Junk Miles

by Liz Reinhardt

  My mind raced. All I knew was that letting go of him was proving more and more difficult, and there wasn’t much of a chance of it getting better when I was going to be seeing him regularly every day.

  My head ached, and I felt flushed and achy. Early January bike rides to the middle of Nowhere, New Jersey will do that to your body. I had too much to think about, but sleep eventually wound itself around me and pulled me down into its inky depths.

  The next morning, I woke up with less time than I’d prepared to have. I did my hair in hot rollers, something I rarely did. I also used a new technique with my eye makeup and put on a new shade of lipstick. I wore one of the new tshirts I had designed, a red one with a deep v-neck and tight, slim dark jeans with red Converse. I knew I looked hot. I wanted to. I wasn’t about to think about who for.

  I ate my oatmeal, grabbed my backpack and headed out the door. Mom wasn’t there to join me most mornings now. Since she’d gone back to teaching, she left in the early morning and was gone for most of the day two or three times a week. I was so preoccupied as I stepped out of the garage that I almost smacked into Saxon.

  “Saxon!” I cried. “What are you doing here?”

  “You forgot your bike. In my trunk. So I decided to do the right thing and bring it back. This morning. And force you to ride in with me.”

  I had forgotten my bike? Where was my brain?

  “I guess so.” I felt a little like my head wasn’t fully attached to my shoulders. “We should go. If you want.”

  He gave me a long look, his brow knit. “Okay.” He came around and opened my door. That Nessa Celtic girl was singing, her voice beautiful as an angel’s. And grating. On my worn nerves.

  I flipped the stereo off. My head was still killing me, and I saw little explosive points of bright light whenever I closed my eyes. I knew that was probably not a good thing.

  “What the hell’s up, Bren?” Saxon snapped as he peeled out of my driveway.

  “I just don’t want to face today.” I realized that Saxon had no idea how close Jake and I were for hours on end at Tech. Saxon had no concept how awkward this would be, and I had no will to explain it all.

  “Relax,” he said, and that was his big comforting speech. “And turn the music back on. If I’m going to listen to a girl bitch, I’d like it to at least be in Gaelic.” His voice was irritated.

  I wished I’d insisted on riding in. Nothing would have made me feel better than a few miles of hard riding, but we were already far enough there, and I wasn’t up for an argument with Saxon. Before I knew it, we were in the Frankford parking lot and the haunting Gaelic singing stopped when he switched off the engine.

  I got out and went around to the trunk.

  “What do you need?” He followed, close on my heels.

  “My bike.” Jake had been picking me up for lunch at Tech, but he wouldn’t be now. I needed to ride there again.

  “You’re not riding to Tech. It’s freezing.” Saxon grabbed my wrist and held on tight.

  “Actually, I am, but thanks for thinking you can tell me what to do,” I snapped and wrestled my wrist free of his grip. “Pop the trunk.”

  “Pop it yourself,” he said nonchalantly.

  Without another thought, I swung my backpack around, fully intending to smash a dent in Saxon’s trunk, even if I couldn’t open it.

  Before my backpack could make contact, he grabbed my arm and my bag swung down and smacked my hip.

  “Ow,” I whined.

  “Jesus, you’re lucky you’re so damn hot,” Saxon growled. He popped the trunk, and I got my bike out, glaring at him a little.

  We walked to the nearest bike rack, and I locked it on, then we walked into school together. I had English first. We were still working on Ethan Frome. Great. Always nice to have an uplifting read; nothing like a doomed Puritan winter love triangle to lift my spirits.

  I took my coat off and put it in my locker.

  “Great shirt.” Saxon touched a finger between my breasts. I stared him down.

  “I made it,” I bit out shortly.

  “Obviously. It’s brilliant and ironic. Blixen all over.”

  I couldn’t coax a smile, even though he completely deserved one for that.

  “I’m done.”He held his hands up and shook his head as he walked backwards down the hall. “Maybe your bitchy mood will have evaporated a little by Government. God, I hope so.”

