by Rose Croft
As I listened to Robert Smith’s eerily magical voice echoing while he strummed a hypnotic melody on “Plainsong,” I thought of Andrew and pulled out my notebook. He wanted to see more of my work, and I was encouraged to show him.
I flipped through the pages, stopping at a poem I’d written in eighth grade. I wrote it after not being invited to, of all things, Miley’s birthday party. I found out, because everyone talked about it at school, and she had invited practically everyone except me. I remembered being so devastated that I stayed in my room all evening and cried. Then my tears turned to anger, and I’d laid it out on paper.
As I read, the old feelings of how upset I had been bubbled up like champagne. I was reminded of Andrew’s sarcastic rant about the “elite group” that decided who was cool or not. I decided to revise the poem, using more mature language and rearranging some lines that seemed out of place.
Since I had already shared some of my poems with Andrew, I felt comfortable enough showing him another piece of me from a time when I was very vulnerable. I didn’t know why, but I believed Andrew appreciated the realness of my work, and for some reason it was easier to express myself through my writing. Again, I thought back to what had happened at the party the other night, and it gave me chills. I decided that, whatever had happened between Andrew and Steve, Steve must have deserved it because he was a fucking pig.
Before I knew it, I had flipped to a blank page and written my next poem, venting my frustration through words on paper. I called it “The Sweaty Pig.” I wouldn’t show this one to Andrew, but I felt a little better getting my feelings out on paper. As I read over my words, my cellphone went off. It was Jamie.
“Hello.”
“Loren, what’s up?”
“Nothing. What’s up with you?” I wondered if Bryan had mentioned anything to her.
“I wanted to see if you would go with me to see the playoff game tomorrow. It’s in Waco.” Apparently, she didn’t know about the Bryan/Steve incident or wasn’t going to mention it.
I wasn’t, either. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I already have plans. I wish I could.” Although I would’ve loved to be there and support Bryan, there was no way in hell I wanted to be in the vicinity of Steve or Miley. I just couldn’t. Thank God he was graduating; unfortunately, she wasn’t.
“Okay. Well, let’s hang out sometime.”
“Sure.”
After we hung up, I tapped the phone against my chin in deep thought and finally texted Andrew.
“I have a poem for you. Would you like to see it?”
Andrew responded a few minutes later.
“Yes. Of course, I want to see it.”
I smiled, eager to see him and show him my work.
“Tonight at your house?”
“Yeah, come around 6?”
He gave me the address.
Later, I stood at his door, anxious to see him and slightly wary because I’d lied to my mom, telling her that I was going over to Jamie’s house. The door opened. I was expecting Andrew, but it was his brother, John. “Hello. Loren, right?” He grinned and leaned an arm against the doorjamb. He looked like a younger version of Andrew, but without the perpetual discontented scowl. He had on an athletic shirt with the Briarhill Falcons logo across the front and sleeves cut out showing off his thick, bulging arms. Dude must work out a lot. He was only fifteen.
“Yeah, hi. Is your brother here?”
He twisted his head over his shoulder before turning back to me, appearing solemn. “Yes, but there’s still time to leave. Run away while you still have the chance.”
My brows drew together, wondering what that meant, and I saw a hand grip John’s shoulder, jerking him back. “Shut up, dumbass.” Andrew scowled while John laughed like he was a comedic genius. So, his brother was a joker. The complete opposite of Andrew it would seem.
Andrew signaled me to come in. He looked like he’d been outside all day because his arms and legs were tan in his black tee and shorts, and he wore a baseball cap. As I stepped into the foyer, John still had a goofy smile on his face. “See what I mean, Loren? Do you really want to hang around his grumpy ass?”
I covered my mouth, stifling a laugh. I’d never seen anyone call Andrew out like that.
“Don’t you have a date with your Xbox?” Andrew didn’t even crack a smile as he signaled toward the stairs.
John continued to grin with his arms crossed. “Nah, man, I’m good.”
“Why don’t you go up and practice baseball on your stupid video game. Don’t you need to be in bed early tonight for your game tomorrow anyway?” Andrew spoke to him like he was a five-year-old who had to be in bed by seven.
“Oh, that’s right, the playoffs. You play in left field next to Bryan, right?” I asked.
John eyed me as if he were impressed. “Yeah, you follow baseball?”
“I’ve been to a few games this year. I like baseball.”
“Cool. You going tomorrow?”
“No. I can’t.” I observed Andrew, who was standing with one hand on his hip and eyes narrowed at his brother, trying to make him disappear.
John didn’t seem the least bit intimidated, but he did say, “Okay. I’ll leave you kids alone.”
“Good luck tomorrow.”
“Thanks. Good luck with that.” He pointed at Andrew and drew his face together. He was ridiculous, but I laughed anyway.
“Come on.” Andrew shook his head and led me to the kitchen. “You hungry or thirsty?”
“I’ll take water.” He went to the fridge and handed me a bottle.
“You work today?” I unscrewed the cap and took a sip.
“Yeah, installing equipment on a new pool. It should be ready in a few weeks.”
