Catching Raven

by Smith, Lauren

  His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, making the veins under his skin bulge. “Are you seriously breaking up with me? On your birthday? In my car?”

  More tears fall. I nod, compounded with heaps of guilt.

  “Are you at least going to give me a reason why?”

  I take a calming breath and force myself to form a coherent sentence. He deserves an explanation. He deserves a lot more than that, but I can’t be the one to give it to him. “I like you, Brandon, but as a friend. This isn’t working anymore.”

  He glares at me. “Wow, really? That’s news to me. So things aren’t perfect for two fucking seconds and you decide to kick me to the curb like yesterday’s trash? You don’t even bother to give me a chance to fix it first? Jesus, Raven.” He runs his hands through his hair, considering his next words. “You’re so selfish sometimes. You only care about yourself and anything that benefits you.” He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand what he ever saw in me. That’s the sharpest blade of them all.

  I stay silent, processing his coarse words, unsure of what to say or do next. I didn’t expect things to go this way. I knew it wouldn’t be smooth, but I never thought he’d lash out at me in retaliation. Yes, he’s upset and hurt, but so am I. Does he seriously think I wanted to hurt him on purpose? That’s the last thing I ever intended. Luckily, I don’t have to ponder any of this for long.

  “Please get out of my car,” he says with an air of finality. He starts the engine and leans back against the seat, anxiously waiting for me to leave.

  I reach down into my pocket and fish out the earrings he gave me. I open the glove compartment and place them inside.

  “Just keep them.”

  I ignore his comment and close the compartment. I turn to grab the handle and pause, looking back over my shoulder at him one last time. “I really am sorry,” I whisper, opening the door and stepping out. As soon as I shut the door, he reverses and hightails it out of the parking lot, leaving an imaginary trail of dust behind, and a not-so-imaginary birthday girl in tears.

  FIVE

  e r i c

  “Where’s Raven?” I ask, scanning the living room. My gaze settles on two wide-eyed faces: Tori and Mia. They’re sitting together on the couch, watching the front door like hawks. Tori’s biting her nails and Mia’s knee is bouncing up and down restlessly. They’re acting like a couple of tweakers on standby.

  Something’s up.

  Without bothering to take her eyes off the door, Mia answers. “She’s outside.”

  “We just came from outside and we didn’t see her.”

  Emilio grabs a brat off the plate I’m holding and walks over to the counter to grab a bun and some Dijon mustard, oblivious to what’s happening in Girl World.

  “That’s because she went out front to break up with Brandon,” Tori explains, then she takes a cue from Emilio and stands up and walks over to grab a brat.

  She’s breaking up with him?

  “How long ago?”

  Tori shrugs. “I don’t know, fifteen minutes?”

  Without thinking, I shove the plate into her unsteady arms and leave to go find Raven.

  “Hey! Warn me next time before you do that!”

  The door closes behind me. I ignore Tori’s comment and take the stairs two at a time until I reach the pavement. Raven’s car is still parked in its designated spot. I look around for Brandon’s car, but it’s nowhere in sight.

  Shit. Maybe she left with him?

  No. She wouldn’t leave without telling one of us.

  The sound of sniffling beckons my attention. I look over to find Raven sitting on the grass underneath a tree. She’s hugging her knees to her chest protectively, crying. Christ. The drama. Everything’s life or death with this girl. I’m relieved she broke it off with What’s His Face, though. They were a wrong fit from the start. The guy can’t hang. I tried to tell her that several times, but did she listen? Of course not.

  I’ll bet he can’t even name her favorite book. It’s East of Eden, by the way. The reason it’s her favorite? It’s the only book she deems powerful enough to make her self-reflect. Favorite movie? Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

  Her newest crisis is feeling torn between majoring in what’s practical and chasing her dreams as far as they’ll take her. She’s hates uncertainty, but loves surprises. Those tidbits will get you VIP status. It’s a good thing we each have something special planned later.

