Daring Hearts: Fearless Fourteen Boxed Set
Page 192
I don’t write in this journal again.
76
“GRAMMA-LINDA!”
Rose yells before throwing herself into our grandmother’s arms.
Gramma-Linda smiles,
Pressing Rose close to her.
* * *
I smile too,
Watching them.
Rose, at nine years old,
Only a few inches shorter than
Gramma-Linda.
* * *
“Take my books, hon,”
She tells Rose,
Handing her a bulging shoulder bag.
Rose stumbles under the weight, and
I marvel at how Gramma-Linda managed to bring so many books,
Especially on such short notice.
* * *
“Olivia,” she says, and
While she’s my mom’s mother,
Her voice is kind, and
Soft, and
Doesn’t make me want to stab out my own eyes.
* * *
“How are you?”
She clutches me to her in a tight hug, and
I get that noseful of powder and sugar
I’ve been anticipating.
* * *
“I’m good,” I say as
I squeeze her back.
“Looks like you just got your hair done.”
* * *
She pulls away and pats her perfectly sculpted curls.
“Just yesterday.”
She examines me in much the same way my mother does, and
That annoys me.
I turn away just as Rose comes out of the kitchen with her backpack.
* * *
“Leaving already?”
Gramma-Linda asks,
Her voice set on syrup-sweet.
I know as soon as Rose leaves for the bus,
Gramma-Linda will pry,
Asking things like, “How are you really doing?”
“ENGLISH FIRST,”
Gramma-Linda says after
Rose heads to the bus stop,
After Dad goes to work.
* * *
Gramma-Linda piles the books on the kitchen table,
Where we’re sitting.
* * *
“Fine,” I mutter,
Pulling out the only book that looks like a novel.
“Huckleberry Finn?”
I meet my grandma’s eyes.
“I read this last year.”
* * *
I don’t tell her that I only read the first seven chapters, then
Faked my way through the quizzes,
Reports, and
Tests,
Because it was boring.
* * *
She plucks it from my fingers.
“Okay, then.
I’ll bring A Tale of Two Cities tomorrow.
Have you read that?”
* * *
“No,” I say,
Waiting for her next subject of torture.
* * *
“A one-page essay on Mark Twain, then.”
She tucks the novel back into her shoulder bag,
Glancing at me from over the top of her glasses.
“You have a computer, don’t you?”
* * *
“Yes,” I say, “You want me to do the essay right now?”
* * *
“Right now,”
She echoes before getting to her feet and
Shuffling to the couch in the living room.
“Wake me up when you finish.
I’ll proofread it for you.
Then we’ll do geography.”
77
“TORTURE?”
Jacey repeats as I pull into Taco Bell.
* * *
“So much torture,” I tell her.
“Which is why I need Mexican food.”
* * *
“Better than here, I bet,” she says, and
I think of Trevor,
Of seeing him in the hall,
Of continuing our playful banter.
* * *
Then I remember Joey, and
His crude comments;
The notes, and
Their hateful messages;
The lockers, and
How the janitor couldn’t quite match the paint colors—
A constant reminder that
Something happened.
* * *
“Still not sure,” I say before placing my order,
Though I have no desire to return to the hallways of Copper Hills High,
Definitely don’t want to risk seeing Harris again.
* * *
Jacey takes the tater tots I pass her, but
I almost drop my soda when she says,
“You’re still going to Preference with me, right?”
* * *
“I—who would I go with?”
* * *
The look on Jacey’s face says it all.
78
“I AM NOT ASKING TREVOR.”
79
“HE SUGGESTED YOU ASK HIM,”
She says defensively,
Leaning into the passenger window like I might hit her.
The thought has crossed my mind.
“He said he’d love to go with you.”
* * *
“I can’t!” I practically yell.
“He’s my freaking step-brother.
Why does nobody get that but me?”
* * *
My food sits untouched in the bag, and
The accelerator pays the price of my wrath.
I screech to a halt in my driveway,
Snatch my food, and
Stomp into my house.
* * *
Jacey follows,
A sheepish look on her face.
* * *
My anger melts away as I flop onto the couch,
Unwrap my burrito.
I sigh.
Everything was less complicated when
I was still with Harris.
* * *
Jacey and I could’ve gone to Preference
Without any drama,
She with her boyfriend, Mason, and
Me with mine.
* * *
“Sorry,” I mumble to my burrito wrapper.
“I screwed everything up when I broke up with Harris.”
I think about how I’ve lost so much more than a boyfriend.
I can’t go back to high school,
I don’t see anyone but Gramma-Linda and Jacey—and
Stupid Trevor, because
He pops over whenever he wants,
Somehow getting himself invited to dinner.
* * *
“No you didn’t,” Jacey says.
“You needed to break up with Harris.
I just wish—”
Her eyes go wide, and
She stuffs her mouth with a fistful of tots.
* * *
“You wish what?” I ask.
* * *
She shakes her head, then
Takes a long drag of my Diet Coke.
She barely has time to breathe before
She fills her mouth with more food.
* * *
I’ve known Jacey for years, and
I recognize the signs of
her stress-eating, and
her tactics to keep a secret.
* * *
“Jacey,” I warn. “You’re going to run out of tots in about four seconds.
Then you’ll have to tell me.”
* * *
She slows her chewing, but
The inevitable still comes.
When her food is gone,
She sighs and leans back into the couch.
She closes her eyes,
Another method she uses to prolong the silence.
* * *
“Spill,” I tell her, and
She jerks her eyes open.
* * *
&nbs
p; “Okay, but just hear me out, okay?”
