by L. Duarte
I headed to my first class.
The day rolled on with the same monotony of thousands of high schools across the country. At lunch, I filled my tray with salad, fruit, and a grilled chicken sandwich. One advantage of living in a rich town was that the school cafeteria wasn’t a total disaster. Suburban parents made it their mission to have public schools offering healthy meals. I slid my tray on the corner table where Jake and Pat were already sitting.
“How was your date?” Jake asked.
“Sweet.”
“Cool.” Jake devoured his slice of pizza. He, too, took advantage of our free meals. Though his choices weren’t the healthiest of options offered. Thank God, we both qualified for the free meal program.
“I heard you’re going on a date with the new kid?” Pat asked.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“He’s a hottie,” she said.
“Sitting right here,” Jake complained with a full mouth.
She turned to him. “Oh, are you jealous, babe?” She kissed him and glanced at me. “Are you interested in him? I heard he was hooking up with Jessica,” she added.
My heart skipped a bit. What the hell was wrong with me? I shrugged and said, “You know me. I’m a sucker for good old American boys.”
“I’ve never seen you dating anyone,” she said with a crease in between her brows.
“I don’t date. I just use them for sexual gratification.” I bit into my apple.
“Can we please not have this conversation?” Jake asked.
“Come on, Jake. It’s no secret I have a weakness for hot boys.”
Jake feigned a gag. “I want to keep my food down, please.” He gulped his juice. “We didn’t do groceries yet. There’s nothing to eat at home.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’ll go shopping tonight.”
“Don’t get that organic crap cereal this time,” he complained.
“Hey, you don’t like what I buy, get your own.”
“I’m a growing boy. I need real food. Calories and shit.”
“You need healthy food to start the day, not cereal that’ll send you into a sugar coma.”
“You sound like my mom,” Pat said.
“Someone has to be a grown-up,” I responded, watching Jake. His eyes seemed resentful.
“You enjoy the role a little too much,” Jake mumbled.
“What you mean by that?” My eyes narrowed.
“Nothing, forget it.”
“No, tell me.” I insisted.
“It’s just that you take everything too seriously. You need to chill.”
“Why is everyone telling me to chill lately?” I put the apple down.
“You’re not eating that?” Jake asked, pointing to my apple and sandwich.
I pushed them to him, even though I was going to save the sandwich for later.
“Speak of the devil, look at the cool kid’s table,” Pat said.
Unable to resist, I glanced at the table at the center of the cafeteria. Caleb was talking to Andrew and looking our way. Forget them, I thought, but before I looked away, Jessica caught my stare and brushed her inflated chest against Caleb’s arm. I tasted vomit in my mouth.
Caleb pulled his arm away, but it only provided Jessica with a better angle to close the space between them and rub against him like a bitch in heat.
I tore my eyes away and focused on my salad as if it was my last meal.
“I heard Jessica has the serious hots for him. Not that I can’t blame her. He’s an Adonis.”
“Still sitting right next to you,” Jake said.
“No worries, you are my very own Narcissus.” For some weird reason, Pat was a Greek mythology buff.
“Should I be proud of that title?”
“As long as you don’t fall in love with your own reflection,” she said, pulling him to a face-sucking kiss. Gross.
“Get a room, you two,” I said. Of course, they ignored me.
I continued to eat my salad and then sensed someone sitting down next to me. I scooched to the side and looked up to see who the insane person was, sitting so close. Can anyone guess? Yep, it was Andrew’s boy, straddling the bench in unnerving proximity to my body.
“Should I consider a restraining order?” I gathered the empty trays and turned my back to Caleb. “See you later,” I said to Jake and Pat. Since they were still in the midst of their face-sucking kiss, they ignored me. I stomped away, willing Andrew’s boy to disappear.
“Wait up, Luna,” Caleb said, following me, and confirming my suspicions that he was inept in the art of reading social cues.
“Get lost. Go away, shoo!” I waved my hand.
“You want to ride together to the animal shelter?” he asked from behind me. “I can pick you up at your house.”
