The garage door jolts me back to reality and I wait for Ron to pass by my room.
“How was your day?” he asks, stopping in the doorway.
“It was fine,” I answer moodily, not looking up from pretending to do my homework. I’m not in the mood for pleasantries with him today.
“Well, aren’t you going to ask how my day was?” he huffs.
I sigh. “How was your day?”
“It was good. I think I got a deal with a large company,” he says and launches into some boring explanation of some account he can get, but I know it’s all talk. Like all the other times, he gloats about how much money he’ll make on an account, but there never is a follow-through. Suddenly, the company had issues, or whatever the excuse, and it’s never his fault. I think he makes it all up for attention so that we’ll be impressed.
But he’s a liar. This isn’t the first job he’s been like this with. And it’s his third job this year.
I nod and pretend I care. He talks only because he likes the sound of his own voice. He does this with everything. Even when he’s giving Jonathan or me a lecture. He will spend a good thirty minutes to an hour discussing what we did wrong to how stressed he and Mom are with their jobs to how we need to do better jobs at life to something completely random and off topic. I hardly pay attention to him prattle on about stupid things.
“Do you have your late slip?” he asks when he’s done with his annoying tangent.
I pull it out of my bag and hand it to him.
“Good,” he says. “Remember you have to set your alarm every night before you go to bed so you’ll wake up in the morning,” he says as if I’m a five-year-old.
I bite my tongue from saying something I shouldn’t and nod. When he finally leaves, I roll my eyes and relax. I place my elbows on my desk and hold my head in my hands.
A year and a half. That’s all I have until I can leave.
Chapter Eight
Throughout the week, I try ignoring the dreams with Casper and try focusing on Vincent, which sometimes works. Casper and I still run for our lives in the dreams and avoid each other in real life. He hasn’t stopped staring at me in the halls, but I pretend like he isn’t there. No one’s called me a witch or a crazy psycho, save for Cherry, so I consider myself lucky, and grateful, that Casper seems to have kept Monday’s incident private.
Friday finally rolls in and the whole time I’m getting ready for Vincent to arrive, my nerves are rampant. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date.
I settle on a cozy black sweater and dark jeans with booties. I curl the ends of my long hair, contemplating cutting it as it reaches my lower back. I like my long hair though.
When the doorbell rings, all five of my dogs bark because of the intruder, and I start freaking out internally. I really like Vincent, but my parents make it so awkward. Especially Ron.
Walking down the hall, I feel heat race up my neck to my cheeks as I see Vincent standing by the door with deep purple calla lilies. My heart swells. Those are my favorite flowers. How did he know? He must have talked to Cherry.
“Hi.” I smile, taking the flowers.
“Hey.” I can’t stop looking at him. He’s wearing a gray long-sleeved shirt and jeans, but he makes it look good.
“Mom, Ron, this is Vincent.”
Mom reaches out to shake his hand and Ron follows.
“Hi, I’m Ron. I’m not Megan’s dad.”
I stiffen and die of embarrassment. Can he make this worse for me? I throw a glare in his direction. What is wrong with him?
I see a flicker of confusion in Vincent’s eyes, but he holds out his hand and shakes Ron’s.
Mom offers him a seat on the sofa in the living room, the one room we never use except for Christmas. Both of us sit on the couch, but all I want to do is run.
Vincent takes my hand, giving it a light squeeze, and I relax.
“So, Vincent, tell us about yourself,” Mom says.
I hate being asked this question, but Vincent answers like it’s the easiest answer in the world.
“I’m seventeen, an only child to my parents who are still married after twenty years. I’m a straight-A student and I plan to attend LSU for architecture.”
Mom raises her eyebrows, obviously impressed, but Ron stands there, staring at our clasped hands. I try to remove mine, but Vincent holds tight.
“I really like your daughter, and I promise to take care of her.”
I bite my lip, knowing Mom hates it when a guy she barely knows promises something. She thinks it’s something guys say in order to please, and she wants to see results. And to a degree, I’m like her.
“Where are you taking Megan tonight?” Mom asks.
“To Cosmo’s Restaurant, and to see a movie.”
“What time is the movie?”
“It starts at nine and should be out around eleven.”
Mom looks to me. “Be home by eleven thirty, no later.”
I nod, and she turns back into cheerful Mom and smiles. “Have fun.”
Vincent and I walk out to his car and when we’re strapped in, he lets out a breath. “That was intense.”
I release a nervous laugh. “Sorry.”
He starts the engine and backs out of the driveway. “No worries.”
“You get an A.”
“For?”
“Well, for showing up on time and for impressing my parents.”
He smiles showing his dimple, which I think is adorable. “That’s good. Are they the only ones I’ve impressed?”
“Hmmm, don’t push your luck, now.”
He takes my hand in his again, and my heart goes crazy.
“So, architecture?” I ask.
“Yeah, my dad was an architect. Designed a lot of buildings.”
“Wow. Is he retired now?”
“Yeah.”
“What about your mom?”
