by Jordan Ford
I lower my tone and try to skip over the fact that I just insulted her. “Then who did it?”
“I don’t know! But I don’t appreciate you accusing me! Especially when you’re the one who most likely started it!” Her eyes flash an icy blue color. If they could glow red right now, I’m sure they would. “I’ve told you not to drink so much. You always get mouthy when you’re drunk.”
My shoulders ping back, but I have absolutely no defense. “How drunk was I?”
“You were off-your-ass crazy, Layla.” Her eyes round with a pointed look that’s supposed to make me feel small and stupid.
I resist the urge to shrink away from it and lift my chin, then narrow my eyes. “Why didn’t you stop me?”
“Excuse me? It’s my fault now?” Her vibrant red nails poke into her chest. “I’m not your mother. It’s not my responsibility to watch over you at a party.”
“That’s what friends are supposed to do for each other.”
Roxy’s mouth drops open, her face taking on a look of exaggerated horror. “You are too much. Do you have any idea how exhausting you are? The amount of times Mack has had to save your ass, or Michelle and I have had to cover for you? You’re reckless, Layla. Totally out of control, and I should not be made to feel bad about your behavior.” The words spit out of her mouth like bullets, whizzing straight at me.
They sting and puncture and wound. The only way to protect myself is to fire them straight back at her. “You know, you can be a really shitty friend sometimes, Rox.”
“Get out!” She points to her door. “You don’t come into my house and talk to me like that.”
“Whatever.” I force an eye roll, then snatch my bag off the floor and stomp from her room. My insides are trembling as I fumble down the stairs. I hate it when Roxy’s pissed with me. It always makes me feel sick.
My boots slam onto the wooden floor in the entryway, sounding like cannon fire. I swing the door open and nearly barrel straight into Roxy’s younger sister, Sam.
“Whoa.” She jumps out of my way and gives me one of her classic smirks. “The Roxanator getting the better of you, huh?”
All I can do is huff as I march past her and down the front path. The icy wind nips at my skin. I rub my hands together and glance over my shoulder, glaring up at Roxy’s window.
Dammit. Fighting with Roxy sucks. Wrapping my arms around myself, I head for home, my temper quickly dropping as my standard self-loathing kicks in.
I’m more mad at myself than anyone. I may not have drawn hideous cartoons of Kaija Bennett and driven her out of Nelson High, but I did get the ball rolling. Whoever plastered her secret on the walls of the school knew exactly where to start digging thanks to me and my big, drunken mouth.
#2:
Mushy Brain Syndrome
Finn
I pound the nail into the wood, then give the crossbeam a jiggle to make sure it’s sitting securely. The sound of Dad’s circular saw cuts through the air as he prepares the next section. He’s halfway through extending the Milligan’s house. They’re adding a new master bedroom suite on the second floor, along with an open office area at the top of the stairs. They’re also turning their downstairs kitchen, dining, and living area into an open plan-style living space with these bi-fold doors that will lead onto a huge deck. The architect’s plans look amazing, and I can’t wait to see the finished product.
Thanks to a week of bad weather, Dad’s a little behind schedule, so I offered to help him out. He doesn’t like me working too hard on the weekends, very aware that I only have four months left of my high school life. After that, it’s going to be all work. I’m starting my building apprenticeship with him in mid-July. He’s insisting I take a month off after graduation to enjoy a decent summer break.
Dad grew up in a family where hard work was king. It wasn’t until Grandpa Sean had a heart attack that everyone sat up and realized that working your ass to the bone isn’t exactly a balanced life. Since then, my dad’s been adamant about taking proper breaks and vacations.
Sliding my hammer back into my tool belt, I head over to Dad, ready to help him frame the next section of wall. We should be finished with the lower internal structure by the end of the day and then Dad can get to work on the upstairs wall and roof frames. At the rate he’s going, the place will be ready to go just before the summer kicks in.
Summer.