I slammed the trays inside a bin with a bang and glared at him. “Can’t you understand? We’re not friends. We’ll never be friends. Leave. Me. Alone.” My only hope was that he would finally get the hint.
“God, are you always this charming and agreeable, or do I have a special effect on you?” He asked stepping in front of me.
I propped my hands on my hips. I was not giving in to his charm. No. Not even if he flashed that sinfully delicious dimple at me. “There is an entire world out there that doesn’t swoon to hot, egotistical guys.” I raised my brows. “And I’m in it.”
He ran his tongue over his lips and cocked his head. “You think I’m hot?” His lips broadened into a drop-dead-gorgeous smile.
I puffed out and blew a strand of hair that had fallen into my face. Oh, that dimpled boy would be the death of me. “Restraining order it is.”
As I walked away, my lips twitched, almost forming a smile. I rather liked his pathetic attempts to flirt with me. It was endearing. For obvious reasons, most people kept their distance. My interactions with the boys my age were restricted to selling drugs. Since I didn’t believe in fraternization with clients, I rarely hooked up with anyone. Being pursued by a guy was a novelty. And although I wanted to be immune to his charm, I was just another teenager with raging hormones. In other words, I loved it.
After school, I dropped off Jake and Pat at her house, and went to do the most detestable thing in the world—grocery shopping. At the store, I paid the electrical bill and shopped, including grabbing a new organic brand of cereal that Jake might like, even though it wasn’t sugar coated.
Since Aunt Lace always used our food stamp card to purchase her liquor at a convenience store near home—she was friends with the owner, oh hell, she did sexual favors in exchange for the illegal transaction—I usually paid for groceries with my money. Therefore, I had taken an online budgeting class and had mastered the discipline of managing money. I was a frugal shopper, attentive to all the sales, and selective with my purchases. As a homemaker, I clipped coupons, bought store brand, and had a store card.
After parking in front of the house, I carried the groceries to the back entrance. The usual dread crept through my spine in anticipation of what awaited me inside. There was never a dull moment at home. Aunt Lace was either getting high and drunk with her bestie Marjorie or screwing some random guy. One thing was certain: she was always home. Aunt Lace lived a reclusive life, only leaving for occasional visits to welfare or the bank.
Before I reached for the doorknob, the rusty hinge squeaked as Aunt Lace opened the door. With a joint pinched between her fingers, she glanced at my hands and snarled, “Food. About damn time.”
The familiar stench of dried dog shit assaulted my nostrils. I despised the smell of pot.
Marjorie flashed her decaying teeth at me. Her smile, always smeared with her signature red lipstick, had a sad and longing quality. It evoked a sense of smug pity. No, not entirely true, it was sobering. An obvious reminder of what drug use was all about. Meth didn’t only erode teeth; it deteriorated a person from inside out. Watching a crack addict was like observing a building crumbling down during an implosion.
Aunt Lace took one
last hit off the joint, stubbed it, and relieved me of a bag. “What did you get?”
“Same as always,” I replied, stowing the groceries away.
“Did you get Spam?”
“Yes. Here.” I handed her a can and stacked the rest in the cabinet. I despised the food, but to Aunt Lace, it was the highest form of culinary art. One would be amazed of how creative she could get with Spam.
“Where are your manners? Give Margi one.” She snapped the can open.
Great, one more mouth to feed. I handed a can of the offensive food to Marjorie.
“These dishes won’t wash themselves, you know,” Aunt Lace said.
No shit, Sherlock. “I’ll do it later,” I responded, gathering the last item to stash in my room. It was Nutella, Jake’s favorite.
“Nope, you’re gonna wash them now.” She dipped her finger, scooping the nasty food and bringing it to her mouth. My stomach churned.
“This is not your papa’s house where you are a spoiled little princess. And make sure you scrub the floor. It’s filthy,” Aunt Lace said, making loud smacking noises as she chewed.
