by Sophia Duane
“She’s pretty.” It was al I could say in response. I didn’t want to have a conversation about her—especial y with my brother. I couldn’t stand the thought that she’d be just another one of his girls.
He was sort of a “male slut.” He hadn’t had sex with all the girls in our grade, but he was stil a player. Some he wouldn’t touch because they were beneath his standards, like Clare. Then there were the girls who were pretty and smart, and saw through his charm and good looks. They didn’t give him the time of day. Even some of the girls he dated hadn’t done it with him.
He was pretty vocal about al of the girls he had done stuff with. Aaron unfortunately liked to keep me (and everyone else) informed of his conquests. He dated Autumn for more than seven months. They had sex a lot, according to him. Then there were Trista and Gretchen, both of whom were the aftermath of the Autumn break-up. After those two, he’d gotten wasted one weekend and had sex with Heather, who was captain of the varsity field hockey team. Then he moved on to a four-month relationship with benefits with Liane. Most recently, he was bragging about his sex-buddy status with Chelsea Carr, the preacher’s granddaughter. He said she was total y cool with the arrangement and it was freeing for him to not be “involved.”
He’d been lusting after Maya for a while now, touting her to be his next soul mate. Kel y Volk was his alternate. Now it seemed that Olivia was going to be his new target.
It sucked. I didn’t want to hear about how much he wanted to get with her. It was her first day in school and already he, and others, had her in their sights. It wasn’t that I had delusions that I had a shot with her or anything. I knew my place in the high school hierarchy and it wasn’t next to girls like her. I’d probably go to school tomorrow and she’d already be in the cool clique. She was probably going to turn out to be a cheerleader or an artsy, smart girl who was so happy and fun-loving that she was instantly accepted into the folds of the in-crowd.
That was the way of high school. Some kids could be artists, musicians, theater kids, poets, and stil be cool. But for some reason, others of us just couldn’t.
When I could get away from my brother, I went up to my room to do a little homework. I did most of the work from morning classes during lunch and some of what was due this afternoon during study period. It was late and dark outside. The blinds were stil open and I was drawn to the window. Up and down the street, al of the houses looked settled in for the evening. Straight across the way, Olivia sat in front of the window, looking down at something right in front of her.
Maybe she was sitting at a desk and was working on homework like I should’ve been doing. She had beautiful hair – light brown with honey streaks through it.
She swept her hand through her hair, pul ing it away from her face. I could real y only see her forehead and the slope of her nose, but it didn’t matter. The replay of her dancing stil swirled in my head, and the sight of her up close in the classroom was burned into my brain.
There were a lot of pretty girls in Lakeside, Il inois, and there were even more pretty girls a few miles south in Chicago, but I could say without a doubt that Olivia was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.
She looked up and my heart thumped at being caught staring at her again. My face grew hot, and just as I was about to step back and pul the blinds, she smiled and then raised her hand in greeting. I was dumbfounded. I felt unable to do anything for long moments, but final y I came to my senses and waved back.
Her grin widened, but then she looked back down at whatever she was working on.
I took the opportunity to lower the blinds. Backing away from the window and sitting down on my bed, I felt like my head was spinning. She smiled at me. At me!
My heart was stil pounding as I sat there and played out every future scenario in my mind. I imagined myself going to school tomorrow and walking right up to her. In my fantasy, I would introduce myself to her, and we would walk to class together and sit next to each other, until final y at the end of the day, she would invite me over.
Of course, that didn’t happen. The next day at school I was struck stupid again and just watched her for most of the day. Right before P.E., Casey and I stopped at my locker to put away my books when Olivia turned the corner. Whatever we were talking about ceased. I watched her, and even though I could feel Casey watching me, I didn’t pay any attention.
After she’d passed and turned down the next hal , Casey said, “Oh, my God, Adam! You like her! You’re total y in love with the new hottie!” I was sure I was a deep crimson color now, total y embarrassed about being caught staring at Olivia, I said, “Shut up. I am not!”