That word brings with it a mix of emotions. It’s going to mean the start of a whole new life for me…and the end of an era. Colt’s moving to Boise. Sure, it’s not the other side of the world, but he won’t be just around the corner anymore. And who knows what the hell Mack’s going to do. Poor guy’s been miserable since the Kaija blow-up. I’ve never seen him like this before. His speech was pretty epic, though. Gotta admire the guy for that. I can’t imagine him wanting to stick around Nelson. I still think he should go to New Zealand and make the big gesture. If he wants her back so bad, that’s probably the best way to do it.
Whatever he chooses to do, it won’t change the fact that all my best buddies are leaving, and although I’d never say it out loud, I’m really gonna miss them. I may not like standing in the Raiders’ spotlight, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like having them around. I’m always behind them, protecting them when I can. Being the calm in the storm, the one people turn to for help. Who the hell am I supposed to look after when they all split?
Tyler, I suppose.
I can’t help a fleeting cringe.
I love Tyler like a brother, but the guy can be a thoughtless fool when he wants to be. The things that come out of his mouth. He likes to talk a big game, put on a show for the ladies. He already thinks he’s pretty awesome, so I’m sure it’ll be even worse when he’s a senior. I don’t mind keeping track of his wild and goofy ways, but it won’t be the same without Colt’s bemused smiles and Mack’s eye rolling to keep me laughing.
Glancing through the skeleton structure, my eyes skim the road and catch sight of Layla storming down the street. Her dark hair is flying behind her as she clips along in her heels.
Speaking of wild.
I roll my eyes, noting her pale complexion and the dark bags under her lashes. She’s probably still hung over from partying last night. What’s the bet she’s walking home from the Carmichael’s place. I don’t know what she and Roxy got up to, but it would have been wild and out of control.
That’s the way Layla likes to play it.
I think it’s stupid.
She’s absolutely beautiful, her slender body toned to perfection after years of cheerleading. Her hair is luscious and thick, her gorgeous face and big brown eyes enough to bring any guy to his knees.
But not me.
I’m not interested in being the thousandth guy to kiss her. I have no idea how many guys she’s slept with or how many parties she’s gotten off-her-ass drunk at, but I know keeping her out of trouble has practically been a full-time job for Mack. It’s not fair. He’s not her father. She probably has no idea how seriously he takes his responsibility, how hard he’s tried to fill his father’s shoes. She’s put him through the ringer so many times, and I don’t understand why she can’t just pull herself together.
Does she not get how much of a burden she is?
I don’t like seeing my friend’s life being controlled by a selfish girl who’s so wrapped up in her own demise that she doesn’t even notice the effect it has on one of the best people I know.
Layla’s arms are crossed tight as she marches down the street…once again so absorbed in herself she’s oblivious to the world around her. She hasn’t seen me yet, so I throw her a disapproving scowl.
“Pretty girl.” Dad’s soft observation makes me flinch.
I spin away from Layla with a nonchalant grunt.
“Not your type?” Dad’s dark brown eyes are always so keen. He never raises his voice or gets in my face, but he knows how to subtly get the goods when he wants them.
I don’t want to speak badly of Layla. Just
because I don’t approve of her lifestyle doesn’t mean my dad needs to hear about it. Next time Mack comes over to our place, I don’t want Dad subtly asking what his little sister’s been up to.
I shake my head. “You know I’m not great with girls, Dad.”
It’s the truth. The guys always hassle me for never hooking up. Hell, at one point Mack thought I was gay. It’s got nothing to do with that. I tell everyone I’m waiting for the right girl, which is mostly true, but… I just seem to have an inability to talk to the girls I like.
Girls I’m not interested in? Not a problem.
Girls who make my insides stir? Big issue.
Every time I try to talk to them, I get a serious case of mushy brain syndrome. All I can seem to think is, “Hot girl. Hot girl. Hot girl.”
I’m pathetic.
Once I’m past the hot girl freak-out, my mind then starts thrumming with the mantra, “Please like me. Please like me. Please like me.”
How the hell are they supposed to when I can’t even think what to say to them?