I opened my mouth to argue but closed it. It wasn’t worth it to throw a hissy fit. I took note of the kitchen, lime green wobbly table, unmatched chairs, chipped linoleum floor, dilapidated cabinets, and dark green walls. A heap of dirty dishes overflowed the sink like a pile of jackstraws. All the scrubbing in the world couldn’t make it better.
I opened the window for fresh air—second-hand smoke wasn’t overrated. I attacked the task. Homework would have to wait.
Great, I was running late. I climbed into the car, slid the key in the ignition, and drove away.
Using supreme discipline, I drove to the animal shelter without violating any traffic laws. I was a perfect driver—clean record. For obvious reasons, I avoided being pulled over. The last thing I needed was a cop sniffing around my car.
A metallic blue Audi glared at me from the parking lot. I groaned. I had seen Caleb driving the car to school. No, I wasn’t keeping tabs on him. Okay, I may have paid attention to his whereabouts. No, it couldn’t be held against me. It wasn’t a secret that I was an observant person, especially regarding potential customers.
Thanks to some divine intervention, I snuck into the kennel without making my presence known. Avoiding Caleb would be my first and foremost mission.
Almost at the end of my shift, I was equally disappointed and happy that I had succeeded to dodge Caleb. My mixed emotions ended in the middle of the cat’s social time. Caleb’s enigmatic smile caught my eye as he swaggered my way.
“It’s official. I’m a volunteer. Just finished orientation,” he said, waving a handbook.
“Yay,” I mumbled. Ignoring him, I turned my attention to Snowball. She was shy and required encouragement to engage with other cats. “Hey, girl, time to play.” I used a soothing voice to cajole her out of her cage. (Not the best display of how badass I was.) She licked her paw, meowed, but remained inside. Probably Mr. Hotshot standing behind me intimidated her. “I get it, girl, but don’t let him get the best of you,” I whispered, scooping her up and placing her next to Fern and Teardrop.
“There, your friends are waiting.” She circled my legs and tucked herself between my feet, refusing to interact with her buddies.
“You’re very good with them,” Mr. Obvious stated.
“Make yourself useful and play with a cat. They need to socialize.”
He looked at me for a moment before he picked up Snowball from between my feet. He held her close to his face and murmured, “Hey there, beauty. What’s your name?” The kitten immediately let out a lazy purr. I had grounds to accuse her of treason, but I couldn’t condemn her for reacting that way beneath his touch. His hands were beautiful.
“Snowball,” I said.
“Excuse me?” He glanced up, and our gaze met for a moment.
“Her name. It’s Snowball.”
“Oh.” His lips turned into a sinfully delicious smile. “Who has such a pretty name? Who?” He held Snowball close to his face. “It suits you. Yeah, it does.” He cooed and proceeded to snuggle her against his wide… strong… virile chest.
Excuse me while I retch. First, because of the direction my thoughts insisted on heading. And secondly, why do people coo to animals and babies? Sickening. But apparently Snowball disagreed. With a satisfied purr, she languidly stretched her limbs, nuzzled on his chest, and settled in the crook of his elbow.
Though I refused to admit, like Snowball, I wasn’t immune to his husky voice and athletic build. It had a strange effect on me. It boiled the blood surging through my body, stirring up uncanny emotions.
Disregarding Caleb’s intoxicating presence, I opened the gate for Buddy. He was an old cat, grumpy, and unfriendly. He reminded me of myself. He had come to us underweight and dehydrated. His owner, an eighty-six year old woman, had fallen in her kitchen; three days had passed until a neighbor found her on the floor. She was healing a broken hip in a convalescent home, where she may become a resident. If she didn’t return home, I knew Buddy’s fate. Families favored young and friendly kittens for adoption.
I picked him up, ignoring when he grunted a complaint. If these were his last days on earth, I wanted him to feel loved. “Hey there, Buddy. Are you hungry? I have a special treat for you.” On my trip to the store, I had gotten dog and cat treats. I fished in my pocket for a tuna bite and opened my hand, displaying it. As he snatched the treat, he nibbled on the sensitive skin of the palm of my hand. “That tickles, Buddy,” I said, smiling.
