by Peiri Ann
I need to eat. If I eat, at least my head will stop hurting. That’s my theory anyway.
My mom always leaves snacks on the breakfast bar of the kitchen that overhangs into the kitchen from the hallway. That’s as far as I need to get.
Using the wall for support, I find one of the three barstools that sit in front of the breakfast bar. In no attempt do I try to climb up on it; instead, I slump over it. As I do, the room spins. Hold it together, Tracey, I tell myself.
On the right side of the bar are the healthy snacks; on the left are the chips and Twinkies. I’m on the right, and although I love Twinkies, I will not force myself to walk over there. I try to decide between an apple and a banana.
I grab the banana, still leaning over the chair. I peel it as good as I can, through blurred vision, before eating it slowly.
The phone rings again and I have no interest in answering it. All I care about is making my way to the nearest couch and sleeping for the next three days, or until my head stops hurting. I stand, taking one step, and my legs go weak.
I drop down to my knees, feeling no pain but the hammer hitting every inch of my head with the force of a man who can lift four-hundred-thirty pounds. I have no strength to walk, so I crawl my way to the living room and take five minutes to pull myself onto the couch.
The door knocks, three times. “NOO! Go Away!” I shout. There is no way I am going to answer the door. They knock three more times. I’m not moving.
Thankfully, there is no more knocking, and I throw one of our decorative pillows over my head to block out the sunlight.
The sound of the garage door rising wakes me. I pull the pillow from my face and see that it is dark. The garage door opens. “Mom!” I groan. My mom will help me to my room.
“One moment, Tracey. I’m almost in the house.” My mom is so polite. She is really pretty, tall—maybe five-foot-six—petite, and is always at her best. There is never a hair out of place or a wrinkle in her clothes. That includes her pajamas.
My dad is the same, but he is never home, due to his job. I hate it, but my mom loves it. Not only because it brings in the ‘big bucks,’ but because ‘you always need to have some time away and to yourself. Gives you some time to miss him, and that makes it better when he returns. It keeps the relationship happy and strong,’ she always says.
“Tracey, where are you?”
“Mom,” I groan, not as loud as the first time. I’m being a big baby. I hug the pillow to my chest, waiting for her to find me. If I move my head, it will remind me of how bad I feel.
She comes in, looks me over, her eyes resting on my face and then they go wide. Her perfectly arched eyebrows almost touch her hairline. Pure shock holds her face hostage.
“What?” I question nervously.
“You are as red as an apple, and your forehead is bruised. It’s not that bad, but it’s noticeable. Are you feeling okay?”
“Can you help me to my room, please? I don’t feel well. My head hurts.”
“Your nurse called and said you had passed out and hit your head.” She crouches down near my head. “I have been calling you all day, but by the sound of your phone going off from upstairs, I can see you left it at home.” Her fingertips brush across my forehead, and she instantly removes them.
“Am I that hot?”
“No, honey. You’re freezing.”
“Freezing!?” I turn my head too quickly, waking up the heavy-lifting man that bangs my head with his hammer. “That’s okay, Mom. Can you just help me to my room? I don’t feel well.”
“Do you want to go to the hospital?”
“No, just to my bed.”
“Okay, honey. Let me get you a water and some pain pills, then we will head upstairs and get you to bed.”
“Thanks.”
Swirling eyes haunt my dreams. Salient, swirling eyes, turning from brown to green, then from green to blue. The blue then swirls into a strange grey—a lifeless grey, so empty that they could be completely black. Their desolation interests me.
A hand on my hips lifts me, assisting me into the tall, black truck. The feel of his grip is tight, and the warmth from his touch sends chills over my skin. In the truck, he climbs in after me. His body pushes against mine, forcing me to slide over. The back of the chair slightly raises my shirt as I push towards the other side of the seat. He notices and grabs my bare waist, stopping me from moving away from him. I love it.
His touch scorches the spot where he touches me, but it feels amazing. His hair has fallen around his head. It’s longer in the front, but not by much. Just enough to touch the top of his eyebrows. The sides—around his ears—and the back are shorter.