  What about her fears? Does he know she’s deathly afraid of cockroaches and thrift shopping? I can’t get her anywhere near a Goodwill or Salvation Army. She’ll hyperventilate. No, that doesn’t mean she’s shallow. She’s just more honest about her phobias than most.

  When she’s upset, she organizes anything and everything she can get her hands on. That’s why she’s banned from my kitchen cupboards, my paint collection, and my closet. I can never find anything after she’s done.

  I guess love is similar to art in that regard. It’s picking up on the small, seemingly insignificant aspects. Paying close attention to things that most people skip over and don’t think twice about. An eye for detail. That’s what separates me from the rest of the pack. I’m not saying I’m worthy of her. Who am I kidding? What can I offer? She deserves to live in a castle, and all I can give her is a shack. It would be colorful and nicely decorated, though. Original artwork.

  But back to the crying thing. I can’t stand to watch her cry. I sigh and walk over there, on a mission to make it all better.

  “What happened?”

  She lifts her head, surprised to see me. Black mascara streaks are running down her cheeks, and her eyes are all red and puffy.

  I shove both hands into my pockets and shuffle my feet back and forth, scuffing my paint-splattered Tims. I’m not good with sadness. Or coming up with the right thing to say. But if I don’t pipe in, this level of discomfort is going to become unbearable. Neither of us wants that. I pull myself together. “Let me rephrase. Why the fuck are you crying on your birthday?”

  “I broke up with Brandon. He kicked me out of his car and took off.”

  “Sooo...he took it well then?” I deadpan.

  She rolls her raccoon eyes and kicks me so hard in the shin I double over.

  “Dammit, woman! Get a grip!”

  She stands up and brushes the dirt off her butt. “This is all your fault!”

  “How is this my fault?”

  “You were the one who told me I wasn’t happy with him.”

  “Because you weren’t.”

  “That’s none of your business!” she shrieks.

  Time out. Can somebody throw me a pair of earmuffs? In between shin rubs, I have to keep reminding myself not to put my hands on her, despite the overwhelming urge to wrap my fingers around her neck and throttle her. “You made it my business. You made it everyone’s business when you ran around and whined about how unhappy you were.”

  Telling by the expression on her face, I’ve gone too far. She’s about to freeze me out, or go thermonuclear. I’m not sure which is worse.

  I take a step back and run my hands through my hair, bracing myself for the storm. I’ve yet to meet anyone who riles me up more than Raven. We bring out the best in each other. And the absolute worst. That’s the problem with catching feelings. Sometimes it happens so suddenly, before you even realize what’s going on, you’ve become a different person—someone you barely recognize. Different isn’t always better, either. I witnessed that firsthand with my parents.

  “Alright! I get it! I’m a horrible person. I only care about myself and anything that revolves around me. I’m sorry I burdened y’all. Here I thought I was leaning on my friends for moral support. I’m sorry you find me so difficult to deal with. I’m sorry I’m so high-maintenance. I’m sorry I have no redeeming qualities. There. Have I said it all? If not, spare me the tirade. Brandon already beat you to the punch, like, fifteen minutes ago.”

  I was about to apologize for the low blow, but this bitch fit…well, I’ve
lost my train of thought. “He said all that to you?”

  “More or less,” she mutters dejectedly. She crosses her arms over her chest. “He told me I was selfish for not giving him a chance to fix the relationship.”

  Fresh tears fall down her face. She turns and saunters across the parking lot, a move I’m all too familiar with. Why does she always do that? Translation: she’s over it. I refrain from chasing her down. I need to chill out and give her space to clear her head.

  I keep an eye on her from a distance. She lays down on the hood of my car in the beating sun and stares up at the powder blue sky. Watching her like this reminds me of when we were neighbors. There were nights when I’d roll in from a late night graffiti session and catch her stargazing outside in her hammock. I always wondered if she was secretly staying up on purpose. I spent more time than I’d care to admit trying to figure out what was on her mind. Was she thinking about me? Did she know her very presence was my sole motivation for getting up early and going to school every day? I don’t think I’ve ever told her that. Randomly seeing her face in the halls made it worth the endless hours of boredom and detention stints.