He loses his smile and tenses. “I’d rather not talk about her right now.” When he glances at me, I don’t miss the sad look in his eyes.
“Sure. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
The rest of the drive is a little awkward, but only because I feel like I brought up something bad and ruined the night. I don’t want to screw things up with Vincent.
He pulls into a parking space at the restaurant, and when I reach for the door handle, Vincent stops me. I bite my lip, seeing the torment on his face, and all I want to do is hold him. Comfort him from whatever hurts. He intertwines his fingers with mine, and my heart does its crazy dancing. The way his thumb strokes my hand makes my body warm.
Vincent sighs. “Megan, my mom…my mom has cancer.” He looks up and meets my eyes. “It’s not good. I don’t tell people about it. Aside from my friend, you’re the only one who knows.”
“I’m so sorry.” My heart aches for him. I know my mom can be a pain in my butt, but I would never want her to get cancer. “Why would you tell me so soon?”
“I trust you, Megan. I wanted you to know.”
“I’m here for you if you ever need to talk.”
“Thanks. Are you ready?”
“Yeah.”
We go inside the restaurant, and when Vincent gives his name, they immediately seat us. It’s a popular place and pricey. Makes me wonder if Vincent is rich. The celestial decorations are beautifully painted on the walls and ceilings. The soft yellow and blue lighting creates a warm and cozy atmosphere. I’m usually nervous on dates, well at least the first few I went on with Matt, or in any setting that puts me with someone I barely know, but with Vincent, it’s different. The more we talk and get to know each other, the more I feel like we’ve known each other for years. He makes me comfortable and at ease. I feel like I can tell him anything.
“So, Vincent, what do you like to do? Other than design things.”
“If I tell you, will you promise not to laugh?”
I press my lips together and nod.
“Play the guitar. I know it’s a silly notion, but I k
inda hope to become a musician someday.” He blushes.
“Do you play it well?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I think so.”
“Then you’re a musician.”
He chuckles. “I wish it were that easy.”
“Why not? If you want to become famous and all that, you gotta try. Have you got a demo tape?”
“Not yet.”
“Are you in a band? Or is this a solo gig?”
“Right now, it’s solo, but I wouldn’t mind having a band.”
“We should do tryouts. I’m sure there are lots of people at school that would like to join.”
“Are you going to be our singer?”
“No, I don’t sing. Besides, I’d get all the attention and the band would resent me and we’d eventually fall apart or something.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Why would you get all the attention?”
“Come on, that’s music 101. Female lead singers always get the attention.”
“Yeah, but that happens for every band though. Lead singers always gets the most attention.”
“Still. I can’t sing to save my life. My dog cringes when I sing in the shower.”
He laughs and I join him. “You could lip-sync or use auto-tune.”
“If I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it right. Lip-syncing is lazy and if you have to use auto-tune, you shouldn’t be singing.”
“Fair enough. My dad’s not a big fan of this path, though. So, it’s probably all a pipe dream.”
“Which do you enjoy more?”
“Both. I don’t know. Everything is kinda all up in the air right now.”
“I’m sorry.” I hate apologizing so much, but I don’t know what to say. I wish I knew the right words.
“Don’t be. What about you? What about your writing?”
I shrug, feeling self-conscious. “I just scribble some words down.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Like what? Tell me.”
Playing with my napkin, I stare at my hands. “I sometimes write poetry, but I write stories. I’m actually working on a crazy idea right now.”
He leans forward. “What’s it about?”
“I’m not sure.” I give a soft laugh. “I had a weird dream,” I begin, leaving Casper out of this conversation. “About two people who are in love but they’re enemies. Kinda like Romeo & Juliet. One’s a Sprite and one is an Elf. They’re searching for this Jewel that helps them stay alive from a bad guy who wants to kill them. It’s weird because it takes place in some other time period.”
“Like when?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Like the Rococo time period. Early 1700s France.”
“That’s specific.”
“It seems to work. The dream I had was in that time.”
“That’s amazing that you can come up with such a story from a dream.”
“Stephanie Meyer did it with Twilight.”
“Maybe you’ll be the next Stephanie Meyer.” He winks. “That’s amazing though. I love history, so if you ever need any ideas, I can help.”
“Okay.”
“Are you ready for the movie?”
“Absolutely.”
We continue our music conversation and talk about how we both enjoy writing. He says he writes songs all the time and I mention wanting to read them or hear him play. I’ve always been a sucker for poetry and lyrics. It’s like my Achilles’ Heel. Learning this about Vincent makes me like him even more. I love his passion and the way he describes wanting to help people with his music and wanting his art to matter. It’s such a shame that his dad seems to reign that part of him back to focus on architecture.
We talk all the way to the movies and there is never an awkward silence. I love how simple it is with Vincent. Sometimes our words seem to overlap each other’s, and we joke around, matching each other’s jabs. He can dish it and I can take it and vice versa. I’ve never had this connection with a guy before, something that feels right.