His face strong and jaw locked, his eyes swirl from green to blue, with that same hint of brown constantly circling his pupils, as he searches my face. He looks at me as if he is studying every feature, every expression. He is gorgeous, voice harmonious—when he speaks in a language unfamiliar to me—and he drops his head to the side of mine. His hand rubs up my back and gently presses my body against his. His chest is hard against mine.
The warmth from his breath dances across my neck and collarbone. My skin begins to ache, craving his kiss, with his lips being so close. I can’t move. My body is numb. “How do you do that?” my lips whisper.
He lifts, looking me over, and his mouth opens to speak, or maybe kiss me, I assume, when his eyes leave mine to go to my lips. They are also begging for his.
He loses his grip on the steering wheel and his hand slams on the horn. That loud-ass horn—it’s going to wake up the whole damn neighborhood. That damn horn, interrupting this perfect moment.
“Tracey!” Oh shit, my mom. If she sees me like this, she’s going to kill me. I shuffle around him, but he isn’t moving.
“Tracey! Your alarm is going off, wake up!”
Wake up?
“Tracey, are you feeling better? Are you going to school today?” I open my eyes to the covers over my head.
My head isn’t hurting and I feel much better than before I went to sleep. I sit up. “Yes, I’m going to school. And yes, I feel better.” I reach behind my bed to the flat headboard to cut off that damn alarm clock that ruined such an excellent dream.
Looking back at my mom, she’s smiling at me. “You look much better today.” She walks over to me and touches my forehead. “That must have been a good sleep.”
“You have no idea.” Besides that damn horn.
“Good. Get up and get a move on. You’re already running fifteen minutes behind time.” She leaves my room, already fully dressed and on her way to work, I assume. My mom and I have a great relationship and I can talk to her about anything. But today, I’m not interested in why she is leaving so early.
“Okay, thanks for waking me up,” I say to her back.
Getting ready, I can only think about him. My mind won’t leave his eyes, his voice, or his touch. I can’t understand it. I don’t even know him, so why am I wanting him like this?
My car looks perfect. I can’t recall any of the damages that required for it to be fixed. Driving mindlessly to school, I try to take my mind off my memory of the warm hands on my body. I make it five minutes short of being late. Like every morning, I meet Glen by my locker and we head to our first class—Trig.
She talks and I can’t focus on anything she’s saying—something about the party and what she wants to wear. I just nod as we walk. Entertaining her with ‘yeahs’ and ‘uh huhs.’
My classes fly by and I pay little-to-no attention.
Walking to the lunchroom, Scott meets me in the hall. “Hey Scott,” I greet him.
“Hey Trace.” I hate Trace.
“Tracey,” I correct.
“Sorry, Tra-cey.” I roll my eyes.
“What can I do you for?” Scott is nice, a mellow, down-to-earth guy. He’s not too hard on the eyes either. But whenever he comes around, you never quite know what he is going to say.
“So my cousin hit you yesterday.” See what I mean?
“Yeah, his name is Nathan,” he says dully.
“I know his name.”
“Oh, he was courteous enough to tell you his name?” he asks rhetorically.
I give him a warily look. “What do you mean?”
“My cousin is not the nicest guy you could meet.”
“He seemed nice yesterday.” To be honest, I don’t care how not-nice he is. I just want him around me. Wait—really? I shake my head at my thoughts.
“It really doesn’t matter.” Before I can interject, he continues, “He was supposed to pick me up yesterday but didn’t. When he stopped by the house last night, I asked him what happened. He told me about how he ran into you, then you all went to get your car fixed and he followed you home to make sure you were okay. Said you hit your head pretty hard on the steering wheel.” He moves to look at my head. “I don’t see anything though.”
What type of story is that? That’s not how I remember it. But maybe that’s how he wanted to tell it to Scott. “Umm, yeah, something like that.” I touch my head where I remember hitting it yesterday. It doesn’t hurt and the lump is gone.
