American Honey

by Heidi McLaughlin

  It took me a year of speech therapy to drop my Texan accent. Being teased one too many times about saying “fixin’” or “y’all” had me visiting five days a week until I could speak without a southern drawl. I was still an outsider, but they were my friends. Tyler used to be my friend and so did Jeremiah. The memories of the three of us running in the fields, climbing hay bales and swimming in the pond are slowly starting to come back. I can try to fight them, pretend they don’t exist and just live my life as this outsider on a ranch not really fitting in anywhere, or I can start exploring on my own.

  I walk right up next to Tyler, my hip brushing him out of the way. My elbow bumps into his back as I maneuver to make my lunch. I don’t need to be in here, but it’s where I want to be. I feel his gaze on me but refuse to acknowledge him. He’s breathing loudly, either that, or we’re just close enough that I can hear him clearly. Everything in me is screaming for me to turn and glare at him, but I don’t. I just continue to make my lunch and allow my arm to touch the back of his shirt every chance I get. If he wants to be a jerk, fine. I’m going to be a tease.

  Tyler clears his throat and adjusts his legs, crossing one over the other. I’d like to think that I’m getting to him, but the reality of the situation is that I’m probably getting on his nerves. One final elbow to his back, followed by a shallow groan and I’m moving away.

  “Did ya have to elbow me?”

  I turn and set down my sandwich. I mimic his stance with my ankles crossed and my hands resting on the countertop behind me. I tilt my head slightly, open my mouth just barely and say, “Huh.”

  “Huh? Is that how they taught you to articulate yourself in that fancy private school in New York?” His words bite.

  “What do you know about my school?” I bite back.

  He shakes his head, pursing his lips. “Nothin’,” he replies, walking out of the kitchen.

  I shake my head at his retreating backside and turn away. “Oh my god, he’s so frustrating,” I mutter under my breath.

  “I’m frustratin’?” he roars. I turn in time for him to step right into my personal space, his face inches away from mine. His finger is pointing at me and his lips are moving but nothing is coming out of his mouth. He bites down on his lip and says, “I’m not frustratin’, Savannah. You are.”

  Okay so now we’re in first grade and we’re going to do the – ‘you are, not me’ game. No thanks. That game I do remember and hated it.

  “How am I frustrating? I didn’t invite you out and then stand you up,” I challenge as I step towards him, forcing him to take a step back. “I didn’t promise shopping and a little bit of freedom only to drive away leaving a dust bowl in my wake.”

  “I waited for you. You never came out. I told you fifteen minutes.”

  I scoff. “Seriously, Tyler, I’m a girl, I need more than fifteen minutes to get ready. I don’t know what type of girls you like, but I, for one, would like to not smell like crap when I’m going out. It’s hot outside, I was sweating and you had me shoveling poop all day.”

  He covers his mouth and steps away from me laughing. I punch him in shoulder and turn away, only for him to grab me by my waist, holding me in place. My skin warms where his palm is resting on my hip. An unknown sensation courses through my body making me feel nervous. I didn’t feel like this when… I shake my head, trying not to think about what happened in New York. Chalk it up to a bad experience with the wrong guy and what not.

  “You’re laughing at me. I don’t need or want to be here right now,” I say to break the tension in the air.

  “I’m sorry, Savannah. I’m only laughin’ because you said poop and I think it’s cute. In fact, I thought for sure you’d start cussin’ up a storm by now, but I haven’t heard a single peep out of your mouth. I’m sorry about the other day. I waited, I did, but when you didn’t come out I figured you weren’t comin’ and I bailed. I got pissed and took off, lettin’ my temper get the best of me.”

  I turn slowly, noticing that his hand hasn’t moved yet and is still firmly holding onto my hip. “I stood on the porch and watched you drive way.” I know I sound whiney, but when we were kids, that’s all it took for Tyler to make sure I had my way.

