by Dawn Klehr
“Well, no, it hasn’t come up,” I say, feeling a fight brewing below the surface. “They have Trig together, you know. I’m sure that’s why you’ve seen them together.”
“I don’t think so.” Libby shakes her head. “They’ve looked pretty intense when I’ve seen them in the halls, and I watched them have a similar mini-blowout tonight.”
“Emma’s here tonight?” I was worried about running into her this whole time. Thankfully I didn’t even catch a glimpse.
“Yeah, she’s here, but I think she’s mostly been in the back. You should really ask Dez about it.”
“Libby, that’s ridiculous. No, I’m not going to ask him anything. I don’t even know what you’re saying. That they’re together or that they conspired in the breakup? Whatever it is, I don’t really care. I’m trying to get over it. Why can’t you let me?”
“I want you to get over it, but I also want you to know the truth.”
“I think the truth is that you’re just freaked out that I’m changing and that I might have a genuine interest in boys. I feel like you want to put me in a box that you understand. And at this point, I think you’d say almost anything to get me to reconsider.”
“That’s not it,” she says, shaking her head.
“Well, I shouldn’t have to remind you that it wasn’t Dez that got in the way with me and Emma. Maybe it was Marcus. I hear they’re a hot item.”
“I don’t think so, Rye.” She shakes her head, and I walk away.
As I leave, I try not to let Libby’s words get to me. That’s what she wants. To get in my head. To make me do what she wants: suspect Dez. That was her defense with Reed, too. After he dumped me the summer after sophomore year, Libby said, “I think Dez said something to him.” What she forgot to mention was the date she went on with Reed after we broke up. To this day, she still denies it.
I know she cares about me but I think she’s more comfortable if I stay in my place as her funny little lesbian sidekick.
Sorry, Lib.
I’m not going to do it.
Not this time.
Dez waits for me by the door, holding out my coat.
I slip my arms inside and move forward with him, leaving the rest behind.
DEZ
EXT. THE HEIGHTS—NIGHT
DESMOND and RILEY walk home in silence, stealing looks at each other. They both look nervous.
DESMOND reaches out for RILEY’S hand. The moon is full and lights the way to the Brandts’ small backyard. They sit on an old wooden swing. It makes a creaking noise and they laugh. They sway back and forth. DESMOND’S feet are planted firmly on the ground while RILEY’S dangle.
“Do you want another drink?” I ask, trying to find something to break the ice. Mom and Bernie decided to go out on the town after the screening, so we have full access to the bar … or whatever else we want.
“No, I’m champagned out,” Riley says. “Why? Do you?”
“No,” I say, feeling my palms sweat. I thought this would be the time to make my move, sure that this is what she wants. Now I really have no idea. “How ’bout a movie?”
I don’t wait for an answer. I stand up, grab her hand, and head for the house. “Let’s see what’s on.”
“This is perfect,” she says once we’re inside. She finds her favorite spot on the couch and nestles in.
I flip through the channels and find Stand by Me.
Of course, the book it’s based on, The Body, is better than the movie, but it’s hard to compete with Stephen King. That sick bastard really knows how to tell a story.
I sit next to Riley, pull her legs across my lap, and rub her feet. But she gives me the look, the one that could change the whole night.
“What? You don’t like the massage?”
“No. I mean, yes,” she says, all flustered. “Dez, don’t you think we should talk about what’s going on here?”
“What do you think is going on?” I ask. At least I know I’m not crazy. She feels it, too.
“The kiss tonight, the dance, this?” She flicks out her arm toward her legs on my lap.
“Do you not want this?” I tickle her feet.
Riley giggles and pulls her legs in, sitting up.
“I just want to be sure,” she says, getting all serious. “We both know what this means. I think we should talk about it.”
“I don’t,” I blurt out. “Let’s not talk for once. Let’s just do what we want and not think about it. Not tonight.”
She sinks deeper into the couch and I go back to her feet.
“Okay, Dez,” she says, closing her eyes. “The massage does feel amazing. I guess we can try it your way.”
My pulse speeds up; I hope she can’t feel it in my hands. After all this time, it seems too easy. I have a green light to be with the girl I’ve been dreaming about for years, and suddenly I have cold feet.
The back door opens and we both jump.
“Hi, honey,” my mom calls out.
Perfect.
Bernie runs past us and up the stairs, without a word.
“Bernie’s not feeling so hot,” Mom says when she swings around the corner. “Oh, hi, Riley.” She comes over and gives us both a kiss on the head. “Date night cut short.”
“That’s too bad,” Riley says, slowly sliding her legs off my lap.
“What about you two?” Mom asks. “I thought you’d be celebrating with the gang.”
“The gang?” Sometimes I don’t know where she comes up with this stuff.
Riley elbows me in the ribs. “We did for a while, but then I wimped out,” she says. “I’m so tired I can barely talk.”
“Let me get out of your way and you two can just relax.”
Finally.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Actually, that’s okay.” Riley stands up. “I’m on my way out.” She starts to gather her things.