  I watched as he walked away, his one rolled up notebook jutting under his arm. I felt bad for being so weirdly cold to him, but I felt worse for myself. I slumped into English and sat in my usual seat behind Devon Conner, my newest friend at Frankford.

  “Hey,” he said carefully.

  I smiled a little. “Hey yourself.”

  “Your hair looks different.” He pointed and made a circle with his finger. “Curly.”

  “You should never just make an observation like that.” My head pounded and it felt like Devon’s face was blurry in front of my eyes. “You should compliment or say nothing.”

  “Your hair is pretty,” Devon amended, not a hint of flirtation in his voice. “Did you finish Frome?”

  “It’s a novella, Devon. Please don’t tell me you didn’t read it.” I sighed. Devon was brilliant, but chronically lazy. He was always behind in his reading and, annoyingly, he was always freaking out because of it.

  “I did. I just really hated it.” He held the book up and stared at it doubtfully. “I mean, it’s normal that I hated it, right? Can anyone like that book?”

  “I liked it.” My voice was sullen. “It’s realistic.”

  “What? Attempted suicide on a sled? Come on, Brenna. That’s just crazy!”

  “No, not the sledding stuff. Although that was probably ordinary back in the day in New England. What else are they supposed to do but be depressed and sled to death?”

  Devon looked at me critically. “You also said the love story in Pride and Prejudice was realistic,” he griped.

  I shrugged. Devon got nervous. He had been an outcast since middle school, socially retarded by Saxon’s heartless bullying when they were young. It was easy to make him feel like he had done something socially stupid and get him all antsy. My bad mood was driving him that way.

  “Sorry, Devon.” I patted his shoulder. “I had a crazy break.”

  “Did something happen?” He looked much more nervous than interested.

  “I went to Paris.” I rubbed my temples and spoke through the crush of a headache so intense it felt like my brain was in a vice. “And I wound up messing things up with Jake. And I kind of got involved with Saxon.”

  Now Devon shrugged. “Well, that was probably inevitable, right?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Saxon has been pursuing you since the day school started. And he had all that mystery going on. He must have seemed enticing. If he got shoved in your face so often, what else were you going to do?” Devon looked at me pointedly. “You’re human, after all. And he’s Saxon.” He said it like the name ‘Saxon’ was synonymous with some intense, undeniable deity.

  I was positive that he was saying it to be helpful, but it made me sound like a two-timing wandering-eyed slut. My eyes filled with tears.

  “Are you crying?” he asked, with none of the panic or sympathy most guys would have shown. He looked confused.

  “Yes, Devon!” I sniffled and wiped under my eyes before my makeup ran down my face. “I’m human, remember? When I screw life up, I feel this emotion. It’s called ‘sadness.’”

  “But I don’t think you did. Mess things up, that is.” He looked thoughtful. “I just think it would have been easier for you if you’d been with Saxon first.”

  “Why?” I wailed.

  “Because then you would have gotten him out of your system. But now you put Jake aside. Which was probably not a good thing.” He blinked hard.

  “Maybe you’re right.” I contemplated his idea.

  “But maybe not.” He flipped the pages of his book distra
ctedly. “If you were with Saxon first, you would have been burned. I mean, you most likely will get burned. Then you’ll be able to judge the two of them from a much better perspective. Like a much higher perspective, I mean.”

  “I don’t get it.” My brain wasn’t working on its normal level, and piecing Devon’s logic together was taxing it beyond its limited capacity.

  “Well, if you had the worst boyfriend ever first, whatever you had next would seem great. But you’ve had a great boyfriend first. So that’s good, because now you have a really high standard for other boyfriends to live up to. So that’s good,” he concluded awkwardly.

  I looked at gawky, socially weird Devon Conner and felt a rush of affection. I grabbed his hand and squeezed. “You should write a column.”

  “About what?” He blinked quickly, which he only did if he was incredibly nervous or happy.

  “Relationships.” The advice he had given me was brilliant.

  He snorted. “Yeah. A social pariah would make a great relationship columnist.”

