone that hard in a long time. The fights I’d had with Carson, Paige’s ex whatever he was, weren’t as intense as what happened yesterday walking Paige home. When I heard that guy taunting her—making those sounds, being disrespectful—something entirely different came over me, and when I swung at his face, I swung hard.
It felt good. Though I felt a little…embarrassed, I guess? When Paige called me out on it, I didn’t see that coming. Not that I thought it through much before I turned and went all ape-fist. But I did sort of expect her to be grateful. At least a thank you. Certainly not the cold-ass shoulder I ended up with.
I thought about just leaving when we got home, going to the carnival—saying fuck it. But I didn’t want to leave her alone. Not that she came out of her room a single time. I finally gave up on waiting her out when Leah and my mom came home.
Paige must have left for class early this morning, because as promised, she left a check along with the signed lease agreement in the middle of the counter, a sticky note on the check that read I DON’T KNOW YOUR STUPID LAST NAME, SO FILL IT IN FOR ME. I’m glad I found this before my mom. I don’t think she’d quite appreciate Paige’s bite, not like I do.
God, why do I?
I wrote in our stupid last name, then added a note to the bottom of her sticky and left it on her bedroom door.
ORR. MY STUPID LAST NAME’S ORR.
PRACTICE WRITING IT ON THE THANK YOU NOTE
I DESERVE FOR DECKING THAT ASSHOLE.
I went back and pulled it off her door a few minutes ago though, because I don’t want my mom seeing that, either. Maybe I don’t want Paige to read it. Writing it was enough. I felt better—for a minute. I tore it into small pieces and put it in the trash when I got back downstairs, deciding to be an adult and just tell her my last name instead of passing notes like grade school.
“Morning, sweetheart! Leah up and ready?” My mom startles me from my daydream at the kitchen table. Joyce Orr is a morning person. She’s really an every-time person—cheer and glee and…cheer…seeps from her pores, hitting people in all directions, no matter how much they aren’t morning people.
“Oh…uh, yeah. She’s getting dressed. Wanted to pick her own outfit this morning,” I say, eyebrows high. My mom reflects my expression—both of us wondering what she’ll come ambling down the stairs in.
Leah spends her day at the church daycare with my mom. I’m fortunate that we’re able to make this work. I’m lucky my mom is able to help. There are days where I’m not sure how I’ve survived without Beth.
Beth was excited about being a mom. It’s really the reason we ultimately decided to keep Leah. Beth—she wanted that little girl with all her heart. She only had her for a month, but it was long enough for my daughter to look just like her, to act like her. It’s almost like a soul left Beth’s body the day that car sliced through her and found a
home in Leah’s heart, sharing space—mother and daughter welded together. It used to hurt looking at her, especially when she got older, a toddler with a personality and mannerisms. All I saw was Beth. But over the last year, I’ve realized how lucky I am to have this small piece of her with me every day. Now, I sneak her door open at night, casting a light across her face from the hallway, just so I can remember and find peace.
Leah’s footsteps literally tap along the wood at the top of the steps, and it piques both my mom and my interests; we move into her view, only to see Leah taking the steps one at a time, sitting, tucking her pink skirt around her legs to help her slide down each step more easily. She’s in pink—every pink thing she owns. And she’s wearing a pair of my mother’s pink high heels on her feet, rolled up socks stuffed in the back, poorly, to try to keep them on her feet.
She’s trying to look like Paige. I recognize it immediately. My mom arches a brow at me, almost like a warning. She has only spoken to Paige in passing, but I think she sees Leah’s fantasy being played out too. And I think it concerns her.
“Baby girl, I don’t think you’re quite ready for my shoes,” my mom says, meeting her halfway down the steps. Leah’s head falls, and I see the disappointment all over her face.
“But your outfit looks really nice,” I say, just wanting to see her smile again.
Leah bites her lip and holds on to the banister, trying to stand in my mom’s shoes to show me everything she has on. She twists from side to side, letting the pink material around her knees sway. “Do you think she would like it?” she asks, bottom lip fully sucked in her mouth.
She wants to be like Paige. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. But the moment I have that thought, I regret it, and I feel guilty for even thinking it—almost like Paige must hear my thoughts from wherever she is. I feel bad because I know it would hurt her feelings. And I feel bad because…I’m wrong. Why wouldn’t it be a good thing to be like Paige? The way Paige stood up to those kids, the way she’s trying to fix things with her sister—those things…they’re part of the kind of the person I want Leah to be.