“I guess. Lame. Yeah, if I was going to shirk my responsibilities and leave my family in the dust it’d have to be for something pretty badass, like joining a rock band or moving to LA to write music—not for my sister’s basement.”
“It really doesn’t make sense if you think about it. Eff those guys,” I say.
He laughs. “You’re funny. It’s this one,” he says pointing to a small but cute ranch-style house only about five blocks away from my house.
“Did you know you lived so close to me? We’re almost neighbors.”
“Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve seen you in your car a few times around here, so I figured you live close or deliver pizzas on the side.”
“Sounds like you’re kind of stalking me. Which is all fun and games until I see your fingers gripping my window on some dark rainy night.”
“I might try that. Actually, we just moved here. Things got weird right before my dad left so we had to move and find somewhere to rent—long story, but we’ve been here about a month.”
We make small talk in my car for a few more minutes. Then, as he gathers his backpack and sweatshirt and opens the car door, he turns toward me. “Do you want to hang out Friday?” The way he’s squinting his eyes throws me off a little.
I squint back. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he answers, “it’s just … um, I dunno, I didn’t know if you already had plans or if you’d want to, I mean, it’s okay if you don’t, but, geez—I sound like an idiot, help me out here?”
I smile. “Yes, that sounds good. Friday. Got it.”
“Okay, well thanks again for the ride and the free coffee for my pants.”
“You’re welcome—I aim to please.”
“See ya later,” he says and the car door squeaks to a thud.
Aim to please? Jesus. My stomach flutters anyway as I back out of his driveway and head home. A Maroon 5 song comes on and I crank the volume way up, popping my shoulders to the beat as I sing loud and slightly (okay, way) off-key all the way home.
NINE
Each day, Kallie’s silence is louder and louder, and it seems forever until it’s finally Friday. At our locker before last period, she’s huffing as she bangs through her books and notebooks.
Her eyes rest on me for a split second then she lets out a long dramatic “Tsssssssst.”
I’m tired of the tension, and feel bad for the things I said, but I’m still mad about what she said. I almost tell her to call me after school, or ask her to ride home with me instead of Todd. But five minutes in-between class is hardly enough time for any type of confrontation. Torn, anxious, yet pride intact, I leave our locker first and hold my poker face all the way to class. Score. I get my seat behind Sean and in front of Justin. For the first time since our fight, Kallie sits on the other side of the room, right behind Maisey.
Justin taps my shoulder and says, “Do I need to book you and Kallie on Dr. Phil? I heard you two are separated and she’s cheating on you with Laura Rose, but only for now—while her and Chris are on another break.”
“Whatever. Mind your biz.”
“Hey sorry,” he says back, “I was just kidding. But if you need a new bestie, I’m more than happy to fill Kallie’s spot—although I’m pretty sure her bra might be a liiittle too big for—”
Sean turns around. “Hey Conner, Dr. Phil just called and said he needs you for the ‘my neighbor’s a busybody’ episode.”
“Okay Mills,” Justin says. “Point taken. But tell Phil I’ll text him later for the deets.” He leans back into his seat.
Sean flashes me a smile and looks like he’s about to say something but Mr. Norderick taps his marker on the board. He assigns us sections to read aloud from Ginsberg’s Howl. I’ve never read it before and it’s pretty intense. Kallie throws me a scowl before reading with aggressive and hard-hitting inflections.
When Mr. N. looks to Maisey to read next, he walks over and taps on her desk with his highlighter.
Her head, resting on her hand and elbow, jerks up. “Don’t!” She does a startled half jump out of her seat then sits back down. Her cheeks flush crimson and she mumbles, “Sorry, I fell asleep.”
A hushed laughter waves through the room and someone squeaks from the back corner. Nord looks up with a quick glare then nods at Maisey. “No problem. I don’t mind sleeping in my class but I can’t imagine these desks are very comfortable. If you can please read your section Miss Morgan.”