I’ve made out with a few girls at bonfires before, but that’s only when they’ve thrown their drunken selves at me and I’ve taken the opportunity to enjoy the moment. I’ve never had a steady girlfriend before. Never found that one girl who can put me at ease enough to chat with them without feeling like I’m going to pass out.
“Sometimes these things take practice, son.” Dad tips his head in Layla’s direction. We’re about to lose sight of her as she disappears around the corner. “You can take five and go talk to her if you want.”
“No, I’m good.” I brush my hand through the air and walk over to the beams he needs help with.
Dad makes this clicking sound with his tongue. “The poor girl’s missing out. You’ll be a good catch, one day, Finn Jones.”
I snicker. “Whatever, Pop.”
Although I’m scoffing at him right now, I hope he’s right. I’d really love to meet a girl I can take care of. Someone who makes me smile. Someone I can hold in my arms and talk to without having to think about it. My parents have an awesome marriage. They make it look so easy. That’s what I want, to be with someone who can be my friend as well as my girl.
#3:
Deaf and Dumb
Layla
I stomp into the house, about to slam the door shut, but something stops me. I don’t want to draw any attention. I’m still riled about Roxy, but my anger is competing big time with a great big glob of guilt that’s sticking to the lining of my stomach and making me want to throw up.
My stupid, big mouth has ruined Mack’s life.
I have to tell him. I have to apologize, but I’m petrified he’ll never talk to me again.
Biting the corner of my mouth, I gently shut the door and creep towards the kitchen. He’s probably in there making breakfast or something. My heart starts to race as I round the corner, prepared to spill my guts. Instead, I’m affronted with a sight I’m still struggling to come to terms with…even after three years of it.
My stepfather, Martin, has his arms wrapped around Mom’s waist. Her fingers are threaded behind his neck and they’re making out like a couple of teenagers. My upper lip curls as Martin’s hand glides down her back and then over her butt, giving it a little squeeze. Mom giggles into his mouth then rises on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss.
Gross! Their tongues are touching. Ew! That’s so sick and disgusting.
I can’t stomach it.
She’s in the wrong man’s arms!
I want Dad back. If he were here, none of this crazy shit would be happening to me right now. I’d be a good girl. I’d be happy. We’d still be living in the house where I was born, with the big backyard and the treehouse Mack and Dad built. I wouldn’t mind sitting in my tire swing and watching through the window as my parents kissed in the kitchen. But no! I have to watch Mom and Martin Frickin’ Wiseman play tonsil hockey in this monstrous house with its cold tiles and cream carpet, its stupid curving staircase with the white bannister, and the intricate, pretentious chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
Stupid chandelier. I hate that thing!
I stomp up the stairs, wishing for a past I’ll never get back.
Shoving my door open, I throw my bag down and let out a frustrated little scream before flicking the door closed behind me. I’m waiting for the satisfying slam, but it never happens.
I spin around with a scowl that only deepens. My stepbrother, Derek, is standing in my doorway, wearing olive cargo pants and a blue knit sweater that zips up to his chin. His sharp features and dark, glinting eyes always make me think of Voldemort. Chop off his nose, shove some white powder on his face, and you’d have the perfect lookalike.
“What do you want?” I snap.
“Just coming to say hi.”
No, he’s not. Derek never comes to say hi. He comes to taunt, to tease, to inflict.
Thankfully, he’s only here two weekends a month and the odd holiday. I swear if he lived here full time, I’d be moving in with Roxy…not that she’d let me after what I just accused her of.
I roll my eyes as Derek smirks and steps into my room. It’s not a hot pink mess like Roxy’s. I’ve never had the heart to decorate, so it’s remained a bland, beige room with minimal furniture, a plain white duvet cover, and a cluttered desk in the corner. There’s a framed photo of my dad that sits on top of my wooden dresser next to my jewelry box, and it’s about the only thing I truly care about in this room that I can’t quite make my home.
“Having a bad day, Layla?” Derek slides his hands into his pockets, looking smug and irritating as usual.
I run a hand through my hair and ignore him, inching closer to my bag on the floor. “Where’s Mack?”