“Cool. I wish you could build me a pool because it’s already so hot outside.”
“I could…if you had about thirty-five thousand dollars to spend.”
“Right. I guess the kiddie pool from Target will have to do.” I set the bottle on the counter. “So, did you work all weekend?”
“Pretty much. What have you been up to?”
“Um, I went to a party Friday night and have really done nothing else but sleep and enjoy my time off.”
“Must be nice, Princess, to party and sleep.” He now stood next to me and tapped his cold bottle against my skin. My arms prickled in goose bumps.
“Hey, I’ve got one free week before I start my summer job.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’ll be taking care of two girls who live down the street from me during the week while their parents work. One is seven and the other is twelve, so I’ll basically be a chauffeur and make sure they’re fed and safe.”
He nodded. “How did you do on the test?”
“Good. You?”
“Okay.”
“I bet you did better than okay. You were one of the first people to finish.”
He smiled, and his cute dimples were on display, blinding me like a glorious ray of sunshine. “Yeah, it was pretty easy.”
He looked down at my notebook on the counter. “You ready to show me your work, Scout?” For some reason, the nickname was growing on me.
“Sure.”
He tilted his head toward the hallway. “Come on.”
I followed him down the hall and upstairs, noticing how his calves flexed as he took each step.
As we reached the upstairs hallway, we passed by an open room with a pool table. I heard “Home run, fuck yeah!” and the roar of the crowd on TV. Then, there was a pounding sound like an excited elephant was dancing around. John must have been stomping around celebrating because he was now talking shit to the TV.
“Wow. Your brother’s really into his game.”
“Yeah, he’s such a douche.” Andrew opened a door and flicked on a light. It was obviously his bedroom. I noticed one black wall where the head of his bed was, with graffiti-like images in white chalk all over the wall. It was truly, weirdly incredible, the artwork. Jesus, this guy was so talent
ed. It looked like a professional had done it. The other walls were white and covered in posters of musicians and groups from the last several decades to the present: Jim Morrison, Iggy Pop, The Clash, The Smiths, Rage Against the Machine, Jack White, and the list went on and on. One picture of Kurt Cobain struck out at me; he looked depressed with his piercing, vacant, light blue eyes and a cigarette hanging from his lips, with the quote “No one dies a virgin, life fucks us all.”
Every image screamed rebellion and provocativeness, and I wondered how he got away with displaying them. My mother would’ve never allowed anything like this in my room. His parents must have been more lenient or they didn’t care. “Where are your parents?”
“They went shopping and were going to dinner.” Andrew was sitting on the side of his bed with his hands folded between his knees. He watched me as if waiting to see my reaction to his surroundings.
I bobbed my head and pointed to his creation. “Your mural is amazing. You’re so talented.”
He seemed embarrassed, and his cheeks heightened in color. “Thanks. It’s different, right?” His voice was gruff, laced with discomfort. I’d never seen him respond this way. He cleared his throat. “You gonna show me your poem or what?”
“Uh huh.” I dropped down beside him, opening my notebook.
“Don’t sit too close. I probably stink since I’ve been outside all day.”
“Oh, that was the funk I’ve been smelling since I got here.” I narrowed my eyes playfully and waved a hand in front of my nose. Honestly, he smelled musky with a faint hint of cologne—not unpleasant.
We both laughed. I loved how his eyes lit up when he genuinely smiled. “You ready?”
With the notebook in my hand, I nodded somewhat nervously and handed it to him. I watched him as he read, curious to see his reaction. I could see his facial expression change from pleasant, to concerned, to almost angry.
The poem wasn’t that long, but he seemed to look at it forever as if he were trying to piece all the information together. His face was solemn, and I started having doubts about showing him this poem.
“You don’t like it, do you?” My heart seemed to fall piece by piece with each passing moment of silence.
He turned to me and appeared to be contemplating his words and finally answered slowly, “No…it’s really good.”
“But?”
“Loren, this piece is personal, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I wrote it after not being invited to a party in eighth grade.”
“Why did you want me to read it?” His brows were knitted together as his green eyes pierced mine. I glanced down and noticed his hands gripping my notebook, his knuckles white.
“I thought about how you’ve made comments about popular people, and how they decide who’s cool or not,” I said quietly. “I wanted to share a time when I felt that way.”
We sat in silence. When he didn’t comment, my face dropped even further. “I felt like I could trust you and show you my vulnerability. Isn’t that what writers do?” I was confused, hurt, and felt like an idiot that I’d somehow missed the mark on how I thought Andrew would react to my work. This was one of the poems where I’d spilled my guts because I was so hurt at the time, and I was getting a lukewarm reaction from him. I thought he would sympathize with me or understand the emotions I’d portrayed.
By this time, my eyes fell to the ground. Then, his hand covered mine. An involuntary breath escaped my lips. His hand was warm and engulfed mine; it was a foreign feeling as we’d never touched like this before. But I had an urge to link my fingers through his and never let go.