  His fingers dig into my hip as if he’s trying to hold on. “I’ll make it up to you,” he whispers as he steps closer. His fingers relax and I feel them move over my skin ever so lightly. I look at him for some type of sign that he wants to be my friend and am taken by the small smile that forms. It’s not the same one he gives to my aunt Sue when he sees her, this one is different. It’s mine. His hand disappears the moment the screen door slams, but it’s too late. Jeremiah is snickering in the doorway and pointing. I step away, putting space between Tyler and me.

  “We headin’ to Reds or what?”

  I look at the clock and wonder why he’s going to the bar now.

  “Yeah,” Tyler replies as I feel myself sag with disappointment. “First I have to take Savannah shoppin’. I promised her last week. I’ll meet you there.” I smile, but still feel let down. I’m not good enough for this Reds place, clearly.

  “Don’t forget the condom.”

  I blanch at Jeramiah’s retreating backside. Tyler is looking at the doorway he occupied not seconds earlier. I see his face turn blazing red. He turns back to face me, but keeps his eyes focused on the ground.

  “Ignore him. I’ll wait while you shower.”

  Tyler doesn’t give me an opportunity to respond. He’s walking away muttering something under his breath that I can’t understand. I jump when the screen door slams and he yells for Jeremiah. I step over to the window just in time to see Tyler tackle Jeremiah and they get lost behind the fence and tall grass. It’s funny to see two grown men play fighting. For the first time since arriving, I’m smiling because I’m happy, even if I have a feeling it will be short-lived.

  Chapter 9 – Tyler

  “You’re such an idiot, Jer. I swear you were dropped on your head as a kid!” I kick him in the ass as I move away from him. He’s such a little punk sometimes, saying that crap in the kitchen. The last thing I need is for Savannah to think I’m into her, or that I’m looking for a quickie. I’m going to deny any feelings I have for her until I’m blue in the face, especially to Jeremiah. That boy is the town gossip. I want Savannah to feel comfortable around me and if that means I have to hide how I’m feeling and pretend that I’m just trying to get my friend back, or get to know the person my friend has become, then so be it. I don’t need Jeremiah making a fool out of me in the love department. I can do that just fine on my own.

  “Man, you’re ornery.” Jeremiah stands and brushes off the imaginary dirt and grass from his shirt and pants. “I reckon you have an itch that you’re about to scratch.”

  I lunge at him, only for him to sidestep and laugh. I’m breathing heavily out of frustration, my chest puffing in and out. I’m going to kick his ass. He pulls off his hat, twists it a few times and takes a bow before walking away from me.

  “You need to learn to keep your yapper shut,” I yell at his backside. He doesn’t stop, but raises his arm and flips me off. Stupid asshole. “She’s our friend,” I say, for my benefit and his.

  I take off my ballcap and run my hand over my face and hair. I’m afraid to look at the house because I have a feeling she’s watching this whole thing go down. If she is, maybe I’ll be lucky and she’ll just think that we’re two stupid morons who like to wrestle in the grass. I glance at the window and sure enough, she’s standing there. I can’t see her face clearly, but she notices me staring and moves away. Hopefully, she’s going to go shower or do whatever she needs to do so we can head into town.

  I’m mentally taking a note of the kind of clothing she needs to survive out here. She may not want to “Countrify” her wardrobe, but I’d feel better if she was adequately protecting herself when she’s out here working. Her uncle put me in charge of her chores and the day-to-day lack of proper apparel puts limitations on what I can have her do.
Not to mention her aunt’s boots are too big for her and she looks like she’s wearing clodhoppers, which she is too dainty for.

  “Ugh,” I chastise myself for even thinking of Savannah as dainty. Since when do I have thoughts like that? I shake my head in an attempt to clear them. Except, I’m failing miserably. It’s not because I don’t want to, but she’s making it impossible with the barely-there sundress she now has on. She stands not far from me, one long perfect leg drawing all my attention as she taps it impatiently. Oversized sunglasses, the same ones she was wearing when she got off the bus, shield her eyes, making it impossible for me to see her expression. Her lips are pursed and painted. A large red bag hangs from her shoulder, the same type Annamae carries and I can’t help but wonder if Savannah has her “life” in there. I know I should look away but I can’t. My eyes follow the path of her long-tanned leg until it reaches the hem of her dress. Without much control I swallow hard and adjust myself discretely. I close my eyes and berate myself for allowing Savannah to turn me on.

