Eighteen (18)

by J. A. Huss

  I’m soaked, anyway. Who cares?

  So I just stand there, looking down Lincoln and praying for a bus.

  A motorcycle roars up and stops right in front of me. I squint my eyes and then the rider flips the tinted visor up on his black helmet and Jesus Christ. It’s Alesci.

  “Get on,” he says.

  “What?” I look around, bewildered.

  “Get on the bike, Shannon.”

  He scoots forward and I have a moment where I think I might tell him where to shove his bike. But… I can be home taking a warm shower in five minutes if I do get on.

  My leg swings over, and then he takes his helmet off, reaches around, and pushes it down on my head. The world dulls as the padding inside the helmet squishes against my hair, and I let out a long breath when he gives it some throttle and we take off, the wind whipping against my wet clothes and the rain stinging my bare arms like little bullets.

  He slows when we get about half a mile down the road and then turns into a bank that looks like it closed down a decade ago. We come to a stop under the shelter they have over the drive-through, and then he cuts the engine and gets off the bike.

  “What the fuck are we doing?” But I realize I’m talking to the visor of the helmet, and lift it off my head. “What are you doing?” I ask again.

  “It’s not safe to ride in the rain, Shannon.” He says this like I’m a child and all the things need explaining. “Besides, I only have one helmet.”

  “Oh,” I say, looking at the helmet in my hands. I thrust it towards him. “Thanks. I can wait it out here.”

  He takes the helmet, but instead of putting it on and riding away, he sets it down on his seat and walks over to the little curb up against the bank building. He slides down the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him like he did under the table at school. That excited feeling he gave me comes back.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, hugging my arms to my chest. I’m soaking wet and my shirt is white and plastered up against my skin. I’m one hundred percent certain my bra is showing through the fabric.

  “Waiting with you. I’m not leaving you here alone.”

  “Why not? I’m not helpless.”

  But he ignores me and tabs something on his phone. He sets his phone down on the concrete and takes off his leather jacket. It’s black, and old-looking, like he’s been wearing it his whole life. He holds it out to me and asks, “You cold?”

  I’m freezing. I’m so cold my teeth might start chattering. And besides, I don’t want him to be looking at my bra through my shirt. So I reach out and take the jacket and slip my arms inside.

  It’s warm. And heavy.

  It makes me sigh and I wander across the small distance that separates us and take a seat next to him. Not too close. He makes me nervous. That’s a new feeling for me. Usually I’m the one making guys nervous.

  I rummage around in my backpack and pull out a cigarette, offering Alesci one. He shakes his head and leans back against the brick wall. I light up my cigarette and blow out a puff of smoke into the cold air.

  The silence hangs there between us and I start shuffling my feet, unable to figure out what’s going on. Should he be offering me rides? Should I be accepting them? Should he be allowed to be so hot and my teacher at the same time? Does he always wear a suit under his leather jacket?

  “I’ve known Bowman for a long time,” he says.

  “That right? Did he ask you to be my teacher?”

  “Called me up last month and said he had a job for me. I’m between jobs right now. Well…” He laughs. “Technically I’m supposed to be writing my dissertation for my PhD. I go to UCLA and after ten years of work, the shit is about to pay off. All I gotta do is write up my contribution to science and I’m on my way. But I figure you’re a good excuse to procrastinate, because while math might be my thing, writing is not.”

  “UCLA, huh?” I say. Last semester I worked in the office at Anaheim because my school in San Diego said I had a ton of credits and only had to go to school half a day. So at Anaheim I worked in the library first period shelving books and the office second period sorting mail into little cubbies. One day a catalog came for the art school at UCLA and I put it in my backpack and took it home.

  I’ve never thought about college. No one has ever talked to me about college. Not even my guidance counselors back home.

  But that catalog was so pretty I had to have it. So I stole it. And I read it cover to cover that same night. I’ve always wanted to be an artist. That’s why I was in that alternative school back in Ohio. I was taking graphic design and learning Photoshop, and that’s the closest I’ve came so far.

