January Dreams

by Carrigan Richards

  All day is a blur and I’m so sleepy, but I’m scared to pass out in class for fear I’ll dream again. And I don’t want to say something in the middle of class. Or scream if a cannon goes off in my dream world.

  On my way to third period science, I feel someone tenderly take my hand and pull me off to the side. I jump and I’m ready to attack, but when I turn, I’m shocked to see Casper. He looks exhausted. My heart launches into rapid-fire mode, not because he scared the crap out of me. We haven’t spoken in weeks, and I thought for sure the dreams would have stopped by now, but they’ve only worsened.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Will you please talk to me?” Casper pleads. “This is driving me crazy.”

  I sigh and try not to focus on all the people staring at us as they pass. Like they’re shocked that Casper’s speaking to someone like me. I meet his eyes. “Fine. I’ll call you tonight when I get off work, okay?”

  “Can I have your number in case you decide to throw mine away?”

  I stare at him and he raises his eyebrows. I reluctantly agree. If this is what it takes to get rid of him, fine. He can call all he wants, but I don’t have to answer. “Do you have a pen?”

  He holds one out but the end of it looks as though a dog chewed on it. He clears his throat and reaches for another one. “Sorry,” he says. “Little on edge lately.”

  I take the non-chewed pen and he holds out his hand. I disregard the tingling sensation I get when I touch his hand. I write my number, hand him back his pen, and walk away. I can’t believe I gave Casper Truitt my number. I am stupid. I totally set myself up for endless prank calls and who knows what. My number could be posted all over town if someone wanted to have a good time. I wouldn’t put it past him or his friends to do that. What have I done?

  Chapter Thirteen

  What on earth possessed me to give Casper my number? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Am I that lonely now that Vincent and I aren’t together or whatever we are? Casper just wants to talk. It isn’t like I’m actually going to fall in love with him. After class, I meander toward English, grateful that it’s the end of the day, but I dread having to work tonight. I can’t wait to get home to face plant into my pillow and stay that way until the morning.

  “Why are you talking to Casper?” Amber McLachlan demands as she shuts my locker door narrowly missing my hand. I jump. Her blue eyes cut into me. Her long bleach blonde hair is full of thick waves. She stands my height and inches forward, making me step back. Her vanilla scent engulfs me, and I cough.

  “Don’t you think you should limit your perfume to one spray? I think five is enough.”

  She doesn’t laugh. “Why are you talking to Casper?”

  I personally don’t see how it’s any of her business. Her loud voice stops some students in their tracks to watch us, like we’re going to have a cat fight any minute.

  “Get ‘er, Amber!” I hear someone antagonize.

  “He talked to me,” I argue. “So, if you wanna be mad at someone, why not him?”

  “Yeah, like I believe that for one second. Why would Casper of all people want to talk to you? Trailer trash you are.”

  I’m almost positive you actually have to live in a trailer to be called that. But this is Amber McLachlan. Straight-C student. Captain of the dance team. Homecoming Queen. Boyfriend expert.

  “You’re right. I don’t know why Casper would talk to me. Wait, maybe he got tired of your whoring.” I know I shouldn’t have said it. But sometimes when I get pushed, that’s what comes out. It’s like I can’t hold back.

  Next thing I know, I’m lying flat on the shiny concrete floor with my face throbbing and a bunch of oh’s sounding from the crowd.

  She kneels down beside me, wafting vanilla my way. “Next time I catch you talking to him, you’d better run.” She leaves, taking the crowd with her like she is some hero.

  I’m angry. Beyond angry. I sit up brushing my fingertips across my cheek. I know I’m going to have a bruise. What the hell? Psycho Amber punches me for talking to a guy? I sigh. And these are the Days of our Lives at Spring Valley High.

  “Are you okay?” a small girl with long, brown hair asks as she picks up my book.

  I nod and stand up. “Thanks,” I tell her, taking my book.

