by Sara Ney
I shake my head to get the feathers out of my brain, and let my hand lilt in the air. "Whatever. Anyways, let me get you to my dad's office. You're the last one's here."
After dropping Derek and Adam off, I shuffle off in my fuzzy slippers to find Jenna up in my room lying flat on my bed with one hand holding open the latest issue of Teen Vogue, the other hand propping her chin up.
"Those are two of the dumbest looking boys I have ever seen," she says without looking up, and flips a page of the magazine. I flop down beside her. "You should ask one of them out."
I pretend to think about it before I say, "Okay."
"What?! Shut up you slut!" she shouts, coming off the bed in a huff, magazine falling to the carpet. "I was kidding!"
I grab my stomach and fall over laughing. She's too easy.
"So was I you moron," I say. "As if I would do that. Hockey players are like cavemen."
Jenna smirks. "I know one caveman I wouldn't mind dragging me around by the hair...."
"Honestly Jenna. Why don't you just become his official stalker for crying out loud? He's not a god. He's an athlete."
"Yeah - an athlete I'd let drag me around by the hair...."
I sit on the bed and bite down on my lower lip, debating; if I tell Jenna that I caught Weston watching me in the library, at the lake, and again in the hallway, she will freak. Not just freak. Like, literally lose her mind. I would never hear the end of it on account of the big a stalker crush she has on him.
On the other hand, if I don't tell her I'll feel like I'm keeping a secret from her, which I have never done.
I go from biting my lip to biting my thumb nail.
Catching the nervous habit, Jenna hones in on me. "Wait. Is there something you're not telling me? What's going on?" She studies me with her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"You're biting your nail. That means you're stressing out about something. Come on, tell Jenna what's wrong." Jenna plops back onto the bed with a flounce, sitting up against the headboard. She takes a pillow, settling it on her lap. "Here, lay down."
She pats the pillow indicating I should lay my head on it.
I bite my lip, still debating.
"Just do it!" She hisses.
"God you're pushy." I try to sound affronted.
"That's because you're a pushover. I do battles for you."
"Yeah, you're a regular knight in shining armor..." I mutter, but move to lay my head down. Jenna starts braiding my hair and doesn't say anything.
She's waiting for me to say something.
I let out a long breath.
"Soooo... you know how I always make a big deal out of you mentally stalking Weston McGrath?"
Long pause. Then, "Duh...."
"Well...there's been a development." Yeah, yeah, I know I'm being vague here, but I'm so nervous and bracing myself for her reaction.
"Yeah...." I can feel Jenna holding her breath. She stops braiding my hair, and I wiggle my head around to encourage her to begin again. "Oh hell no. I'm not doing your hair unless you talk. So spill. And this had better be good."
"He. Um... Ugh." I can't get the words out. "A few days ago... He..."
"Spit it out Molly!"
"A few days ago in the library, I caught him straight up staring at me. Staring at me hard. Is that such a thing? Oh my god. Then I caught him doing it in the hallway today before I smashed into Rick the Dick. So yeah. That's it." I blurt it all out in a long run on sentence without taking a single breath.
The room is completely silent. Not even our cell phone's interrupt with a text alert.
Neither of us is moving.
"Holy. Shit." Jenna has my braid suspended above my head and she's staring down at me. Her eyes have gone huge. For a few minutes at least, she doesn't say anything else. It's taking all my focus not to fidget under her scrutiny. Finally, in a very low voice she says, "Do you remember in 8th grade when we were playing Seven Minutes in Heaven, and I got locked in with Kevin Dryer and I not only let him make out with me but I also let him stick his hand up my shirt? I thought that was the best moment of my life."
"Um......" Where is she going with this?
"This is so much better than that."
***
I come back from grabbing snacks in the kitchen (correction: I come back from sneaking snacks in the kitchen) and Jenna is perched on the end of my bed, ready to pounce. The girl wants details and really only agreed to let me leave the room because I had to go to the bathroom. Otherwise I would have been held hostage.