Maisey grabs her book and the bag at her feet. “Sorry, I gotta go. I’m not feeling good.” She strides out of class head down, army green cargo pants frayed and skimming the floor as another squeak and a few laughs ring out from the class. The door slams behind her as Mr. N. crosses his arms and shakes his head. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I’m assuming most of you are older than eight years old, so let’s start acting like it.”
Shandy Silvers finds a way to cut the tension by offering to read Maisey’s section with a whiney baby voice that somehow sounds like she’s reading a book about glittery ponies.
I look down to a folded piece of notebook paper on my desk. Kallie’s two rows away and staring out the window so I turn to Justin who shoots me a blank stare from a doodle of an alien eating a sandwich. Biting my cheek, I unfold the paper. My eyes skim to the bottom. Sean. My heart does a quick hop and picks up speed.
Bree HUGHES—
Can I get a ride home
after school today?
Yes No Maybe
Circle one
PS—Yes = U will get the prize I owe U.
PS2—We still doing something tonight?
—Me (Sean Mills)
My face is a beet and even though his note is so seventh grade, it’s also the cutest thing ever. I grab my pen and circle Yes, and then write, “Hope it’s not coffee!!” I add a smiley face, and with confidence, I write Yes after his question about doing something tonight. I slide the note onto Sean’s desk, brushing my wrist against his arm in the process. Mr. N. turns his back to write a couple notes on the whiteboard. He asks us to write down a few guidelines for a new assignment to free-write our own version of Howl.
When the bell rings, Sean and I walk the hallway together, which feels amazing except for the part about me wishing Kallie was excited for me too.
I get home after dropping Sean off and twist the rubber band around my wrist. He gave it to me on the car ride to his house saying it looks like a dumb prize but it’s not and he’d tell me about it later. I slide the band between my thumb and forefinger and smile. I’m so into him that I’m kind of just content to just have a rubber band as a bracelet. Only Kallie would understand this so I lift my phone to call. I push a long exhale through my lips. My heart ticks faster and my nerves are harder to fight than the urge to call. Maybe tomorrow.
****
Sean holds the door open, and I duck into his maroon two-door Honda, trying to make sense of the whole friend zone vibe we’ve got going on tonight. It’s kinda screwing with me.
Most guys I’ve hung out with never want to talk, or only talk about themselves or are just trying to figure out a way to give me a back massage at the end of the night that’ll lead to other stuff. Apparently I’ve been hanging out with the wrong guys. Sean was actually looking at me when I talked, wasn’t checking his phone every five minutes, and asked a lot of questions. Stuff about my summer job, my parents, and even about me and Kallie’s fight.
“Thanks again for dinner,” I say.
“You’re welcome, again. I mean De nada. It’s the first time I’ve ever been to Muy Mexicano. Maybe the last. Those Spanish guys with the sombreros and guitars really showed me up.”
“I think they were Mexican though, not Spanish.”
“Okay, got it.” Sean nods but I can tell he has no idea what I’m talking about so I let him know that my dad’s family is Mexican too, which means they’re from Mexico, not Spain.
“Sorry, Dutch and Norwegian guy learning curve over here. But yeah, I speak English but I’m not from E
ngland. Makes sense.”
Sean asks if I speak Spanish and then I give the whole spiel I always give after I tell people I’m Mexican. The whole thing where I’m all, “No, I don’t speak Spanish, but it’s not my fault! My dad almost always speaks English unless he’s with my grandparents.”
I shrug. “I learned more Spanish when I took it in tenth grade than I did growing up. Some people might think I’m a terrible Mexican, but whatever. It used to bother me but I’m over it.”
He pulls the car into reverse and the curve of his forearm muscle is almost—no, it is distracting. I didn’t even think I was into that sort of thing. But now, running my hand up his arm is close to the top of my to-do list. Right below kissing him.
Sean glances over. “You okay? Trust me, it doesn’t bother me that your Spanish isn’t fluent.” He smiles and focuses back on the road.
“I know. I mean, yes. I’m fine. I was just thinking that I actually prefer your guitar playing over Muy Mexicano’s, that’s all.”
