by Jolene Perry
Instead of kissing me again, her arms slip around my sides and she lays her face against my chest. I let my hands slide up and down her back, her sides, her arms, over her hair. Slowly. Because I have as much time as I want to take.
Maybe this is where my new life starts. This second, holding a girl who I thought was the opposite of what I wanted, but who I’m falling for.
“What’cha thinking’?” she asks.
“That life is good.” I kiss her head. “Really, really, good.”
She snuggles into my chest deeper, I hold her tighter, and I promise myself that this time, no matter what, I’m going to be the good guy.
SIX MONTHS LATER
“Yes, Mom,” I say as I let out a sigh. “I’m still doing good. Great, actually.”
“Phone!” Celia demands before shoving another one of my chips into her mouth.
Grease dribbles down my chin as I try to pull away.
Maci laughs across the rickety table. I’m addicted to her laugh. Her smile. Her, really.
She and Celia practically live in my small apartment, and instead of it making me crazy, it’s keeping me grounded.
“Celia wants to talk to you,” I say through a mouthful.
“Don’t make me a grandma yet, Shawn. I’m not ready,” Mom says.
I snort. “Day at a time.”
Celia snatches the phone and is giggling so hard she can’t talk. I hear my mom’s cooing on the other end—she’s a grandma already.
Maci stands up and walks about the table to sit next to me. Her legs rest on either side of the bench, half wrapped around me, and her chin sits on my shoulder. I rest my hands under her knees to tighten her legs around me. Maci’s body became addictive fast.
“I’m pretty sure I'm in love with you, Shawn.” She always says this.
I place a soft kiss on her lips. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you too.”
When I moved here I thought I’d been drowned. Sunk to the lowest of the low, and now… Celia’s telling my mom about the Dora episode she watched today, Maci’s eyes are closed as she rests her chin on my shoulder, and I’m eating nachos that still taste like the best food on earth.
I’m not sure how I ended up so happy, but I’m taking it.
By Jolene Perry
To my husband, Mike, who proved that nice guys really do exist, even in high school.
ONE
I push my way through what suddenly feels like masses of dancing couples, out the heavy doors of the school, and stop.
Now I can breathe. The air fills my lungs, but doesn’t clear my head.
The screeching brakes of the city bus travels across the parking lot. Crap. I sprint and grab the doors at the last second. The bus is empty. I’m alone on a night when I wouldn’t mind distraction. I slump in the back seat, the only row with enough legroom, and pull out my iPod. I slide my ear buds in and blast Nirvana’s Nevermind as loud as I can stand it. It’s old—older than me. But good. The long sleeves of my dress shirt are making me crazy so I roll them up and wish I had on jeans instead of pants.
The thing is, I knew it could happen—that Sarah could end up with another guy. But I didn’t know it would hurt this much. Somebody needs to stop making those bullshit romantic comedy movies. They mess with my head.
I can’t believe I just lost Sarah. The sight of her and Eric pressed together rams into my chest again.
Shit. I don’t want to think about this anymore.
The bus slows. I’m one street off the Las Vegas strip. It seems like a good place to lose myself for a while. Nirvana’s still ramming into my ear drums at a satisfactory volume, and I’m not expected home for hours. Though, with it being Friday night, nobody will miss me until either of my parents rolls out of bed at sometime around noon tomorrow.
I step off the bus and start walking.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m moving through the doors of the Paris hotel. As soon as Mom sees me, she’ll know. I shouldn’t have come. I have to scan for her quickly though, just in case. It seems wrong, or rude or something to just walk back out. There are a few rows of slot machines and felted tables as soon as I step inside, but Mom’s usually back where the serious money exchanges hands, so I keep walking.
She’s worked in casinos since I can remember. Dad, too. Mom’s a waitress, skimpy uniform and all, but she makes more money on the floor than she did back in the offices.
