by Lisa Morgan
“Steph! Come on!” I called out again, but she didn’t respond. She was walking so fast that by the time I made my way through the crowd, Stephanie was nowhere in sight, lost to me in the bustle of shoppers.
With a huff of frustration at my friend’s hissy fit, I started digging through my purse, looking for my phone. In no way did I want to call my mother and ask for her to leave work to give me a ride home, listening to the lecture I would get for cutting classes, so I prayed under my breath that when I texted Stephanie, she’d cooled down enough to drive me home.
As if I should have been surprised, given the way my day has been going, I brought the phone screen to life and discovered I had no service.
“Damn it,” I muttered to myself. I began walking, shoving my phone into my jean pocket while looking at the store names to retrace my way to the parking spot we’d chosen upon arrival. I exited the other end of the mall to the correct lot. I scanned the markers, the mall’s idea of beacons leading to the discovery of one’s vehicle. After several minutes, I found the familiar one. Glancing through the spaces, however, Stephanie’s car was nowhere to be found.
“Drama Queen,” I complained in a mumble, pulling my phone from my pocket. A message flashed across the screen, alerting me to 5% battery life left and instructing me to plug in the phone to charge. I’d had enough time to read it before the screen went black. I pushed the power button repeatedly, trying to will the phone back to life, with no luck.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned. My BFF left in a huff, I’d evacuated our table—leaving a perfectly good burger to be tossed away—and now my cell was dead.
I dug into my purse again, looking for loose change as I mentally rehearsed my plea to my mom in order to get her to come get me. I headed back into the mall, not watching where I was walking while shoving my wallet in its nest, when I ran head long into somebody.
“Crap!” I exclaimed, finally looking up. “I’m so sor—”
My voice stuck in my throat. It was him, music store guy. Still good looking, better even, now that he was wearing a biker-type of leather jacket.
He lowered his head, his eyes once again finding me. “I think you’re in love with me,” he spoke through a smile.
His words shocked me back to life like a defibrillator. “Excuse me?” I complained, doing my best to sound offended and failing epically.
“Every time I turn around, there you are,” he noted, gesturing with his hand as he straightened, tucking his other hand into the back pocket of his fitted jeans.
I’d never wanted to be a palm so bad in my life.
I saw him smile wickedly, and for a moment I dreaded that I’d spoke my desire aloud. I tossed a strand of my hair over one shoulder and absently smiled at the handsome guy, before I realized I was flirting with him.
“Is that it?” His expression was one of amusement, his voice low.
My mind was foggy and my chest felt tight. Lord what those eyes were doing to me … I had to swallow before I could speak. “Is what it?”
He chuckled, apparently amused by me. God, his smile’s so cute. He leaned forward, his minty breath drifting over me with his whispered question, his voice a caress over my skin.
“Are you in love with me?”
A sudden burning flew up my spine and my face flushed. I shook my head back and forth, remembering Stephanie’s lecture about serial killers, and forced myself to leave the pleasant fog and become serious. I tried my best to look disgusted. “Of course not!”
“Then why are you following me?” he asked, still smiling.
I laughed at him this time. Not flirting, but honestly offended. “I’m not following you! You’re following me!”
He put his hand on his chest and took a few steps backward, feigning suffering. “You wound me,” he teased.
Frustrated and a little peeved by his assumptions, I started toward to the mall entrance. He stepped to the side and opened the door for me, waving back into the mall while bowing formally. Without sparing him a sideways glance, I trudged inside, searching for the nearest payphone. I heard his laugh calling as the door closed behind me.
Four
“I’m sorry, Maggie,” my mother’s voice answered my request through the phone. “I’m in the middle of contract negotiations and can’t leave the office. You should have just gone to school.”
I sighed and wrapped the cord of the payphone around my fingers. “Mom, you can’t expect me to walk home from the mall?”
“What did you say happened with Stephanie?” she asked with seemingly more concern in her voice for my friend than her own daughter.