“Well, he’s a douche, so it was weird to hear him talk about fixing your car and following you home. I just needed to see if the story was true and that he didn’t just blow me off for some girl.” He gives me a puzzled look. “Not…saying that you’re just some and girl and all.” He looks away. “You know what I mean. So you—”
“Tracey!” Glen calls my name from a few feet in front of us, as if I didn’t see her.
“Hey, beautiful,” I greet her as she wraps her arm around mine.
“What are you two talking about?” she asks. I don’t want Glen to know about what happened yesterday—yet. I don’t know how to explain it.
I look at Scott, cutting him off before he answers. “He was just asking me if we were going to the party,” I answer quickly.
He nods in agreement and understanding. Giving me a confounded look, he walks away saying, “I’ll talk with you two later.”
“Wait!” I can’t help it. “Are you all going?” I tried to hold it in, but I need to know if he is going to be there.
“Don’t, Tracey,” he says in a serious voice, looking over his shoulder. “Yes, I’m going.”
Why is he so adamant about me not showing interest in his cousin? It does nothing but fuel my curiosity. I turn to Glen, looking at her as she watches Scott walk away, her eyes fixated on him as if she’s studying his every movement. I smile to myself. She is staring. Staring at Scott.
Scott is kind of hot. He plays on every sport the school offers for guys, and he’s built. He, too, is tall, with brown hair that has a red tent. His face is round, with almond-shaped eyes, eyebrows that match his hair, and a dimple in his chin.
He is nice and possess that ‘can do’ attitude, backed with his positivity of going to school and staying focused. “Are you checking out Scott?” I ask teasingly.
She looks at me shocked, like reality just hit her. “Uh, no.”
“Come on now, Glen, you were so checking him out. Just be honest.”
She looks away from me, back down the hall. “Okay, I was, a little bit.”
“No! You were a lot!” I say, laughing. “It’s okay. He is kind of cute.”
“He is…” she fades, eyes non-focused.
“I didn’t know you had the hots for Scott. Why haven’t you tried to talk to him?”
“I don’t know. I just—” Her face scrunches. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, let’s go get some lunch, miss ‘hots for hots.’”
“Tracey, don’t tease. I don’t know how I feel about this yet.”
“It’s okay, Glen. Just chill. I’ll stop. Now, come on.” I drag her with me to the vending machine. I hate eating cafeteria food, it doesn’t taste real. “You want something?”
“Yes. Can we go to the mall after school?” she asks, pointing at a Butterfinger behind the glass.
“I thought you already had an outfit to wear?” I ask, forcing the dollar into the machine.
“Well, I did ‘til I found out Scott,” she speaks his name in a whisper, “was going. I need something better now.”
“You know, Scott doesn’t like that slutty stuff, so what are you going to wear?”
“I know, that’s what I’m trying to change.”
I shrug, handing her the Butterfinger, and start to eat my bag of chips as we walk to our table. Glen and I are quiet, while the other girls ramble about their outfits and the party. I ignore them, tired of hearing about the party already. Glen is usually never quiet, and I assume she is thinking about Scott. I’m quiet for thinking about him, and Glen with Scott.
I never knew Glen had a thing for Scott. And I can’t understand why she is so ashamed of it. And why doesn’t Scott want me to have an interest in his cousin? What is so bad about him?
The rest of the day is a blur to me. I can’t think straight. My head is all over the place, focusing on things I want, things I can’t make sense of, and…him. He is all over my head. And it irritates the hell out of me. I even daydreamed about him running into me again, sitting in my last class.
This shit is crazy!
I cannot understand why I can’t get this boy out of my head.
I accompany Glen to the mall after school. While we’re here, I figure I can find me something to wear as well. Maybe it will take my mind off my new obsession. Ridiculous, to be infatuated by someone you barely even know. Barely? Let’s try, not at all.
“Tracey, let’s go into Charlotte Rousse.” Charlotte’s is Glen’s favorite store on the less-slutty side. I like it too, and I’m ready to go.
