18 Things

by Jamie Ayres

  Tammy came up for air, her face flushed, reaching underneath her shirt to push up her bra.

  “Classy,” I said.

  She fluffed her teased, blonde hair. “Thanks. So, you’re like totally ungrounded as of yesterday, right?”

  I reached up, then tucked a stray curl behind my ear. “I think so. I mean, they said I was grounded until school started, and it’s the first day, so—”

  “Great! It’s settled, then. Your first big party is this Saturday at Kyle’s house. His parents are going out of town.”

  Looking around, I noticed the crowd in the hallway thinned and figured I should head to class.

  “Yippee,” I said dryly, twirling a finger in the air. “I’ll catch up with you guys at lunch.”

  Nate walked beside me, apparently headed in the same direction. “Where you going?”

  “Multivariable Calculus,” I answered, looking down at my schedule to triple check.

  “I don’t even know what that means.”

  “It means I took regular Calculus last year, so this is a step up. I’m not taking it easy my senior year.”

  He laughed, patting me on the head. We arrived outside my classroom. “Good for you. That stuff’s all Greek to me.”

  “Yeah, well nothing is more like a punishment out of Greek mythology than high school.”

  The bell tolled five times, the sound of a ship, reminding us Grand Haven was the Coast Guard capital of the good ole U.S.A.

  Nate followed me into my class, then stepped in front of me. “Hey, have a good day, okay?”

  A fluttery feeling settled in my belly.

  He stretched out his hand, swept the long strands of hair out of my face, then turned on his heel and loped out the door, travelling in the same direction from where we just came.

  I took my standard spot in the front row. Everyone stared, making me feel like a mannequin on display. Whatever, I was used to that. What I was not used to? My skin tingling strangely, making my head spin.

  Mr. Propert skipped the introductions and jumped right into the lesson. The students in this class were serious about learning. Math wasn’t even required for seniors, unless a student took remedial course as a freshman.

  The teacher pointed to the first problem on the Smart Board, and I smiled. A calculus theorem I could figure out and prove. But trying to decipher my new feelings … butterflies in my stomach, dry mouth, heat rushing through my body in waves? I didn’t have a clue.

  I sat cross-legged on the floor of the gym, wrapping my hands around my neck, giving myself a massage.

  “It’s on your life list. You can’t back out now,” Tammy propped her pom poms on her hips.

  In front of us, dozens of girls who actually wanted to be here learned tryout cheers. I took a swig from my water bottle, inhaled a deep breath, then tried to roll the stress from my shoulders, which were killing me after some not-so-skinny junior girl stood on them for my first pyramid formation.

  “I just didn’t think cheerleading would be so hard.”

  She brushed the blonde hair from her face with perfectly manicured nails and held out a hand to help me up.

  “I love it when geniuses find the simple things difficult.” She smiled widely. “But you’re not terrible. If you work hard enough over the next few hours, I think you have a shot at making the squad.”

  I knew she was just being nice; let’s not sugar-coat this … I stunk. Outside of sailing, I’d never been good at sports. That whole coordination thing was something I’d never mastered. In fact, I was prone to falling, and every time I did, the Jedi Order all shouted, ‘Gravity Check!’

  But for some reason, I did work hard during the next three hours, knowing it’d still take a miracle for me to make the team. There were plenty of other girls better than me. Maybe I channeled Conner’s spirit. He always excelled at everything. Or maybe knowing I should have some sort of athletics for my senior year on my college application motivated me. Sailing team was no longer an option. Best of all reasons was perhaps it’d tick Mom off if I made the team. I didn’t even tell her I planned on trying out. Whatever my logic, when the coaches and Tammy, still head cheerleader, finally announced the roster for this year’s squad at seven-thirty, my name was on the list.

  Tammy ran over, then wrapped me in a hug. “Congratulations! I knew you could do it!”

  Nodding, I didn’t fully comprehend why I made the squad. Then it hit me. “You pulled your head cheerleader rank for me, didn’t you?” Pressing my lips in a fine line, I broke away from her grasp. “Tammy, I don’t want a pity spot.”

