When Fall Breaks

by Julie Solano

  “I’m only here to bring you your phone, Sassypants! Jenna keeps texting you about practice.” With a slight chuckle to his voice, Brody continues, “Besides, it’s no mystery what’s behind that curtain anyway!”

  “How would you know Stalker Boy? Have you been spying on me?”

  “I didn’t have to Pip. That vision of you streaking through the living room when we were in third grade will forever be burned on my retinas. I’m sure not too much has changed since then.” He erupts with laughter as I raise my hands over the curtain and launch a stream of fruity bath gel at his head.

  As the heat of embarrassment begins to escape through every pore in my body, steam fills the entire room. “Get out! You bathroom terrorist!” I scream, throwing a handful of water over the top of the shower. “Have some water with your soap!” I pause my one-sided water-war long enough to hear a weird squeaking sound and the scamper of feet fading down the hallway. When I peek out of the curtain, the coast seems clear. I grab my robe from the hook next to the shower and pull it in around me. Fully covered, I tiptoe out of the shower and look around to make sure the little pest is really gone. I peer to the left and right, and when I finally glance forward at the steamy mirror where I had just seen the bobbing hand, my jaw drops. The words So Hot! are scrawled across the steam in Brody’s distinct handwriting. Right in front of So, a word has been smudged out, leaving me wondering what it said.

  What is that supposed to mean? I wrack my brain for possible explanations. Is this room hot? Does he think that I think he’s hot? Or does he think I’m . . . No! As my mind scrolls through the possibilities of his cryptic message, a silver streak comes flying through the air and thumps me right on the bridge of my nose. I bend down to see what it is. In front of my feet lies a silver Hershey’s Kiss. “What was that all about you Poo Flickin’ Hillbilly?”

  “If your brother ever gets hurt this year, I have to fill in as QB, Pip . . . just letting you help me with my aim, Buddy,” he reaches out and nudges my shoulder with a loose fist. Smirking he adds, “Did I hit my mark, Pal?” He rubs his thumb across my forehead examining the fresh red dot in between my eyes. He leans in really closely and quietly whispers, “From the looks of the imprint on your forehead, I’d say I planted that kiss right where I wanted it.”

  Confusion overtakes me, as he slowly leans forward and gingerly plants a soft kiss right on the bridge of my nose. No sooner do his lips touch his sensitive target, then he flies backward, leaving me breathless. With a flustered look plastering his face, he winks, double cliques his tongue, chokes out, “all better.” He backs into the wall with a thud and stumbles away. “Meet you at the jeep,” I hear floating down the hall. All that remains in his place are the scents of peppermint gum and Abercrombie cologne. My pulse races, even in his absence.

  Trying to catch my breath, I muster all of the strength I have left in me. I scream down the hall, “Damn you Brody Tatum!”

  Where is all of this coming from? What is he doing to me today? I’m so confused. I hope he didn’t notice the shakiness in my voice. I don’t know when, and I don’t know how, but I’m going to kick his butt for this.

  “After you.” Brody cocks his head toward the passenger seat. Holding the door open, his mouth is curled up in a cocky little grin like he’s enjoying the heck out of his assault on my overly-baffled mind. My lack of composure this afternoon must be incredibly entertaining.

  “I can do it myself, Prince Charming,” I sneer, jerking the door from his hand.

  “By all means, go for it,” Brody replies calmly extending his hand, palm up, allowing me to take on the challenge.

  I grab the handle of the door with my right hand, and try to get a good hold on the seat with my left. Struggling to find a place to set my hand, my finger pokes through a hole in something hard. Images of sports equipment I’ve seen on my brother’s floor race through my mind. I don’t even want to know what that is. I shake it off quickly before I have a chance to get too grossed out. I hear it hit the ground.

  “Crap,” I hear Brody mumble, followed by a few muffled words that include a distinct, “cup.” Scarlet-faced, he looks back up at me, “Sorry Pip, I didn’t mean for you to get tangled up in my stuff.”

  “At least I cleared a place to set my hand,” I joke, trying to ease the awkward moment. I’m practically doing the splits in attempt to reach the step of his jacked up Rubicon when I feel my booty being gripped, hoisted into the air, and swung away from the Jeep. Brody chuckles as he holds me away from him, barely avoiding my swift punt to his shin.

