Burning Desire

by Ami Snow

  “Still respectable jobs all the same,” I shrugged, “I –”

  Wanda glanced up from her phone, her honey-brown eyes narrowed, locking on mine as she probed, “You're Jeanie's little sister, aren't you? Aren't you loaded? Why would you waste your time here, the pay is balls –”

  “My parents are loaded,” I corrected her, edging around her, turning towards the library, not feeling the slightest need to explain myself, “I just happen to live with them. Anyway, I've gotta get these copies done for Mr. Donovan for his class tomorrow. I'll see you around.”

  I ignored her catty comment about the well-mannered, albeit socially awkward history teacher, shuffling towards the dimly-lit, shoddily maintained library. I pushed open the door, slipping my fingers into the pocket of my blazer to retrieve my vibrating cellphone. Will's name lit up on the screen of my phone, taking a quick peek at the snoozing librarian. Deciding to take my chances, I accepted the call, a faint smile on my lips as I greeted my boyfriend of two years, whispering.

  “Hey, babe. Thanks for picking me up today – are you here?”

  My forehead wrinkled as Will snorted from the opposite end of the line, haughtily replying, “What, and get jumped by those shithead punks you call students? They'd probably never seen a Porsche off TV – you get my drift. I'm parked two blocks down the road.”

  I sighed indignantly at the overwhelming ignorance of his comments, rubbing my temples as I retorted, aghast, “That's fine, Will. Whatever. I just have to make a few copies and I'll be right –”

  “Hurry up, I don't have all day. Me and the boys got sky box tickets to the game and I don't wanna be late. I think that's Conrad calling right now –”

  Before I could snap back in protest about the multitudes of times he's kept me waiting, the line shifted to a detestably mellow instrumental. That douchebag put me on hold. I slid my phone back into my blazer pocket in a huff, storming towards the copy machine and straightening the worksheet across the glass surface, nearly slamming the hood down in a fit of rage as my head tumbled with my venting, pent-up thoughts.

  After making the copies, I dropped the stack of papers into Mr. Donovan's mail drawer in the teacher's lounge. I picked up my purse from my cubicle and swung it over my neck, my feet dragging under me as I journeyed two blocks down the high school. I spotted Will's gleaming silver Porsche instantaneously, his costly vehicle parked across a deserted alley, sticking out like a sore thumb. I strode towards the passenger's side and scooted into the vehicle, the suffocating stench of Will's overbearing cologne stinging my nostrils.

  “Took you long enough.”

  Will cracked his head to the side, patting the top of his sugarcane-blonde hair, neatly gelled to the side as he gazed at his reflection in the rearview. His cheek dimpled as he exhaled in frustration, drumming his fingers along his steering wheel expectantly.

  “Man, I had a long day,” I started, blindly reaching over for my seatbelt.

  “Less talking, more buckling, Katrina. Sorry, I'd love to hear about your day but you know I'm gonna be late –”

  “Right,” I muttered, the buckle of my seatbelt clicking as it fastened close.

  I gasped, my head smacking against the cushioned headrest as the car lurched forward, speeding off, his tires tearing across the asphalt.

  Chapter Two –

  I fiddled with the sleek buttons of the speaker system of my secondhand Mercedes. The bass boosted in the confines of my vehicle, the windows quivering to the beat. Sinking into the leathery cushion of my chair, my fingers relaxed against the fuzzy, leopard-print covers of my steering wheel, relishing the smooth drive of my newly-fixed car, fresh from the shop. I was ecstatic to finally get my hands back on my baby. Because the hood of my car constantly sounded like clinking change, not to mention the momentary clouds of smoke that would snort out the sides, my ailing vehicle had to be fixed in the shop for an almost unbearable period of three, dragging weeks. There was nothing I despised more than being dependent on the ever-flaky Will Bailey, whom I had to constantly pester for a ride. I'd call my parents, Jeanie or Andrea, my older sisters, but they were always so wrapped up in their socialite, partying lives they barely answered any of my calls. After claiming to have forgotten me at the road on two separate occasions, I'd resorted to taking public transportation. I disliked bumping elbows with strangers on the bus, but it was an invigorating fresh air from Will's increasingly infuriating ways.