  But UCLA art school. God.

  “What are you taking at UCLA?” I ask, genuinely interested.

  He laughs. And it’s such a warm, hearty laugh, I want to bottle it up and keep it with me for all the days ahead that I will be sad. “Computer engineering with a concentration in physics,” he says.

  “Jesus,” I say. “If they make me take physics, I’m quitting.”

  He laughs again and this time I catch a little gleam in his green eyes. “It’s not really my thing, either. My thing is astronomy. But I have a plan that ties it all together. Now I just need to sell people on it.”

  Astronomy. That is so cool. “Do you think you will?” I turn my body to face him and wait for his answer. “Sell people on your plan?”

  But he just shrugs. “Dunno. I did my best, so whatever.”

  “How do you know Bowman?”

  “I was his first student when he came to Anaheim ten years ago.”

  “You’re twenty…?”

  “Eight,” he says, smiling at me like he’s hungry.

  Jeeeesus. Why does my teacher have to be so hot? Ten years older than me. I almost can’t stop staring. I have to force myself to look away and take a drag off my cigarette.

  “He helped me get into CU right after high school. I was sorta like you. Smart, but unmotivated. He motivated me.”

  “CU?”

  “University of California.”

  “Oh. I’m not up on all that college stuff.”

  “You should be.”

  “Why? It’s not like I’m ever going.”

  “Why not?”

  “Um.” I laugh. “I’m broke, number one.”

  “They have scholarships. But you have to apply.”

  “My grades are terrible. And the occasional A in biology won’t cover that fact up.”

  “There’s lots of ways to go to college, Shannon.”

  “Maybe it’s just not for me,” I say, irritated.

  “Maybe you have no idea what’s good for you.”

  “And you do?”

  He shrugs again. “I know you can do trig.”

  “Like hell. I’m not sure why everyone thinks I’m so smart here, but back in Ohio I was nothing but average. So you people either have very low standards or you have no idea what mediocrity looks like.”

  He laughs. “Mediocre people don’t use the word ‘mediocrity,’ Shannon.”

  I sigh and take another drag. “I’m tired of talking about this. I’d rather just be invisible, thanks. Bowman should mind his own business and ignore me like everyone else.”

  “Who’s ignoring you?” He chuckles. “I can’t imagine you get ignored much. You’re like a little explosion in a bottle.”

  “You’d be wrong. Everyone ignores me at this school. Some girl started talking Spanish to me this morning. She just assumed I was Hispanic because I have brown hair. And I’ve seen and even talked to her at least half a dozen times, yet she never saw me.” I take a drag. “It pissed me off too. Invisible, that’s what I am. I guess I should get used to it.”

  “Your call,” he says, standing. Just then a yellow cab pulls under the shelter and comes to a stop next to his bike. “Your ride’s here anyway.”

  I get up and wipe the stones off my ass, but it’s no use. I’m still soaked. Alesci walks over to the cab and talks to the drive
r through the window. He turns to me, opens the back door of the cab, and waves me in.

  “This is me?” I ask, dumbfounded. “I don’t have enough to pay for a cab.”

  “I paid with a credit card online.”

  “Oh.” He planned this pretty thoroughly. I start to slip the jacket off and give it back, but he stops me with a warm hand on my shoulder.

  “Keep it on, Shannon. I can see your tits through that bra. And next time you wear a white shirt, check to see if it’s gonna rain before you leave the house without a jacket.”

  My whole face heats up and I’m quite positive it’s bright red.

  “You’re good for the jacket, right?”

  I nod and swallow hard.

  “I’m gonna be seeing a lot of you, Shannon Drake. There’s no way in hell you’ll be invisible to me.”

  I don’t even know what to say. So I just slip into the cab and lean back against the seat and wonder why my heart is beating so fast.

