“What? What’s wrong?”
I uncover my mouth to reveal a guilty but satisfying grin. “I slapped Jet when I ran out of the dance.”
Brett’s eyes bulge. “You did what?”
“I slapped him. Hard. He said something and then I felt his hand on my shoulder and I didn’t even think, I just slapped the heck out of him. I know I should apologize. And I know it’s bad but...I think he kind of deserved it.”
“He absolutely deserved it. Also, I’m not going to lie, it’s pretty hot that you slapped him.” We both laugh and then fall into a reflective silence until Brett sighs heavily.
“Do you ever feel like things happen ten times fast? High school happened ten times fast. You start hanging out with some people and they make it so easy to get lost so quickly. I lost myself and forgot who I was––who I am.” He pauses. “Things changed when I joined the lacrosse team. I mean, they’re my team and I like them, but it was like all of a sudden I became this guy that would hook up with girls and then talk about it in the locker room. I’ve never wanted to be that guy. Thank God you attacked me and had your way with me in the hallway. Otherwise, who knows the person I would have become.” I laugh and nudge his shoulder.
He looks down at my hand that’s still pulling out grass. “It’s insanely sexy when you pull out grass. It’s so hot. Even when we were kids I’d be like, ‘She’s so hot when she pulls out grass.’” I giggle.
“I never even noticed I do that.”
Our hands find each other and I rest my head on his shoulder. The breeze is chilly but crisp enough to keep you alert. The leaves in the park are yellow and orange and have begun falling on the grass. A couple of women jog by with strollers and we can hear the toddler’s hooting and howling as they blow past us.
“Thank you for making me jello for lunch when I got my braces on and couldn’t eat anything.”
I smile at the memory.
He was drowned in misery and pain. He could be such a whiner when we were kids. His Dad took him to get his braces put on but overlooked how tender his teeth would be so he didn’t pack him a special lunch. His parents had a lot going on that year during their divorce.
I remember the night before and my mom made jello for me to take for lunch. She was so proud of me for wanting do something nice for someone else.
“Don’t thank me. Thank Mama Mary Scott. She made it,” I tell him.
“Only because you asked her to,” he counters. I smile and let out a soft laugh.
“Yeah, I did.”
His face inches closer to mine.
“Thank you.”
And closer.
I nod and our lips meet tenderly but deliberately. We’ve both been waiting to do this again since our kiss Thursday night. We part slightly enough for me to take a sharp inhale. Every kiss with Brett is as electric as the first time we kissed. Lucky for me, his fat lip doesn’t seem to hurt anymore.
He kisses me again but fuller and deeper. I can feel the breeze blow my hair forward and he tucks it back behind my ear. Our soundtrack is the rustle of brittle leaves tinkering against each other like wind chimes in the soft wind. I have to fight every urge in my body that’s telling me to get on top of him because:
We are in a public park, Ramona.
Before we get carried away, I pull back. I close my eyes and try memorizing everything about the kiss so I can revisit this memory later.
“Just to clarify, you’re not going to hook up with Ryan anymore, right?” he asks then scrunches up his face like he’s waiting for another blow to the face. My eyes pop open in surprise.
“No. Definitely not. Speaking of ten times fast...Ryan and I started and ended quickly.” I see the tension release from chest. I shouldn’t be nervous to tell him how I feel but the butterflies start flittering around in my belly anyway. “Brett, I like you. I want to be with you. For real.” I’m shocked by my confidence but I know what I want and I don’t want to let him go.
“For really reals?” he asks grinning.
“Yes,” I reply, smiling. “For really reals.”
“Ramona, all I want is to be with you and nobody else,” he says bluntly like he’s known forever.
“You have no idea what you just did to my heart. Come on, let’s kiss again.” I pull at his sweater until his mouth is against mine.
After a few minutes he breaks the spell and says, “I have to go get ready for practice. I’m suspended but luckily they’re letting me go.”
“That’s good, at least,” I say as we stand up and start folding the blanket together.