  “I’m so sorry. You might wanna put some ice on your cheek. It’s starting to swell.” She gives me such a pitiful look.

  “Thanks.”

  She walks away and I’m left in the empty hallway alone. I really want to skip English, but I don’t want to get into trouble. Last thing I need is another grounding. As I walk in, the bell rings and the one and only empty seat is right across Casper. Great. Now I have a class with him? How did he manage to get into AP English?

  I move my hair so it can hide the oncoming bruise, but I know most everyone in the class saw what happened. And only one person stopped to help. Soon the entire school will know what a weakling I am. A weakling, an easy lay, a crazy psycho witch. My reputation is certainly growing into a strong one.

  I inadvertently look up and lock eyes with Casper. His angular face holds such concern. It’s so fake and I want to slap him or something. I glower at him instead. It’s his fault. I can hear whispers from people talking about how Amber kicked my ass and how I’m a wimp. Heat rises inside of me and I sink into my seat waiting for class to end.

  My cheek aches and I need to find some ice soon. I’m sure it’s already started swelling, since I can see my skin bulging out under my eye. My head is pounding and as sad and pathetic as it sounds, I want to curl up in a ball and cry.

  As my awesome luck has it, Mr. Burress announces an assignment for the first day and teams Casper and me together. I groan internally, especially when he takes his seat next to me. My heart hammers wildly in my chest.

  “Hey,” he says.

  I cross my arms, refusing to look at him. Can this day get any worse? I can’t wait to hear the rumors that I somehow forced him to partner with me.

  “I’ll be back.” He stands from his desk and tells Mr. Burress something, then leaves. When he returns, he places a Styrofoam cup on the corner of my desk. His eyes hold the most apologetic look I’ve ever seen in his eyes—and that is a lot, coming from him. But it isn’t enough to soften me.

  I glare at him. “Leave me alone.”

  “I brought you some ice.”

  I want to knock the cup over or throw the ice on him. It’s his fault anyway. But I take the ice and mumble ‘thanks. I press a large cube to my cheek and although it stings at first, I’m relieved.

  “I’m sorry. She shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Do you know why she did it?” I ask coolly.

  He shakes his head.

  “Because she saw us talking. Were you one of the ones cheering her on?”

  He sighs. His brown eyes are no longer remorseful. Instead, they are intense, like in my dream. “No, Megan.”

  “Well can you tell your girlfriend to chill out and stop harassing me?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “You might wanna tell her that. I can’t say what will happen if she confronts me again. But I’d hate to mess up her pretty face.” Except I can’t fight. I have never been taught.

  His lips curl into a grin, obviously laughing at me.

  “This isn’t funny.”

  His grin fades. “No, you’re right.”

  “Why are you talking to me?”

  I wait and he scratches the back of his head. He either doesn’t want to answer or doesn’t have a reason. It only means he’s playing a cruel joke.

  “Well?” I urge.

  “I think I like you,” he finally says looking down into my eyes. I ignore that my heart skips a beat. Why do I care that he “thinks” he likes me?

  “I’ll make it easy for you. I don’t like you so you can stop talking to me.” I turn back to the blank page in front of me. I haven’t even started the assignment and already half the class has passed. My cheek throbs.

  Th
roughout class, we analyze the meaning and symbolism of some British poem. I’m mostly quiet, even though Casper tries to make small talk, but I don’t bite.

  As soon as the bell rings, I’m out of the room. I make my way outside and dark clouds warn me that any second it will start raining. I toss my backpack into my car and climb in. It’s cold and the heater doesn’t work. Neither does the radio. I hate this car, but Ron is adamant that I pay them back for the car that I didn’t get to pick out. I turn the ignition, but it doesn’t start. My stomach sinks. I try again and again, but nothing happens. I hate this car. This is the third time it’s left me stranded.

  Could this day get worse? I want to cry. I miss Vincent, and I’m angry that he hasn’t even bothered to talk to me. We’re a couple. Aren’t couples supposed to tell each other everything?