  Her hand flew to her halter-top. “I didn’t. I mean yeah, I recommended you, but Coach agreed. You may not have been the best one out there, but you had the most heart, and you worked the hardest. I mean, you’ll be like the cheerleader for our cheerleading squad.”

  I never thought of earning a spot that way, but her words were actually kind of touching. I headed straight home and told my parents the news. I figured a congratulatory dinner or speech or anything displaying a sense of pride in their daughter would be out of the question, and they didn’t disappoint.

  “We need to talk,” I said after walking through the front door. “Here. Incase you ever want to come watch one of my games.” I handed Mom the cheerleading schedule.

  She sighed so hard I think actual smoke fumed from her ears. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You are way too intelligent to become a dumb cheerleader.”

  I sat on our seen-better-days lumpy couch, a permanent staple of our living room since my childhood.

  Dad relaxed in his Lazy Boy across from the television. “I didn’t realize you wanted to … .” He stopped and cleared his throat. Then he looked at Mom and I saw her calculating stare, warning him not to get involved.

  Mom stood over me, her usual power position. “Is there a permission slip I need to sign?”

  I retrieved the form from my bag on the floor, then handed the paper to her.

  She didn’t even read the paper before tearing it up.

  Propping my socked feet on our wooden coffee table shaped like the state of Michigan, I pulled a power play of my own.

  “Whatever, Mom. Tear it up. I’m eighteen next month, and I won’t need your permission then to join the squad. And by the way, cheerleaders aren’t dumb.” I wanted to add, only your rules are, but thought better of it since she could still ground me.

  With each exhale, her face burned redder, and she flashed me a look with fire in her eyes, like I wasn’t her daughter any more but rather the spawn of Satan. But I just gritted my teeth and stood my ground. I needed a change. No more depression. No more life on autopilot. No more unconscious thought behind my actions. No more heading toward some pre-determined destination chosen for me by my parents. For the first time in my life, probable valedictorian or not, I finally thought on my own.

  “Memory is the diary that

  chronicles history that couldn’t possibly have happened.”

  —Oscar Wilde

  When I arrived at Kyle’s, the only light in the living room emanated from a few lava lamps and black light sets around the room. The band already played loudly. I headed to the back corner where a folding table served as a makeshift all-you-can-eat junk food buffet. All ten of the extra large pizza boxes were empty.

  “The early bird gets the worm,” Tammy said, appearing beside me with a plate of brownies. “Want one? They’re fresh outta the oven.”

  I eyed the brownies suspiciously. I couldn’t picture Tammy in the kitchen wearing an apron Betty Crocker style. Up until a few months ago, I thought she was rich enough to have maids waiting on her hand and foot. “Um, yeah, if they’re regular brownies.”

  She loaded one onto a monkey-themed paper plate, then handed it to me. “Like, if you’re insinuating what I think you are, then don’t even. I only smoke cigarettes. I wouldn’t do anything to get fired from my spot as head cheerleader.”

  Nodding, I grabbed a handful of salty chips and a chocolate chi
p cookie, then searched the cooler on the floor next to the table until I discovered the last root beer.

  The door slammed behind us, another carful of guys arriving, and Tammy said, “The dinner of champions.”

  This group already seemed drunk. I recognized one boy, Dave, from my Driver’s Ed class. I chomped on my cookie for a few seconds, watching the boys head straight to the back porch where several people played Quarters. Like Zeus sitting on his throne surrounded by worshipers, the beer keg sat prominently on the patio table.

  “Did you make these cookies, too?” I asked, my mouth full.

  She struck a match, and smoke formed a cloud around me. “Yep. Good, right?”

  “Sweet. Maybe you can teach me how to bake sometime.” I grabbed another cookie, then excused myself to the leather couch sitting against the wall. I wanted to listen to the band.

  For the past five years, I heard Conner play guitar and sing every week. He had such raw talent, and I knew it’d be tough to replace him. But as I listened to them playing Haunted, I didn’t think I’d ever heard them play so well in the two years’ time they’d been a band.

  Mostly the stoner non-conformists clique from school littered the green carpet, moshing as Nate hit all the right notes, Sean nailed the rhythms on his bass, and Kyle whaled on his drums.