  I move toward her and immediately her posture changes. For the love of all things holy, I want to rip those sunglasses off her face so I can see her expression, so I can read her. I hate not being able to see what her eyes are trying to tell me.

  “Are you going to change?” her tone is snotty and she’s back to being the bitch she’s been since her arrival. I want to know what happened to the girl that was in the kitchen with me not so many minutes ago and why the ice queen is back.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah, at my house,” I answer as I walk away from her. Just like day one, she can follow or not, but either way I’m done with her hot-and-cold attitude. I don’t really give a flying shit if she wants to come to town with me. I can’t continue to put myself out there if she’s going to act like a Class A bitch all the time.

  Surprisingly, she follows in line behind me. I pause briefly when we get to my truck and contemplate whether or not I should open her door. After some debating, I decide against it. It’s not that I’m not a gentlemen, she has no respect for me. Here I’m willing to take her to town and she has attitude. Girl seriously needs to be put on a bull and have that shit bucked out of her.

  She seems to have no qualms about opening her own door and we both hop in at the same time. As chivalry dictates, I could shut the sliding window behind us, but I think I’ll wait until the princess asks nicely. Besides, maybe the wind will blow sweet nothings into her ear and she’ll come out of the funk she’s in.

  We drive approximately three hundred yards before I park. Savannah raises her sunglasses, resting them on top of head. She looks out the window and then at me, her face full of confusion.

  “I thought we were going to your house?”

  I chuckle. “This is my house.” I hop out of the truck and walk to my front door. The soft smell of pine greets me. I breathe in deeply and admire my freshly installed floors. When Jeremiah told me about the lumberyard getting their hands on some wide-planks, I couldn’t resist. It took me three weeks to get the floor down and polished, but it’s worth it. My house is small, but it’s mine for as long as I want it. The two bedrooms are large and accommodating, but with only one bathroom it can be a little cramped when my mom comes to visit. Last summer I installed a bay window, but haven’t done much else. This winter I plan to replace the mantle and maybe update the kitchen. Aunt Sue did a lot of work before I moved in, but it looks more like a cabin than a home. I turn back to see her sitting there, looking straight ahead. Leaving the front door open, I give her a choice of whether she wants to come in, but I’m really not counting on her doing so. I head right to the shower so I don’t keep her waiting. The sooner we’re out of here, the better. After tonight I won’t have to take her shopping again.

  Letting the hot water beat down on my back relieves some of the stress I’m feeling. I can’t let her get to me. She’s changed so much since she’s been gone, that it’s unfair of me to expect her to be the same or to adapt to our laid back way of living. The country and city just don’t mix that well. Thoughts of her sitting in my truck, with beads of sweat forming on her forehead because of the sun, plague my mind. I slam the water off and get out. I don’t want her bitching about me taking too long in the shower and the fact that I even care what she thinks pisses me right the hell off.

  Opening the bathroom door I step into the living room, cinching my towel tightly around my waist. My dumb ass didn’t think about bringing clothes into the bathroom with me when I left the front door wide open, and it should have because Savannah is standing in front of me, her crystal blue eyes roaming up and down my body. If I weren’t happy with the way I look, I’d wonder if she was impressed. I’ve worked hard on my physique, keeping myself in shape. I could wink as I walk by, but she’s standing in my way. I can either return the bathroom or stand here like a wanton piece of art and let her gawk. I encourage her to get her fill of me. I want to be ingrained into her memory so that when she’s far from here and she looks at another guy, she only has flashes of me. I want her to see that I’ve also grown up and that neither of us are those two kids that everyone remembers.

  Maybe that’s what I want. Maybe in the back of my perverse mind this is what I need – for her to see me, like this, in my home. What purpose that serves, I have no idea, other than getting us both flustered. The thought of touching her skin, like I did only an hour ago in the kitchen, forces me to step back. I’m not crossing the boundaries she’s put up. She quickly licks her lips, her wet, pink, tongue showing briefly before she pulls it back into her mouth. The urge to kiss her is there, but if I do, I’ll lose my towel and neither of us is ready for that to happen.