“Yes, you are!” Casey said. “I saw you! You were practical y drooling al over yourself.” He turned as I closed my locker. “She is pretty hot, though.
Not as hot as Hannah, but completely lust-worthy.”
“Shut up,” I said again, trying to adopt a bored tone, but unsure if I’d succeeded.
“You love the new girl!” he said.
As I picked up the pace to the locker room, I rol ed my eyes. Now that he’d found a hook, Casey wasn’t going to let up.
By the end of the week, it was clearly obvious that once you’d noticed someone, there was no unnoticing them. I wished I’d never seen Olivia dancing in the Cartwrights’ house. I wouldn’t feel so spun, and absolutely ridiculous.
Casey told me I should just go talk to her, but there was never any time. She was only in one class with me, and she was always surrounded by people now. There wasn’t any way that I was going to break through the gaggle of interested guys and confidently introduce myself. I didn’t think she would choose me to hang out with. Not when there were guys like Nathan Prescott with his bulging biceps, or Cooper Smith with baby-faced dimples, or Liam Donovan who was the lead in every school play and could make girls giggle and swoon with his theatrics.
And definitely not when Aaron, king of getting girls, was always by her side. I wasn’t a social leper, I had friends, and I was in a band which might be considered cool, but I stil didn’t think I was anywhere near worthy of someone like her.
By Friday, it was just depressing. I wanted to curl into myself until there were no vulnerable spots left, but I didn’t have time to be depressed.
Tonight was our first home game, so the band was playing at halftime. It might have been stupid, but I always got nervous before stepping onto the field with al the spectators.
Depression over a girl I didn’t know didn’t sit wel with nervousness. I felt pul ed in every direction.
While Casey played guitar in our pitiful garage band, he played trombone in the marching band. It was amusing to watch since his arms weren’t very long. He was only about five foot four, so the instrument was almost as big as he was, but he got the job done. Unlike me, he always seemed to be in a good mood. When he realized I was conflicted, he punched me on the shoulder and gave me a reassuring smile.
“WoW tonight, right?” he asked, referencing our favorite online role-playing game.
I buttoned up the white vest that went over our black dress shirt and pants. Unlike the rest of the band, the drumline got to wear simpler uniforms.
We had set up a raid tonight with some of the other guys who liked World of Warcraft. I wasn’t feeling it, but it was already planned. “Yeah, fine.” I’d never been overly jealous of my brother before, but as I finished dressing and thought about the differences our Friday nights held, I felt a pang within me. After the game, win or lose, he would go to a party with his friends. I’d be at home playing some kind of role-playing game with my friends. Mostly it was over the Internet, but sometimes we gathered together to play the traditional Dungeons & Dragons, Talisman, or one of the other older predecessors to the online gaming fads.
“Adam!”
I tugged on my vest and sighed at myself when I looked into the mirror. “What?”
“Maybe she’l be in color guard and you can stare at her al night.”
It didn’t make me feel better, but
I knew that was what he was trying to do, so I said. “Yeah, maybe she and Hannah are best friends now, and we can fol ow them around like puppies looking for scraps.”
Casey pul ed on his gloves with the same smile he normal y wore. “Girls like puppies. And Hannah’s scraps are more than enough for me.” Saturday morning was like al Saturday mornings. I was up before my brother, and my father had yet to get home from his shift at the factory. One of the things I did was make breakfast on Saturdays. Dad was always hungry when he came home, and even if he didn’t get up for hours, Aaron could annihilate food the day after a game.
The pancakes were almost done when I heard my dad at the door. His routine was always the same; I didn’t have to look into the foyer to see what he was doing. He closed the door, threw his union jacket up on the hook by the door, kicked off his boots, and then sighed as he stretched. I might not have been as close to my father as Aaron was, but I loved my dad.
“What’s up, kiddo?”