  The song ended, and Nate cleared his throat by the microphone, ready to address the crowd of twenty-something people. “We’d like to thank everyone for coming out tonight and supporting the newly regrouped Cantankerous Monkey Squad.”

  Whoops and hollers rang out.

  “I’m sure all of you know they lost their previous singer to a tragic accident five months ago. This last song we’re playing for you tonight is one we found in Conner’s song book after he passed away. Return is its title.”

  Nate belted out the lyrics Conner wrote. “I am the branches, and you are my vine/ Most of the time, we sit and wait for a sign/ But I don’t know if I can wait much longer/ I intend to face all those things I’ve pondered/ All those broken bridges I’ve burned, I’ll mend/ And become someone on who you can depend/ So don’t be afraid, I will return/ After my life lessons, I have learned/ I will return/ I’ll try not to get lost in all the chatter/ And find a way to make my life matter/ And you do the same to find your own place/ And don’t wish our mistakes, we could erase/ We’ll grow into the people we’re meant to be/ Lovers who eat afternoon picnics under Sycamore trees/ So don’t be afraid; I will return/ After my life lessons, I have learned/ I will return/ So no need to cry/ This isn’t goodbye/ For you, I will always sing/ Like eagles, we will soar with our new wings/ When the curtain tears in two at the end of the day/ My love for you will never fade away/ So don’t be afraid, I will return/ After my life lessons, I have learned/ I will return/ I will return.”

  The band never missed a beat, but my heart did. I pretended Conner wrote the words of the song just for me. All the ‘What if’ questions plagued my mind, and pain throbbed in my chest. I hung my head low, my hair falling over the sides of my face, and I stared at my sneakers very carefully, trying not to cry. Paralyzed on the couch, my mind flashed to the weekend before he died, the last time I unofficially heard him sing.

  The Jedi Order had taken me out to a fifties diner called Dee-Lite Bar and Grill. Getting my first ‘C’ on a test at school depressed me, and they thought breakfast for dinner would cheer me up. Still, Conner didn’t like the way I wasn’t laughing at his usual jokes, so he convinced Sean to stand with him when open mic started, and he sang Don’t Stop Believin by Journey. I’d give anything now to have something, anything, to believe in.

  Nate spoke loudly into the mic, pulling me out of my flashback. I frowned, feeling all the blood drain out of my feet. The memory felt so fresh, like that night happened just yesterday.

  “We’ll have T-shirts made up with our name and logo next show, so be prepared to fork out some money! No freebies here, suckers! Anyway, hopefully you liked us and will spread the word.”

  More loud cries of agreement.

  Those cheerleaders screaming from the kitchen are really getting on my nerves. I giggled. Oh yeah, I’m one of them now.

  Nate continued, “Yeah, you like that, ladies? Anyway, there are movies in the den off to the left and video games in Kyle’s bedroom to the right. You can stay right here and chill if you want. Just please, no slobbering on the furniture, homies. Peace out, everybody!”

  I had to tell the band what a great job they did. Leaning forward, I attempted to stand, but Dave blocked me, shoving a beer in my face. “Hey, Olga. You want one?”

  Ugh. He reeked of beer.

  “Um, no thanks. I’m D.A.R.E. president,” I joked, but sarcasm was lost on him.

  “Nice outfit.” He grinned from ear to ear, holding up his can as if giving cheers to my ensemble, a knee-length gray sweater dress.

  “Thanks.”

  Spilled beer streaked his shirt was streaked with spilled beer and an open fly graced his jeans.

  I scanned the room for Nate only to discover Brittany, another big haired, big boobed, blonde cheerleader, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.

  I looked again at Dave, his eyes wide and unguarded. “So, how about me, you, and my Porsche get out of here?”

  In Driver’s Ed, Dave constantly talked about his car, so I heard this annoying pickup line of sorts from him a lot. “Sorry, but I don’t date underclassmen.”

  Nate shuffled over. “Oh, epic fail, dude.”

  Dave, a sophomore, pressed the can to his lips and chugged. “Why don’t you date underclassmen?”

