by Bri Izzo
“It was great, but I don’t like that you have to remind me how many days of hell I’ve spent here already. All it does is remind me of the number of days that are left,” she groans, closing her locker and walking in sync with me to my Jeep.
“Well there’s only eight days until your birthday!” I exclaim, nudging her with my elbow. She barely flinches. I only notice her eyes flicker in my direction and her lips start to turn upward, but she catches them before it becomes anything close to a smile. This mood swing Buzz is going through is so unlike her and therefore so bothersome. I’m sure it has to do with it being her first week back at school and having to concentrate, so I can’t blame her at all. It’s hard enough to do without a brain injury. But I sincerely hope it doesn’t fucking last forever.
Tiffany and I know Buzz isn’t up to planning a birthday party, but we also agree that she deserves to have one. We decide to get a suite at the Marriott for a night with our closest friends. Overwhelming Buzz with a surprise party isn’t the best idea considering she’s still healing from the accident, but I have a master plan that I’m sure will make it work. Tiffany is in charge of checking into the hotel and getting everyone in the room while my only task is getting Buzz there.
Tiffany Locket: Did you purposely not invite Chloe?
Me: Who the fuck is Chloe?
Tiffany Locket: One of Buzz’s friends from the Rockettes.
Me: She’s never mentioned her once.
Tiffany Locket: She’s going to be pissed she wasn’t invited.
Me: Great. Someone I don’t know will be pissed at me. How will I survive?
Tiffany Locket: You’re such an ass. How soon til you’re here?
Me: Hopefully a half hour.
I’m at Buzz’s house when Tiffany texts me trying to add on to the guest list. Chloe sounds like a bitch, and if Buzz never mentioned her to me before, chances are she doesn’t fucking want her there anyways. So I don’t feel bad at all for excluding her. Only our usual crew and Cara are invited because I know we’re the only ones that actually care enough about Buzz to not be wild. Laurie, Buzz’s previous senior captain, would’ve been invited if she went to college in-state, but she doesn’t.
“Beth,” I warn quietly as I step into their foyer. I see her in the kitchen and hear Buzz on the phone across the house in the living room, and I don’t want her to see me yet.
For once, Buzz’s mom is on my team with trying to successfully surprise her. I’m pretty sure she just wants the fucking house to herself, but it doesn’t matter, as long as she helps me. Beth nods, showing me she knows her role in our game plan.
I run upstairs to Buzz’s room with my gym bag and begin stuffing a change of clothes inside of it for her. Tiffany has her party outfit at the hotel, but I don’t think she’ll let her sleep in it even if she tries. It’s some fancy dress that Buzz is going to hate. Tiff insisted, which is why I’m bringing her something to save her from it if she still wants to look nice.
When I return to the main level of the house, Beth has Buzz waiting for me by the front door. Buzz looks annoyed at her, as usual, but I don’t see the typical snootiness Beth carries around with her, so I’m not sure what happened. I seriously hope whatever mood Buzz is still in will stop when we got into my Jeep.
“Where are we going?” she wonders as she climbs into the passenger side. She doesn’t even ask about the gym bag over my shoulder.
I give her a like-I’m-going-to-tell-you look. “Where’s the adventure in telling you?” I tease, pulling a blindfold out of my shorts’ pocket.
“Sky…” she says wearily. She knows something is up as soon as she sees it.
“Turn around so I can put it on,” I order, motioning for her to move. Her long straightened hair tickles my arm as she spins in her seat. As goosebumps poke up on my arm, I wonder if she still feels the way she used to about me and us. It doesn’t feel like it anymore, but I hope I’m fucking wrong. I know she has a lot going on with therapy and school and whatever, but I didn’t think those things would deter her from getting butterflies around me. Her flirting has become so minimal since school started last week. I don’t know why and am too afraid to ask.
“Can we play twenty questions?” she suggests, buckling her seatbelt and sitting forward again. I take it as a good sign that she’s actually interested in where I’m taking her.