“Breakfast,” I answered, holding up the plate of rapidly cooling flapjacks. As I took them to the table and got the syrup, Dad washed his hands.
“How was work?”
“Eh,” he said with a shrug. “Doesn’t real y change much from day to day. Just petty drama that would piss me off if I got involved in it.” He joined me at the table and slapped cakes onto his plate while I loaded up mine. This was where we ran into trouble. We never knew what to talk about. He seemed content with eating in silence. I should’ve been as wel , but I always felt the urge to be closer to him, even though I never real y thought it would happen.
He liked sports, so I decided to talk about the game. “Aaron was good last night.” My dad chewed and nodded. “Yes, he was. If the team hunkers down, they might actual y do something this year.” He meant that they might make it to championships. Even though I’d sat through enough footbal chatter that I should’ve understood, I didn’t know exactly what went into “doing something,” so I could only say, “It would be nice, since he’s a senior and al .”
“Go out with a bang.” He took another bite and looked like he was thinking. Then he said with a shrug, “There’s always basketbal . Aaron’s great at basketbal .”
I lowered my head until I could see nothing but my plate. “Aaron’s great at everything.” The kitchen grew silent for a moment. Then my dad said, “The band sounded good last night.” His voice made it seem like he was grasping. I wondered if he’d even real y listened to the band. We were always good. Unlike the footbal team, we’d won the last two statewide marching band competitions. But even if we sucked, he would never be able to tel if I was any good or not. I was just one guy on the drumline.
“Yeah.” I took the last bite of my cold pancakes then said, “The freshmen are pretty good this year.”
“No one fel down.”
I looked up. The edges of his lips were curved up. He meant it as a joke, so I mirrored his look. “No, thankful y we al remained on our feet.” He took a drink of milk, then ran his hand through his short hair and yawned. There was another moment of silence before he said, “You’ve got coordination, Adam. When I watch you, I’m impressed.”
I didn’t know why he said it or if I should be proud at the compliment. It sounded a bit as if he was surprised that I didn’t trip al over myself. I knew I wasn’t as talented as Aaron, but I wasn’t completely useless.
“I couldn’t do what you do. I think keeping a beat is hard enough, but you do it while walking and dancing and carrying a heavy drum.”
“We don’t dance,” I said, correcting him. We marched, yes; danced, no. During the drum breaks, we moved, but it wasn’t dancing. It was more marching in place and a few sways, leans, occasional turns, and a few choreographed arm moves.
“Wel , whatever,” he said. “You were good, okay?”
Again, I looked down at my empty plate and nodded. “Okay.”
Silence. His chair scraped against the linoleum. “Work today?”
“This afternoon.” I stood and picked up our plates. He stretched then left the kitchen, turning on the television in the family room.
I cleaned up the kitchen then padded upstairs. There was nothing better on a Saturday morning than a long, hot shower. When I was finished, Aaron final y emerged from his room, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Morning,” he mumbled as we passed each other in the hal . That was al that passed between us before I went to work
I was always happy to be at the bookstore. My managers were pretty awesome. Al were incredibly smart people who held degrees in specialized areas, but couldn’t get a job in those fields because of the economy. And then there was Delaney. She was so bright—both in intel igence and personality. She wasn’t a “bubbly” person, but when I was around her, it was hard to not to feel the infectious fun and positivity. She was beautiful, too. Delaney had curly, long, brassy hair and usual y pul ed it up into ponytails or braided it into pigtails. Every so often, she’d leave it down.
When I started working at Barnes & Noble last year, she was already there. I hadn’t ever seen her around town before, and I’d been dumbstruck.
It was a similar reaction to the one I’d had when I saw Olivia for the first time. Delaney hadn’t been dancing—just stocking classic books, but when my manager, Dave, introduced me to her, the grin on her face was so bright it melted me.
She was studying English at Northwestern University. She’d just turned twenty-one a few weeks ago, so she hadn’t been working much. Delaney commuted from Lakeside to Evanston, spending her weekends at home, while mainly staying with friends on campus during the week.