  I sighed, my grip tightening around my steering wheel as Will's snotty, derogatorily generalizing remarks about the students of Rushmore rang in my ears. My eyes narrowed at the passing sparrow gliding across my windshield as I waited my turn at the stoplight. Who does he think he is, anyway? He paraded his Daddy-given wealth on his sleeve, carrying himself around like an obscenely rich, but hopelessly ignorant man-child, when the ugly reality remains that he was a month shy from thirty. But it's just as much my fault, blinded by his sweet, pearly-white smile and the pristine, sculpted abs beneath his tawdry designer polos, I'd also romanticized the idea of dating a man eight years my senior, wrongly and perhaps selfishly assuming that I'd be attending extravagant charity galas and visiting art galleries and museums. Not that I particularly enjoyed the arts – anything was nicer than Will's sordid idea of fun, which often involved a bucket of hot wings, frat-boy booze, endless ravers and showering shimmering strippers with his father's hard-earned cash. And now here I was, stuck in a seemingly dead-end road. I didn't even like to think about it, much less admit it to anyone out loud – I was settling, and I knew that, but in all honesty, you form some sort of bond after two years, and even though many believe twenty-two to be the ripest of ages, I was torn. I looked nothing like Jeanie and Andrea, who strictly and quite successfully modeled their looks after the Kardashian sisters – in fact, all my life, I'd always been the larger girl amongst peers. The opposite sex never seemed to give me a second thought until I'd grown into my curves two years ago, and when Will noticed me, I was hooked. I wasn't ready to let that go – I was terrified of being alone.

  I snapped out of my daze, wincing at the abrupt, blasting horn of the navy blue pick-up truck honking behind me. I stuck my hand out the window apologetically as I stomped down on the gas pedal, my car jerking forward, easing the early morning road rage. The car jolted as the tires rolled over a bumpy patch of the road, ascending the freeway leading downtown. Peeking into my side mirrors, I steered slightly to the right, switching lanes. I squealed, a glinting, coal-black Ducati with a rumbling engine zipping across my car without warning, missing the nose of my hood by mere inches.

  “Asshole!” I grumbled, leaning into my windshield, my eyes squinted towards the young man in a fitted, faded denim vest with ripped sleeves, crouched over the roaring motorbike, threading in and out of traffic.

  I'm not sure what it was that took over me – maybe it was all the stored-up anger I tended to brew inside me, always a brooder, not a doer – but I floored it. Flashing my signal lights like a pro, triggered by resentment, I swerved in and out of traffic smoothly, my lips spreading into a wide, victorious smile as I pulled up next to the biker at a stoplight. I jabbed my finger at the window switch, the spotless glass next to me gliding south. My forehead crinkled in irritation as I poked my head out the open gap, my loose, French-roast tresses fanning out in the light, gusty breeze.

  “Hey, buddy!” I called out, my voice wavering from the jolt of adrenaline coursing through my veins, “Here's a friendly Tuesday morning tip for ya – how about not driving like a jackass?”

  The man turned towards me, my breath garnering in my throat as he removed his helmet, fluffing his thick shock of earthy-brown, curtained hair. The stranger's numbing, stunning features threw me off guard, my jaw slacking as a charmed smile spread across his lips. The tiny, silver hoop in his ear glinted in my peripheral vision, my eyes helplessly drawn to the uncannily familiar baby-blue of his sexy, drowsy eyes.

  “Sorry, Miss,” he apologized huskily, winking as he added, “You're right,
that was my bad – you have my word. I'll be driving like a jackass no more.”

  “I, uh – you bet your ass I'm right,” I stammered, softening, fully expecting a heated argument, or at least a scornful retort of some kind.

  “Right, I'll see you around,” he replied, glancing up at the green light, beaming as he slipped his helmet back on, his voice muffled, “I promise I'll be keeping the streets safe for gorgeous girls like you. You have a good day now.”

  My cheeks tinged with pink as he bulleted forward, my heart falling as he veered a corner out of sight. My windows rolled back up as my car kicked into gear, my thoughts scrambling for coherence as I completed the remaining path to Rushmore High. I pulled up into my usual space at the far end of the parking lot and made my way towards the dreary stretch of the clustered, brown-bricked school buildings.