“Maybe,” I hesitantly reply. “But I won’t answer anything I don’t want to.”
“Oh, yeah, cuz that’s so fair,” she chuckles, but her spirits already seem brighter when I start driving.
“Am I appropriately dressed for wherever you’re taking me?” she asks.
Observing her current wardrobe consisting of jeans and a Cubs t-shirt, I tell her, “Technically yes, but that’s not what you’ll be wearing tonight.”
Fail. I have no idea how dirty my statement sounds until her jaw drops and she exclaims, “Skyler James Swanson! Where the fuck are you taking me?” Fuck. I hate how my name sounds in that angry, accusatory, disgusted tone of hers. I didn’t even say it sexually! After glancing at the road and then to her, I notice she’s whipped off her blindfold and sees we’re on the way across an overpass that leads to the Marriott. Okay, so this looks bad. But it really isn’t.
“Calm the fuck down,” I warn her in a friendly tone.
“You are not taking me to a hotel,” she states firmly. I really didn’t think this through. Getting her into that suite where all of our friends are waiting is harder than I thought. So much for a master plan.
Sighing, I confess, “Yes, Buzz, I am. But you don’t have to-”
“Sky, stop,” she demands.
“I promise it’s not what you think,” I try again, but she isn’t listening.
“Sky, I’m not having sex with you,” she blurts out. Then she adds in the softest whisper, “Even though I kind of want to,” and buries her face in her hands as she leans down to rest on her legs.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Our conversation replays in my mind, and I slam on the breaks as the stoplight turns red. I throw my right arm out across her chest to keep Buzz from slamming her head onto the dashboard. My heart is racing like a jackhammer after hearing the word sex come out of her virgin mouth. I’m a virgin, too, but it’s the first time I’ve ever fucking heard her say it, and it’s in regards to doing it with me. I roll my window down to breathe fresh air, but it doesn’t matter; all the air has been sucked out of my lungs. My throat is dry and scratchy.
“B, that’s not what this is… at all,” I explain. As I sigh deeply, I hang my head down to touch the top of the steering wheel while I wait for the light to change.
“Oh,” Buzz quietly acknowledges that she’s heard me. Great, now she fucking feels stupid. Tiffany is going to kill me for this.
After five of the most awkward minutes of my entire life, I finally pull into the hotel parking lot and sit there beating myself up for fucking making her think I’m about to deflower her as her birthday present.
“Buzz, I’m so fucking sorry,” I plead, still unable to look at her.
“It’s fine,” she replies, but I can feel the earthquake on her tongue.
“No, it’s not,” I argue. “You have to know I would never do that to you.”
“Ouch,” she scowls. “Thanks for the great birthday present. Which room is everybody in?” And the surprise is ruined. In other news, I’m a fucking asshole.
“Wait, please,” I call after her as she opens her door. “That’s not what I meant, B.”
“You’re really confusing me,” she admits but continues to cross the parking lot and make me catch up to her. Join the fucking club.
27 Bianca Ferrari
Well the start to my sweet sixteen couldn’t be anymore awkward. Skyler is making my mind and heart go into panic mode, which completely sends me into a tornado. Once he says it isn’t about sex, I immediately know our friends and siblings are waiting in a room for us to arrive. It was going to be one or the other. It isn’t
hard to figure out. But I’m also a little disappointed that we aren’t going to be alone. I’m not up for a big bash.
Tiffany looks so defeated when I enter and don’t act surprised, but I immediately yank on her wrist to pull her into the suite’s bathroom.
“He told you, didn’t he?” she asks me, but then she studies my expression further as I wait in silence for her to figure it out. “No, wait. What the hell happened?”
“I panicked,” I confess, breathing heavily as I stretch my arms over the sink so my head hangs above it. I’m still panicking. Why did I think Sky was bringing me here to have sex?
“You panicked?” she repeats. “I don’t get it.”
“Sky… he… I thought he was taking me here for another reason,” I explain as I feel the sweat pooling on my hairline.