“So, what do you say? Same time tomorrow?” He grins, his gold eyes shimmering.
“Same time tomorrow.”
We exchange goofy smiles until he kisses me on the cheek.
“Bye, Girlfriend.”
“Bye, Boyfriend.”
As I turn to walk away, he slaps my butt and I squeal. He just laughs and keeps walking.
I could seriously get used to this.
Brett Dixon
Monday 11/4
I cannot believe how much can happen in such a short amount of time. It really did all happen ten times fast.
It’s like all the agony and despair of the last two months redeemed itself in the hour I just spent with Ramona. Maybe it’s cuz I finally grew a pair or maybe it’s cuz traumatic events bond people (I’ve heard that happens) or maybe it’s cuz I’m in love, or maybe it’s all of the above, but I told Ramona everything. How I felt and what I’ve been going through and everything. And I told her thank you for making me jello.
Lucky for me she’s going to let me stick around so I can give all the love back that she’s given to me. This journal is about to get epically mushy. I guess I really am in love.
I don’t understand how being suspended is a punishment. I get three days off school. I get a couple zeroes on some homework assignments, no big deal. I get to rest and regroup before I have everyone in school asking me questions and spreading rumors about my black eye. It’s not really black so much as it is purple and yellow now.
I called Mr. Dirks about letting Jimmy off the hook and I don’t know if he got laid last night or if he just ate a really good meal but he was in a really good mood and decided to let Jimmy come back to school tomorrow. I didn’t even get a lecture. All he asked me was if I learned my lesson and if I wanted I could make an appointment to go in and talk to him about it. It was nice of him, but I don’t really know that I feel like sitting in Mr. Dirks’ messy office talking about my feelings. Honestly, the guy kind of creeps me out. He’s a nice guy, don’t get me wrong. Its just that ‘stache, man...It’s creepy. Don’t tell him I said that, Mr. Chan.
I still have to talk to Veronica but she seriously scares me. I can’t just wing that apology. It needs to be strategized. Once she sees my contrite puppy dog eyes, maybe she won’t have the urge to stab me in the throat. I hope.
Oh, man, I forgot to ask Ramona why she was so angry that day I found her outside of my house when we were kids. She probably doesn’t even remember but I’m still curious and it’s going to bug me until I ask her.
Two more days off school. Time to get reacquainted* with Netflix, Playstation and probably cold showers if I keep making out with Ramona. I know she’s a virgin...actually...I don’t know that. Maybe she did it with Ryan. That fuc bastard. I swear I’m trying not to hate him.
You know what? It doesn’t even matter. I’ve been with other people and maybe she has too but who cares. We’re together now and that’s what matters. If she wants to wait to have sex then I’ll wait as long as it takes. I hope it doesn’t take too long though.
P.S. If I spelled that right I deserve extra credit. *
CHAPTER 30
A SMILE TAKES OVER my face and my heart starts to putter as I pull my Toyota into Brett’s driveway. Charm radiates from his white colonial style house that’s complete with black window shutters. There’s a large plaque next to the porch stairs solidifying the house’s historical landmark sta
tus. I pause before ringing his doorbell and admire the fact that the first mayor of Cayden Springs lived in this house way back when. I’ve been to his house my fair share of times and it never sank-in how important and meaningful his house is to our city. It’s just always been Brett’s charming, old, white, (sometimes creepy) house.
We didn’t hang out too often at Brett’s house after his parents got divorced. His mom ended up keeping the house but she kept a tight ship and she didn’t want kids running around outside. Locals and people from out of town would occasionally come up and read the plaque as part of a “self tour” of historical landmarks. Those people always made Mrs. Dixon irate but, apparently, there are certain standards and rules when you own a historical landmark.
Basically, the house wasn’t as kid friendly as The Wilder’s.
Forget my house. It was too boring.
We preferred our time outside riding bikes and playing games, anyway. Playing outside was this neutral ground where we were free from parents.
I hear the creaks of the stairs as Brett walks down to open the door.