  I thanked a handful of shifty-looking students who opened the door for me, their clothes reeking of cigarette smoke laced with a little dank, awkwardly spreading out and leaning away from me as I strolled past them. As they vanished into the boys' bathroom, Coach Derrick of the basketball team, a burly-chested man notorious for his short fuse, stalked in after them from the corner of my eye. My shoulders hunched in anticipation, the coach's booming voice ricocheting down the hallway, followed by the boys scrambling out of the bathroom, the boy in the end hastily adjusting his sagging jeans as he staggered after his friends.

  My forehead crinkled as I noticed Freddy by his locker, his oblivious expression almost comically shifting to one of stunned fright on his hanging mirror as he caught sight of my face creeping into the reflection. He shook his head, slinging the strap of his backpack over his shoulder as he turned to face me, grinning. His smile faltered as I crossed my arms over my chest, peering into his locker at the sliver of the bright paperback, the words “MANGO STREET” visible, buried underneath a messy pile of crumpled schoolbook covers with the edges shredded off, amongst a bundle of worksheets, uncapped pens and sprinkled eraser shavings.

  Freddy tilted his head to the side, following my line of vision, the freckles on his cheeks disappearing in the flush as he grabbed hold of the book and shimmied it out of the mess. He buffed off the shavings with his fingers and shot me a sheepish smile, waving the book in the air dramatically.

  “Right, I'll be reading this in Algebra–”

  “No, you won't,” I interjected pointedly, pursing my lips in disapproval, “From what I recall, you're not doing too well in that department either. We'll go through it together after school –”

  “Ah, yeah, about that,” Freddy started, his voice trailing off as he detected my flared nostrils.

  “Come on, Freddy,” I intoned sternly, “Whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait.”

  “Fine, fine, Clarissa finally said she'd go out with me but I guess we can reschedule,” he relented, visibly resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “You sound just like my brother.”

  “Maybe I should meet him then, sounds like a very reasonable man,” I replied coolly, “Clarissa's a nice girl. You can take her out this weekend – you know – after your big test this Friday.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  I frowned, “You and I both know you need you're gonna be needing that scholarship in two years – you better smarten up. Time's a-tickin'.”

  Freddy nodded silently, a thoughtful expression spread out across his face as he bolted his locker shut. He flashed me a smile before hurrying off to class.

  “Thanks, Ms. Woodley. I'll see you later.”

  Chapter Three –

  “Kat? Kat!”

  I glanced up from my laptop, turning down the volume of my mixed adventure film soundtracks – the poignant instrumentals, bizarrely, aided in smoothing my work flow. My fingers loosened around the pen as I set it across the table, my closed door bursting open and slamming against the wall. Jeanie, the second-born of us tres marias, stumbled into the room, her petite frame impressively heightened by her seven-inch, crystal-studded stilettos. She clapped her hand across her mouth, giggling daintily.

  “Sorry – your door was stuck,” Jeanie drawled in her trademark nasaly tone.

  “Don't worry about it,” I shrugged, looking her up and down, “Well, don't you look snazzy. Where are you and Andrea heading off to tonight?”

  Jeanie tottered forward, her heels clumping my carpet, leaving a brief, indented trail of her footfall. She walked into my closet, pouting her lips as she emerged with a brand-new, scarlet, tea-length dress with sheer, lace sleeves, still in its clear bag.

  “Actually, we,” Jeanie declared, flourishing her pointed, gold-coated nails at me, “are all going to Plaza X tonight. It's their opening night and of course Andrea and I managed to score a couple of VIP tickets...It's gonna be crazy, Kat! Come on, go-go dancers – oh! And they've got this crazy tube that goes up to the ceiling filled with piranhas –”

  I raised my eyebrows in mock alarm, laughing as I attempted to decline her invitation in the gentlest way possible, “Piranhas and a mob of crazy drunk folks? Nah, I think I'm good for the night. 'Sides, as you can see –” I waved my arm across the stack of notes and my open copy of The House on Mango Street, plastered with a rainbow of multicolored highlighted passages and post-its, “I've got my hands full at the moment.”