I take one more glance around and don’t see her. The feeling’s a mix of the hole in my chest being dug even deeper, and relief that I won’t have to talk about it or see her sympathetic face. It really screws with a guy’s head when his mom pities him.
I jerk the buds out of my ears, and the rattle of the slot machines drowns out everything else. I’ll admit it’s an odd noise to gain comfort from, but when you grow up in casinos… There’s just something about the familiar.
“Jameson.” Mom walks by and bumps me with her hip. Her smile is wide until our eyes catch.
Yep. There it is. The sympathetic smile I both love and hate right now.
“I’m just about to take my lunch. Wanna join me?” she asks.
I nod. Only Mom would call a midnight meal, lunch.
She pulls the security card out of her tiny pocket. “Go on back. I’ll see you in a few.” Her smile falters, and makes me feel worse, or at least heavier. I should have gone to see if Mike was still hanging around so I could play with the dolphins at the Mirage.
“Thanks.” I pick up the card and head for the “employees only” door.
I glance around for Dad. He’s a pit boss, the guy with the earpiece who stands in the middle of a group of tables and looks important. He usually watches over this front area because he’s good at his job, and it’s the busiest. But I don’t see him.
I slide Mom’s card through the slot, and open the employee door to the break area.
“Jameson!” Two of the girls Mom works with wave from across the room. They might be ten years younger than Mom, but they don’t look any better than she does in their little blue and red uniforms. The uniforms aren’t bad, especially not for Vegas standards. They’re low in the front, and low in the back, with a tiny skirt instead of something that looks like panties. To me they seem like the Halloween version of a flight attendant uniform.
“You are so cute.” Kim gives me a wink. It’s actually amazing her lashes don’t keep her eye from re-opening. They’re too long to be real, and thick with mascara. “You got a kiss for me?” She stands up and puckers her lips to blow me a kiss.
“Stop, Kim. He’s underage.” Jessica runs her hand over my nearly shaved head. “Must be swim time again, huh?”
“Practice starts next week.”
Jessica waves as she steps around me and heads back out to the floor.
“No judge would doubt my being confused on your age.” Kim steps close, leans up, and kisses my cheek.
I kiss hers back. We always flirt like this, even though I don’t know what to do with my hands when she gets this close.
“Do you know how many girls would kill for your skin?” She shakes her head. “Just that perfect amount of brown to make your tan darker than anyone but the Mexicans.”
“It’s because I’m part Mexican, Kim.” She’s still standing close, almost against me. I smile wide as a show of a confidence that I’m definitely not feeling right now.
She rolls her eyes. “I know who your dad is.”
Everyone knows my dad. He’s a big guy with a warm smile. They all tease him about his “work” face because apparently the pit boss shouldn’t have the friendly face my dad likes to wear.
“And look at you.” She pats my chest a few times with the flat of her hand. “Broader every time you come in.”
I have no idea what to say to that. Probably I should say something about swimming, but Kim interrupts by smacking my ass with her hand on her way out the door.
“My offer’s still open,” she sings behind her as the door closes.
; Her offer was to give me a night I’d never forget. It’s a joke, but part of me thinks that if I said I wanted to, she might do it. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Guess it should make me feel pretty good.
Mom steps through the doorway, does a quick survey of the room, and sits down with a baguette sandwich. “Share?” Her brown hair is pulled up high on her head and her eyes look huge with too much makeup. I’m used to it.
“Sure.” I sit next to her. It’s nearly one AM but I don’t feel tired. I’m from a family of night owls.
“Survive Kim?” Mom smirks.
“Yeah.” I rub my hands down my thighs a few times, like it’ll somehow help me loosen up.
“So, the dance didn’t go well?” She doesn’t look at me, she already knows and probably isn’t sure if I want to talk about it. I’m not sure if I want to talk about it.
“It went great for Sarah. She got exactly what she wanted.” I break the sandwich apart. I stare at the wilted lettuce, day-old bread, and lose my appetite.
“Just cram down a little bit. It’ll make me feel better.” Mom pushes it my way.
