Five minutes later, I’m bending down for some plastic cup lids, when I hear the loud clearing of a throat. Startled, I jump up, and I’m greeted by the warmth of Nate’s perfect smile and emerald eyes. “Umm… What do you want?” I become so flustered by his presence that the plastic lids fly out of my hands and land all over the counter and floor. Why am I so intimidated by nearly every male? “Damn it.” Bending back down, I scramble to pick them up. Nate is soon beside me, helping to gather them.
“You shouldn’t be behind here. Trevor will fuss.”
“He won’t know.” I point to the camera aimed at us, and he shrugs while continuing to help anyway. “You shouldn’t let him get to you.” Nate says, handing me the last lid.
“Well, that’s not easy when he’s my boss. I have to do what he says because I can’t afford to lose this job. Some of us aren’t lucky enough to have rich parents,” I snap, and Nate looks hurt for a moment. “Sorry,” I quickly apologize for my rudeness.
His understanding smile returns. “No, I was talking about Brent. He’s an arrogant asshole, so don’t let him get to you. You should stand up for yourself, Mallory.”
“I’ll try, but it’s not that easy when he never misses an opportunity to pick on me.”
“Nate.” We turn to the voice. It’s Whitney, popping her head out of the door. “What are you doing? The movie’s about to start.”
“I won’t be long. Go on, I’ll meet you in there.” She disappears back inside. “Sorry, Tiffany needs another popcorn with extra butter. Brent refused to share. I offered to get it because Tiffany is scared of walking around in the dark, and he’s too lazy to do it himself.”
“Yeah, sounds like Brent. Always a gentleman.” We smile at my comment, and I hand him the carton.
“Thanks, Mallory, and remember what I said.” I don’t reply because he’s already opened the door and gone inside.
Thankfully, the rest of my shift is pretty uneventful. When Brent and the rest of the team leave, they pay no attention to me, apart from Nate, who, from the back of the pack, gives me a quick wave. I close out my shift and head home.
All the lights are off when I enter the apartment, and I’m worried my mom’s still not home. Her bedroom door creaks when I open it to peek inside. The light from the hallway illuminates her room just enough for me to make out her sleeping form. Breathing out a sigh of relief, I gently begin closing her door, but push it back open when I hear her call my name.
“Hey, Mom. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wondered if you were home because the lights were out.”
She presses a button to light her clock. “I’ve been back an hour.” Her voice is husky from sleeping. “Sorry I missed you again after school. Did you eat okay?”
“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
Mom leans up on her elbows. “You sure, baby? I know it’s not ideal, but until I can find a better paying job, there’s not much I can do about it.” She looks so sad and tired. I walk inside and sit down next to her. I lean my head on her shoulder, and it’s comforting when she strokes my hair.
“I know, Mom. It’s okay. We’ll manage.”
“You’re a good kid, Mallory. I’m lucky to have you.”
“Me too.” Giving her cheek a quick kiss, I jump up to leave before spinning back around to face her. “Are we still going shopping tomorrow?”
My mom shakes her head. “I’m sorry, baby. Louise is really sick; I’m covering for her all weekend.”
“Sunday too?” I try desperately to hide my disappointment.
“Yes, there’s a big bill that’s come in, so I really don’t have a choice.” She slumps back down in bed.
“It’s okay, Mom. I understand. Really.” I quietly shut her door, then prepare myself for another long and lonely weekend.
TWO
The only high point to school is that it breaks the monotony of home life. It’s not something I necessarily look forward to, but instead, it’s something I embrace because honestly, what other choice do I have? The bus rolls to a stop, and my eyes widen at the overzealousness of the decorating committee. Blue and gold team colors drip from every stationary object; even the bronze statue of our mascot, Grinder the Gator, wears a blue and gold suit and tie.