  “Mateo,” he says, leaning down into the cab, his face so close to mine I can feel the heat of his breath.

  “What?” I whisper.

  “My name,” he says. “Mateo Alesci. Happy birthday, Shannon. See you tomorrow.” And then he closes the door and pounds twice on the roof to signal the cabbie to leave.

  I’m still repeating his name in my head fourteen blocks later when the cab pulls up in front of my apartment.

  And then it hits me. He knows where I live. He knows everything about me because he has my file.

  Chapter Five

  Our building is a collection of one-story apartments in a u-shape, centered on a grassy quad. There are only about fifteen of them. There’s an alley on the other side of the laundry room building where people have small garages. The 5 freeway is less than fifty yards from where I stand on the curb, and less than twenty feet from my bedroom window.

  It is a constant source of white noise that I have gotten used to. It’s a comforting hum in a life that should be empty silence.

  I am not even halfway across the grass, heading towards our corner apartment, and I can hear the baby. The windows are open and she is loud. I know I should go inside and help Jason, but I haven’t eaten since lunch and I still have two dollars in my pocket. So I keep walking past our front window, thankful that the curtains are drawn, and slip into the alley. Bill’s Burgers is just on the other side of the freeway and they have ninety-nine cent sliders for happy hour. I have about fifteen minutes to make the deadline, so I jog, my backpack slapping with the rhythm of my feet.

  I’m still wet, but the heat is on and it rushes past my face when I enter the restaurant.

  “Hey, Shan,” Jose, the owner, says from behind the kitchen counter. He says this even though there are about a dozen people milling around and waiting for service or take-out.

  Every head swings to look at me and I can’t look down at my feet fast enough.

  “The usual?” he asks.

  I nod and slip to the back where I sit at a two-seater table that no one ever wants because it’s right next to the bathroom. But I like it. I like everything that is less desirable. I like to be where other people aren’t.

  I run the day through my head. The meeting this morning feels so far away. But one thing that still feels very close is the heat of Mateo’s breath when he whispered his name in my ear.

  And he was looking at my tits.

  It’s so inappropriate.

  A few minutes later Jose comes with my sliders and sets the red plastic basket down, along with a Diet Pepsi, which I can’t afford. “Thanks,” I say, hunching down into myself. I set my two dollars on the table and he pushes it back towards me.

  “You keep it. I made this for some lady who got an emergency and walked out before picking them up.”

  “Liar,” I say. But I smile.

  “How is that no-good bastard?”

  He’s talking about Jason. They grew up together. In fact, Jason has a lot of childhood friends in this area of Anaheim. This is where he grew up. He even went to Anaheim High too.

  I envy people who have a whole community of history surrounding them. I wish every day that I was still at home in my familiar neighborhood.

  “He’s OK.” I force a smile and look up as I take a bite and talk with my mouth full. “Mmmm. You have the best greasy burgers in town, Jose.”

  He shoots me with his finger. “Tell everyone you know.” He walks off when his wife, Maria, starts yelling for him to get back in the kitchen.

  My mind wanders back to Mateo. I will have to see him every day if I go back.

  Should I go back? Is a stupid piece of paper worth all this trouble?

  I’m not sure yet. So I just chew my food and drink my DP, and pretty soon, I’m out of reasons why I should stay here.

  The rain has stopped when I walk back home. And the baby is silent when I grab the door handle and give it a turn.

  Jason is sitting on the couch watching TV, his feet kicked up on a bright blue trunk that acts as a coffee table. “Where the fuck have you been?”

  He’s angry, and drunk. Well, maybe not drunk. But he’s definitely drinking because there’s two bottles of Corona on the side table next to the remote. They’re both empty.

  I sit on a chair across from the couch. “So it turns out…” But then the words get stuck in my throat. It’s so complicated, way too complicated to answer in a few sentences, so I just give up. “I was getting high with Phil.” It’s so much easier to lie.