She leans forward,
Earnestly.
“So we know Trevor still likes you.
The real question is:
How do you feel about him?”
* * *
She holds up her hand
When I open my mouth to speak.
* * *
“I know, I know.
You don’t think you guys can be together.
But be honest with yourself, Livvy.
If you don’t like him, fine.
If you do, well…”
She trails off, but
There are too many ways to end that sentence.
* * *
“You’re not related.
That’s all I’m saying.”
80
“HOW ARE THINGS GOING WITH GRAMMA-LINDA?”
My mother sits at the bar in
The Youngblood’s kitchen,
A cup of steaming coffee in front of her.
* * *
“Fine,” I tell her as I open the fridge.
I don’t know why I came downstairs when
Dad bought ice cream bars for my tiny freezer upstairs.
Still, I poke around in this foreign fridge
For something good to eat.
I find nothing.
* * *
I should’ve known better.
Mom’s never been one to stock pudding, or
Anything that tastes remotely good.
* * *
Mom sips from her cup,
Taking little bits of my soul,
As she continues to analyze me.
I’m not facing her, but
I can feel the weight of her stare
As I rummage through kale,
Cabbage, and
Eggplant.
* * *
I close the fridge and
Turn to face her.
“Can we order pizza?”
* * *
Her eyes pinch for only a moment, but
The photographer in me
Sees it.
* * *
“Sure,” she says.
81
“AND I DON’T EVEN HAVE TO TAKE A MATH CREDIT,”
I finish.
I’ve—surprisingly—
Told Mom most of what Gramma-Linda is making me
Do for homeschool.
* * *
Between her,
Me, and
Rose,
We’ve eaten almost two whole pizzas.
* * *
Mom even bought soda and
Cookie dough,
Which I’ve just put in the oven.
* * *
With Rose sitting between us,
I don’t feel such tension from my mother.
She catches my eye and
Smiles.
* * *
I return it before I can stop myself.
I can see it makes her immensely happy, and
I suddenly feel like crying.
* * *
I stand abruptly and
Leave the kitchen.
I’m halfway up the stairs when
Rose darts in front of me before
I can wipe my eyes.
“Why are you crying?”
* * *
Her face is so open,
Her tone so concerned.
* * *
I grab her in a hug, and
Hold on tight.
“I don’t know,” I whisper into her golden hair.
* * *
But I do.
I just don’t know how to say it in words, but
I know I’m crying because
I’ve been such a beast to my mom.
* * *
I’ve been so removed,
So angry,
So cruel,
That a simple smile from me
Makes her entire evening.
* * *
I release Rose and
Sprint up the rest of the stairs and into our room.
I close and lock the door before
Leaning against it,
The tears flowing in waves
Down my face.
82
YOU STILL UP?
My phone buzzes against my chest,
Waking me from the half-sleep
I’ve fallen into.
* * *
I check the text to see who it’s from.
Trevor.
* * *
I consider ignoring him, until
I remember the look on my mom’s face, and
The way my attention influenced her.
* * *
Unfortunately, I text him.
* * *
What’s the harm in a text? I think.
* * *
Nothing, I answer myself,
If he wasn’t the guy you used to date, and
Exactly who you want to be alone with again.
* * *
You wanna shoot tomorrow? he asks.
* * *
No, I do not want to shoot tomorrow, I think, but
I don’t type that into my phone.
* * *
My plans for tomorrow are blank,
The whole day wide open for Mom to
Take me shopping, or
Sigh loudly at the shortness of my hair, or
Ask me to clean some random corner of this house I barely live in.
* * *
What time? I text,
Wondering if I’m allowed to go back to Dad’s
On my mom’s weekend.
* * *
Afternoon, he answers.
I have weight training in the morning.
* * *
Can you get my camera gear on the way over?
83
“YOUR DAD SEEMED SURPRISED TO SEE ME.”
Trevor unshoulders my camera pack and
Hands it to me as I step out of my bedroom and
Into the hall.
* * *
“I texted him,” I say, trying not to take a deep drag of Trevor’s cologne.
He smells like his typical musky aftershave, something
I’ve always been attracted to.
* * *
Now, my only defense against him would be to
Glue my nostrils shut.
I spend a few seconds admiring him.
His dark brown hair,
His blue eyes,
His football physique.
* * *
I turn away before
The situation becomes awkward.
“He should’ve known you were coming.”
* * *
“Yeah, well, he didn’t.”
He follows me as I start down the stairs.
“And might I say that I really like the new paint color in your bedroom.”
* * *
My step stutters;
I grasp the railing for support, because
The breath has left my body.
“You went in my bedroom?”
I can’t even remember what condition I left it in, but
I know I didn’t clean it before
Coming to the Youngblood’s.
* * *
“I had to.”
Trevor moves past me down the stairs,
Glancing at me as he does.
“Your dad had no idea where your camera bag was.”
* * *
“What else did you see in my bedroom?”
An image of the stack of journals on my nightstand
Makes my stomach turn.
I’ve been leafing through the diaries every night before
I fall asleep.
* * *
“Nothing,” Trevor assures me.
“Your dad came in the room with me,
Hunted around until we found it.”
* * *
My cheeks feel hot, and
I have no hair to hide that fact.
I close my ey
es in a long blink,
Clench my fingers around the banister,
Until I feel like I can breathe again.
* * *
“I’ve been in your bedroom before,” he says.
“What’s the big deal?”
* * *
“Stop it,” I say.
“You know what the big deal is.
And—”
I point at him though it jostles the
Already-balanced-precariously camera bag on my back.
“—The one time you’ve been in my bedroom was