“You haven’t been here in so long,” he says peering at me like the sun just peaked out of a dark cloud. Which is funny considering that it’s actually pouring outside and the reason I’m meeting Brett at his house and not the Oak tree.
He grabs my arms and pulls me inside and before he even closes the door his arms are wrapped around me tucking me into his chest. My body sucks in the heat from his hands as he moves them up and down my back and sides. A shiver runs through my spine and he squeezes me tighter. His long sleeve shirt smells like fabric softener and...
“Cookies. You smell like cookies,” I say, looking up at him with my arms still hooked around his waist. My mouth waters at the smell and I get the urge to never let go of him. He chuckles.
“I just ate one. My mom made some last night. Come on,” he pulls away but keeps my hand in his as he leads me toward the kitchen. My new addiction to Brett paired with my weakness for chocolate chip cookies makes this a very dangerous situation. I force down the desire to wrap myself around him for now.
The original dark hardwood floors are undulated and adorned with cracks, scuffs and lines from the wear and tear of the last hundred years. Each floorboard possesses it’s own sound. Some of the boards are shrill, some thud and some only make a mere peep. Let’s just say that sneaking out of this house is impossible.
We walk through the living room that’s to the left of the front door. The antique furniture sits on top of an oriental rug that is all perfectly arranged in front of the fireplace. The fireplace, that would take the spot of a television in anybody else’s living room, is tucked into a large mantel. The mantel holds a rustic bronze art piece, candles that have stayed the same length since the last time I was here and two pictures of Brett. One is his school picture from the fourth grade and the other is an action shot of Brett playing lacrosse.
His kitchen has the same small layout as it did over a hundred years ago with the addition of all new appliances. Brett goes straight to the fridge as I sit down in the tiny wooden breakfast nook in front of the plate of cookies. I grab a chocolate chip cookie and begin to nibble at it while looking out the bay windows. His backyard has a small grassy area that gradually transitions into towering dense woods.
“Here,” Brett sets down a glass of cold apple juice for me, evoking a shy smile from me.
“I love apple juice.”
“I know. I also remember that you hate milk and orange juice. So...apple juice and chocolate chip cookies.” He raises his glass to cheers me. We clink our apple juice glasses and take a sip. As he sips, I feel his eyes roam down my body and I grow self- conscious. I’m wearing skinny jeans with a fitted red flannel shirt. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.” He tosses some cookies into a napkin and grabs my hand, leading me upstairs.
I take the moment to admire Brett from the back. He’s wearing his dark jeans, a maroon long sleeve henley shirt and black socks. The soft fabric of his shirt stretches snugly all the way down his back and shoulders enough to define his broad muscular frame.
“Apple juice and chocolate chip cookies...Brett Dixon, are you trying to seduce me?” I grin and I can see the back of his neck turn a light shade of pink.
“I’m not trying, it’s just happening naturally because I’m that good,” he says, confidently. I burst out laughing. “What?” he asks in defense. “I know you well, Ramona Bean Scott. I remember a lot of things you like.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?” I ask as I begin to take a look around his room. The walls are painted a dim antique white. His bed is larger now and covered with a dark blue fluffy comforter. I place my glass on the desk next to his bed. His desk is made of a lighter colored wood that contrasts the dark floor. There are textbooks stacked on top with a composition journal notebook (that actually looks like it’s being used) that says: Mr. Chan, 4th period English and a collection of books on the shelf above the desk.
I lean in closer to read the titles of the books. The Perks of Being a Wallflower, The Outsiders, Fahrenheit 451 (which we had read last year in school) and all seven Harry Potter books. The Harry Potter fanatic in me oozes with excitement.
All four of us loved reading those books. In eighth grade we decided to all dress up as characters from the books. Brett was Harry Potter, Jimmy was Ron Weasley, Veronica was Luna Lovegood and I was naturally, Hermione Granger.
“Like...I remember that you like when I do this…” He takes my hips and pulls me to him. He holds the side of my face and starts kissing me. He tastes like chocolate.