  Someone knocks on the window and I almost jump out of my skin. I turn and see Casper by the car. Of course. I open the door and get out. “What?”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Why are you here? Aren’t you afraid that Amber will see us?” I cross my arms.

  “Are you having car problems?”

  “Are you stalking me?”

  “I was trying to catch you. What’s wrong with your car?”

  “I don’t know. It won’t start.”

  “Do you need a ride?”

  “I have to work,” I snap.

  “I can take you. Are you sure you want to go?”

  “No,” I answer mildly. I’m tired of being angry. I want to sleep, but I know if my parents found me asleep instead of at work they would yell or worse ground me. I learned my lesson before. Once I had given blood at school and came home feeling a little disoriented and faint, so I called into work. Big mistake. Ron was not pleased. I never call out, so I’m sure my manager won’t mind. She’s always been understanding with me.

  A harsh wind blows, cutting through my coat. I hug myself and turn away from the wind.

  “Come on. We can hang out and talk. Please?”

  I really need a ride. Everyone I know is working and I can’t call Cherry because she has to work. Vincent…who knows what’s up with him. “Fine. Where are we going?”

  “Wherever you want.”

  “I have a weird request.” I bite my lip. “Can you take me home first?” I need my work uniform to change into so that when I come home, my parents will think I went to work. Sounds dumb, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do sometimes.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I follow him to his hideous yellow SUV he’d gotten for his birthday. He opens the passenger door for me, and I get in. Of course, he got a brand-new car. The new car smell makes me nauseous, though I usually like it. He comes around to the other side, and slides on an old faded crimson Alabama hat as he gets in.

  “Ugh. As if I needed one more reason to dislike you.” I look out the window.

  “Why? Are you an Auburn fan?”

  “Yes.”

  If there’s one thing people don’t understand about the South, or Alabama more specifically, football is intense here. You’re born either an Alabama or Auburn fan. Not like you have much choice at birth.

  He sucks in a breath through his teeth and puts his hand to his heart. “That stings,” he teases but I’m not in the mood to laugh. I think he senses it because he turns serious. “I’m sorry about your cheek.”

  “You should be. She did it because you won’t leave me alone.”

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Oh really? Will you be my knight and shining armor and make her stop? I doubt it. She punched me. Who does that?”

  “She has issues.”

  “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

  He pulls up the driveway to my house and I glance at the clock. It’s after 4:30.

  “Give me a minute,” I tell him as I climb out of the SUV and close the door. Inside the house, my dogs jump and happily greet me. I jog upstairs, toss my books on the bed and grab my teal polo. I glance into the mirror. Bad idea. My cheek is purple and puffy. It’s gruesome. I really don’t want people seeing it. I part my hair, so it covers the giant bruise.

  A thrill of exhilaration courses through me. I’m about to spend time with Casper. I’m not sure I should feel this way. On my way out the door, I get a Ziploc bag and fill it with a couple of ice cubes.

  I lift the handle of the passenger door and climb in, barely beating the pouring rain that dumps from the dark sky. He blasts the heat, to which I’m grateful.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  I glance at the clock and my heart stops. We have to get out of my neighborhood before my parents see us. My stepdad has a habit of leaving work early.

  “Don’t you need to wait and tell your parents about your car?”

  “No. Can you start driving? Away from here. Please?”

  “Okay,” he slowly replies. He shifts the car in reverse and backs out of the driveway and turns at the stop sign. “Are you afraid of being home?”

  “No.”

  “So why do you seem freaked out? You afraid someone will see us?”

  “Yeah. My parents.”

  “They don’t like you being with guys?”

  “I don’t want to explain the giant bruise on my face. I also don’t want them knowing I called out of work.”

  “I’m sure they’d understand.”

  I give a short laugh. “You don’t know my parents.”