“What? Why?” she snaps back in confusion.
“I don’t know. Just the way he was talking,” I mutter, trying to collect myself. I don’t want my brother or Benny to catch on to my misled apprehension and beat Skyler for it. I should’ve known Skyler doesn’t want to have a romantic relationship with me.
“Is tonight going to be super weird now? I mean, you could always fake sick,” she suggests. I wouldn’t even have to fake it.
“No. It’ll be fine. I appreciate you guys trying. I just ruin everything,” I sulk.
“Stop pouting. Nothing is ruined,” Tiffany tells me. “Here. Put this on,” she says, holding a little shimmery dress on a hanger. It’s similar to what she’s wearing but gold; they both look like formal dresses.
“What is this?” I question, trying to hold my disgust inside. I appreciate the thought, but I’m not a dressy girl.
“I wanted you to feel special on your birthday. Dresses always help,” she chipperly smiles at me. I can’t disagree with her more, but I humor her and put it on.
The rest of the night consists of eating pizza and playing stupid games like charades and Taboo that require teams or partners, which seems to be a pattern with our group. Everyone pairs off for Taboo, but I take a step back so I’m not in the center of the room. Ha, I’m trying to go unnoticed at my own birthday party. Any other day Skyler and I as a team would be the obvious choice, which is exactly what everyone else thinks, but the tension in the room is as cold as Antarctica. I want to apologize to Skyler for jumping to conclusions. He’s across the room standing in the corner silently like a penguin that found a warm spot and doesn’t want to be social anymore if it means he has to be cold again. I feel the same way.
I’m grateful when Tiffany and Benny form a team for Taboo because that means we won’t have to witness the weird and inappropriate chemistry of Benny and Baylee. As soon as I breathe a sigh of relief because of this, I watch Bay take the buzzer and lean over Benny’s shoulder as he sits on a chair. She’s going to be the referee - that’s no better than being on his team. At least he isn’t the one looking over her shoulder and down her shirt.
Fresh air - now. I bolt out the sliding glass door and onto the balcony to breathe, unlike I’m able to do with the claustrophobic and sweaty air inside. I think that no one noticed my departure when I still hear the buzzer going off and people laughing and shouting. That is until I feel someone’s breath on the back of my neck. Then the door closes to drown out the noise from the quaint party.
“Buzz, I’m sorry,” Skyler repeats himself from in his Jeep a while ago. I have never heard the kid apologize so much; it’s extremely weird. I realize I misunderstood his gesture. It isn’t that big of a deal. He’s not that kind of guy.
“It’s fine. I overreacted,” I confess with a childish chuckle.
“No, you didn’t,” he argues. “I didn’t realize how it would look from your point of view.”
I don’t want to turn around and risk someone inside seeing my uneasy expression, so I just turn my head slightly to look over my shoulder at Skyler. He has one hand hovering over my shoulder like he wants to touch me so badly, but he’s restraining himself.
“You know I’m here for you. I’m on your team; I’m always on your fucking team. But you haven’t been telling me much these past few weeks, B,” he explains his side of our recent awkwardness. It’s not nearly as bad as it could be, but we also aren’t the usual Sky and Buzz. I could tell he’s been really worried about me, and I feel guilty.
“I didn’t realize doing therapy and school simultaneously would be so draining,” I tell him. It’s the complete truth, and it’s exactly why I haven’t been talking to him more. I talk enough at school and therapy; by the time I get home I just want to sleep or read or listen to music, although that’s rare since I usually have a headache.
“Have you been sleeping better?” he wonders, but I let out a knowing laugh. I spend more nights in his bed than I ever do in mine. The nightmares still happen, but they are more spread out, thankfully. When they do flood in, I always wake up puking. It makes me feel better to have him there to rub my back and hold my hair and just tell me it will all be okay. His question, however, is referring to the past two nights that I spent in my house alone.
