Love Storm

by Ruth Houston

  "'Sup," I said sleepily.

  Suddenly, something in Zack's eyes flashed. He was watching Winter and me – her sitting in my lap, my arms loosely curled around her waist, our legs tangled together under the blanket on the couch.

  "What have you two been up to?" Eva stared at us and the pizza boxes littering the floor.

  "We had pizza, made out, then had hot, earth-shattering, mind-blowing sex, all here in the living room," Winter said seriously. "What'd you two do?"

  She shrugged, knowing Winter was just jesting. "A movie, dinner, bowling. It was fun."

  "Bowling?" Winter said, looking at Zack inquisitively. He refused to meet her eyes.

  "Yeah," he muttered. "She beat me."

  Eva looked at him happily. "By a lot."

  "Oh, you know that Eva Westley, Bowling Champ of California," Winter teased.

  "What're you two doing now?" I asked. This was pointless. Why had Eva invited Zack in?

  "I just wanted to come in and say hi before I left," Zack said stiffly in that low voice of his. "Now that we're done, I guess I'll be going now." I almost thought I saw something like anger boiling in his eyes, but he hid it well. Was I the only one in the room perceptive of this? Perhaps I had simply imagined it.

  Winter nodded. "See you," she said softly. "We'll eat lunch together tomorrow."

  Zack looked at her, an unreadable emotion churning in his gold eyes. He didn't say anything.

  "With Eva too," Winter continued, still in that soft voice. "The three of us. You can bring Brock if you want. Right, Eva?"

  My sister nodded. Good old Eva.

  He stared hard at Winter, and again, there was that quick, silent exchange of messages. Finally, he nodded.

  "See you all tomorrow," he lifted a hand in a half-wave.

  "I'll walk you to your car," Eva said quickly.

  "See you, Zack," I said.

  "Bye Zack," Winter said.

  He turned one last time to glance at the two of us on the couch.

  After I heard the door close, I turned to Winter. "Was it just me, or was Zack pissed off about something?"

  She shrugged. "I don't think he was," she said, relaxing slowly as I rubbed her back gently. I hadn't noticed it until now, but she had been tense the whole time Zack had been here. "He shouldn't have anything to be mad about."

  The room was quiet for a long moment. A minute or so later we heard the front door open and close again, and a half a moment after that, Eva's head poked into the living room. Her lips were slightly red and she looked rather breathless. Winter and I looked at each other, and we both nodded slightly; Winter had a bit of a smirk on her face.

  "So, how was the sex?" Eva asked brightly.

  I chuckled. "I believe it was 'hot', 'earth-shattering', and 'mind-blowing.'"

  She laughed.

  "What?" I asked in mock indignation. "Do you think it's not possible? Do we not look like lovers to you?"

  Eva snorted. "'Lovers,' huh?"

  "Come on, Tristan, let's show her how it's done," Winter said in a suggestive voice. She pulled the blanket over our heads and we made over-exaggerated moaning sounds.

  "Oh, Tristan," Winter said in a high-pitched voice.

  "Oh, baby," I pitched my voice lower. We shifted around a lot under there for the benefit of our audience.

  "Okay, okay," Eva said. "I don't know whether to be amused or disgusted. You guys can stop now. I get it."

  "How was the date?" Winter asked as we emerged from underneath the blanket. "Think it was better than our night here?"

  "Nah, you guys had the real party going on," Eva grinned. "But it was lots of fun. He was really sweet."

  "How do you feel? Shivery? Hot and cold all over? Like you want to maul him every time you see him?" Winter asked.

  "No, I don't think it's true love yet," my sister smiled.

  "Oh," Winter said, obviously disappointed.

  "Maybe next time," Eva suggested. "So really, what did you guys do?"

  "We ate three pizzas," I supplied. "And we slept."

  "Together?" Her blue eyes were wide. "I thought you guys were only kidding."

  "We were," Winter said hastily. "We fell asleep. Here, on the couch. Boy Eva, I'm not sure I even want to know what's going through your mind anymore."

  Eva seemed relieved and ignored Winter's last comment. "Good. I don't think I could handle it if you guys were really having sex behind my back. And don't make another joke out of it."