The more rebellious students tear at the embellishments as they walk by, and a pile of streamers, papers, and plastic gather at my feet by the time I reach the bottom of the bus steps. I grip the rail tightly while exiting, and the typical, “Release!” is called from behind me. I don’t even bother chastising the old man for his rude behavior; I know he’ll be long gone before I turn around. Bars from bands like Nirvana and Pearl Jam clash with the thudding beats of bass-heavy tunes, all of which float in from the parking lot. I longingly take in the sight of those fortunate enough to have what I crave, and I bat down the jealously building inside.
Nate’s out there with Whitney, both propped against the side of his brand new red Acura Integra. Nate. The eternal nice guy. Handsome, rich, talented, smart, and so far out of everyone’s league that even Whitney was lucky to land him, and she damn well knows it. Being nice isn’t something that necessarily comes naturally to her, believe me; the years spent in junior high with her more than showed me her true colors. However, she also knows that Nate isn’t about that, so she’s been sugary sweet to everyone since landing her man.
Brent and Tiffany are out there by Nate’s car, too. It’s no secret that Brent is very attractive, and though he obviously lacks the personality of Nate, I’m still drawn to him. He treats me like shit, is a total bully, but yet, we shared a night—a night where I saw a glimpse into a side of Brent no one else has seen.
Early in our junior year, he stumbled into the movie theater after all the films had nearly finished playing. He was all alone, drunk off his ass, and upon arriving at the snack counter, demanded enough food to feed about six people. After I gave him his total, he fished around in his pockets, but all he retrieved were a few quarters and some lint. Patting at his jeans, he banged his fist against the counter and turned to walk away when he realized his money was gone. I stopped him with a loud, “NO!” and though he stilled, he didn’t turn around. I rushed over to him. “No. You’ll get into big trouble, and maybe even get kicked off the team if you get caught. Come with me.”
After placing the handwritten CLOSED sign on the countertop, I gathered his unpaid order in my arms, and once the concessions were nestled firmly onto one side, I took his hand in mine and led him to the back storage room. Needless to say, this happened before the cameras were installed to monitor my popcorn intake.
Once inside, Brent looked at the stash of food. “I’m not hungry anymore, Triple… Mallory.”
“You called me by my real name. Thanks.” He shrugged. “Do you want to talk about what’s wrong?”
He laughed. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s no big deal, anyway. Just stupid shit.”
I sat on top of a stack of boxes I knew would hold my weight. “My life is filled with stupid shit. Try me.”
“Look, I appreciate you being nice, and all, but let’s not get carried away. You and I aren’t exactly…”
“It’s okay. You can say it.” He shook his head. “I know we aren’t friends, but we have gone to school together since kindergarten. It’s your dad, isn’t it? I’ve heard him and the way he talks to you.”
He closed in on me, his finger pointed directly at my face. “You don’t know shit!”
“So tell me.” I refused to back away or show fear. He narrowed his gaze, nostrils flaring as he stared me down. Finally, he turned away to pace the floor.
“It’s too cliché to even bother with. My hard-assed old man pushes me to succeed, and I’ll never be good enough. So what?” He stumbled back towards me; a silly grin replacing the ire just on his face. “I’m so ready to fuck right now. Always happens when I get drunk.” I start a coughing spell.
“Excuse me?”
His eyes darkened with lust as he approached. �
��You know, you’re kind of hot for a fatty.” His finger traced my cheekbone, and though the touch left me nearly breathless, I slunk back slightly.
“Just what every girl wants to hear,” I said, gently pushing away his finger. He moved in closer so his lips were near mine, and that was when the real internal debating began. This could actually happen. Brent was a prick, pure and simple, but he was also a star football player, as well as one of the most popular guys in school—and he wanted to have sex with ME! I’d never even had a real kiss. Blame it on hormones, immaturity, desperation, whatever; I wanted to know what it would be like to become intimate with someone, and that night with Brent might have been my only chance. Guys weren’t, and still aren’t for that matter, exactly banging down my door.
“So, Mallory? You looking to have a little fun?” he asked, ever so lightly grazing his lips against mine. My knees grew weak. “I can show you such a good time if you let me.” The smell of stale alcohol assaulted my senses, but even so, I leaned into him, softly nodding. He snapped back. “Ground rules.”