  “Because,” I said, my gaze bouncing from Nate to Dave. “Boys my own age are already immature. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go watch Star Wars.”

  “And I’m immature,” he slurred.

  Nate lifted an eyebrow. “Dude, shut up, and XYZ.”

  I stood and crushed the empty soda can with trembling hands. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause of my anger, but it drummed inside me as I entered the movie room, A New Hope already playing. As young Luke Skywalker began discovering his destiny, and while I contemplated mine, someone rubbed my shoulders. I had an inkling as to whose those hands were, based on the boozy smell emanating from them, but I didn’t know how to turn around and tell Dave to knock it off.

  He scratched my back and got dangerously close to brushing the sides of my ta-tas in doing so.

  I jumped up so fast I knocked over a bowl of popcorn sitting on the floor, a sick thudding in my abdomen.

  Some angry nerds shouted, “Hey! Watch it!” as I scurried out of the room, but not before confirming my suspicion it’d been Dave who tried to molest me.

  Heading for the slider, I caught a glimpse of Nate and Brittany sitting together on a Detroit Lions inflatable chair. He looked at me, and caught off guard, I ran head long into the sliding glass door.

  That’ll leave a mark. Surprisingly, my head didn’t even hurt. I trudged through Kyle’s spacious backyard to the sound of party-goers laughing, hoping the snickers weren’t directed at me. Ninety-nine percent of the time I felt certain people laughed at me, not with me.

  “Hey, Olga. Wait up! Where’s the fire, huh?”

  I turned around and glared at Dave.

  Can’t this guy take a hint?

  A sure sign a girl’s not into you: she bolted from the room after you nearly touched her ta-tas. I continued hiking through the overgrown yard as fast as I could to get away, but then I stepped in some dog crap. The blood drained out of my face, and I sighed.

  Why is it always the crap?

  I scraped my shoe against a tree.

  Dave came up from behind and placed two enormous hands on each side of me, resting them on the bark, his thumbs caressing my upper arms.

  I turned sharply. “Look, Dave, I don’t mean to be rude but … .”

  “Then don’t, baby.” He caressed my face with his hand. “I know I’m not your first choice, but I’m alive.”

  Panicked now, my head
spun, but I tried to harness all the misery of this night and direct it toward him without my voice shaking. “Really? That’s your best pickup line? You’re alive?”

  “I’m just saying,” he slurred. “You have choices, ya know?”

  He leaned in, mouth open.

  On impulse, I slapped him hard. Wow, that felt incredible! I’d never actually witnessed a girl slapping a guy in real life, only in the movies and books, and suddenly, I felt as erratic as Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind.

  “Oh, you like to play it rough, my little dominatrix.” Cupping one hand behind my head and the other around my waist, he tried to force me into a kiss.

  I shifted my head side to side, trying unsuccessfully to push away.

  My mind raced; I couldn’t overpower him or scream. He settled for kissing my neck instead, and his lips sucked my flesh like a vampire.

  I spotted Nate at the edge of porch, peering through the black night. My eyes widened, convinced he wasn’t there just a second ago, and my whole body shook, praying he’d spot us and come to the rescue. I heard him calling my name. Somehow, my prayers were answered.

  “Olga?” He rushed through the darkness. “Are you okay?”

  Dave’s hands flew off me, and I let out a huge breath.

  “This girl’s into some freaky crap, dude,” Dave said.

  Nate stood face-to-face with Dave in less than a second, then hit him square in the jaw. Dave fell to the ground, blood dripping from his bottom lip.

  “I’m well aware of Olga’s bad luck with pieces of crap; just look at you. Now, do I need to count to three, or are you gonna leave on your own?”

  A passive expression spread across Dave’s face as he stood, wobbled, then reached for the keys in his pocket.

  “Don’t be stupid.” Nate yanked them from his hand. “Walk or get another ride home. You can pick up your precious car tomorrow. One—”

  Dave raced up to the porch, covering his mouth with one hand.

  Nate shrugged. “Personally, I didn’t care if he did run himself into a tree, but I was worried about the Porsche.”