“Okay, I’m thinking about getting a new outfit for school too.”
“Oo, that’s a good idea. An outfit for the day and an outfit for the night.” She snaps her fingers left to right.
I laugh at her notion. “Yes, those were my thoughts exactly.”
“Hello,” we’re greeted, when we step in. “Let us know if you need anything!” the employees say cheerfully.
“Will do,” we say at the same time.
“So I was thinking about a skirt with a lace shirt, maybe some heels, and a lot of accessories.”
“I think we are going to a house party, not a club, and that would be overdoing it for the person you are trying to impress.” I have not said anything else about Scott since she asked me not to earlier.
“Well, miss conservative. What do you think I should wear?”
“I really think you should be yourself, something you would wear, just not so much leg and cleavage. Maybe a little high-rise shirt, over your navel, some tight, straight-leg jeans, and feel free to wear your heels but remember it’s only a high school party.”
She ponders my suggestion. “And what are you going to wear?” she asks with an eyebrow raised.
“I was thinking some waist-highs, tight of course, a sheer collared blouse tucked in, with a tank underneath, along with my high-top studded boots, and I’ll find some accessories to assist.”
“Mm, cute!” She looks intrigued. “Okay,” she says, after a pause, “let’s find it, then we can find what we’ll wear to school.”
Shopping in the mall for two hours—trying on clothes and putting outfits together—I find exactly what I want for the party and for school. I chose some denim shorts that stop mid-thigh and a shirt that says ‘Tell Him I Said HI.’
Glen found some jeans that look like she painted them on and a lace, knit shirt that has a non-see-through shirt sewn into it. She found some cute pink wedges that matched perfectly, and some TOMS shoes to go with this ‘school girl’ dress she’s going to wear to school.
She wants to spend the night at my house tonight, which is okay with me. I call my mom and she is also okay with i
t. Before heading to my house, we stop by Glen’s so she can grab her toiletries and undies.
We arrive at my house as my mom is finishing up dinner. “Hey, Mom!” I say. “Hey Mrs. Warren,” Glen follows.
“Hello, girls. How was the mall? Did you girls find some cute clothes for the party?”
“Yes! What are you cooking?” Glen always goes for the food.
“Just some smothered steaks, mashed potatoes, and fresh green beans. You both hungry?” my mom asks, without looking up from placing the food on our plates.
“Yes,” Glen answers for the both of us.
We sit around the table eating mom’s food. It’s delicious. “So who’s throwing this party tomorrow?” my mom asks, for the sake of conversation.
I quickly answer. “Andrew.”
“Andrew’s mother is going to let him throw a party?” Andrew’s mother and mine were both in the Parent Teachers Association when we were in grade school and middle school. They would set up gathering and events for us. Andrew’s mother was the only one who refused to have the parties at their house and would limit the activities he could participate in.
“Yeah, I guess she is.”
“Wow, I never took her for the type. She is so…strict with him.” she says before drinking from her glass of water.
“That’s the same thing I said.” My mom isn’t the type to allow me to throw parties either. But I don’t like my house full of people anyway.
She also isn’t the type to tell me ‘no’ about everything. I am pretty responsible, so she lets me go out, go to parties, and go shopping, without overbearing me with questions.
“Okay, you girls be safe when you go and do not get into any trouble. I know I’ll probably only see you all tomorrow morning and may be asleep when you all get in.” She stands and starts cleaning off the table. “You feeling okay today, Tracey?”
“Yes, Mom.” I take a glance at Glen still stuffing her face. Looking back at my mom, I mouth ‘not now’ as I shake my head. I don’t know how to explain to Glen what happened, so it’s better to avoid the conversation all together.
“Well, good.” She nods. “You all get to bed so you can be up early.” She walks over and kisses my head. “Glen, when you are finished, just place your plate in the dishwasher. Tracey, put the remainder of the food in the containers when you’re all finished. Place the dirty dishes in the dishwasher as well. Love you,” she calls out as she walks to the stairs.