This behavior, quite honestly, goes all the way back to middle school.
Back to when Jenna used to write this little column for the school newspaper (I think it was called 'Seen and Heard in the Halls,' which was basically this little gossip column). But of course she acted more like a reporter for the New York Times than for the Raven M.S. Gazette - and even back then she took herself way too seriously.
"Okay, so. As you were saying you were in the library, and you could feel him stripping you naked with his eyes." She has her fingertips folded into steeples and they're pressing against her chin.
"No, that's not what I said. If you're going to twist everything around to make it sound tawdry, just forget it. I'm not telling you anything."
"All right! All right, I'll stop."
"Promise?"
"Yes, I pinky promise." She looks sincere, but with her it's so hard to tell. I take it one step further by screwing up my face and threatening her with a knuckle sandwich. It's too bad my fist looks so puny.
"I swear by all the is holy Jenna, I don't mind if you say anything, but if you exaggerate or make shit up, I will tell your mom you took her Gucci purse to school the week she was on vacation, and that you spilled Pepsi on it during lunch and that you had to have it dry cleaned."
Jenna's skin blanches a little.
Her mom takes her designer bags very seriously.
"Molly! I promise. And you know what? Kudos to you on trying to blackmail me..." She tips her head to the side thoughtfully. "So, okay. What were you wearing in the library when he was eying you up?"
I set the pretzels I've been holding on the bed, and crack open a sparkling water. It's lemon flavored and is my mom's new favorite beverage apparently, because there's a whole case of it from Sam's Club in the pantry.
I take a sip then sputter, "Ugh, this is so gross! How do people drink it?"
Jenna snaps her fingers in front of my face. "Molly, the library. What were you wearing?"
"Huh? Oh. Um, I think I was wearing a jean skirt. The short one my mom hates, and my Boston Bruins' tee shirt."
In case you're not up on your hockey trivia, the Bruins' won themselves the Stanley Cup last year. Another interesting fact about me: I am a closet hockey fan. Now, before you go and start jumping down my throat let me clarify: I am a fan of professional hockey, not the student athlete variety. I won't bore you with the details, because it's common knowledge my brother Matthew is a senior playing for the Wisconsin Badgers.
What's not common knowledge: my cousin Travis plays for Pittsburgh Penguins (an NHL team). My parents have always been fanatical hockey fanatics - but now that their nephew plays in the "big league" and their son plays for a Big Ten school, they're psycho about it.
It's not something I go around broadcasting unless you count the team bumper stickers on my Jeep. Wait. I guess that is broadcasting it...
"Is that the hockey shirt you reworked to make it tighter?" Jenna's eyes are sparkling.
"Yup."
"Damn girl, I bet you looked hot as hell. Especially to a guy like him. Man, I wish I'd have been there." She flops down backwards and lays flat on her back staring dreamily at the old Justin Bieber poster I have taped to the ceiling.
It's from fifth grade, okay?
"Maybe he was looking so hard to see what my shirt said?"
"Or maybe he was just looking at your ta-ta's," Jenna says. "Do you know how awesome it is that you h
ad that shirt on? I mean, think about it. You've never been to a Ravens game, and here you are wearing a shirt from the NHL. I bet he got all hot and bothered - you know how 18 year old guys are." She flips over to her stomach and reaches for the pretzels, popping two in her mouth at a time. "He was probably wondering what the hell the deal was."
River Glen Ravens is the name of our high school athletics program, and yes I have been to a few of the games - but it has been a couple of years. I think I was in 8th grade or a freshman the last time I went to see my brother Matthew play.
"So what else were you wearing? What shoes did you have on?" Jenna takes the can of sparkly water I had discarded and takes a healthy swig. "Wow, this really does taste like shit."
"I was wearing wedges, and I don't see why that really matters - Hey! I can't believe you don't remember any of this. I see you every day, and this was only a few days ago."
She shrugs. "I have my own issues I'm dealing with, okay?"
"Like....??