I rip off a small bite and stuff it in my mouth.
“I’m sorry,” she says. I wonder if my brown eyes are as easy to read as hers.
“It’s…” okay is what I want to say, but it isn’t okay. It doesn’t feel okay. It feels like I’ve been flattened, stretched, and left in the gutter.
She puts her arm over my shoulder and kisses my cheek. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”
“Actually, she does, Mom. We’ve been friends for three years. She knows me better than anyone, and chose someone she didn’t know instead.” And just when I think it can’t get worse, it does. Because hearing it all out loud? Makes it worse.
Did she know she had a choice? I’m sure those are Mom’s next words. But she holds them in. I’m thankful. Mom knows how I feel about Sarah, how I’ve felt. She also knows I haven’t said anything. Rejection like the one I faced tonight was bad enough. If Sarah’d had all the facts – knew I’d been in love with her, and still turned me down? It would feel worse. Well, it might feel worse. I’m not sure right now if it’s possible to feel more terrible.
The picture of Sarah in Eric’s arms hits me again and I have to take a deep breath in to keep from crying. Crying. What the hell’s wrong with me? Being in love is really messing with my head.
I stand up. “I’m gonna head home.”
“Already?” Mom’s eyebrows go up.
Only my parents would say already at one AM.
“Yes. Already.”
“Your dad and I took separate cars tonight. Why don’t you take one home?” She rummages in her bag for her keys.
“That’d actually be great.” The bus is cool, but it does shut down. And weirdos are one thing. Wasted weirdos are another. Those really start to come out after midnight.
“Well, it’s about to get better. I drove your Dad’s Porsche.” She gives me a sly smile as she hands the keys over.
I laugh. That is better.
TWO
I finger the keychain as I make my way to employee parking. Owning a Porsche is a big deal, but it isn’t a big deal. First off, it’s a Boxster, which means it’s barely a Porsche. It’s also a few years old, like eight. But Dad takes immaculate care of it and it’s fast as hell.
I jump behind the wheel. The chair is already as far back as it’ll go. Dad and I share the same 6’3” height, but he’s a lot broader than I am. It makes him good at his job. Gamblers rarely give him any crap.
The engine purrs. I plug my iPod in. Infectious Grooves this time. Two years ago for an assignment in… Well, I don’t remember what class. That’s not important. What’s important is we had to go to our birth year plus whatever we rolled on our teacher’s ten-sided die and find something from that year that we truly loved. I loved the music. Now I have all sorts of early nineties grunge on my iPod. Sarah makes fun of me for it, but she secretly likes it, too. Another hit in the chest.
The car slides into reverse and I drive it slowly out of the garage. The speed bumps in this place are murder. Dad never lets me drive his car so I’m determined to be really nice to her tonight, but then I hit the strip and lay out fifty feet of rubber, slamming my back into the seat. The opportunity is too good to pass up.
The wind hits my head, the strip is bright with lights, music blares from random bars, and people are everywhere. I love this. Maybe life won’t suck forever. Now I just have to hope spring break feels like an eternity. Going to school on Monday, if Sarah and Eric are meeting at one another’s lockers, is gonna be torture.
Suddenly the precious Boxster doesn’t seem so precious anymore. I hit the gas and head toward Boulder Highway to really get some speed on. Not the smartest move on a Saturday night, but I’m feeling reckless. Primus comes on the stereo. Love these bass lines.
I take a left on Tropicana, and two seconds off the strip, the stars come back out and my music isn’t tainted by anything but the satisfying rumbling of Dad’s car.
I have to pass my neighborhood before I make it as far south as I want to go. All the houses here look the same. Almost everyone has the same terra cotta tile roof and some slight variation of stucco siding. I slow down through the stoplights, and there’s a girl on my side of the road walking in a scandalously short jean skirt, flip-flops, five layers of tanks in different colors and long, black hair. My heart does that ka-thump thing in my throat that it always does when I see a pretty girl—the one that makes it hard to talk.