  The better part of me refuses to let that very same girl be upset on her birthday. I snap out of it and jog across the parking lot. When I reach my car, my butt slides against the hood and makes a loud farting noise. I stiffen. One second goes by...two...three. I risk taking a peek at her.

  “That wasn’t me.”

  She can barely keep a straight face.

  What a way to break the ice.

  I lean back against the windshield, crossing my feet at the ankles. One arm slips behind my head. Even though we’re lying side by side, she’s a million miles away. I reach down to touch her hand, determined to bring her back. When my palm grazes her skin, she unexpectedly flips her hand over and interlaces our fingers. I exhale a sigh of disbelief, and relief.

  It feels natural to hold her hand—along with scary, exciting, and intimate. It’s the first time she’s ever let me touch her this way. Probably the last. What happened in the kitchen earlier doesn’t count. We weren’t touching. That was pretty incredible in itself, though. But I have to keep reminding myself that her judgment is clouded.

  As much as I want to take whatever this is between us further, I’m well aware that putting the moves on a girl less than twenty-four hours after a breakup is a big no-no—even for me. Then again, we all know how I feel about boundaries. If her guilt weren’t holding the situation hostage, I’d probably go for it. Has it even been twenty-four minutes?

  “For the record, letting go of someone when you’re unhappy may seem like the selfish choice, but it makes you merciful in the long run. Nobody wants to be caged, least of all you. Never apologize for that. Besides, it’s not like you were married with kids ’n shit.”

  “Tell that to Brandon,” she mutters.

  “Fuck that guy. He doesn’t even know the first thing about you. Never did. And I can tell you where you went wrong in this whole situation.”

  “Oh, really? Enlighten me.”

  “Where was his latté? His home cooked breakfast? Did those things ever even cross your mind before jumping in his car? Shame on you. I taught you better. Bad grasshopper.” I throw in a Mr. Miyagi accent for kicks—no pun intended.

  She props herself up on her elbows. “Are you being serious?”

  It doesn’t go unnoticed that she’s still holding my hand.

  “Don’t knock the method. It works like a charm. People always handle a breakup better on a full stomach, especially guys. We’re so needy.”

  She throws her head back in exasperation. “Oh, my God. The clinginess level is suffocating.”

  “It’s pitiful.”

  “And so unattractive.”

  “But secretly a little endearing.”

  I’m rewarded with the sound of her laugh. I squeeze her hand and hop off the car.

  “Come on. Everyone’s probably wondering if we’re still alive. You need to eat and get ready for the surprise. I’m saving mine for Thursday Movie Night when it’s just you and me. And FYI, we’ll be watching The Big Lebowski. It’s my pick this week, remember?”

  Her eyes widen with excitement. “Will there be presents?”

  “Among other things.”

  She rolls off the car ninja-style, then bends down to check her reflection in my side mirror and gasps at the gruesome sight.

  I open the passenger’s door and grab a spare tee out of the front seat. “Here,” I toss it over the roof.

  She holds it out in front and inspects it closely. “Gross. Is this a used gym shirt?”

  “No, but it’s been sitting in my car for over a month, so enjoy.”

  She brings it in close and hesitates before taking a whiff.

  “See? Told you it wasn’t a gym shirt.”

  Her eyes search my face to see if I’m lying. When she’s convinced I’m not, she uses the hem to meticulously wipe under her eyes. Once we overcome that massive hurdle, she moves on to scrub her cheeks. Tackling one world-ending issue at a time today.

  “Rave, speed it up. We’ve got places to be and people to see.”

  She throws my now mascara-smudged tee at my chest with a handful of attitude. I use each end to swirl the shirt around until it’s twisted tight like a rope. I round the car and take my aim.

  She backs up. “Don’t you dare.”

  When I charge, she bolts.

  I chase her around the parking lot until she’s within lashing distance. When I have a clear shot, I seize the opportunity and snap the shirt right on her tight ass.

  “Ouch!” she screams, vigorously rubbing her backside. “What the hell!”

  “That’s for kicking me in the shin.”