Then he began. “Good writing brings out emotions in people. This brought out a strong emotion in me. Looking at it objectively, I think anyone would feel the angst and sadness portrayed. But, because I know you, your words affected me in more ways than you’ll ever know. After I read it, all I could think about was wanting to protect you and take your sadness away.” His voice was as soothing as a warm blanket, and he massaged my palm with his thumb. Each stroke of his thumb hit me like ripples in water spreading heat through me, soothing me like a balm.
But, as wonderful as his touch felt, the rational part of my brain wondered if this was all a show of pity. I hoped not. It didn’t feel that way. “That’s really sweet, but I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I’m okay now.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m honored that you would trust me enough to show me another piece of you.” He smiled ruefully. “I feel like you’re one of those presents where there is a box inside a box, and I anticipate opening each one.” He leaned in closer as his nose almost touched mine, and said softly, “You’re different from any girl I’ve ever known.” His words affected me like his touch. I craved more. I had an overwhelming urge to crawl into his lap and soak in his affection. This guy, who lived in a room surrounded by images that portrayed an air of cynicism and melancholy—who as far as I knew was a rebel without a cause, a lost soul, who was misunderstood and wore it like a badge—was giving me a sense of security I’d never felt before. I wanted more.
I wanted to know his secrets. I needed to know why he was public enemy number one. “Since I shared something so personal with you, can I ask you something?”
“What do you want to know?”
“In the library the other day, I noticed Steve looked like he wanted to kill you.” His thumb stopped caressing my hand as he tensed. “What happened between you two?”
“It was a long time ago and not a big deal.”
“Can’t you talk to me about it?”
He dropped my hand and eyed me. “Since you seem so curious about what happened, why don’t you tell me what you’ve heard? You’ve heard something, right? Let me guess, all-knowing Jamie told you because she was there.” All the warmth in his eyes from earlier had dissipated, leaving glassy shards that seemed ready to cut at the slightest misstep.
Because he would probably know if I were lying anyway, I told him the truth. “Yes…she told me you jumped Steve one night in the parking lot because you were jealous over a girl.”
He had his jaw clamped shut as he listened, and he stood up abruptly. I thought he was about to tell me to leave, but he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He lifted his cap to rake a hand through his dark hair, and crammed it back in place. “It was our freshman year, and I was on the baseball team.”
“I didn’t know you played baseball.”
“Don’t get too excited, jock girl. I wasn’t that good, but my dad had always loved the sport, and he’d made my brother and me play since we were little. Because it was such a big deal to him, he wanted me to try out for the team, so I made the JV team. Steve was a sophomore and the best player on our team.” Andrew gripped the back of his neck, and his lips twisted. “And, a colossal dick, much like he is today.” I silently agreed with him.
“Anyway, there was a girl who was a trainer for the team, Amanda. And she was really cute and nice. We used to talk a lot, and she told me how she wanted to go into the physical therapy field after high school.”
“Did you like her?” Of course, I was going to ask that, not liking that another girl held Andrew’s interest. Why did I feel that way?
He shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Yes. First, we hung out a lot as friends, but then we started becoming more serious, which wasn’t that serious because we were only freshmen.
“One night, this other guy on the team, Jared, said his parents were out of town for the weekend and invited some of us over. Amanda had been invited, too. I lived down the street from Jared so I walked to his house. There were a few other teammates there, spending the night—a small get-together.
“We were just sitting around playing video games until Steve showed up and coerced Jared into getting into his parents’ liquor. Then Amanda showed up with her friend Cassie, whom she was spending the night with. Steve started challenging people to take shots with him, and we were all dumbasses and fell right in line. Including the girls.”
“After several shots, everyone kind of dispersed and was talking or playing video games. Jared had a pool table upstairs so a few of us went up to play. Steve was running the table, and I was talking to Amanda and her friend as the games went on. Since I was the only one who hadn’t played, he challenged me.
“We played and I was winning because I had a pool table at my house and played all the time. I was buzzed, but Steve seemed drunker. He was getting angry that I was beating him, and it didn’t help that I was dishing it out, too, because, like you said, I can be a smart-ass.”
“I never called you a smart-ass, just sarcastic,” I answered in an attempt to be funny, but it came out half-hearted because there was nothing amusing about this story so far.
He continued. “After I won, we were joking that finally someone beat Steve. As everyone decided to go back downstairs, Steve pulled me aside. He was pissed and said I wasn’t showing him respect, and that freshmen were supposed to look up to upperclassmen. I laughed and said ‘Whatever’ because he was only a sophomore. And that’s when he told me he was going to get with Amanda that night.”
Oh, my God, Steve was such a loser. I could only imagine his stupid smirk as he said that to Andrew. How could any girl be interested in him?
“Again, I laughed it off because it seemed so stupid, and I knew Amanda couldn’t stand Steve either, or so I thought. I went downstairs to take a leak. When I came out and passed through the house, I saw Steve and some other guys taking shots and egging the girls on as they downed theirs. Amanda was starting to giggle at everything and stagger around.
“Concerned, I approached her and pulled her aside and told her she needed to stop because she was getting trashed. She got belligerent and said she could do what she wanted and staggered away, nearly falling. Of course, Steve was there to catch her, acting like the perfect drunken gentleman.”