I’m stopped at the light next to her, and she’s staring at her phone, looking lost.
“You need a lift?” I offer. How brave am I?
“I don’t think so.” She glances over her phone and chuckles as she shakes her head.
“You look lost, and I live just around the corner so…”
Her head snaps up. All I see is huge brown eyes. Her skin is caramel and smooth. She has that beautiful straight nose and high cheekbones only girls from the reservations seem to have. The car door opens and just like that, she gets in. She doesn’t even pull down her skirt, which is barely covering her—
I can’t believe this girl is in my car. Well, my dad’s car. But still.
“Green light.” She points and her eyebrows go up.
“Right.” I hit the gas and the car jumps out from underneath me.
I suck in a deep breath, trying to shove my ka-thumping heart back where it belongs so I don’t make an ass out of myself.
“Whoa, warn a girl, will ya?” She smiles. “So, I never do this. You have to promise me you won’t cut me into tiny pieces and scatter them across the desert.”
“Done.” I smile. “And that was a rather specific request.”
She shrugs. “You can never be too careful.”
“Then why are you riding in a car with a total stranger?”
“Good point.” She’s smiling, too.
“I don’t scatter bodies across the desert anyway, too far for me to drive.” I wait for her reaction. She’s stoic.
“And… Where would you put the body?” She looks around. “Only one seat, rear engine, and I’m sure I wouldn’t fit under the hood.”
I glance up and down her lean frame.
“That was not an invitation to check me out.” Her lips pull into a scowl, but there’s too much tease in her eyes for me to take her seriously.
“Sorry.” Only I’m not really sorry. This is better than any distraction I could have dreamed up tonight.
“Okay, so I’m with my grandparents while I go to college. I know it’s lame, but it was the only way to go to school and I really wanted to.”
“Oh.” That came out of nowhere.
“Here’s my address.” She holds her phone up.
Shit. I crank the wheel to the right and we just make the turn.
“Drive much?” She stares as I straighten the car onto the neighborhood street.
“Sorry. You’re like, almost across from me.” I glance
at her. “Your house, I mean.”
“Really?” She looks around. “So how does a young guy like you end up in a car like this in a nice neighborhood?” Her pause isn’t long enough for me to answer. “No, wait, don’t tell me. You’re in the mafia, right? And my body won’t get spread across the desert. It’ll get fed to pigs.”
“Snatch.” It just comes out.
“Yeah.” She smiles and nods. “Guy Ritchie is a freaking movie-making genius.”
“I didn’t think girls liked that stuff.” I can’t take my eyes off her, even though I should probably be watching the road.
She laughs. “Then you’ve been hanging around the wrong girls.”
Sarah. I let out a sigh. I don’t even mean to. I’m pathetic.
“This look right?” I pull to a stop.
“This is it.” She makes no move to get out. “I was only turned around, not lost. Just so you know.” Her head spins around, scanning. “Where are you?”
“That house, there.” I point ahead and across the street. “And to answer your earlier question, this is my dad’s car and my parent’s house.” Really, I don’t want to admit this. I’d be a lot cooler if I didn’t.
“Okay.” She nods but doesn’t move.
Should I do something? Say something? Maybe I’m supposed to get her door. I reach for the handle.
“What are you doing now? Tired? Going to crash?” She runs her hand across her forehead to catch a loose strand of dark hair.
“Probably going to swim.” It clears my head.
She doesn’t move, just stares at me. What do I do?
“This is where you invite the girl next to you for a swim.” She smirks.
“Um…” Holy. Shit. “Wanna come swim with me?”
“I probably shouldn’t.” She shakes her head, but still makes no move to get out.
“You wanna just tell me what I should say next?” This whole conversation, and this ride with a girl in Dad’s Porsche, is completely out of my league, but I can’t stop. It feels good to flirt with someone new. I haven’t bothered paying attention to anyone but Sarah since at least the beginning of the year.