  Savannah sways ever so lightly from foot to foot. Her demeanor has changed from when we were in the yard. This is the Savannah that I want to know, not the icy cold bitch from earlier. If I can have this girl, I’d start spending every free minute with her.

  “What happened to your house?”

  I clear my throat and rub my free hand on my towel. “It burnt down about a year after you left. Mom and I moved closer to town, but I didn’t like it. I missed the ranch too much. When I turned eighteen, Aunt Sue showed me this place. She had been restoring it for a while and was going to rent it out but figured that I didn’t much like staying in your pink bedroom. I moved in and started working for your Uncle. As soon as I graduated, I went full-time and started taking some classes online, which sucked because I had to do it at the library, but it all worked out. After I finished my degree, Bobby handed over a lot of responsibilities. I can afford to move, but I like this house. It has everything I need.” I look around, afraid to make eye contact with her. She asked me a simple question and for some reason my mouth went on a verbal tangent.

  “You lost everything?”

  “I did,” my answer is barely a whisper. I don’t know if she realizes it, but there’s so much meaning behind her choice of words and the fact that she said “everything”. I felt lost when she left. I know it wasn’t her fault, but I couldn’t help but be mad at her. She left me. She was my best friend and she moved away. Losing my personal belongings was just the icing on the cake during an already depressing year.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? You didn’t set my house on fire.”

  She shakes her head and steps closer, too close. “No, I didn’t, but I can still feel bad that you lost everything.”

  I should step back and put some distance between us, but I can’t. I don’t want to. “I lost my most important possession earlier than that. It wasn’t harmed in the fire.”

  Her eyes meet mine and I can see the realization in her blue orbs. “Me,” she whispers. I nod, unable to deny her this answer. She steps forward, the fabric of her dress brushing against my towel. Her fingers dance along my skin, causing goosebumps that I haven’t felt in a very long time to pebble my skin. The trail she leaves ignites something in me. Many images flash before my eyes, all of them ending up with me sans my towel and between her legs.
r />   “Savannah,” I murmur, huskily. She responds by allowing her fingers to trace my jaw.

  “I didn’t want to leave,” she admits quietly.

  I nod, unable to hold back. I slip my arm around her waist and pull her closer. Her chest, heaving as her breathing picks up, brushes against mine. She’s a smart girl. She knows what’s coming next. “If you don’t want me to kiss you, please step back. I won’t be mad.”

  Savannah bites her lower lip, tilting her head to the side. Her hand moves to my head and her fingers play with what little hair I have left. I don’t hesitate as I move forward and press my lips to hers. Immediate warmth mixed with chills takes over my body, and I try to pull her closer while keeping my hand securely fastened to my towel. One false move and she’s going to see how much this kiss really means to me.

  Chapter 10 – Savannah

  My body trembles. My heart thumps wildly against my chest. Tyler’s arm holds me securely to him while my fingers play with the short hairs on his head. I wish his hair were longer so I could run my fingers through it and feel the silky strands as they caress my fingers. I understand why he keeps it short, but for once I want this fantasy to play out – the one playing out in my head where he drops the towel and carries me off to his bedroom while I thread my fingers through his locks, pulling as he climaxes. Not that the scenes running through my mind, as I anticipate his next move aren’t making me hypersensitive to his actions.

  His eyes dart between my mouth and my eyes, the dark orbs of his pupils hijacking the vibrant green I’ve become accustomed to as they widen. I don’t know what they’re conveying, but I hope he’s seeing that I want him to kiss me, that I need him to kiss me. I know I don’t deserve his attention, let alone his affection, but I want it. I’ve wanted it since he walked into the kitchen and told me who he was. The feelings I had when I left, the ones my mother told me were wrong and that I was too young for, are rushing back with each and every moment. As much as I want to deny they exist, I can’t. As much as I want to keep my wall up and pretend like he doesn’t matter, he does. He was my best friend and now he’s standing in front of me, hopefully about to kiss me.