My eyes were still closed when I muttered, “What?”
“IF we do anything, it stays between US only.”
“Uhhhh, okay?”
“You got a condom?” Still flabbergasted, I shook my head.
“That’s okay; I’m always prepared.”
I suddenly regained my gumption. “Wait. What if I’m not interested? What’s in this for me?”
“What’s in it for you?” Laughing, he tugged his shirt over his head, and the hard muscles and ripples lining his torso made my breath catch. Yes, he was arrogant, vile, disgusting, and egocentric, but all that aside, an absolute Adonis in the looks category. All I wanted to do was touch him, but my insecurities shut me down. This was my virginity I was throwing away, not to mention the fact that he’d surely want to touch me, too. All of me. He’d see me completely exposed and vulnerable. How much more repulsive would the terrible things he says become once he’s counted my fat rolls?
Biting my lower lip while staring down at the floor, I was still weighing it all out when he took my hand and set it on his flexed pec. “Look, I know I’m mean to you, and I shouldn’t be. It’s just me. It’s what I do. Everyone expects it. We’ve known each other for a long time. Yeah, I’m drunk as fuck right now, but chances are, I’d still be doing you if the situation was the same and I wasn’t hammered.”
His words were like a love sonnet to me, and I succumbed to the carnal pleasure of exploring his upper body with my hands. He laced his fingers in my hair, tugging slightly so my lips turned upwards. With bated breath, I waited for his kiss, and I wasn’t disappointed in the least when it came—except for the stinky breath issue. I felt him moan against my mouth, and that’s how I knew my kissing instincts were okay. He ran his lips along my jaw line, all the way to my ear where he pulled the lobe into his mouth. My legs became weak at the unfamiliar sensations swirling around my girly parts, and all rational thoughts were lost. Once again he took my hand in his, but this time he rested it on the growing bulge in his pants.
“I...” He unbuttoned his fly to expose himself, and I couldn’t hide my embarrassment.
“It’s okay. I know it’s on the big side, but don’t be scared.”
“But, I don’t…”
He stopped nuzzling my neck to look at me. “You don’t what?” I had to turn away because the sight of his erect penis was so distracting that the words refused to come.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. Okay? Go on. Make jokes, laugh, tell everyone. Whatever.”
“Are you telling me you’re a virgin?” I hid my face in my hands while remaining silent. I heard the clanking of Brent’s belt as he fastened his jeans. “I’m a jerk, no doubt, but I’m not about to… Look, this is over, okay?”
I dropped my hands but still didn’t speak.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’ll call for a ride since I’m still wasted.”
My throat felt like it was closing up when I muttered to him, “I want to know what it’s like.” He stopped fumbling with his shirt to stare at me. After a few seconds of silence, he chuckled.
“I’m definitely not the touchy-feely type, but I know this isn’t something you want to happen in the back of a storeroom with a drunk douchebag.”
Tears welled in my eyes. “If we don’t now, then I’ll probably never…”
“For fuck’s sake, don’t cry. I hate it when chicks cry.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to, it just kind of started on its own.”
He let out a long sigh. “Mallory, this might be the only nice thing I ever say in my life, and I’m totally blaming the alcohol, but you will find someone one day. It’s one thing to fuck around with someone who’s all about the game, but it’s obvious that you don’t even know there’s a game being played. Don’t jump in until you’re sure you’re ready, and make sure when you do, you have a good coach.”
Dashing away the tears, I gave a meek smile. “Game? Coach? I think I get your sport analogy…”
“Quit busting my balls. All I’m saying is to save it for someone who actually gives a shit.”
“Did you?”
“Huh?”
“Did you lose your virginity to someone special?”
“When the hell did this turn into a therapy session?”
“It’s not.”
He huffed. “No, but it’s different for guys. I should get going.”
“You’re abrasive, but you’re nice. Why do you hide that side of you?”
“Mallory. Stop. You’re reading way too much into this.”
“You’re scared.” He let out a hearty laugh.
“Me? Scared? That’s hilarious. What the hell makes you think I’m scared?”