  “Not so fast, you little pip squeak” he laughs. “That just reminded me about something.”

  I entertain the thought of kicking him again, when I realize there’s no use battling this beast of a boy. He sets me down on the ground, pulls his lips into an amused smirk, crosses his arms, and waits patiently for my expected rant. With a flushing face, and gritted teeth I hiss, “You just remembered what? You mean to tell me, you’ve watched me poke my finger through your . . . your cup and try to claw my way into this thing for five minutes, for nothing?” I quickly point up toward the towering seat, “Why did you just rip me off of there like a stinkin’ rag doll?” I am clearly flustered and irritated by the chain of events this afternoon. I’m usually a little more composed when dealing with Brody, but today, I don’t feel like practicing maturity, I feel like acting five. I stomp my foot, cross my arms, and stick my chin out waiting for a response.

  “Sorry Pip, while you were getting dressed, I ran next door and grabbed my football gear. I was so pre-occupied fantasizing about shower scenes and chocolate kisses, that I wasn’t thinking when I loaded it into the passenger’s seat. There’s no room left; not even for a tiny, little thing like you.” He gently pokes me on the shoulder. “We’re on to Plan B.”

  “Plan B?”

  “Yep, the plan where you sit right there next to me.” He motions with his head to follow him to the driver’s side. “Stand back Kaitlyn,” he opens the door and pats the four inch clearing to the right of his seat; the only part of his Jeep that’s not cluttered with sweaty gym clothes, fast food wrappers, and country music CD’s. “Hop on in Pip,” he whoops. “It’s snuggle time Baby!” His suggestive remark leaves me awkwardly silent. I throw a sideways glance at the cleared section of the seat. Remembering what was just scrawled in the steam on my bathroom mirror, I take a deep breath and slowly release it, trying to regain my senses before I have to half-ass it in his lap back to the pool.

  With an unprecedented squeak to my voice, I yelp, “So now we’re snuggle buddies, huh? What part of fruity bath gel to the face did you not understand? You, you . . .” I’m so flustered by all of these weird innuendoes, all I can do is shake my head and drop my jaw. I want to argue. I want to scream at the top of my lungs, but despite my best efforts, nothing will come out. For the first time ever, I’m at a loss for words with my BGF.

  In the brief second I gain the nerve to glance up at him, I catch a bit of a bobble rise and drop in his throat. At that moment, I swear, I think he’s blushing. The way he joins in my silence, tells me that Brody knows he took his frisky, little game too far. We stand there for a moment. The heat of the late August sun is beating down on us. I know it’s only about 90 degrees outside, but the searing heat between us feels more like 190 degrees. Sweat begins to roll down my back as I struggle to clear my head.

  The silence is finally broken when Brody clears his throat, and in a serious yet gentle tone he apologizes, “Sorry Pip, let me help you up.” He pauses holding his hand to me, palm raised. “Give me your hand,” he singsongs. Gosh, I’m a sucker for that crooning tactic. With some reservation, I position my foot on the step, and place my hand in his. With a quick jump and his helpful lift, I’m suddenly nestled into my four inches of prime shotgun seating. He jumps in, rolls his head toward me, lifts his eyebrows, and smiles down, “Let’s get you to practice, Pip Squeak.”

  “Can’t wait,” I mumble, breaking my silence as the engine roar
s to life. Finally, I get to go swim off all of the day’s madness. Maybe the pool water will chlorinate every last brain cell retaining an image of Brody’s one-sided afternoon tryst with my mind. That would be a relief. As I sit psyching myself up for “Fierce Friday’s” workout, I feel Brody trying to shift the jeep into reverse. As he works to pull the gear shift down, he struggles, “Uh. . . this isn’t working Girl. You’re gonna have to put at least one of those pretty little legs on the other side of my stick.”

  “Bro? Um. . . That didn’t come out right, did it?”

  “Oh, it came out just fine,” he snickers.

  I bite my lip, close my eyes, and cautiously drag my right leg over the stick, trying to find a place to set my foot down. Think saddle, think saddle. Just like mounting a horse . . . I repeat in my head trying to save myself the embarrassment of straddling the stick. Brody’s seen me ride hundreds of times. This position is no different. Impatiently, I stamp around, trying to find the floorboard with no success. I lean into his side, and push, pull, and twist my leg to clear a spot. By the time I get to set my leg down, I’m practically panting.