  “Next time I’ll aim higher,” she threatens.

  “It’ll be your funeral.”

  I drape the tee over my shoulder and walk back to the apartment, not bothering to wait up. Ten steps later, Raven barrels into my side. I wrap my arm around her neck and casually pull her in. This is the safest method. It’s all about mastering the art of being near someone without letting them get too close. Keeping them at arm’s length. Until she’s in the right frame of mind and gives me a clear sign she wants more, that’s where she’ll stay. I’ve spent enough effort expressing my desires over the last year only to be shot down. A person can only take so much rejection.

  “Where are we going tonight?” she asks.

  “No clue. Tori and Mia planned everything. Your brother and I are just tagging along for the ride. Better be somewhere good.”

  * * *

  What the fuck?

  Those are the only three words I can conjure up to accurately describe my reaction. Why didn’t I see this coming? What bizarre, alternate reality have I landed in? Looking back, the signs were all there. Glitter on the floor, dim lighting, and two enticing poles residing on either side of the stage. My thoughts immediately drifted to strip club. It was a brief twenty seconds where I thought all of my wildest fantasies were coming together in one beautiful, wet dream come true. Me, Rave, and two other gorgeous women all partying it up in a strip joint. Sounds like heaven, right? Minus Emilio imposing as the fifth wheel, of course. That part I could do without. But seriously. I was about to pull out my Washingtons and make it rain.

  The idea wasn’t far-fetched. Raven did just turn eighteen. And what better way to celebrate? I should’ve trusted my instincts when they told me something weird was going on. For instance, why wouldn’t Tori and Mia tell us where we were all going? Where were the exotic dancers? And why the lack of men? It’s Friday night. Ideally, this place should be packed.

  Now it all makes sense. I guess that’s where the joke’s on me, because nothing could’ve prepared me for the moment when my eyes settled on the stage and a transvestite named Coco Butter took the entire club by storm in a shiny dress, black wig, and nearly a pound of makeup.

  And here we are. Back to the present. How on Earth do I continuously get roped into
these situations? If I’m not helping Mia pick out bras, buying chocolate ice cream for Tori during “Aunt Flow’s” monthly visit (I refuse to pick up tampons for someone who isn’t my girlfriend, and yes, in case you’re wondering, she’s asked), and still trying to retain some semblance of masculinity, then I’m here. At a drag show.

  Again, WTF?

  Coco grabs the mic and flips her hair over one shoulder, commanding our attention with one helluva stage presence.

  “Ladies and Gays, welcome to the show! Up first we have the fabulous Miss Ruby Redd performing, “I Kissed A Girl” by Katy Perry. Let’s give it up for Miss Ruby Redd!”

  The estrogen-heavy crowd goes nuts—no pun intended. I glance over at Emilio and shake my head and shrug in disbelief. It’s all I can do at this point. He mirrors my actions.

  I whip out my phone and text Mia and Tori the exact same message: I hope a colony of fire ants infest your vagina while you’re sleeping. Also, I’m drinking all your beer tonight. Go find someone else to be your errand boy.

  I slip my phone back into my pocket. Ruby Redd has started making rounds, grabbing tips from various customers. Who knew you’re supposed to tip a drag queen? Tori, Mia, and Raven all pull out singles and raise them up high, dancing in their seats while they wait. Thank God I can legally drink. I remove myself and make a beeline for the bar.

  A man dressed like Marilyn Monroe hands the customer in front her drink. Raven would be giddy over the fact that Marilyn is serving drinks. I recognize the dress from The Seven Year Itch—one of the many of old movies she’s forced me to sit through. The things I do for that girl.

  Marilyn eyes me up and down. “What can I get you, handsome?”

  “Uh, a gin and tonic, please.”

  “Can I see your ID?”

  I flash my driver’s license.

  “One gin and tonic comin’ right up.”

  I sift through my wallet and pull out a five and some ones. Might as well use the Washingtons on the bartender. I’m gonna be smashed by the time this is all over. As Marilyn pours my drink, my phone vibrates.