“Rye, don’t go,” I almost beg.
“I have to get some rest, Dez.” She smiles and then moves in close. “Can we try again tomorrow?”
I nod, trying to hide the disappointment. “How about some Thai food and movies tomorrow night?”
“Deal.”
And just like that, she’s gone.
RILEY
I take a bath when I get home. My head is spinning and I want everything to slow down. To stop. The water in the tub is extra hot and the lavender bath salts dissolve into steam. I breathe in the sweet smell and slowly sink into the scorching water. First my feet, then my calves, just a little at a time until I get used to it. Once I do, I sit and submerge the rest of my body. I prop my head on Mom’s bath pillow and drape a warm washcloth across my face.
I try to clear my head but despite my best efforts, Dez is here with me.
I feel his lips on mine. Strong but somehow still soft.
I’ve kissed boys before—in plays and our films. And Reed. A quick peck here; an over-dramatic lip lock there. But the way Dez kissed me tonight was completely different. My mind was racing and I wasn’t in the moment. It was like I was outside myself watching from above. Analyzing each touch, each movement. Rating it. Comparing it.
It’s not like it wasn’t nice, because it was. Dez is so strong and handsome. And, he wants me in that way. It’s so foreign. Exciting, even. Maybe. I’m not sure.
I keep running the scene over and over in my mind, trying to decide if I liked it—kinda like I do with the green tea ice cream at Happy Garden. I always order it and then spend my time testing it, trying to identify the different flavors. Questioning, analyzing. Never really enjoying or savoring it. Yet, I always come back to it. Look forward to it. Kissing Dez was a little like that, and I look forward to more—I’m not sure why.
I ponder and stew and ruminate. I come up with nothing.
Still, the bath does the trick.
&
nbsp; I dry off, slip into my fleece PJs, and slide into bed.
I sleep.
Late.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Mom wakes me. She sits on the edge of my bed, her short hair wisps around the happiest of eyes. “How’s my star this morn—afternoon?”
“Tired.” I yawn. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
“Yeah, you looked beat at the party last night. That’s why I let you sleep in.”
“Thanks.”
Mom kisses me. “You were so wonderful last night, honey.”
I smile.
“Well, let’s get some fuel in you. I made a huge brunch. I invited Dez, Trudy, and Bernie too. They should be here in fifteen.”
“’Kay, I’ll get dressed.” My stomach tightens at his name.
Normally, I wouldn’t even change out of my PJs for Dez. Now it seems different and I’m not sure I like it.
I pull on some leggings and a flannel and pile my hair on top of my head, holding it together with a pencil from my desk. That’s the most he’s going to get out of me.
In the kitchen, Dad’s working his magic with the waffle press. It smells like bacon and syrup and coffee. Mom slices a ham and motions me to a half-set table. I grab the cloth napkins from the buffet, the ones we use for company, and water goblets (as she calls them) and finish setting the table.
Dez talks to me with his eyes throughout the meal. Dancing glances that tell me he had fun last night. Looks that say he can’t wait until tonight. It’s nice.
Then, somewhere between draining my coffee cup and cramming another bite of waffle into my overstuffed body, it comes at me. Like a hit-and-run, and I’m overcome with pain—without any warning.
Emma.
I have a sudden and overwhelming feeling of missing her. Wanting her. Feeling alone in this room full of people. People I love, but people who make me feel uncomfortable. I want my friend, my girlfriend.
That’s when my heart and head begin a battle. Having gone through it before, my brain recognizes what it is. That regretful aftermath of a breakup. One that can drop in at any time—when you least expect it. One that will, eventually, go away. One, that even though I recognize it for what it is, still hurts like hell.
I need air.
Immediately.
“Are you okay, honey?” Mom notices right way.
Of course she does.
“I think I ate too fast. I need some air.” I get up from the table.
“Me too,” Dez says. “I’ll go with you.”
I want to tell him no, but that would seem too weird with our parents staring at us.
I nod and head to the entryway. I put on shoes and grab a sweatshirt, and we go out the side door.
Dez’s hand goes to my back. “Are you okay? Looked like you were going to get sick there for a minute.”
“I’m fine. I really did eat too much. That and my nerves are still jumping from the screening.”
“Shoot. I was hoping you were feeling a little jumpy over me, maybe even excited for tonight.”
“Yeah, I’m sure this”—I wave my finger between the two of us—“has something to do with it too.”
“You’re not getting cold feet or freaking out or anything are you?” Dez frowns.
“No, I’m just trying to let it soak in.”
“Well, Rye, just so you know, there’s no pressure on this end. Let’s just see what happens. Dinner tonight. No expectations, okay?”
And just like that, Dez has talked me off the cliff and put a Band-Aid on the gash left by Emma.
He makes everything better.
DEZ
It’s times like this that I wish I was more like Jonah. He actually has a purpose and makes a difference and all that feel-good shit.
He gives, and all I do is take.
Trying to kill time before my night with Riley, I decide to help Jonah with his Saturday Meals on Wheels delivery. Though Jonah insists that his parents make him deliver food to the elderly every weekend, it’s obvious he likes it. Since he’s eighteen now, he can do it on his own. Before that, it was a family affair.