“I’ve just been thinking a lot, which hurts my head, so last night I got maybe three hours,” I state, leaning into him, my symbol of a white flag. I feel him release a deep breath and actually grab my shoulder, and the unnecessary tension is dissolved immediately.
“Is therapy helping? You never talk about it,” he points out.
“I’m not supposed to. It’s confidential,” I remind him.
“The doctor’s not supposed to talk about it. You are, sweetheart,” he teases, and I know he’s right. I just don’t want to burden anyone with it; we pay the therapist to listen. I think it’s the perfect scenario where everybody wins. That is until the therapist starts asking me about Sky almost every session.
“Is he feeling guilty?” I hope not.
“Are you in love with him?” I don’t know.
“How does he make you feel?” Uhhh…
“How has he acted since the accident?” Perfect.
“Can I ask you for a favor?” I nervously hope. I haven’t even checked with my therapist for what I’m about to ask him, but I just need him to do it for me.
“Sure, but no promises,” he snickers. Liar. I know he’ll do whatever I ask of him.
“Will you come to a session with me?” I request, and I jump when he scurries around so he’s facing me and now everyone else in the hotel room, too.
“Why?” he questions, and I can’t be offended that that’s his answer. Therapy is supposed to be just something I do, but the more I talk about him to my therapist, the more she and I both sense his suppressed guilt from the accident. I want the old Sky back that is my fearless partner in crime. We also need to face some other issues between us, like trust. As soon as I saw Chase on the first day of school I remembered what happened with him, Skyler, and me. Skyler needs to know I haven’t forgotten about it.
“Because the accident also kind of happened to you,” I tell him. And it might bring us closer again… it’s at least worth a try.
“Yeah, I’ll go. Does that count as my birthday present for you?” he jokes. At least, he better be joking.
“You really didn’t get me anything?” I whimper.
“I actually got you a car; it’s downstairs,” he announces with his boyish smirk. It’s a rare occurrence, so I try to memorize it and superglue it to my memory. For the first time in a while he lets a pinch of happiness cross his face.
“Very funny,” I roll my eyes a few moments later after he totally catches me staring at him. He knows the doctors didn’t give their stamp of approval for me to get my license like every other sixteen year old. I’ve only been of legal driving age for two days, so it hasn’t really hit me yet that the privilege is being postponed indefinitely. As long as I show symptoms of brain trauma, there’s no license for this sixteen year old.
“What did your parents get you since they couldn’t get you the golden convertible they were planning on?” he asks the big
gest joke I’ve ever heard. A boat and a motorcycle! I laugh to myself.
“My dad is taking me to our annual September Cubs game one day after school next week. And my mom offered to get me a haircut,” I blurt out, frustration starting to creep into my blood. I can feel it overtaking my whole body slowly as I recall my not so pleasant conversation with my mom yesterday. She’s so evil to me, and no matter how well I can brush it off, she’s still my mom and it sucks.
“A haircut?” Skyler repeats.
More calmly, I clarify, “She wants me to cut my bangs… to cover my scar.” Closing my eyes intensifies the feeling of his lips lightly pressing against my forehead, and I lean into him to express how much I really fucking love his kisses, especially his forehead ones. It’s his way of accepting me for who I am in the world. I’m flawed but still strong, and most days he’s the only one who sees both. My mom only sees me as flawed, and pretty much everyone else only sees me as strong. It means a lot that he can see all of me.
“What do you want?” he firmly questions me. To be honest, I’m okay with my exposed scar. Sure, I won’t win Miss America with it, but I’m not trying to impress anyone. I’m just me. And the scar is part of me now. The way Skyler minimally ping-pongs his eyes between my eyes and forehead, I can tell that he looks at me differently since the accident. It’s more of a concerned look than anything romantic. So if anything, I’d cut my bangs to make Skyler stop looking at me like that but not for anyone else.
“I want you to not feel guilty when you look at me,” I whisper. I long for his romantic eyes. Once in a while he gives them to me but not lately.