Frustration filled me. “It’s like I told you,” typical Mom, not really paying any attention to me when I talked, “she got pissed because I left her standing at the theater while she was rambling about some hot actor.” I didn’t think there was any need to tell her the whole truth—that there had been a really hot guy who had grabbed my attention and Stephanie hadn’t approved.
I heard some distorted voices calling to my mother in the background of her office. I could picture her raising a finger to them, beckoning another minute like she’d done so many times to me during my lifetime.
“I’m sorry,” Mom answered back to me, no sympathy in her words, “but there is no way I can leave now. Maybe you could call Stephanie and hash it out and she could come back for you?”
I glanced at my small handful of change totaling thirty-eight cents. Not enough for another call.
“Great idea, Mom,” I mumbled. “Thanks for that.” I slammed the phone down on its cradle, putting an end to the conversation. With a huff, I picked my purse up and swung it around my shoulder. So, it was a stroll I’d be taking. I regretted buying the too pricey earrings now, knowing I could have at least paid for a cab if I hadn’t spent the money, but refused to return them just on the principal of the situation.
Thoughts of my mother drifted through my mind, and my resentment grew. She wouldn’t let us move after my father’s crime. She worked long hours and I hardly saw her. If it wasn’t for Stephanie, I probably would have spent my entire youth alone.
I made my way outside into the sun, hoping she’d calmed down and decided to return. I glanced through the lot, looking for Steph’s car, to no avail. With resignation, I marched up the sidewalk toward the main exit of the mall parking lot.
A slow, thunder-like sound rolled from somewhere behind me as I approached the crosswalk. Coming to a stop and waiting for the light to signal safe passage, I saw the motorcycle, pausing in the roadway.
The leather jacket gleamed in the sunlight, one combat boot foot rested on the pavement, steadying the motionless bike. His black hair hung from beneath the helmet, an expertly airbrushed design of a crescent moon adorned the side. The visor slid open and those jade eyes peered at me.
I was struck breathless while a streak of fright at seeing the guy again shivered over me. The slight he’d paid me earlier hung like a curtain in front of me, but didn’t seem to dissuade from his good looks. He sat back on the seat of the bike, one hand on the handlebar, the other on his hip. I watched him watching me, as he slowly rolled the motorcycle closer to where I stood.
“Do you want a ride?” he asked over the purr of the engine.
“What?”
“Your friend left you here, right?” he went on. “I’m an excellent driver.”
That scene from Rain Man flashed across my mind and I couldn’t stifle a giggle.
“The light’s about to change; it’s now or never,” he pressed.
Now or never. The words hung in the air, a tease to my senses. This guy, handsome as he was, was still a stranger. I’d never ridden a motorcycle; never even had a desire to take a quick spin. Was I really contemplating taking him up on his offer just to get out of walking home?
What would Steph think about this sudden rashness on my part? My mom would throw a total fit … I was exasperated, tired of doing what I should and seeing nothing for it, and that was when
my inner rebel took over.
“Why the hell not,” I said to him.
To hell with Stephanie and my mother, to hell with all those kids at school, and to hell with walking.
He pulled the bike a little closer and slid forward on the seat. He took off his helmet and handed it to me, shaking his head for a moment before using a small rubber band to tie it back at the nape of his neck.
“You’ll need this,” he cautioned as the silver in his eyes reflected the afternoon sunlight.
“What about you?” I asked, holding the helmet.
“I’m good,” he replied, jerking his head toward the stoplight that had just changed to green. The horn from the car behind us blared out its complaint. I paused, holding the helmet in my hands as I glanced at the car.
“You don’t have to,” he spoke gently, earning my focus on his face, “but I need to get out of their way at least.”
I looked back to the car, and without another thought, threw my leg over the bike and took a seat behind the mystery man.