"Like, hello, I can't find shoes to match my Fall Formal dress and its driving me mental. Let's go to the mall in Clintonville this weekend. Maybe they'll have something." I watch her take another chug of the water before handing it to me. "Ugh, why are you letting me drink this? It's so shitty."
Taking the can, I set it on the bedside table, grinning.
Seriously, sometimes all you can do is laugh.
And that's what we do - burst out laughing on my bed. Then I ask, "Why are you so worried about finding shoes? Fall Formal isn't for like, an entire month yet."
Jenna looks at me like I've sprouted two heads. "How can you not be worried about it? You haven't even found a dress yet."
"Well, that's an easy one. I don't have a date."
"That's your fault. You won't give anyone a chance."
"Honestly Jenna, that's because all the guys I have to pick from act like jackasses, and you know how that drives me crazy. And it's not exactly a crime waiting to look at dresses until I have a date. I'm okay not going."
"I don't even know you anymore," Jenna says in a staged whisper of mock horror.
"Seriously, how did I find you?" I ask, chuckling.
"I think you're remembering it all wrong. I totally found you. Now pass me that hideous water."
***
I am lying in bed, staring at my ceiling.
No matter how hard I try, it's impossible to fall asleep. It will not come to me.
Glancing at my clock, I note the time: 12:17 AM. Groaning, I flop to my side and grab the iPod off my bedside table, put in the ear-buds and click to my 'Mellow' playlist.
Letting out a long breath I didn't realize I was holding in, I close my eyes and give in to what I've been fighting all day long: the image of Weston. The undeniable attraction I feel. The flutters I felt throughout my whole body when I caught him watching me.
And the ache in my heart that knows he's not the dating kind.
***
Chapter Six
MOLLY
"My dog winks at me sometimes. I always wink back just in case it's some kind of code." - Derek Hanson
You might be thinking that I spend every waking moment with Jenna - or any of my other friends - but in reality that's not the case.
Like today.
It's Saturday, and I'm standing in a stock room at the resort store where I work. The store serves several purposes: in the summer, it's a gift shop that sells collectibles with our towns' logo on it. We also sell apparel, and some water sport accessories (think wake boards and tubes). Then, in the winter during ski season, we sell winter apparel, skis and snowboarding equipment.
And basically I only work here so I can get a free season pass to the ski hill.
That, and, my parents told me one afternoon when I became a senior not to come home without a job, and this was literally the only place I went that was hiring.
The shop is located at the base of our mountain (which isn't actually a mountain but an old garbage landfill they turned into a ski hill) and in the winter, snowboarders and skiers can zip right up to the door if they need anything from the store, like glove warmers for example...or...a funky new hat.
I work with only one other girl from my school named Erin, who is honestly a real pain in the butt. She's useless, but I'm almost positive her parents are friends with our manager because there is no way anyone would purposely hire her.
I'm still assessing her actual skill set.
Or lack of.
"Honestly, you are no help what-so-ever..." I mutter to Erin as I heave a cardboard box into the middle stock room with my foot. Yeah, it would be easier to bend down and push it, but today I'm feeling a little lazy myself. The store is pretty dead: tourist traffic from the areas big lake hasn't turned into vacationers on a ski holiday just yet, so it's mostly just the occasional customer trickling in. Someone who might want to pre-order a ski coat, for example.
I glanced sideways at Erin, who is standing there watching me struggle with the box and offering me no assistance. I roll my eyes. "I can't believe they pay you..."
"Ugh, I'm so boreddd," she groans loudly, dragging out her sentence and leaning backwards. She lets her arms fall limply to her sides. "Ugh, I'm dyinggg. What time is it?"
"We still have almost two hours left," I say, irritated. I take the sharp cutter out of my apron and slice the heavy box open, careful not to cut into the merchandise inside. Unlike that one time I cut into the box without thinking and ended up slicing a brand new ski coat right down the front.
That sucked.
I didn't have to pay for it or anything, but still.
"Who are you going to Fall Formal with this year?" Erin asks.
"I'm not."