Jonah’s been doing the Meals on Wheels gig for as long as I can remember. And then there’s me, who can’t even commit to a job I get paid for. Luckily, I’m a master at landscaping, and the cut from my summer job is easily enough to cover my expenses through the year.
I ride shotgun in Jonah’s old truck for his last five stops of the day. The smell of chicken and gravy drifts up from the back.
“So, what was going on with you and Riley last night?” Jonah asks, keeping his eyes on the road.
“I told you, she needed a ride home.”
“Mmm hmmm.” He sighs. “Do I look like a moron?”
I don’t answer.
“Dez, don’t be an ass,” he says with a laugh. “Seriously, what’s going on? Didn’t we already talk about this? I mean, you know she’s gay, or bi, whatever, right?”
“Oh, you didn’t know? I’m so hot, I make gay girls go straight.”
“Yeah, right. So what’s the deal then? Is she bi?”
“She’s Riley, and she can be into whoever she wants.”
“As long as it’s you.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of Angelina Jolie or Anna Paquin or Lindsay Lohan?”
They were all into girls at one time and now two of them are married. To. Men.
“Are you sure you want to bring Lindsay Lohan into your argument?”
“It’s not an argument. The point is, people change.”
“And you’re sure she has?”
“Well, I’ll find out tonight,” I say, staring out the window.
Jonah pulls up to a small brick house.
“Dude, I just don’t want to see you get whipped over a girl that you have no chance with. Especially when I know a real live straight girl who’s interested.”
I tune Jonah out. It’s pointless to continue with this conversation. He’ll never understand, and for once he’s looking at me like I’m the pathetic one. I don’t like it.
“Are you getting out or what?” I ask.
“Why don’t you come in for this one?” Jonah says. “Clara is really sweet and she likes to visit.”
“You didn’t tell me this was going to be a Tuesdays with Morrie afternoon.”
“Oh, shut up,” he says, taking out a tray of wrapped food. “Come on.”
I get out of the truck and the stench of garbage and dog shit smacks me in the face. It’s from the house across the street. The house with a bright yellow paper taped to the door, the telltale sign: housing foreclosure. From the looks of it, the people who lived there neglected to pay the garbage man as well. Bags of trash are piled around the garbage bin at the top of the driveway and dog crap covers the yard.
I pinch my nose and turn away. That’s when I notice Marcus standing outside of Emma’s house, a few doors down. I hadn’t even realized we were in her neighborhood. I hold up a hand, but Marcus doesn’t notice. He’s too busy yelling at Emma. She tries to go back into the house, but Marcus grabs her arm and jerks her forward.
“Stop!” Emma yells at him.
I watch them and know this is wrong. It’s not just a typical high-school-relationship tiff.
“Listen to me.” Marcus grabs her other arm and holds her in place.
“What the hell?” Jonah stops, noticing the fight.
I don’t really care for Emma, but I can’t let this go on. “Marcus,” I call out, starting to run toward her house. Jonah’s on my heels.
Marcus doesn’t hear me. He’s shaking Emma now. “I mean it,” he growls.
“Hey!” I yell. I go up the steps. “What’s going on?”
Marcus doesn’t take his eyes off Emma.
“Hey.” I slap his arms.
He finally not
ices me and turns his head. He looks dazed.
“Are you okay?” I ask Emma.
She doesn’t answer. Marcus releases her arms and she rubs them.
“Oh, hey, boss,” Marcus says. “Lovers’ quarrel.” He flips his hand in Emma’s direction. “You know how it is.”
“Not really,” I tell him. “This is not cool.”
“I’m going inside.” Emma backs in and quickly slams the door.
Marcus laughs. “It’s not how it looks.”
The click of the lock on Emma’s front door interrupts him, telling us it’s exactly how it looks.
“Dude, I mean it.” I point to his chest. “If I ever see or hear any shit like this again, I’ll turn you in to my stepdad myself. After I kick your ass.”
“Sorry, man.” His body slumps and he walks down the steps. “It won’t happen again. I’m not sure what came over me, but I’d never do anything to hurt a girl. Never.”
He hangs his head, slowly walks across the street, and gets into his car. Then he proceeds to beat the hell out of the steering wheel.
“That dude has serious issues,” Jonah says, peering over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“He’s not all there, but I don’t think he’ll do it again. He seems pretty shaken up. Sometimes these guys just need to get a dose of their own medicine. Like the bullies on the playground. Remember them?”
“Don’t remind me.”
We start walking back to Miss Clara’s.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you back then,” Jonah says.
“What do you mean, back then?”
He punches my arm. “Come on, we’re running late.”
He knocks on the door once, and then opens it. “Miss Clara, it’s Jonah Herron from Meals on Wheels,” he calls out.
From the kitchen, a little gray-haired woman with a walker comes out. “Oh, Jonah. Come in. Come in.”
“You know, Miss Clara, you should really keep that front door locked.”