It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that I had a little “thing” for her.
“So what’s new with you?” she asked casual y as she slid a book onto a shelf. She walked her fingers along the spines of other books as she alphabetized in her head.
“Nothing.”
Delaney chuckled. “Every time with you, Adam!”
I stopped studying the five books in my hands and looked back up at her. “ ‘Every time’ what?” Those pale rose-colored lips curving up in the way that made my heart beat a little faster. “Every time I ask you what’s new, you always say,
‘nothing,’ as if you’ve honestly done nothing since the last time I saw you.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t like Aaron. My life didn’t include huge events. I turned to the opposite shelf and started working. “Nothing did.” She busied herself again and waited a moment before asking, “Have you thought about which col ege you want to go to next year?” Scratching the back of my head, I answered, “You sound like my guidance counselor. Are you sure that’s not what you want to do when you graduate col ege?”
“Wel , it might be my only option. I can picture it now: my entire livelihood revolving around pushing high school kids into career paths they have no interest in.”
I slid a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo between two other books. “I think you’d be good at it.” Delaney would be good at anything. “People would listen to you.”
“Good,” she said, her voice light as always. “Hopeful y, that’l translate into book sales. First, I’ve got to get an agent to accept my manuscript.”
“How’s that going?” One of the things that drew me to Delaney was that she was a creative person. She’d let me read her manuscript—
something she wrote two years ago and it was real y good. It wasn’t like what I normal y read. There was no science fiction or fantasy involved, but the way she painted real life with words on a page was so beautiful.
“Another fifty rejection letters.” She paused. “I’ve rewritten my query letter again. Here’s hoping someone likes it.” I turned around and saw that she was holding up both hands, the first two fingers on each crossed. “Someone wil ,” I added confidently. “And then I’l stock your books. You can come in for signings and remember how you used to give away your weekends to this place.” I loved the laugh she gave me. “Thanks,” she said before turning back to finish her work.
The time sped by, as it usual y did on Saturdays. The mal was bustling. Barnes & Noble was one of the main destinations. We were the only bookstore in town, besides the old school, hole-in-the-wal shop. Even though I worked here, I stil loved that store. The owner was this old hippie, complete with long hair and crazy peace sign necklaces. The store even had a cat.
Truth be told, I would’ve rather worked for M.T. Shelves, but I doubted it had the budget for more than the owner and his wife. The only reason they were stil in business was because they specialized in rare editions, odd titles, and “gently used and greatly loved” books. Another thing I liked about the old bookstore was its name. The owner named it after himself, M.T. and since the shelves were always packed with books, it was ironic.
Even the old commercials played up the fact that M.T. Shelves’ actual shelves were anything but empty.
There was something special about that place. The smel was nothing like Barnes & Noble. M.T. Shelves smel ed of dusty pages, stale cigarettes, and mothbal s. Perhaps it wasn’t as appealing as the Bath and Body Works store, but it was comforting. I would probably be seventy years old and stil remember it.
I wondered if time went by fast there, or if it was so slow on Saturdays that I could get lost in one of the endless rows of books, just browsing while on the clock. But here at the mal , it was already after one in the afternoon and my manager told me to take my lunch break. I liked to take a walk before getting something to eat, so I took a left out of my store and passed Hot Topic and Spencer’s Gifts. Down the way was Macy’s. I’d take a right and then walk back on the other side, finishing out the east corridor.
I was looking toward the center, trying not to make eye contact with the people offering a one-minute back massage for free or the girl who wanted to squirt me with some hideous cologne that Aaron would like. Unfortunately, I was concentrating so deeply on avoiding being molested or saturated that I wasn’t watching where I was walking. I bumped into someone just outside the toy store. It wasn’t just a bump. It was more of a slam. I had to take a few steps back to steady myself, and the person I knocked into landed on the tiled floor.