“Because I live it. The look in your eyes matches mine, but we deal with it differently.”
“There is NOTHING alike about us.”
I turned my gaze downward. “I’m sorry.”
“God, Mallory. Grow a backbone. Do you like what I just said to you?”
“No.”
“Then why the fuck are you apologizing for it? Maybe that’s why you haven’t landed a man. If you want to be noticed, quit hiding.”
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“Tell me off.”
“You’ll just get more mean.”
“Maybe.”
“So why would I want to do that?”
He shook his head. “Because I might stop. I might think that it’s not worth it because you stand up to me instead of taking it. Because you deserve better and you know it, so you demand to be respected.”
“Wait. If that’s how you feel, then why do you keep doing it?”
“Because you let me, Mallory.” His words hit like a punch to the gut. He closed the distance between us. “I gotta go.” The door to the storeroom latched shut, and I was left to think about what he told me. I’d never seen that side of Brent before, and I wondered if I’d ever see it again. Fast forward to the present, and the answer has remained a NO. He still picks and teases, but the tone and intensity have definitely changed.
Snapping out of my recollection, I’m embarrassed to see Nate and Whitney looking my way, so I hurriedly stomp over the pile of blue and gold left by the destructive underclassmen to head inside. I’m mostly ignored until after lunch when the entire school conglomerates for a pep rally. Two types of students are found there: overzealous football enthusiasts and those who don’t give a shit. I fit into the don’t-give-a-shit category. I want to be home instead of listening to the fake excitement being spewed by the coaches, school administration, cheerleaders, band members, and all others forced to put on their happy faces despite knowing full well the Lions are going to annihilate us. They always do, every single year. It’s just their warm up for our homecoming, which is a week away.
I’ve never been to one, the game or the dance, because I’m always scheduled to work on the weekends—it’s the busiest time at the movie theater. Tucked high up in t
he gym’s bleachers, I zone out while imagining what it might be like to attend until I’m snapped out of it by Tiffany in her cheerleading outfit and Brent in his football jersey, standing before me.
“What?” I ask, looking around to find a slew of spectators peering in our direction.
“Come on! It’ll be fun!” Tiffany screeches, taking my hand and tugging.
“No.”
“It’s for the team! Come on!”
“Yeah, Triple P. Take one for the team,” Brent says with a smirk.
“Fuck you, Brent.” I give him a menacing squint. His retaliation is to lead a chant.
“Triple P!” repeatedly roars throughout the gym, and even though most have no clue it stands for Princess Poopie Pants, much less the reasoning behind it, I cringe.
“What do I need to do?” I ask Tiffany with defeat. She bounces up and down, shaking her pom-poms, and the crowd applauds her victory. She leads me from my sanctuary to the gym floor where I join a line of people seated on folding chairs. I’m placed between Coach Brantley and Gerald Robicheaux, the senior class president.
Loud music plays over the PA system while the cheerleaders prance out of the gym door, and the senior football captains take a spot in front of each seated person. I’m not shocked to find Brent, shoulders back, hands on hips, and smug grin on his face, standing before me.
“This is going to be fun,” he leans over to whisper in my ear before resuming his previous stance. I’m uncertain about his words until I see the cheerleaders roll in a cart filled with whipped cream pies. Shit. My stomach sinks as one by one seated individuals answer random questions about the football season, and damn if they don’t answer correctly. No pie in the face for them, but me? Brent’s words play over and over again in my mind. Yeah, it will be fun—for him!
The pie cart edges ever closer, and the dread I’m feeling rapidly approaches unbearable levels. I nervously pull on the sleeves of the flannel shirt tied around my waist, then resort to running my sweaty palms down the length of my tattered-jean-clad thighs. I need to get out of here! Unfortunately, I’m stopped by Tiffany and Whitney before I can make my retreat. With a huge grin, Tiffany passes two whipped cream pies to Brent, who slow nods in my direction while shuffling them in his palms. I’m so focused on the damn pies, that I jump when I feel someone’s hands on my shoulders.
The Broken Road to Forever Page 2