  “Hmmm,” Jason says. “Must be nice to fuck off all day and have no responsibilities. Whose coat is that? You have a boyfriend now?”

  I don’t say anything to that. Phil is another childhood friend who lives all the way down the alley in a little house across West Street. He’s a small-time dealer. Pot mostly. And he sells it by the joint, so he’s my kind of dealer—affordable. Plus, he likes me and smokes me out whenever I go over there.

  “You’re gonna need to get a job, Shannon. I can’t pay for you anymore.”

  I nod. “OK. I’ll look tomorrow.” All I want is to go to my room and collapse on my hard futon. It feels like sleeping on concrete, but things could be worse. I could be sleeping on the disgusting twenty-year-old carpet instead.

  “So where were you really? Because I called down to Phil’s and you weren’t there.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Poor baby,” he says, his words rumbling out of his chest. “You’re eighteen now,” he continues, looking me up and down in a way that makes me uncomfortable. He makes me uncomfortable a lot. He came on to me once back in San Diego, but he was very drunk and the next day he pretended it never happened. “Legal.”

  “What’s that mean?” I don’t look like Jill at all. She had blonde hair and blue eyes and I have brown hair and brown eyes, so if he thinks I’m her replacement, he’s wrong in every way I can think of.

  Jason gets up from the couch and walks towards the small kitchen in the front of the apartment, his fingertips dragging along my knee as he passes. I hiss in a breath but he pretends not to notice. My eyes track him as he grabs another bottle of beer from the fridge, then pops the top off and throws it into the sink. That’s when I notice several more empty bottles on the counter.

  He takes a long drag on his beer and then walks back over to me, stopping right in front of my chair. He places both hands on the arms and leans down. “You’re prettier than her, you know that.”

  “Well, she’s dead,” I say back. Emotionless. “So it’s not that hard.”

  He reaches out and the back of his knuckles sweep down my cheek. My foot comes up automatically and I kick him hard in the chest, sending him reeling backwards. He must be drunker than I figured, because he crashes against the trunk, spilling over a vase with dead flowers left over from Jill’s funeral last month.

  The baby starts screaming in the other room and I see the rage in Jason’s eyes. “You fucking bitch!” he snarls, trying to get up.

  But I’m out of
there. I bolt for the door and pull it open, but he’s behind me, slamming it shut again. His drunken slowness has no dampening effect on his rage. He spins me around and punches me in the cheek, good enough to see stars.

  My rage is out of control. “I hit back, motherfucker.” I grab his shoulders and bring my knee right into his balls.

  He steps back just enough to let me turn and open the door again. I push on the screen and step outside, thankful that I had the good sense to never take my backpack off.

  There’s a woman across the grassy area shoving a key into her door. She turns and I close my eyes and grit my teeth.

  Jason appears behind me, but he must see the same thing I do, because he says nothing, just slams the door closed behind me.

  “Shannon?”

  How is it that I’ve lived here for one month and everybody seems to know my name?

  I ignore her. She’s a cop who just moved in two weeks ago. But she parks her squad car on the street, not back in the alley. So I see her getting in and out of it all the time when she comes home during a shift.

  “Shannon?” she repeats.

  I make for the little path that leads to the alley next to the laundry room, but she catches me by the leather jacket and I spin around and shrug her off. “Don’t touch me.” I growl it.

  She lets go. “Is everything OK?”

  “Does everything fucking look OK?” I snarl it this time. But I don’t wait for an answer because my face is stinging from the hit I took and I’m pretty sure it’s red and getting ready to bruise. I take off down the alley, walking as fast as I can without running.

  Eighteen had better improve fast. Because if this is what it’s gonna be like for the rest of my life, then what is the point?

  Chapter Six

  I don’t have many options. I could go to the arcade across the street from the high school. That’s only two blocks away and the guy who runs it, Mark, another friend of Jason’s, is cool. He always gets me high when I go there and it’s slow.

  Why are all Jason’s friends so nice and he’s such a raging asshole?