“Thanks. You looked like you were thinking too hard. I thought maybe I offended you and you changed your mind about going to a movie.”
“I haven’t seen a movie at a theater in a long time. I’m still game.”
“Good. So …”
“So,” I say, trying to fill in the semi-awkward pause. “Were you serious about thinking I should call Kallie first?”
“Well, I wasn’t saying you should forget everything, but it might be best to just, man up—or woman up—and call.”
I sigh. “You’re probably right. But I’m still gonna think about it. I hate being wrong, and it wasn’t only my fault, but I guess I hate fighting even worse.”
“Did your parents fight a lot before they got divorced?”
My stomach dips and I flick the button of my purse a few times. “Kind of. Well, yes. Or no, not kind of, but kind of a lot.” I slide the vent of his fan to aim toward me but realize it’s not on. The air got sort of warm in here.
“Mine too. They still do. I’ve heard my mom yelling at my dad over the phone a few times. It’s always about money.”
“Surprisingly, I haven’t heard much between them since he left, except for the time my mom left a message saying he better pick his stuff up or she was going to sell it. I’m sure they’re both happier. I think my mom got tired of my dad being tired of her. Something like that.” The stupid sad feeling scrapes at the bottom of my gut, so I push it further into a corner. “You know what though, I’m just glad our toilet seat is always down and I can walk around in a bra.”
He laughs and says, “You’re lucky it’s so simple.”
“It has to be, otherwise I’d just be mad or sad about it all the time.”
Sean pulls into the parking lot, his eyebrows scrunched. He studies the rows of cars driving up and down looking for an open space. “Sometimes I’m tired of being mad and sad about everything.” He turns his head, locking eyes with me for a second before turning back to the lot. “Anything I say’s between us, right?”
“Yes.” The seriousness and vulnerability in his gaze catches my breath and pulls off another layer of my own unease. “Of course.”
“Well …” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “My dad has a gambling problem and probably pills too, and it got bad after he lost his job. My mom didn’t even know how bad until our house got foreclosed on because he was supposed to be in charge of all the bills. I guess he hadn’t paid on the house for almost a year or some shit like that. My mom freaked. She didn’t even give him a chance. Nothing. She told him that dealing with his crap wasn’t worth it if he was going to be lying and stealing too. That’s why we moved.”
“Oh gosh. I’m sorry, that sounds crazy. Is that when your dad moved to his sister’s?”
“Yep. He hasn’t called or texted since. Nothing.”
“And he has your number?”
“Sure does.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “What’s the deal with dads anyway? It’s not the same, but my dad kind of pulled that after he left. You’d think that living with someone all their life would make you want to call all the time to check in. I know my mom would. It took my dad almost a month to see how I was doing.”
“Maybe our dads are in a secret club or something.”
“Sounds like a cool club. I’ll have to Google it.”
“I think it’s under d-bag meet-ups.” Sean laughs, then nods as a car pulls out of a spot front and center to the theater marquee. “Hope nobody minds if I take the best damn spot in the lot.”
I’m sitting in a movie theater next to Sean Mills, and he’s not wearing a football uniform or swim trunks so this must be real. At first, I wasn’t even sure if this was a date or not, but now I’m pretty sure it is. He paid for my tacos at Muy Mexicano and insisted on buying my movie ticket as well. I almost had to hire a lawyer to convince him to let me buy the popcorn and candy.
The movie sucks. It keeps shifting back and forth between some CIA agent’s past and present and then flashing to some unrelated story about some unshowered teen-mom and her crying kid. Instead of trying to figure out how the agent is related to the mom and boy, my head spins with the possibility of kissing Sean at the end of the night.
I hate first kisses. Or rather, I hate all the stress that leads up to a first kiss. I’ve never been kissed first. It’s not that I’m some kiss-crazed control freak, but it’s more about just wanting to get it over with. I’d rather not deal with that whole crazy “is he going to kiss me?” anxiety or the end of the night awkwardness with him wondering whether he should or shouldn’t. My preference is to alleviate any anxieties on both parts. But, Sean’s different. I’ve never really been on a date with someone I like this much already.