  “Why you breathing so hard, Pip?”

  “Geez Louise!” I grunt. “This is a workout, just digging myself a place to sit! I don’t know if I’m gonna have enough leg power to get through the pre-set.”

  “Well, keep working on that hole,” he smirks. “Eventually, you’ll make it big enough to burrow into comfortably.” His smile widens even bigger. “Hurry up though, cuz I’d kind of like to get a jump on it.” He erupts in laughter.

  I glare at him trying to figure out what’s so gosh darned funny. Oh Wow. “Ha . . . Ha.” I draw out. Boys . . . they all have one thing on their minds. “I get it now . . . Alright, you turd. Pull your mind out of the gutter.” I thought we had moved past this craziness, but I guess not. Brody is not acting like himself today at all. What has gotten into him? “I’m just gonna sit here and keep my mouth shut so you have nothing else to twist into your sick fantasies.”

  “Just playin’ Pip, but seriously. We’ve gotta get going cuz I really don’t want to be late for practice. Coach will make me run extra plays, and I’ve gotta bale tonight with Caden and Mason.”

  DURING THE SHORT RIDE DOWN the oak-lined road toward the pool, I notice students leaving the school. Phew, I’m not late for practice. Crowds of teens are migrating across the street toward the football stadium, pool, and local park which lie adjacent to one another just across the street from the high school. “Don’t hit that guy!” I point, when I think Brody doesn’t see the cell-gazing freshman crossing the street. Seeing the little scrub with his phone reminds me that I never texted Jenna back. I slap my hands up to my cheeks and pull down on my face. Taking a deep breath, I look at the clock on the dashboard. “Oh no, Bro. Jenna’s gonna kill me. I was supposed to meet her before practice,” I whine through gritted teeth. I drop my hands from my blanching, stretched face and grab my swim bag. “I’d better shoot her a quick text.” I reach into my phone pocket, and it’s empty. Shoot, I left it on my bathroom counter. “Oh man . . . Bro, can I use your cell?” I beg.

  “As long as you can reach it,” he says with a playful nudge to my shoulder.

  “Ok, is it in your gym bag?”

  “Nope.”

  I’m getting frantic, and don’t have time for anymore of Brody’s games this afternoon. I know he’s just trying to be playful, but Jenna’s going to unfriend me if she thinks I’m ignoring her. Last time I didn’t respond to her texts, she wouldn’t speak to me for three days. She’s been really moody lately, and I don’t want to add to whatever it is that’s bothering her.

  “Where is it Brody? I’m running out of time here,” I whimper. My anxious legs bounce like a jackhammer.

  “Where does a man usually hide his goodies?”

  More guessing games, great. Okay, I’ll play. “Um, in his glovebox?”

  “Nope.”

  A twinkle of mischief lights his eyes as Brody points his bobbing finger to his pocket. “Oh my goodness Bro. Why can’t you get it for me? I am not going to stick my hand in your pants!”

  “Pip, I need to keep my hands on the wheel. There’s kids everywhere. It’s fine with me if you don’t want to get it yourself, but you’re gonna deal with Jenna when she doesn’t hear from you. And don’t come crying to me. I already tried to bring you your phone, and you blasted me with your foofy bath gel.”

  I bite the inside of my lip and roll my eyes before I bravely attempt to drive my hand into his pocket. “I can’t get it Brody! Your gosh darned pants are too tight!”

  “Work for it, Pip,” He pushes back into the seat, lifting his hips and shaking them back and forth.

  “I’m digging as hard as I can Magic Mike! I can’t get it! Is it even in there?”

  “Oh ya. You’ll know when you hit it. Trust me. They always know,” he’s practically snorting with laughter.

  Why is he messing with me so hard today? This is not like him. He usually saves this kind of teasing for the Kitty Krew. My face contorts and my muscles quiver as I burrow my hand as far as I can into his deep pocket. Two can play at this game; that little turd. The urge to inflict a bit of pain to remind him just who he’s messing with, suddenly strikes me. When I finally feel the phone, I dip my hand under it, giving Brody’s inner thigh a quick twisting pinch.