  Jeanie's mouth fell open in protest, jabbing her finger towards the dress on my bed, “But we got you a dress and everything – do you know how hard it is to find a nice dress for a size 14 – but that's not the point. Come on, Katrina, it's so unhealthy to stay cooped up in the house all the time –”

  I reclined into my armchair, cracking a smile in amusement, “That's a beautiful dress, Jeanie – more like size 16, but it's sweet. I've got that kid Freddy I told you about that I'm tutoring after school, his reading's got so much better since we started. Anyway, might I remind you that I'm up at seven in the morning everyday for work while you and Andrea sleep in till Mom has to get Marietta to drag you guys out for dinner?”

  Refusing to acknowledge my very accurate comebacks, Jeanie forced a smile on her face as she crossed over to me, peeking at my scribbled notes. Her nose wrinkled as she commented, “Whatever you say, Kat. I never understood why you insisted on getting a job – Andrea and I both thought you'd go for something a little more glamorous like – I don't know – a party planner or a decorator –”

  “Event planners and interior decorators are actually very tough professions and not as easy as you might think –”

  Jeanie flicked me on the forehead, scowling, “Whatever, you know what I mean – definitely not public school. But you do look happier than I've ever seen you before so you must be doing something right,” she finished, smiling.

  “Thanks, Jeanie,” I wrapped my right arm around her and gave her a quick side-hug, “You and Andrea have fun tonight at Plan X.”

  “Plaza X,” sneered Jeanie, winking as she shuffled towards the door, “Don't overwork yourself, Kat. Have a good night.”

  “Stay safe,” I waved as the door swung to a close.

  As the sound of Jeanie's footsteps faded, I gathered the strewn out sheets of notes and slipped them into a clear folder. I shut down my laptop and stowed my things out of sight. Truth was, I'd just finished up for the night and had planned on taking Maddox, our gorgeous golden retriever, for a walk. I crept towards the window at the gravelly sound of rolling tires, our driver, Cameron's gloved hand protruding out the window of the family Bentley, signaling towards the housekeeper, who was pulling open the wrought-iron front gates.

  After filling my fanny pack with essentials and clasping the buckle on the side of my waist, I pulled a light cardigan over my black tank top and grabbed Maddox's leash, dangling from the coat rack next to my door. The second I stepped foot into the hallway, the sound of Maddox's scampering paws and gleeful panting filled my ears, inducing an instant smile on my face. I crouched down on the floor and scratched the back of his furry, little head as I fastened the hook of the leash onto his collar. Sensing an adventure about
to begin, Maddox pounced forward, yanking me forward as we rapidly descended the winding flight of marble steps.

  The breezy, late-October night air kissed my pinking skin as Maddox led me down the stony path, wagging his tongue at me expectantly as I pulled open the front gate and slipped through the open crack, guiding him through. I removed my earphones and phone from my fanny pack and shoved the soft buds into my ears, turning up the music as we wandered down the path. As an indie singer's lifeless voice droned in my ear, I decided to turn down the corner towards the closest bakery. I could probably make it before Oliver's Baked Treats shut down for the night. Freddy did a pretty good job today and seemed more focused as usual, after I'd been extra hard on him, which probably warranted one of those double-glazed cinnamon rolls he loved so much, and who was I kidding – I could use a couple of those bad boys myself.

  My forehead creased as we continued down the path, Maddox struggling in his leash. I wonder what had him so antsy. I paused, clicking my tongue as I glanced down on the pale glow of my phone screen, aiming to change the tune. I wasn't in a very early 2000's-Christina mood right now. Maddox growled, his frantic whimpering drifting into my ears from the brief silence upon changing the track on my playlist, followed by the horrifying screeches of violently swerving tires.

  The color drained from my cheeks, my feet seemingly rooted to the ground as a beige sedan zigzagged down the the road, its screaming tires disrupting the otherwise tranquil emptiness, plowing straight towards me. Maddox lunged forwards, the soles of my sneakers crushing against the asphalt as they dragged forward, the hood of the car clipping me and knocking me onto to the ground. My body rigid with shock, my eyes snapped open as the car halted to a brief stop before lurching on forwards. I blinked, the strangely familiar sound of a roaring engine filling my ears.

  My mouth fell open at the Ducati parked next to me. I couldn't believe it – it was the sexy motorist from the highway.