"Not going? Or not having a date?" Really Erin? Not having a date? Way to pay attention in English class.
"I don't have a date, so technically I have no plans to go."
"So you don't have a dress?"
"Nope."
"Aww, that's so sad...." After she says this, I turn to face her and put my hand on my hip.
"Do I look sad to you," I ask as Erin stares at me blankly. Okay, not blankly exactly - she's actually looking at me like I'm a pitiful little critter. I let out a long sigh and ask, "Okay, well, who are you going to Fall Formal with?"
"Technically, he hasn't asked me yet, but I totally know he will..."
"Are you going to tell me or not, because we have stuff to do here."
"Derek Hanson. He winked at me yesterday."
"You think Derek Hanson is going to ask you to Fall Formal because he winked at you yesterday?"
"It was a suggestive wink with a lot of meaning. I could tell."
Really, what am I supposed to say to that? Suddenly, Erin claps her hands. "I know! Let's play a game!"
"Please, let's not."
Technically, she's supposed to be unloading a box of child's socks (you know, the kind that look all crazy and mismatched) but instead she's leaning up against a cleaning supply shelf and peeling open a new pack of gum. Noisily, she dislodges a square from its foil and pops it into her mouth. "Wow, this is minty."
"You do know we have to get this done before tomorrow, don't you," I ask, my question lingering in the air as it falls on deaf ears. Erin goes over to stand next to the stockroom door that separates the back storage area from the sales floor. She turns and grins. I can hear the chewing of her gum from the other side of the room - she sounds like my brother when he's gnawing away at a steak dinner.
Erin senses my sigh before I can even audibly get one out. "Calm down, would you? (Wow, am I that predictable?) It's not like you actually need this job if they fire you for not being productive." (Actually, Erin does have a point: that is technically true....) "So, like, here's what we're going to do, because if I don't do something fun I'm going to like, die of boredom."
"You could do some work...." Ignoring me, as usual, Erin pushes on.
"Okay, so like, the next guy that walks in that door, you have to —."
/> "- No freaking way, Erin. No!"
"Okay, I'll do it then."
"Do what?!" I damn near shout, exasperated.
"I'll flirt with the next guy that walks in that door. Even if he's, like, super old."
"That's the dumbest thing you've said all day. Plus, what if the next guy that walks in the door is a kid?"
"Well, if he's like, twelve then that would like, totally make his whole year."
"Oh my god you're so ridiculous..."
At that moment, the bell from the door jingles and I groan.
Lord help me.
I can hear the faint sound of Erin greeting the new customers, and resume unpacking the box of insulated Under Armour shirts that sits half empty on the floor. I look around for a clear surface, and remove a stack of resort maps. The shirts still have to be taken out of their clear plastic bags, put on hangers, and tagged.
Ugh, this is the part of the job that I hate.
Just then, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my apron. It's a text from Tasha.
how late do u work?
I reply: done in 2 hrs. why? and slip the phone back into my pocket. It buzzes again almost immediately.
Tasha: scrimmage starts in 20 min. She's talking about the hockey pre-season scrimmage the Ravens have this afternoon against the prep school in a nearby city, and Tasha just happens to be dating a guy from their team.
Me: there's no way I'll make it. it'll b over long b4 i get done if its just a scrimmage.
Tasha: ok. will save seat just in case.
Me: thnx. Even though I know there's no way I'd make it, and really no way I'd go even if I could. Besides, what I what hardly matters since I'm stuck here at work until my shift ends.
For the next two hours, I stay in the back room and unpack boxes. Shirts, socks, and even a box of ski masks. Since its getting closer to October, the weather might be warm enough to sit at the lake for the day, but ski season will be upon us in a matter of weeks. Erin doesn't help at all, of course, but rather she's been up front accosting the few customers that actually wander in. One couple comes in to pre-order ski jackets, and some poor random man comes in to pick up the snowboard bindings he had tightened (I'm really grateful I wasn't up front for that little exchange if Erin's still playing her "boredom buster").