“I knew it,” Caleb said smugly. “You’re capable of giggling.”
My head snapped up, and I swore under my breath. His presence was going to be the death of me. “You must be on crack. I didn’t giggle.”
“Did too,” he said with a broadening smile. “And it was sexy as hell.”
“Psychotic episode is a common side effect for the use of crack. Next, you’ll be losing your teeth. It ruins the gums. Finally, you’ll be so strung-out, that you’ll welcome jail or death.”
“I don’t do drugs.” He narrowed his eyes.
“And I’m a virgin.” Well, he didn’t know any better.
“Why would I lie to you?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, you’ve got a point.” His hand smoothly patted Snowball. And she was snoring!
“You need to socialize with them, not bore them into a coma.” I pointed to Snowball. “How do you suppose they’ll learn to charm the pants off of a family?”
“Hey, not my fault, I have a soothing touch.” He wriggled his fingers. “These hands can do wonders on a body.”
I blushed. Again. “Did you just insert an innuendo into that sentence, Mr. Hotshot?”
“You’re catching on,” he said, wiggling his brows.
“You’re mental.”
“So we don’t just have to cuddle them?”
“Talk, play, discipline. Whatever the occasion calls for.”
“How long have you been doing this?”
“We’re supposed to socialize with the animals, not each other.”
“God, are you always this combative?” he asked.
“Is it so difficult to understand that we won’t be buddies, not in this life or the next?”
“Give me a reason. One reason. And I’ll leave you alone.”
“Um…” I tapped my chin and wrinkled my nose. “Oh! Yeah. I. Am. Not. Interested.”
“No, not a valid reason, try again.”
“Forget it.”
“Luna, listen. I can see you’re a skeptic. I get it. It’ll take time for me to earn your trust. But since we gonna be working together, can’t we at least try to get along?”
“We’re not going to work together, not if I can help it.”
“For the first few weeks, yes. Brandon said I’ll shadow you for a while.”
I let out a breath of defeat. “Our interaction will happen strictly when we’re at the kennel.” I had to give i
t to Caleb. He was persistent. “Away from here, you don’t know me. Deal?”
“Agreed,” he said.
I glanced at him. He sported a cocky smile and twinkling eyes. For the first time since we’d met, I fully accepted the horrid reality. I was unequivocally attracted to golden boy. Our interactions had a strange camaraderie that was fresh and out of the scope of the things I normally did. For that reason alone, I could have said I almost—I repeat, almost—enjoyed the hour we spent together.
IT WAS TIME to get ready to go to the shelter, and I felt butterflies in my tummy.
I paired my khakis with a tank top and a polo shirt. The same outfit I had seen my dad wear to go to work at the zoo every morning. I wondered which Luna, Caleb liked better, the gothic and gloomy one, or the polo shirt, wholesome, plain me.
The animal shelter didn’t have a dress code, other than no facial rings or big hoop earrings. But when I went there, I felt close to my dad. It was a spot between life and death where we could hang out. No, I didn’t need a psychologist, been there, done that. I knew it wasn’t real. I wasn’t having delusions or anything. I just enjoyed daydreaming about us meeting again.
I examined my reflection in the mirror and nodded in approval.
I had grown to be hyper aware of my surroundings and was able to quickly adapt as necessary. I changed my colors at a moment’s notice. Bottom line, both sides of me strived to survive in this crazy jungle we call life.
When I arrived at the shelter, my stomach turned at the sight of the blue Audi. I had to give it to Caleb, he was more punctual than I was.
Per Brandon’s request, Caleb shadowed me for the day. To my dismay, I was almost amiable, responding to his inquiries without my usual snarl. I discovered I could be nice to him, and I enjoyed his company. He was sweet and kind in a surprisingly genuine way.
“How long have you been volunteering here?” Caleb tossed a ball for Lassie to retrieve, and walked to the table. He opened a bag and pulled out a badass camera that probably cost more than my car.
“A while,” I said. We were monitoring the dogs at their free playtime.