As I scoop a handful of popcorn and this CIA lady dashes through a parking garage with a briefcase in high heels, I second-guess myself for telling Sean so much. Maybe he thinks I’m a baby for fighting with Kallie. His issues are way worse than mine. Before my negative what-ifs start reproducing, I’m jolted back to the movie as a car spins and screeches after the woman who’s still running.
“Why is she not kicking those heels off?” I whisper.
Sean smiles and slides his hand over the top of my thigh and under my hand, sending a wave of goose bumps up my calf.
“Hey, let’s get out of here,” he whispers. He clasps my hand.
I don’t care if the movie lady drops her briefcase or makes it out of the parking garage, I just want more Sean. The palm of my hand gets hotter beneath the pads of his fingers. As he pulls me through the dark theater, I wonder who’ll let go first. He answers the thought by dropping my hand, but it’s a somewhat graceful transition into him pushing open the bulky theater door for me.
“I hope you weren’t into that movie,” Sean says. “I’m sorry. I told you, you should’ve picked it.”
“Yeah, for a thriller, it wasn’t very thrilling. As soon as my hot tamales were gone, I had nothing left to care about,” I say. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep tonight knowing whether the lady gives the briefcase to the scientist or her grandma’s bingo rival or whoever it belonged to.”
Sean laughs as his phone buzzes and he reaches into his pocket for it. “Hmmmm … We could go to Monroe’s? I guess he’s having people over. That could be interesting or obnoxious, depending on how you look at it.”
I get an anxious pit in my stomach that’s inscribed Not so good with the parties. Ergh. Fake it ’til you make it flashes in my brain like a neon 7–Eleven sign.
I say, “Yeah, that sounds cool.”
In Sean’s car, I do a quick hair check and reapply my lip gloss—the shiny sticky, bubblegum smelling one reserved for special occasions like this. Sean calls Chris and asks for a reminder on where he lives and asks me to write down the directions. On our way, Sean looks over and asks me if I’m wearing the rubber band.
“I am and I will never take it off. Seriously, though, it’s really just a rubber band, right? You totally cheated me
out of a real prize.”
“Aaaah ya got me. Well, sort of. I don’t even know where it came from. It’s been in my jacket pocket for a year or so. I couldn’t throw it away, for some reason I kept thinking I’d need it one day. So, it’s kind of like a lucky rubber band.”
He glances over and I hold his eye for a quick skeptical second.
“You got me. I guess I still owe you,” he says.
“Actually maybe it is lucky. I better keep it. Don’t even think about trying to take it back now.” I start to feel a little more comfortable about the party as we get closer to Chris’s house. Maybe it’d be good to talk to these people considering I have to meet with some of them this week at school for Prom stuff anyway. If Kallie’s there maybe she’ll talk to me, too.
We pull up to at least ten cars parked alongside the street leading up to Chris’s house.
“Jesus,” I mutter, “I guess his parents are out of town.”
“Yeah, this is definitely more than a couple people over. You’re still cool with going, right?” Sean asks.
“Yeah, of course,” I say.
As we walk in, there are clusters of kids from school everywhere, including the corners and lining the walls. Not just the Molly/Jane clique that I figured would be running the party. We squeeze through a crowd by the door and two girls from school say hi so I let my guard down, smile back, and scan the room for anyone else I might know. Mainly Kallie. But there’s no sign of her glossy black hair that usually shines so hard it bounces the light off it. Chris Monroe catches my eye from across the room, looks at Sean next to me and walks over.
“Hey guys,” he says slapping Sean on the side of the arm. “Bree. You’re in my Bio class. You never talk though.”
Sean smirks and slaps Chris’s shoulder. “Maybe you should shower more. At least every other day, bro. Then you too, can get your very own …” Sean trails off.
I interject to save him while taking a split second to bask in the idea that I am Sean’s very own something. “Yeah, I do try to talk to the showered ones only. Sure are a lotta people here,” I say tiptoeing over the crowd.
Liars and Losers Like Us Page 6