by Kayt Miller
“Flabby Abby? Seriously Ben? What a terrible thing to say to someone you jerkwad.” I hear Margie yell.
I’m not sure I ever want to come back to Margie’s house if they’re all this mean. I guess they aren’t all mean. Jake wasn’t mean. He was sweet. He defended me and he winked at me! The thought of Jake Dill makes me sigh happily. I’m going to have to bite the bullet and ignore the other brothers just so I can still see Jake when I’m at Margie’s.
I did my best to avoid going to the Dill residence for a while, but that wasn’t always easy. My parents were so caught up in my brothers that it was almost a necessity to get away from all of the drama and mayhem. My brothers are cute and funny but they are hellions! If they are let loose without supervision, things get broken, scratched, and drawn upon.
I begged my dad to put a lock on my bedroom door so that they couldn’t get in there when I wasn’t home. They’d already torn apart my diary (luckily they can’t read yet), they drew some scary fanged creature on the wall above my bed with permanent markers (my markers are now ruined), and when they jumped on my bed repeatedly they broke the bed frame. My mattress now just sits on the floor. It’s just easier that way. Dad finally, but reluctantly, agreed to put install lockable doorknob on my door as long as my parents had the spare key. When I wasn’t in my room, it was locked. I hope it’s enough to keep the little boogers out of my room. They’re crafty little devils.
When September and school finally arrived, I was nervous to start fourth grade in a new school so Margie walked with me, helped me figure out how to get to my classes, and introduced me to her friends. For some reason, Max tagged along with us too. I don’t know why I’m surprised. He’s always with us. We try to play without him, but whenever I’m at Margie’s house, Max is right there trying to get his nose in our business.
What fourth grade boy wants to play Barbie’s? Max. What nine-year old boy wants to learn to sew? Max. And finally, what nine-year old boy wants a pedicure? Max. Margie swears he’s not usually like that but I think she’s just defending her twin. I suppose that’s what a good twin does. A good twin or not, I can’t help it but I don’t like Max. I’m pretty sure he’s the anti-Christ. He’s Margie’s exact opposite. She’s sweet and kind; he’s annoying and loud. She likes to read and relax: he likes to watch bloody, action movies and run around like a crazy person. He’s even got green eyes while the rest of the Dill’s have bright blue eyes. And they aren’t a normal green, either. They are like Leprechaun green. That should have been warning enough to his parents when he was born––he’s full of pure mischief and mayhem.
Max has good moments too. There aren’t many but he yells at Ben whenever he makes fun of me, which he does a lot. He also helped me get my locker open this morning. The thing was jammed or something but Max was able to yank it open. He’s pretty strong for a nine year old kid. I thanked him, which was probably a bit too encouraging––I shouldn’t have done it but it was the right thing to do. I don’t want to give Max an “in” with me because he’ll just use it to harass me. He loves to pull my hair. He pinches me and tickles me every chance he gets. It’s super annoying. I wish he’d just find his own friends.
After school started, Max did spend more time with his buddies, thank goodness. Margie and I were still inseparable. We spent everyday after school together and had sleepovers every chance we got. We went to the school athletic events together, since neither of us went out for any sports but her brothers played in everything. I was a little nerdy and definitely not athletic and Margie was just into her own things. She left all of the sports stuff to her brothers.
Everyone once in a while I’d see Jake in the halls at school. He was a year older in fifth grade and several inches taller than most of the kids even in his grade. He’d grown since summer and was even more adorable that before––if that’s possible. I looked for him in the hallway whenever we moved from one classroom to another. Sometimes the fifth graders passed by in our hall and I could get a glimpse of him. He always smiled at me if he saw me. My goodness. Jake Dill is sooooo perfect and dreamy and beautiful. I only gush about Jake to myself, though. If Margie knew of my crush, she’d probably smack me on the back of my head. Margie wouldn’t understand because she still thinks boys are gross.
My crush grew into full-fledged love one day when Jake came to my rescue. *sigh* It was a Monday and I was standing in the hallway outside of the cafeteria waiting for Margie to meet me for lunch when seventh grader Billy Jenkins, the school’s resident bully, decided it was the perfect time to tease me. Of course, he was with his little followers. He had three little dorks that thought he was the best thing since sliced bread. Everyone hated and feared Billy, myself included. So, there I was, minding my own business when Billy says mockingly, “Well, lookey there, it’s Flabby Abby.”
I think I forgot to mention that Ben’s nickname for me made it to school. I’m pretty sure Max Dill helped spread that lovely moniker around. Max is pure evil.
Billy continues, “You gettin’ ready to go in to each some lunch? Do you think that’s wise? Haven’t you had enough to eat?” As he spews each insult, he walks closer and closer to me. I backed up as far as I could go which ended up being against the wall. His face so close to mine I can smell his nasty breath and see his pimples close up. Gross.