  Dawes burst in, late as usual, hardly able to tear himself from the poor German teacher who was too nice to just run away from his old, pervy advances.

  He squinted at us unhappily. “So, let’s start with a pop quiz.” He narrowed his eyes further. “Twenty questions on Frome.”

  We groaned, because that was expected, but I was glad to have something else to focus on. Granted, Devon’s words were totally accurate and great, but they also brought up a lot of problems.

  Like, if Devon’s theory made sense (and it did), why did I spend a few hours rolling around Saxon’s bed yesterday? Why not go home and wait to talk to Jake?

  And if Jake was the one, why did I have so much fun with Saxon? There were elements of Saxon that I really connected with. We were both excellent students, we were both great athletes, we knew how to carry a conversation that was witty and funny and flirty all at once. Not that Jake didn’t have these qualities; he just didn’t have them in enough measure to feel like he could compete with me. He was always a little in awe. And I hated that.

  I thought back to my pedestal idea from yesterday. I had hated being there. It was too much pressure, and it felt temporary anyway, like I was just waiting for myself to screw it all up. Maybe I had pushed it for that exact reason.

  Suddenly Dawes was calling all quizzes forward, and I had to fold away the thoughts of Jake and Saxon and scribble in the last five answers on my quiz. I finished just when Devon was starting to wave his hand back at my seat with crazy panic.

  By the time the period was over, I was not feeling any more ready to see Jake later. And I had to face Saxon in Government. Luckily, there was a quiz in Government, too, so there wasn’t much to do except keep my head down and avoid Saxon’s looks. Which were getting more irritated by the minute. When the bell rang, he followed me into the hallway.

  “What’s up with you, Blix?” He grabbed me by the elbow. “This is crazy. You’re acting like an asshole.”

  “Because I didn’t chat with you during the quiz?” I shook out of his grasp and moved away from him subtly so that he couldn’t get a hold on me. “You’re the one acting like an asshole.”

  He managed to grab me again anyway, pulled me to him, and I melted into the way he smelled and the way his body felt against mine. He was bad, just like me. Corrupted, loose-moraled. We were never going to be on anyone’s pedestal.

  I kissed him hard, and he kissed back.

  He squeezed my butt possessively, and I loved and hated it at the same time. My head felt swimmy and overheated.

  “Much better,” he murmured in my ear, then turned to leave for class and did that athletic boy jog that I loved.

  I felt like there were actual winged insects in my stomach. It was not a good feeling.

  “Um, Brenna?” It was Kelsie. Her eyes were wide. She had a great new haircut, a cute little bob. I wished I could pull something like that off. But, Kelsie looked like a pixie with excellent bone structure. My face was pretty enough, but in that broad, Slavic way that I can thank my Eastern European potato farmer ancestors for.

  “I love your haircut,” I gushed. Yes, I was deflecting.

  “Thanks,” she smiled. She shook it a little. “It’s so easy to do now! I love that shirt. Please tell me you went on some incredible trip to Europe to get it, because if you tell me you made it I’m going to puke with jealousy.”

  “I did go on a trip to Paris,” I said sheepishly. “But I also made the shirt.”

  “You better have brought me one!” she demanded.

  I took the rolled-up shirt out of my bag and handed it to her. “Black, v-neck, small. I wouldn’t forget you.”

  She hugged me and we went to art class. “I’m so glad my best friend is so talented,” she sing-songed.

  I felt a rush of happy warmth. Best friend? I would have wanted to call Kelsie that, but I wasn’t sure she felt that way. We were at a weird juncture for really close friendship; both of us had boyfriends and busy lives outside of school, so we didn’t make a lot of time for girl stuff. Which, considering my current dilemma, seemed incredibly stupid. Maybe some girl time would have kept me from all of this insanity.

  “I’m glad you like it.” We sat down and took out the last thing we had been working on. I was doing copper plating, and Kelsie was weaving something incredible out of her macramé string. Mine had ended up looking like an old knit hat turned inside out.

