“The party has arrived!” Victor barged in, making his presence known. He surveyed the room and its occupants then took a seat furthest from me. I squirmed inside. He’d given me a homecoming carnation, asked me to dance at a social, and had planted other seeds of interest. Victor, Kate’s cousin and friend of John and Crud, occasionally joined our assemblage. The last time, he had tickled me and carried me across the street to his car. I was smitten and began stalker mode in spite of the fact that right after deer season opened, he showed up at school with his fresh bow-and-arrow kill draped over his car. He thought it cool, drinking its blood, just like in the movie Red Dawn.
At Christmas time, I had painstakingly created a handmade felt Christmas card for Victor, complete with a thin brown teddy bear stuffed with emotional viscera. I implanted a red felt heart and sewed him up. Under cover of darkness, my accomplice, Sarah, and I conducted a covert operation to deliver the card, which was concealed in a gift box.
“Wait here,” I had said, hopping out of the passenger seat. With heart pounding, I ran to his parked jeep. Thankfully, it was unlocked, so I placed the package on the front seat, closed the door and ran, breathless. Shaking with nervous fright and elation, I jumped back into the car. Sarah sped off.
“What did I do? What did I do?” I was screaming, laughing, relieved, and ready to be sick all at the same time.
“You’re crazy,” Sarah said, hysterical with laughter.
We calmed down over chocolate ice cream.
Later, when Sarah did her routine surveillance, she observed Victor take the box over to Crud’s place, throw the teddy bear on the ground, and stomp it in the muddy snow. He stomped my heart.
Here he was, and I, embarrassed, hurt, and bewildered. How could he possibly have led me on like that? And then throw it all in my face? I was clueless. Reese knew all about these happenings as he heard Sarah’s report first hand. He disappeared into the background when we girl talked, but sometimes we asked him for advice—from a male perspective. Usually the answer we got was “I don’t know,” and a little snicker.
Remembering all this, I felt vulnerable being stretched out on the couch, and adjusted myself. I turned around the other direction, so instead of my feet resting on Reese’s lap, my elbows were, my hands propping up my head. I looked up at Reese with a ho-hum guise and continued watching the movie. Reese seemed anxious, but didn’t throw me off or ask me to move. He scanned my backside. I was oblivious.
I never considered myself much to look at, but wanted to be. At 110 pounds and just over five and a half feet tall, I believed I had a big butt. I certainly had no chest, and zits were a constant battle. It wasn’t the disfiguring kind of acne, but the generally distracting and annoying kind. I tried everything to solve the problem—routine zit popping, hydrogen peroxide, milk of magnesia facials, rubbing alcohol, salicylic acid, etc. Nothing worked. It was an inherited genetic defect. My whole body was a genetic defect as far as I was concerned. My eyes turned two shades of brown—another abnormality to live with. As a baby, I had one blue eye and one brown, just like some dogs. I spent a good share of time trying to restore my darkening blonde hair to its previous light blonde state. And I purged, and starved, but not in a major way. I mean, I was never institutionalized or anything. Mother even told me I was just average looking. Not that being average was a bad thing, but a real mother should tell her children they are pretty even if she just means on the inside.
When the movie was over, our gathering disbanded.
“What did you do New Year’s Eve?” Sarah asked as she drove us home.
“Worked,” Kate droned. “Waitressing is so much fun,” she said, stuffing her finger down her throat in a mock gag.
“I was out of town,” Sarah said, screwing up her nose in revulsion, “with my parents.”
“I didn’t do much,” Reese said matter-of-factly. “I sat home watching TV by myself.”
“So did I,” I said, slightly stunned with coincidence. “You should have come over!” I sighed. Hanging-out time, wasted.
Neither of us was much into the drinking and party scene. Our group of friends, for the most part, accepted this perceived quirk. Sarah and Kurt were finding their identities, searching in wine bottles now and then. Victor, Crud, and John tried to be bad with beer. Kate imbibed socially on occasion.
“Come to the basketball game on Tuesday,” Kate suggested. “We can be Reese and Kurt’s athletic supporters.”
Reese blushed. Reese was the only one who actually played, Kurt relegated to water boy after tripping over his own feet one too many times during a game.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I said, ramming Reese even though we hadn’t turned a corner.
“Go Hornets!” Kate yelled. “Woo hoo! I’ll meet you after the game. I have to play in pep band.”
“Hornets are great. Goin’ down state,” Sarah chanted. We all chimed in. It was easy to get caught up in the enthusiasm, the team undefeated, state championship tournament in sight.
PRAISE FOR I LOVED THAT ABOUT HER
“Everett opens minds and hearts to the struggles of good people trapped in the “noise” of unrecognized ADHD.”
—Gina Pera, Adult ADHD expert and author of Is It You, Me, or Adult A.D.D.?
“This changed everything I had to say about the first book in the series because it put the story of Glenn and Camryn in a new light. And that light was bright and unexpected...The preconceived notions that I held about Glenn from the first book took a whole new dimension in this one and I was actually left in awe of his strength and character . . . This book was written in such a unique way that it just ended up touching my heart.”
—Stephanie, The Boyfriend Bookmark
PRAISE FOR LOVE, CARRY MY BAGS
“Okay C.R., you are truly horrible to make me cry and laugh in the same breath . . .”
—Gigi Siguenza, eBook Lovers Co-Op Admin/Owner
“A real page turner that kept me involved and offered a riveting look at love and relationships.”
—C. Beard
“. . . there were times in the book when I laughed out loud and also times where I had a lump the size of a tennis ball in my throat and had to re-read a page because I couldn’t stop the tears from falling . . . in some parts, I felt like I was reading about myself.”
—N. Townson
“This is a well written story that can and will tug at your heartstrings. I fell in love with the characters and had a hard time putting the book down. Highly recommend this book!”
—Pauline Hulstein
"It stole my breath and pushed me forward reminding me of the power of love and pain of it too. . . . But it is powerful and worth taking the time to read.”
—Stephanie, The Boyfriend Bookmark
Winston's Supernatural Disaster Page 3