  “Holy Crap, Pip! Your fingers are as strong as needle-nosed pliers!” Brody shrieks, pulling his foot from the gas and swerving toward the curb.

  “Never mess with someone who plays three instruments buddy!” I laugh.

  Simultaneously, I free the phone from his pocket. A millisecond later, Brody slams on the brake to avoid going up onto the sidewalk. The phone flies from my hand, and lands under his feet. “Get it Pip, it’s stuck under the brake.”

  I plunge down into his lap, reaching between his legs for the phone. I slam into the steering column when we abruptly come to a stop. While I’m feeling around on the floorboard, I hear Brody start to snicker. “This is really funny to you, isn’t it big guy?”

  “Oh, you have no idea how much pleasure this is bringing me right now.”

  When I finally grab the phone and come up to the surface, I see an amused grin plastered across his face. He looks like the cat who just swallowed the canary. Elbow propped on the armrest, and eyes forward, he puts his thumb to the side of his mouth and his fingertips to his temple, his pinky dangling loosely. “You may not want to see this Pip,” he murmurs half under his breath.

  “See what, Bro?”

  “Uh, look up there,” he shoots a sideways glance over his left shoulder.

  “OH! HELL!”

  Veins pulsing, nostrils flared, eyebrows lifted, and arms crossed, my boyfriend stands glaring down at me through the driver’s window.

  With my eyes scrunched closed, I whisper, “This looks really bad doesn’t it Bro?”

  “Uh, huh . . . you may want to fix your hair and pull your shirt down a little Pip,” Brody whispers back through the side of his mouth.

  Facing forward, I work to straighten myself up as I hear three long, drawn out thumps drum on the window.

  “You ready to face him Pip? Cuz I can handle this if you need me to.”

  “No, no . . . I got this. Please, please . . . just stay out of it.”

  “I’ll try Pip . . . no promises.”

  My heart is racing as adrenaline courses through me. I can feel the color drain from my face when I think of how this must look. I know how jealous Pistol gets over other guys. He can barely stand when I hang out with my own brother. Not knowing if he actually saw me between Brody’s legs, makes me really nervous. I can’t gauge his reaction. I plaster on a fake smile, clench my fists to try to control my shaking, and tell Brody to go ahead and open the door.

  We’re met with Pistol’s fiery words, when he hisses, “Well, well, well, you look awfully chummy today, best buddies,” making sure to enunciate the words “best buddies.” His eyes narrow and his strong glare
is intensely aimed at our overlapping thighs. I begin to quiver inside as I notice him shaking his head while he surveys my disheveled appearance. “You’re one sloppy mess Kaitlyn; you been wrestling around with this mama’s boy all afternoon?”

  “I’m sorry Pistol, this isn’t what it looks like. Really.”

  “Oh, really?” he crosses his fingers atop his head, cocking it slightly backward. “Where are you two coming from anyway?”

  “My house.”

  Shaking his head he adds, “Nope, it takes a lot more bumpin’ and grindin’ than a quarter mile neighborhood road trip to make a woman’s hair that crazy. Last time I saw that kind of hair on a girl, we may have been riding, but it certainly wasn’t in a Jeep.”

  I glance up to see Brody’s white knuckles, clenching the steering wheel with enough force to snap it right off the column. He pinches his mouth shut and takes in a deep breath through his nose. I know Brody is not Pistol’s biggest fan, and it’s taking every ounce of restraint he has in him, not to say something.

  I reach up to smooth my long, ruffled, hair, hoping it’s not as bad as Pistol’s making it out to sound. His last comment brings stinging tears to the back of my eyes. I know exactly what he’s doing; reminding me that there’s a hot cowgirl lurking around every corner, and he has a lot of options outside of me. I’ve tried so hard not to believe rumors of one-nighters with all of his wild rodeo girls, but those kinds of comments make me doubt all of his stories and alibis.

  I start to speak, but Brody interrupts, “And how recently was your latest FIVE-SECOND ride asshole . . . and don’t even tell me you’re talking about Kaitlyn like that you pile of . . .”

  I try to quiet him with a quick unnoticeable nudge to his side.