He grasped my hand, his own covered in soft leather gloves as it brushed my skin. “Hold on,” he instructed, wrapping my arm around his middle. My heart quickened as I brought my other hand up to entwine my fingers together. With a twist of his wrist, the bike roared to life and pulled forward.
Maybe it was my mood at my mother or my friend leaving me behind. Perhaps it was this sudden rebel-without-a-clue mentality, but whatever it was, I couldn’t help myself. I raised my hand up to the car behind us, its horn sounding out again, and gave the impatient driver the one-fingered salute.
The motorcycle pulled out onto the two lane street, and with more gas, we raced forward. His hair whipped into my eyes every now and then, reminding me that I hadn’t lowered the shield on the helmet. I brushed at my face, my eyes squinting, but it felt so good.
My hands twisted around his waist. I could feel the suggestion of rippled muscles hidden under his jacket. A six-pack was in no way a justifiable description of what I was feeling as his stomach tensed beneath my wrists.
I glanced to the left, looking at the cars in what I’d once thought was the fast lane. They moved along like snails and then disappeared, leaving a clear line of sight to the flowers slowly wilting away in the manmade garden median. I turned my head to the right, finding more cars that didn’t appear to be moving.
I realized how fast we must be going. My driver was cutting between the traffic in a snake-like fashion. He leaned one way, passing a car, then to the other, passing a truck. The acceleration was so fast that I couldn’t begin to name the colors of the surrounding vehicles.
With each intersection we approached, he refused to let off the gas. The lights seemed to respond to his will, switching to green whenever we approached and allowing us to continue unabated.
Traffic thinned as busy commuters took their appointed exits, heading home to their boring lives and families to have the same stale conversations they had each night. I knew in my gut they were cursing the crazy guy on the motorcycle and his passenger; saying that we were going to end up causing an accident and killing ourselves or someone else. I’d had the same conversations with my mother.
I didn’t care. Let them talk and complain until they turned blue in the face. I felt unrestrained and anonymous for the first time. There was no one to tease me, to point fingers at me, to mock me for what my father had done. There was only me, and my arms wrapped around the mysterious man driving he motorcycle.
I was lost in a daydream when I felt the drag of the engine slowing us down, and I glanced around to see where we were. The street was familiar, but I knew it couldn’t be mine. How long had I been on the bike? Moreover, had I even given my chauffeur directions? A pit lodged in my stomach. All of Stephanie’s ridiculous warnings flashed through my mind, and I suddenly didn’t feel nearly as care free as I had just moments ago.
I saw my porch and the mailbox shaped like a Post Office that my father had built one summer long ago. The bike slowed further before finally coming to a stop directly at the foot of the front path. My driver turned a key, and while stepping his foot from the peg to touch the road, the motorcycle silenced.
I sat very still, afraid to breathe. What the hell had just happened? The guy, regardless of how attractive I found him, just drove me to my front door, sans my directions, and I hadn’t, until this moment, thought twice about it.
A scene crossed my mind: lonely teenage girl, good looking guy … good looking guy pulls a knife, teenage girl’s friends attend funeral.
“Not a problem, I don’t have friends,” I mumbled.
“Did you say something?” the guy asked, twisting halfway around to help me unhook the chin strap on the helmet before carefully lifting it over my head.
“Ah, no,” I stammered. “I … I didn’t.”
He stepped off the bike and held it upright as he pushed at the kickstand. He offered his other hand to help me dismount.
“I’m fine.” I waved him off, an uneasy smile crossing my face. No way was this guy going to bury me in my backyard.
I heard a chuckle escape him, and distracted, I caught my foot on the seat when I tried to bring it over the motorcycle. I lost my balance and started falling, only to end up nose to nose with the handsome stranger that I thought may try to kill me, my palms flat against his chest.
“Is it just me, or do you always require a hero?” he asked, smiling.
I couldn’t let go, momentarily frozen in place. His eyes were so beautiful, and those specks of silver circling in his irises reminded me of the sliver of moonlight depicted on his helmet. I swallowed; his breath was cool on my face as he seemed to study my reaction.