“Don’t know.” Derek shrugs. “He left just after I got here.”
“Big surprise,” I mutter, picking up my bag and casually swinging it over my shoulder. If Derek’s here and Mack’s not, I’m out.
His leering gaze travels down my body, sending a chill up my spine. I hate the way his eyes seem to shine when he’s looking at me.
“Leaving again so soon? I thought you might want to hang out.”
“Whatever,” I mumble and go to move past him.
He jumps in my path, leaning in to me and sniffing. “Jasmine today. I like it when you smell sweet.” The back of his finger brushes my cheek.
I jerk away from him and wipe his touch off my skin. “You’re such a creep. Don’t touch me.”
He snickers and licks the corner of his lips, his eyebrows wiggling. With a disgusted huff, I shove him away and bolt out of my room. I don’t like leaving him alone in my bedroom, but I’m not going to stand there while he grosses me out with innuendo. He’s only doing it to taunt me, and I know I shouldn’t let it rile me so bad. I should stand my ground and give him some pitying look that will make him feel small and insignificant. One of the ones Roxy’s so good at. But it’s just so much easier to walk away.
I have no idea where I’m going to go. Roxy’s is out, and there’s no point going to Michelle because she always sides with Roxy over me. I guess that leaves a solo trip to the mall. Maybe Mom can drop me. I’m halfway down the stairs when she and Martin walk into the main entryway. They’re both laughing about something, catching a light moment in the midst of Mack’s I’m not playing football anymore storm. I should be happy for them, but when Martin catches Mom’s arm and pulls her against him… Ugh! She’s still giggling as he places his mouth on hers. She wraps her arms around him and he leans her back a little. It’s like their bodies are suctioned together as they once again make out, unaware of the fact that other people live in this house too.
Seriously!
“Don’t you guys know how to do anything else?” I shout, my voice coming out way louder than I meant it to.
They jerk apart and Mom looks up the stairs, giving me a warning glare that I’m supposed to pay attention to.
I don’t.
Hustling down into the entryway, I scow
l at them both, making sure my boots are nice and loud on the tiles as I make my way to the door.
Mom presses her lips together as if steeling herself, then forces a smile. “Everything okay, Layla?”
“No!” I spin on my heel, waving my hand in the air for extra effect. “Everything is not okay! This house is turning to shit!”
“Layla.” Mom’s eye bulge. “Watch your language.”
Martin scratches the back of his head, his lips wrestling as he fights a smile. Oh, he thinks this is funny! My nostrils flare as I decide, for once, not to hold it all in.
I point up the stairwell. “Derek’s being an asshole. That creep likes nothing better than to come here on the weekends and taunt me.”
Mom blanches, her mouth popping open with a gasp before she turns to Martin with an apologetic smile. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, not looking at me when Mom turns back with a sharp “Don’t talk about your brother that way.”
“He’s not my brother!”
She crosses her arms, her hazel gaze steely as she readies herself for yet another mother/daughter showdown. “Really? We’re going to have this conversation again? Why can’t you just be nice to him?”
“Mom! You have no freaking idea!” I practically scream.
Martin clears his throat. “Well, maybe you could explain it to us.”
I glare at his narrow face, at his gentle blue gaze that’s supposed to win me over. What the hell does this imposter know? All he’s done is storm into my life and steal my mother, and he brought along the world’s most annoying human being for the ride.
“Like you give a rat’s ass,” I mutter under my breath, but not soft enough.
Mom’s face flashes with anger as she points her finger at me. “Okay, you know what? We can’t talk to you when you are acting like a surly, rude drama queen. Now you better start using some manners, young lady, or this discussion is over and you can march yourself straight back upstairs to your room!”
Martin steps up behind her, gently laying his hand on the back of her neck, being the support Mom needs as she deals with her impossible daughter. Mom glances at him with a grateful yet agonized smile, and I know it’s hopeless. What discussion? How can we possibly discuss anything when they’re never going to hear me? Mom’s so busy worrying about me offending Martin and his precious son that she’ll cut me off before I can even offer my side of the story.