  I chuckled.

  "I'm tired," Winter said, closing her eyes again. "Can you hook me up with a ride home, big bro?"

  "Sure," I said.

  "I'm going to go take a shower," Eva announced. "See you tomorrow, Winter." She got up to leave.

  "Wait, Eva!" Winter said.

  She turned in the doorway.

  "I'm happy for you," Winter said. "I really am. I hope you and Zack work out together." She smiled sincerely.

  "Aw, thanks Winter," Eva said.

  It was another one of those girly best friend moments I'll never understand. Oh well. I don't think I need to, anyway.

  I groaned. "Ugh, come on Winter. Let's go. The sooner we go, the sooner I can come back home and sleep off those pizzas."

  -Zack-

  She smiled against my lips and pulled back.

  I gave her a puppy-dog look.

  "Zack, it's late," Eva whispered.

  "One more," I pleaded, leaning forward to kiss her. She didn't pull away this time. Kissing her was so enjoyable, amazing beyond belief.

  "I had a great time tonight," I said after it ended, my lips right by her ear.

  "Me too," Eva replied. "Will we go out again soon?"

  "Very soon," I smiled.

  A moment later, I drove off, watching Eva waving at me from my rearview mirror. Today had been great – Eva was easy to talk to, pretty, funny, smart. She was absolutely amazing, and I almost couldn't believe she would like me back. Almost. I mean, come on, this is the great Zackary Crowne we're talking about here.

  But something felt rather unsettled in my stomach. I didn't have to think hard to know why, but I didn't like admitting it.

  As soon as I had seen Tristan and Winter curled up on the couch like that together, something had dropped in my stomach. My first thought was that she had lied to me – that she was indeed going out with Tristan. Then I had second thoughts. Why would she lie to me? I had given her no reason to. And, no matter how much I probably annoyed her, I still didn't think she would be the type of person to lie to me.

  And then she had gone on to say that they had made out and had sex – something about 'hot, earth-blowing, mind-shattering' – or something like that. Why did she want to tell me that she had been having sex, anyway?

  And it seemed plausible too, I thought. She had been wearing clothes that looked like they could have been Tristan's.

  I paused, realized I was pushing 70 on residential streets. I slowed down. Why was I so upset anyway? She wasn't my problem. Sure, she had been nice enough to set me up with Eva, but still, it wasn't as if I liked her or anything.

  No, I thought, suddenly angry at myself. No, you can't go around thinking like that. Eva's an awesome girl, you're lucky she chose you. Who cares if Winter chose to lie to me?

  -Winter-

  Had Zack been upset about something? It was weird – I could have sworn I had picked up some angry vibes from him, but it was always hard to tell with him. And why should he be mad? He had gone out with Eva, and, according to her, everything had gone well. In fact, by the looks of it, everything had gone better than "well".

  I finished drying myself off and slipped on my pajamas. The steam in the bathroom was scented lightly with my shampoo, and I breathed it in deeply before opening the door.

  I stole softly to my room and lay down on my bed, my wet hair cool on my neck. I pulled the covers up to my chin and turned over, wondering about Zack.

  Chapter Nine: Enter Martin Rifkin

  Winter

  By the fo
llowing week, Eva and Zack were going steady.

  By the beginning of November, a month after their first date, they were a couple people looked up to. They said, "Now look at that Eva and Zack. They've been an item for so long, and they're committed to each other. Why can't we be like that?" Eva and Zack were like Barbie and Ken. A more athletic Barbie and a curly headed Ken. Except that they weren't exactly doomed to be meant for each other for all of eternity. At least, I hoped not. It would be awkward for my best friend to be married to someone who so loved to exasperate me for no reason.

  I watched from the sidelines, marveling that they weren't biting each other's heads off, something I had taken to doing every time I was left alone with Zack. He had been sweet that one night that now seemed so long ago – after that, he had continued to annoy and irritate me, but I always tried to refrain from saying things that were too harsh, for Eva's sake if not as much for the sanity of Tristan, who couldn't stand it when I yelled at Zack, for some odd reason.