Shaking my head, I pushed off of his chest and brushed myself needlessly.
“Not usually,” I answered, looking to the road.
He stood perfectly still, not making any advances toward me. I found it both odd and calming that a person could remain so absolutely motionless, like a rock.
Like a tombstone …
As I gained courage, I lifted my eyes back to his face. He smiled, only one corner of his mouth lifting, as he pulled off one of his gloves. He shoved it in the pocket of his jacket, and the other he held out in greeting.
“I’m Michel.”
“Mee-shel?” I repeated, drawing out the name he’d given me. I snorted, unable to contain my chuckle. He drew his eyebrows up in confusion.
I shook my head, remembering that this guy could be my potential executioner, and quashed my laughter. “Sorry, but only I would end up on the back of a motorcycle belonging to a guy with a chick name.”
“It’s an old French name,” he informed me, less amused than he’d been a few moments ago.
I nodded and extended my hand, taking his. “Maggie,” I told him. His fingers felt like they had been dipped into a glass of ice water.
“Maybe you should put your glove back on?” I suggested in an attempt to diffuse the situation. Michel tilted his head, his expression confused. I gestured to his hand, still surrounding mine. “Your hand? It feels frozen.”
My remark seemed to bother Michel, like he’d forgotten something important. He quickly withdrew his hand from mine and shoved it into his free pocket.
Okay, that was a little odd. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No,” he smiled, but his face was strained, “I have a circulation problem. I always feel cold.”
“Oh,” I managed, feeling awful about insulting him. “Sorry. I’m not known for my displays of tact. I hope I didn’t—”
“You didn’t,” he interrupted. “Insult me, I mean. If that’s what you were going to say.”
I heard a bleating car horn, and then two short taps. Looking behind, I saw my mother’s car slowing, her blinker on to signal the upcoming turn into the driveway. I glanced back at Michel, who was already putting his helmet on.
“Leaving already?” I asked, trying to drag out his departure. What was wrong with me? I didn’t even know this guy
.
“I’ve got someplace I need to be,” Michel answered, watching my mother put the car in park and open her door.
My mom looked to us and froze, one leg out of the car. She made no attempt to move, and the immediate smile she’d been wearing upon opening the door turned to a look of panic.
“She doesn’t bite.” I laughed, sensing a growing tension.
“I may,” he growled under his breath, assuming I wouldn’t hear him. Michel swung his leg over the seat and kicked the motorcycle back to life. “I’ll see you.” And with the twist of his wrist, he sped off down my street and out of sight as my mother came to stand next to me.
“Who was that?” she inquired, a flat tone to her voice, almost threatening.
“Just a guy I met today,” I answered, trying to mask the flutter I felt in my chest while reaching into the mailbox to see if anything had come. Feeling a few envelopes, I pulled them out and began sorting through them.
My mother ripped them from my hands and I pulled my eyes up to meet hers. She looked absolutely frightened and her voice wavered when she said, “Maggie, I asked you a damned question. Who was that?”
“Mom? When you were too busy to leave the all-important job to pick me up after my only friend ditched me, Michel was kind enough to offer to give me a ride home. You should be happy that your baby girl didn’t have to walk the highway!” I exclaimed.
I was ticked off. I tried to turn from her, but she grabbed my arm, twirling me back around.
“Michel who?” she demanded nervously.
“Does it matter?” I yanked my arm away and began stalking up the path to the front door.
“Yes, it does!” she called out as I rifled through my bag for the house key. I got the door open and was inside before my mother hit the porch. I ran upstairs, two steps at a time, while she called after me.
“Maggie!” she yelled up the stairs. “Maggie! Don’t ignore me!”
I slammed my bedroom door, flipping the lock. I flopped on to my bed and threw my arm over my eyes.
“Maggie!” my mother called from the hallway, jiggling at my door.