  “So.” She looked down at her string with careful focus. “Was that Saxon Maclean I saw grabbing your butt after you two kissed?” I knew she was trying to be nonjudgmental, but Saxon wasn’t the kind of guy you didn’t have an opinion about. And he and Kelsie had been on one date earlier that year. It hadn’t panned out. Lucky Kelsie.

  When she did lift her eyes to mine, the look she gave me was so reassuring and kind, I felt choked with self pity. I wanted to pour my guts out to her, but didn’t know where to start. She helped.

  “What happened between you and Jake?” Her face was so calm and sweet, I just let loose.

  I started on Christmas, and I told Kelsie the entire tale, scratching inane lines and squiggles in my copper plate while Kelsie wove a beautiful, complicated knot pattern in her macramé.

  When I was finally done, my eyes were hot with tears, my voice was shaky, and my copper plate looked like almost everything I made in crafts; uninspired crap.

  “It would have been better if you’d dated Saxon first,” she said finally.

  I was so surprised that she had echoed Devon’s sentiments exactly that I just looked at her, my mouth hanging open.

  “Because you would have seen him for what he really is and gotten over it,” she rushed. “And you could have been happy with Jake because you would have known.”

  “Devon said that if I had done that, I would have had the worst example of a boyfriend as my first, and that I would have held all the rest of them to this really low standard.” Which was really harsh towards Saxon. He had his real flaws, but I know he cared about me and had a weird system of loyalty. Plus, I had met his mother. Lylee was, as far as I was concerned, the worst kind of parasite. Saxon never had a chance with her as him mom.

  “Wow.” Kelsie put her nearly complete, perfect creation aside and rested her chin on her hands, deep in thought. “Devon is really smart.”

  “I know.” Then I added my portion of the theory to the mix. “Part of me feels a little like Jake kind of worshipped me, you know. Like he didn’t see any flaws. So maybe…”

  “You wanted to throw some flaws in his face?” Kelsie asked gently. “But, Jesus, Bren couldn’t you have just been a little bitchier or just dumped him and not dated Saxon? I mean, there’s not a single guy in the world he hates more.”

  I nodded. I didn’t add that there was probably no one he had loved more either. And I realized that Saxon’s not telling Jake about their blood bond might have a lot to do with me. My head buzzed and my throat ached from unshed tears.

  By the time the
bell rang, Kelsie had made me promise to call if I needed and invited me out with her and her boyfriend Chris later in the week if I wanted.

  Saxon waited outside the door when the bell rang. We walked to what was quickly becoming my saving-grace period: gym. I always hated it in middle school. There were so many rules and the team thing was intimidating. But since I had proven myself some kind of cross country star, I could spend the entire period running. Every day. And I needed it.

  “Ready to run, Gump?” Saxon put an arm around my shoulders.

  “I need it.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

  He looked at me quizzically. “Okay. No comment there.”

  “Why would you say that?” I growled.

  “Why are you looking for a fight?” he growled back.

  His black eyes flashed, his color was high, and he had never looked so good. Or so excited. Saxon really did seem to have a thing for confrontation. It did something for him that peace just didn’t. He reached for me, and we kissed hungrily. Usually I’d be embarrassed to kiss like that so publicly, but Saxon had a way of negating all social norms. When we pulled away, he was breathing hard, his hands gripped on my shoulders.

  “God, I want you,” he said lowly.

  “It doesn’t hurt to want.”

  He slid his hands down to my hips and kissed me again. It was good despite our strangely public arena. The hall outside of the locker rooms was crawling with people.

  “Enough.” I turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone and shocked. And I know he loved it. Much more than I did. He thought it was part of a game, a flirtation. But I knew that it was just my weirdly muddled feelings, and that made everything even more weirdly muddled.

  I was glad to get out on the track. Coach Dunn just nodded to me as I started my set. I popped my earbuds in and ran to what I had downloaded the night before, a classical mix. But I realized my mistake pretty quickly. I thought no lyrics would mean less thinking. But running always started my thinking juices running, and the swells and washes of the music just let me plug my exact feeling and worries in. So much for my attempt at mind trickery.