  Tristan and I had gotten even closer that month. Eva was constantly out with Zack, but I didn't complain. Even though she wasn't always there, I continued to go to the Westley house to help out three or four times a week. After school activities had started picking up in abundance for all the kids, so they weren't home as much as they had been at the very start of school. Tristan and I ended up hanging out a lot – we were close enough that I fell in love with the idea of him becoming my older brother. We often joked that perhaps one day I could adopt him. Tennis had also started for me, and he, too, was busy with practice for football, and conditioning for varsity basketball.

  Things were going alright. Not great, but alright, and life was stable for a while, which counted for a lot. Mrs. Westley – now Ms. McCall I suppose, though she would always be simply Denise to me – seemed to be doing okay for herself too. She had finally found a cheap apartment in Hampton, and had thrown herself into her work. She visited at least once a week, usually on the weekends now, and the kids practically lived for those days.

  As for Mr. Westley – not Oliver, but Mr. Westley – he was doing okay too, I suppose. I hoped he was doing well at work. He was some kind of business man; I didn't know the logistics of what he did for a living as I had never interested myself in matters concerning him in the first place.

  One day in early November, our varsity tennis coach, Burling, started the yearly practices from hell. Our season had ended already, two few weeks previously, but he still got to hold on to us until spring sports started. A few lucky people had already started their winter sports, and as such did not have to go through these terrible conditioning practices, but everyone else had to push through six more weeks with our crazy and completely unbalanced, maniac Coach Burling.

  "Alright, ladies!" he shouted. "Gather round, gather round." We had just finished running four laps around the perimeter of the sports fields – the equivalent of two miles. We were all breathing heavily, and more than half the girls were doubled over, still trying to catch their breaths. Panting, hot, and sweaty; and we were all outside too, the wind blowing cold and harsh on our faces, bare arms and legs. In a moment we would all be wishing we were back to sweaty and hot, I knew – the wind in Branner City could freeze sweat on your skin in an instant and bite all the way into your bones. Living in northern California on the coast often meant unsympathetic weather for tennis players in the winter.

  "Liners," Burling said. "For the next couple of weeks, you ladies will be living and breathing drills, games, and conditioning. Liners, squats, timed miles, wall-sits, Hot Seat, BVO, Queen of the Court, Two-Touch One-Bounce." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Drills – forehands, backhands, volleys, slices, overheads, serves. We might not be the best team in the league, but we can still be the best conditioned. I'm proud of the way we finished this season – nine for sixteen is not bad. But we can do better."

  I rolled my eyes. This was Coach Burling's beginning of the conditioning off-season speech on how we would be the best conditioned team in all of California. It sounded suspiciously like what he had said last year. "Two bucks says Mariko's the first to throw up today," I whispered to my good tennis buddy, Rebecca.

  Rebecca glanced at Mariko, the smallest girl on our team and Japanese to boot – 'delicate', was the word Coach used to describe her.

  "No deal," she panted. "But you know she saves us every time."

  I nodded, still trying to catch my breath. Every time Mariko or someone else threw up, we were allowed to stop the drills and rest.

  "Okay everyone, line up at the doubles alley. Liners on the whistle. Ready… go!" The shrill whistle rang out happily, the first blow of the season! Whoohoo! It and the coach were the only ones celebrating out on the courts today.

  By the end of practice, my lungs were burning and I was so tired I almost fell asleep in the showers. But man, it felt so good. There was something about pushing my body to its physical limits that made me feel really great – like I was washed clean, or something.

  I exited the locker rooms, the last person to come out. All my teammates were gone. My head was freezing – the wind was still blowing, and my hair was dripping wet. I shivered in my clean shorts, flip-flops, and last year's tournament t-shirt.

  "Unh," I groaned aloud, feeling extremely stupid. I had forgotten to tell my dad I needed a ride home. I rummaged through my duffel bag for my cell phone but came up empty-handed.

  "Crud," I muttered, teeth chattering, going through the contents in my bag again. Still no cell phone.

  So there I was, standing in front of the gym, looking stupidly and desperately lost, when a BMW pulled up. Not just any BMW though – it was a nice one. Not new, but it had no scratches either, and was waxed to a shine. And I knew who it belonged to.