We pull apart and he moves to open the window. I climb on top of his bed and let the feathers of the pillows and the blankets absorb my body. Brett pulls the window up and it slides half way back down. “I hate this old house sometimes.” He jams the window up hard this time and it stays open. I feel the chilly air graze across me and I take in a deep breath. The rain has released the smell of fresh pine trees into the air. It smells like the upcoming holidays.
The holidays that I will have to spend without my mother.
Brett lies next to me and crosses his elbows under his head. We sit in silence for a while listening to the rain pitter-patter on the leaves, the rustling of the birds and squirrels bouncing from tree to tree, and the occasional soft thud of a pine cone falling onto beds of needles.
Finally, Brett turns his head to me and says, “Things are going to be okay, Ramona. I know your mom comes home today and I just want you to know that everything is going to be okay.” His words make my eyes start to glisten.
“How do you know that?” I keep my eyes focused on the crown molding around his high-vaulted ceiling.
“I just know. I can feel it.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“Feel what?”
“Close your eyes and just be. Push away all the thoughts and just be.” I close my eyes and do what he says. “Breathe and don’t think. Just feel everything all the way down to your bones.” I feel him scoot closer and wrap his arm around my waist. A sensation of peace flows through me. “Do you feel the comfort and peace?” I do as he says and I feel a sense of blanketed warmness filling my bones.
“How did you do that?” I finally turn towards him.
“I didn’t do anything, you did. Just trust yourself and your feelings. I love your freckles.” His golden eyes graze over my face and I feel a familiar warmness over taking my cheeks.
“I like them too,” I say, smiling at his random compliment.
Using his arm around my waist, he pulls me tight against him. My heart flutters and I want so badly for my body to be covered by his. I wrap my arms behind his neck and delicately brush my lips against his in an innocent kiss. I remain inches from his grinning mouth. Before I get the chance to look up in his eyes his lips are back on mine with a sense of urgency. I turn on my back and he rolls on top of me. He starts unbuttoning my fitted red flannel shirt as he kisses down my neck. My breathing intensifies with each button he undoes. He c
ontinues kissing me until my brain goes fuzzy.
***
WE’RE LYING ON HIS bed after “rounding some of the bases” and just as I’m about to succumb to my heavy eyelids, Brett asks, “I keep forgetting to ask you something. You probably don’t even remember but ever since I remembered I’ve been wanting to know.”
He props himself up on his elbow and looks down at me. “I found you one day when we were kids, in my front lawn pulling out grass like it was your job. You were so angry, you threw your bike down and your helmet was in the street with a crack in it.”
I immediately place the memory. It’s the memory that flashes in my brain every time someone mentions Brett’s parents. I’m dreading the question he’s about to ask me. All these years and he’s never asked me what I was angry about.
He notices my pale face.
Now hesitant, he asks, “What were you so angry about?”
I’m frozen in place and my eyes gloss over. He deserves to know the truth but it will hurt him. My heart picks up to a staccato beat.
“Hey.” He takes my hand and pulls me up so we’re both sitting. “What’s up? You can tell me anything.”
I fidget nervously. He’s examining my eyes begging for an answer and I might lose him if I tell the truth. He could hate me for keeping this secret for so long.
“Please,” he says again.
I nod.
He deserves to know.
“I went to your house looking to see if you could come out and ride bikes. I rang the doorbell and nobody answered. I thought I heard voices so I peaked up through the front window and I saw your dad. He was...” I sigh heavily and take a deep breath. “He was... kissing a woman that wasn’t your mom...and taking her clothes off. I got really mad and threw my helmet. I was waiting for you to tell you but by the time you found me I lost the courage. I was so angry that your dad would do that, Brett.” I stop to judge his stunned face. I can’t even tell if he’s breathing.
“Your parents decided to get divorced a little while after that and I thought that they would tell you that your Dad was cheating. But you never said anything and I never heard the adults talking about it so I assumed that they never told you. So I kept their secret thinking that if they didn’t tell you than maybe it was for the best.” I look up at him, his face still processing.
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