I was readying myself to say something when I hear Jake Dill. “Get the fuck away from her, douchebag.”
Billy steps back and turns to his left. “What’s it to you, Dill? This is none of your concern,” he snaps.
“She’s Margie’s best friend so it is my concern. Now back away before I kick your ass.”
“Gee, Jake, I had no idea you loved a fatty. My bad. I’ll just go about my business and leave you two lovebirds alone,” the boys walk away, snickering.
I look up at Jake adoringly and whisper, “Thanks, Jake.”
“No problem, Abby. Stay away from that guy. He’s bad news.”
And with that, he strode confidently down the hall toward the seventh grade wing. My hero! I just know he loves me as much as I love him. He has to! Why else would he defend me? I know I’m not his ideal type. I mean; I’ve seen his girlfriends. They are always skinny and beautiful. He could get anyone he wanted with just a nod of his head. Girls swoon over him––even in fifth grade. I’ll just have to hold out hope that when the time comes, he’ll want me to be his forever girl.
Present Day
I haven’t ignored Margie completely since Prom. I sit with Margie and Tim at lunch just like I’ve always done. Max has tried to sit with us a few times but as soon as he sits down, I get up and make something up about getting to the library or give some other bullshit excuse. He always looks a little disappointed when I leave but he recovers quickly; especially when Chelsi slinks over and throws herself in his lap. Ugh. It all makes me sick.
I kept that up for several weeks and I’d done a good job of forgetting about Prom-gate. That is until Max tracked me down in the hallway at school. I saw him from the corner of my eye so I picked up my pace to create more distance between us but the next thing I know Max is shouting at me, “Yo, Abby. I’ve got our Prom pictures!”
Ugh, this is a frigging nightmare. I slowly turn to face him, hoping he uses this opportunity to catch up. I do not need anyone in school hearing this conversation. People already know about the fact I fled prom in a taxi. I was the talk of Pleasantville High School for several days afterward. It sucked.
Max jogs up to me, flashes a large white envelope in front of my face and says, “Did you hear me, Abby? I’ve got our Prom pictures. I thought you’d want them––you know––for your memory books or whatever you chicks use them for.” Max smirks.
Ugh, he thinks he’s so funny. Arrogant jerk!
“Oh, um thanks.” I reply as I brush past him. I grab the envelope of pictures from him as I walk down the hall. I turn around the corner to the nearest waste can and drop them in as I pass by. I don’t look back to see if he saw me toss the pictures be
cause I don’t care what he thinks. The truth is, I don’t ever want a visual reminder of that night.
Chapter 3: Max
What the hell? She just threw away our pictures? It must have been an accident. I’ll grab them and give them to her later.
Later that day, I approach her again. “Um, Abby?”
“Yeah.” She sounds bored––or annoyed. I haven’t even said anything to her yet.
“Did you mean to throw these in the trash?” I ask as sweetly as I can in an attempt to be funny but I can tell it falls flat. I flutter the envelope in front of her face again.
“Oh, shoot. I think they slipped out of my hand. Thank you for retrieving them for me,” she says rather mechanically.
What the hell? “No problem.” I hand her the pictures as she turns and walks away. I follow her as discreetly as possible. She’s turned the corner and that’s when I see. Holy fuck! She threw them away again? What is her deal? Does she hate pictures of herself or something? She hasn’t even looked at them. I’ll grab them and keep them, for now. Jesus. Women!
Chapter 4: Abby
I decided that I needed to do a better job getting life back to normal. I really didn’t like the feeling of conflict between Margie and me and I didn’t like feeling anxious around Max either. Plus, I didn’t want Margie to know that her brother’s were terrible, terrible people. I knew if I didn’t pull it together she was going to start asking questions about why I stopped hanging out at her house. Therefore, I stayed over night with her from time to time but I also asked her to stay with me much more often.
This worked because Margie didn’t seem to suspect a thing. In fact, I think she enjoyed getting away from her family too. She wanted to be able to talk about Tim without any of her nosey brothers eavesdropping. Since my brothers are older now, they have their own interests and don’t want to have anything to do with their big sister and her friend. We’ve been having just as much fun at my house as we did at hers. It’s a win-win.
I’ve been keeping busy with school and my part time job at, Jimmy’s, our one and only restaurant in town. Waiting tables helps keep my mind focused on my new goal. What new goal? Well, I’m going to Italy for fall term of my senior year of high school. I had applied for an exchange program in the spring even though I knew my parents couldn’t afford it. I also applied for tuition assistance and it was granted. There’s an anonymous benefactor in my town that has set up a scholarship fund that pays the way for those of us who are too poor do an international exchange program. My essay must have been good enough because I got the good news last week. Not only was I accepted into the exchange program but, because of my grades, I was awarded the scholarship as well.