  I can feel his eyes on me briefly, but I stare out the window. I call work and tell them I’m sick. They buy it, probably because of how dismal I sound. Suddenly, I don’t think this is such a good idea to be alone with Casper. He is a manipulator. He uses girls. And when he is done with them, he tosses them aside like they’re yesterday’s newspaper. But for some strange reason, I feel comfortable around him.

  “So, what do you do when you skip work?”

  “Usually hang out with Cherry.”

  “Why would your parents get upset that you called out of work? Wouldn’t they see how it would make you uncomfortable?”

  “They wouldn’t care.”

  “But it’s your job. Your money.”

  “Not really. They take my paychecks.”

  “What?” he asks, shocked.

  “Look, I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  “Okay,” he relents. “Want to grab something to eat?”

  I tense. It would feel too much like a date and I’m not on a date with Casper Truitt. Especially if Amber sees us.

  “I don’t want people to see me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because your girlfriend mangled my face after she saw us talking.”

  The muscle in his jaw twitches. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “Why do you hate me so much?”

  “Why are you being nice to me so suddenly?”

  He slows to a stop at a red light. “I’m so sorry for offering you a ride. But since you seem so repulsed by my presence, why don’t you walk?”

  I turn my head to see the challenge in his eye. He doesn’t think I will do it, but I’ve been around my dramatic mother plenty of times for her to rub off on me. Although, I try so hard not to be like her. Today, apparently, isn’t that day. Glaring, I open the door, and hop out into the pouring, freezing rain. It’s stupid, I know. Casper yells my name, but my slamming of the door cuts him off. The light turns green and the car behind him honks while I charge toward the sidewalk.

  Chapter Fourteen

  My clothes are soaking wet and it’s cold. My black hair is sprawled all over my shoulders in a wet mass. I’m sure I look awesome.

  I walk inside the Waffle House and avoid the disapproving look from the chubby woman behind the counter. Her thin, brown hair is pulled into a messy bun and I assume it’s her attempt at trying to cover some of the baldness. There is a man sitting on one of the orange stools shoveling in his food. I assume he is the proud owner of the eighteen-wheeler par
ked next to the building. The cook, who is a young black man, sips coffee and reads a newspaper.

  I slide into the hard booth and shiver. Is there ever a Waffle House that believes in heat? It is freezing outside, and I swear they still have the air on.

  I pull my hair down over the right side of my face, which is facing the windows, luckily. The waitress comes over with a pot of coffee. Her short-sleeved white shirt has an orange stain in a bad spot on her chest.

  “Ain’t you a little young to be by yourself?” she asks with a thick Southern accent. The same one you hear whenever they need to interview the public on the Channel 13 news. Her front teeth are brown and small. The fat in her hands look as if it’s constricting them. That is mean, but the look in her brown eyes clearly shows she is judging me.

  “You want coffee?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “I’ll have water and a grilled cheese.”

  “You want hash browns?”

  “No.”

  She turns back toward the counter. “Hey D,” she yells. “Grilled cheese.”

  “Comin’ right up.”

  I hear the door behind me open and I have a sinking suspicion it’s Casper.

  “That must be the boyfriend.” The waitress makes no effort to keep her voice low.

  I hoped he wouldn’t find me, but he probably saw me from his rear-view mirror. I cross my arms and peer out the window at the pouring rain. He slides in the booth across from me, drenched and his precious Bama cap is soaked. He removed his sweater. Water from the rim of his hat drips onto his shirt, which is now clinging to his chest and does not hide the hard muscles. I feel his eyes on me which makes heat tingle in my cheeks.

  The waitress sighs as if we are disturbing her and sets down my water. “Do you want coffee?” she asks Casper.

  “No.”

  “Are you eatin’ anything?”

  “No.”

  She goes back to the counter and he glares at me. His eyes look black under his cap. He places his arms on the table and leans forward.

  “You think that’s funny?” His voice has a hard edge to it.