We choose to see a comedy and while I stand in line for popcorn and drinks, Vincent gives me money to pay and goes to the restroom.
Bored standing in line, I look at my nails.
“We need to talk,” a voice says from behind me. Even before I turn around, my heart stops. Its beating races as I peer up into Casper’s brown eyes. “I’ll be waiting,” he says and nods toward the counter. “Your turn.”
I turn back and order awkwardly. My words are jumbled, and it takes me a second to get out what I’m trying to tell the cashier. I don’t understand my reaction at all. Except that I’m scared about what he wants to talk about. I don’t want to rehash Monday at all.
Vincent reappears and I catch Casper standing down the hall before we walk into the theatre. I hope Vincent doesn’t see him. We take our seats and watch people trickle in until about five minutes into the previews. I try to think of an excuse to leave for a minute to see what Casper wants.
“I’ll be right back,” I whisper to Vincent. “Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m good. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, they gave me diet Coke instead of regular. I won’t be gone long. Promise.”
He nods. I follow the orange stair lights to the exit door and as I exit the theatre, I look for Casper. Immediately, I think this is a trick, but he grabs my hand and pulls me against the wall behind a giant movie display. It’s like our private little bubble filled with this weird tension.
“What are you doing?” I ask, searching his eyes. His hands splay out on the wall as if keeping me from leaving. It makes me feel a little uneasy, but I don’t let it show. I wonder why his eyes are so intense.
“Why did you come?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone over there. Are we done?”
“I’ve been dreaming of you for two weeks straight now.”
At this, my back straightens, and tightness clutches my stomach. This is not what I wanted or expected to hear.
“I wrote you a note so we could talk. But you never called so I thought it was useless and tried to ignore it. Then you came over to wake me up. Which was strange because I swear, I thought I died. This man shot me—”
“He was trying to shoot me, wasn’t he?” I tense and my stomach continues endless somersaults.
His eyebrows furrow. “Yeah. And we’re on the run. I was looking for this jewel—”
I shake my head. “Why are you messing with me?”
“I’m not.”
“Yeah, your word is as good as O.J. Simpson’s.” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“Megan, please. I’m not messing with you. I can’t explain what it is. But I’m so.” He pauses. “I’m so in love with you in my dreams. And the dreams are so intimate”
Heat rises on the back of my neck and it angers me. Someone overheard Cherry and me talking about my dream and he decided to play. People are so cruel. I can’t believe he would use my own dreams against me. I want to throw my full cup of soda on him, but I don’t want to cause a scene.
I take a breath. “I have nothing but contempt for you. So, if you would please, let me get back to my date.” I push him, he drops his hands, and I start toward the entrance to the theatre.
“You have to stay away from him,” he blurts, and I halt. “I don’t know why, but I don’t feel good about him.”
I scoff and shake my head. “You’ve got some nerve.” I take a step, but he grabs my arm. I can’t stop myself as I turn back to him, I chuck the Coke all over him. The brown liquid drips from his chin and soaks his shirt. I immediately want to apologize—this isn’t me, but maybe he will get the hint and leave me alone. He releases my arm.
“What have I done to you for you to hate me so much?” he shouts, wiping his face with his sleeve. I’m sure people are staring now.
I raise my eyebrows. “Wow. Would you like me to write it all down and hand in my 20-page research paper by next week?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Right now, is an e
xample. Stop harassing me, because I’m tired of this little game.” I leave him standing there, dripping with Coke, and ignore his calls for me. I find my way back to my seat and feel the tears surfacing, but I hold them in. That’s what hot showers are for.
“Are you okay?” Vincent whispers.
“Yeah.” I give a fake smile.
I can’t decide if the movie isn’t that funny or if my mind is set on what Casper said or didn’t say. Something he said doesn’t sit well with me. I haven’t told Cherry about how intimate the dreams are. Or about the mysterious jewel. Is he embellishing or can he see into my head or something? How does he know about the jewel? Maybe I did tell Cherry about it.
I know all this is another one of his tricks. Why would he tease me so cruelly over my dreams? Like I can help what I dream about. Why go through so much trouble? We are in high school. Doesn’t he have other things to take up his time?
And why would he tell me to stay away from Vincent? Who does he think he is acting protective over me?
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Vincent pulls into my driveway and I feel guilty for the silent car ride.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“What did he say to you?”
I meet his eyes. “What?”
“I saw him talking to you in line. Kinda figured he wanted to talk to you.”
He saw Casper talking to me? Did he even go to the restroom? Was he watching us? Maybe my brain is overthinking. “Nothing. It’s no big deal. He brought up bad memories is all.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I had a really good time tonight.” I try to put on my best smile.
He lifted an eyebrow. “You did?”
“Yes.” I wonder if he thinks my night was ruined by Casper. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
We get out of the car and he walks me to my front door. It isn’t that cold outside, but I know the cold weather will come back. Weather in Alabama is like playing the lottery. No one ever knows what’s going to happen from one day to the next. One December it snowed the day after a tornado raged through.
January Dreams Page 5