It’s a dream come true, really. I’m going to Italy at the end of August! I’ll be gone for four months, returning right before Christmas. I’ll spend my final semester of high school here but that works out perfectly because I won’t have to see the Dill boys for four months and, if I play my cards right, I won’t see any of them this summer either. I plan to work as many hours as Jimmy will give me. I need money for my trip, after all.
Unfortunately, the plans of hiding out by working a million hours at Jimmy’s didn’t work because everyone goes to Jimmy’s. Jimmy’s burgers and his Triple Cooked French Fries are flipping amazing. So amazing people come from all over the state just to eat his food. I think he’s a real chef or something. Why he ended up in our little town, I’ll never know. So, you can imagine it is a hot spot for locals as well, i.e. Jake Dill, Ben Dill (when he’s home from Iowa State), and Max.
Margie and Tim come by the restaurant a lot. It’s really the only time I get to see her nowadays. She’s been preoccupied with Tim a lot lately––they’re getting really serious. She’s either thinking about having sex with Tim or she’s already done it. We really haven’t been tight this summer so I don’t know where she stands on that part of her life. Needless to say, I’m still a virgin. I don’t foresee that ending anytime soon and I don’t want it to. The last thing I need right now is dealing with the fallout of getting naked with some jerk of a guy.
Speaking of jerks, Max comes into the restaurant a lot ––almost daily. He’s always alone and he always sits in my section. I’m courteous to him but that’s as far as I go. I can tell he’s perplexed about my attitude toward him but it doesn’t keep him from stopping in at least four times a week for a Pepsi and Triple Cooked French Fries. On one such visit, he entered the restaurant in holding a small package. When I approached him, he handed me the package and said, “Here, I wanted to give you this since you seemed to keep losing it.”
I look at the package and its haphazard wrapping job. He used old newspaper. I tear the paper off to reveal a framed copy of our Prom picture. Seriously? Will this guy never quit? Take a hint buddy! I’d never looked at the image before that moment and seeing it now makes me shudder. In the image we’re standing exactly as I remember––a foot apart. Max is not smiling but I was smiling like an idiot. He’s so far away from me he’s almost out of the frame of the picture. It’s like he couldn’t get far enough away from me or like he wanted to dash away quickly.
I looked at the picture then at him and sputtered, “Seriously? You thought I’d want this fucking picture, Max? Look at you here,” I say pointing to his image in the shot, “You look like you can’t get far enough away from me. You aren’t smiling––in fact––I think that’s more of a grimace which is way worse than not smiling.”
He looks at me, then at the picture and says, “I think you looked pretty.”
Ugh, is he flipping insane?
“Pretty? You think I looked pretty? God, you are such an asshole,” I say as I stomp off.
I toss the framed image into the trash right in front of Max. He might as well get it through his thick skull that I meant to toss the pictures out. I even deleted every picture from my parent’s digital camera and from mom’s phone. Hell, I donated my dress to Goodwill but I kept the shoes (I’m not an idiot). I wanted no reminders from that night and having photographic evidence of the excruciating memory was more than I could take. When I get to the back room, I ask Tonya if she’d switch tables with me. I was so over serving Maxwell Dill.
Chapter 5: Max
What the fuck did I do now? I don’t get this girl. I was trying to do a nice thing. Ever since that night of Prom, she’s done everything she can to avoid my family and me. She’s even avoiding Margie and they’re best friends. She used to come over every single weekend; now it’s been weeks and weeks since she’s been over to our house.
Not to mention the fact that I made that frigging frame with my own two hands. Granted, it was an assignment in woodworking class, but I designed the carvings just for her and she tossed it in the trash––again! Luckily, she didn’t see me grab it out of the garbage this time. If she did, she’d probably bludgeon me with it. It’s okay. I’ll keep the fucking picture. Fuck it! She did look pretty in the picture. Well, maybe pretty isn’t the right word. Beautiful. Yeah, she looked beautiful.
Max seemed to take the hint and didn’t return to the restaurant after that. I’m not sure what his deal was––why he kept trying to hand off those hideous pictures to me. Maybe he enjoyed tormenting the fat girl? Who knows? At least that’s over and soon I’ll get to spread my wings and fly, fly far away from Max Dill and his asshat brothers. I can’t wait.
Also by Kayt Miller
The Portrait Painter
Hopeful Romantic
Coming soo n…
Thanks to Margie Dill
Game Changer
I’m workin’ on it…
The Virginia Chronicles
Playlist
Cute
One of a Kind
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