  The window rolled down, and I could only stare as the friendly, honest smile of Martin Rifkin greeted me.

  "Hey, you look lost. Need a ride?"

  Indignation rose up in me. Of course I needed a ride, idiot. No, I wouldn't take a ride, certainly not from the likes of Martin. "No," I sniffed sarcastically. "I'm just standing out here because I feel like it and I'm clinically diagnosed with masochism. Thanks though." I waved him off, but to my surprise, he was laughing.

  "Come on," he said, dark gray eyes twinkling. Pretty eyes, I marveled. "Put aside your pride for a moment. It's got to be freezing out there in shorts and a t-shirt."

  I admitted to myself that he had a point. If I stood out here much longer, they'd have to defrost me at the morgue before I could be identified. I shivered as the wind picked up even more.

  Martin just sat there, a faint smile playing on his lips, waiting for me to concede defeat.

  "Okay, okay," I finally said reluctantly. A particularly harsh gust of wind had finally convinced me to suck up my pride and accept his charity.

  Martin grinned and reached across to open the passenger door for me.

  I slid in, pulling down my shorts a little, which now seemed to show an impossible amount of my legs. 'Damn Coach Burling's dress code,' I thought crossly. He never let us wear long sweats or track pants to practice, and I hadn't wanted to change back into my jeans today.

  As soon as I buckled up, he pulled smoothly out of the gym's parking lot.

  "Your name is… Winter, right?" Martin Rifkin looked at me sideways, a mischievous grin still lurking in his features.

  "Yea," I said. "And you're Martin Rifkin," I couldn't help adding on. Martin Rifkin, who was one year older than me, MVP on the football field, and the fastest runner on the track team.

  He chuckled. "The one and only," he said. "How do I know you, anyway? You're not a junior," he frowned, contemplating the question. I already knew the answer, and was rather flattered at his memory.

  "Does this situation seem at all familiar to you?" I asked. "I've gotten a ride from you before. With Tristan Westley," I said, waiting for his reaction.

  Realization dawned on his features. "That's right," Martin said, slapping the steering wheel as we cruised down th
e street, Branner High's brick buildings shrinking behind us. "Westley got a ride from me after track practice once. And you were with him," he scratched his head, accidentally making a small section of his light brown hair stick out at a funny angle. I laughed.

  "What's so funny?" he said.

  I shook my head, grinning and savoring that at this moment, the high and mighty Martin Rifkin, jock extraordinaire, probably one of the most popular juniors in the school, was indeed human, just like everyone else.

  "I live on Storey Road," I informed him. "It's off Ivelson."

  He nodded in understanding. "Tennis practice, huh?" He gestured at my duffel and tennis racket.

  "Conditioning practices from hell," I sighed.

  "I've been there before," he said sympathetically.

  "Because we have to be the best conditioned team in Nor Cal, never mind that you're all throwing up by the end of practice, never mind that you'll probably all die from exhaustion by the end of the season, and, oh, it's cold out here? Too bad, you can only wear shorts and skirts," I barged on, ever sarcastically, and again, I was surprised when he laughed.

  "Am I extremely amusing or something?" I said indignantly.

  "You're funny," Martin declared with a pleasant chuckle.

  "I hope that's a compliment," I said, grinning.

  "Take it however you want," he replied with an amused shrug.

  There was a slight pause and I looked out the window. "Nice car," I said casually.

  He sighed. "I've heard," he said, an uncharacteristically resentful expression on his face.

  I was taken aback by his sudden mood change and shifted in the leather seat uncomfortably. "Sorry," I said softly, again, not quite sure what else to say.

  "No, I'm sorry," Martin replied, something like regret touching his beautiful eyes.

  I cut him off before he could apologize any further. "Don't be sorry. There's no reason for you to be." I watched him out of the corner of my eye, wondering what Martin Rifkin could possibly be bitter about.

  He looked like he was about to say something, but then closed his mouth again and simply nodded, tight-lipped.

  "So, you ready for the football season?" I asked to smooth out the silence.