Keeping my eyes on the floor, I turn slowly going back the way I came. I need to make it to the front door. If I get out of here now, there’s a good chance I’ll make it all the way home without passing out in the grass somewhere between my house and Adam’s.
Half way to the front door, I plow into something or someone and my feet fly out from under me. My back slams into the floor, the wind flies out of my lungs, and white spots appear in my peripheral vision. The gold trim on the ceiling spins and I blink several times as Adam appears above me and extends his hand. “Are you okay?”
I slap his hand away and sit up. “I don’t need your help.” Even when I’m drunk I loathe him.
Most of the time, when I’m sloshed, I’ll lower my inhibitions and talk to anyone or anything. One time, at another party junior year, Molly caught me talking to a doorknob.
Adam props himself up against the wall in front of a door. “You know. You should watch where you’re going.”
“Don’t you have some tramp to attend to?” I ask, trying really hard not to slur my words.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Nah. She left.”
“Oh. So now that she’s gone, you’ve decided that you want to talk to me.”
“No.” He looks at his hand. “I still don’t want to be talking to you.”
“Well, then I’ll make it easy on. I’ll leave and save you from engaging in unwanted conversation.”
He eyes me oddly, examining me. He’s like a biologist staring at an amoeba on a slide. All he needs is a microscope. “You intrigue me,” he says sincerely. “I’m curious about you, Ellory Graham.”
“What’s there to be curious about?”
“I don’t know. You. You’re life.
For a moment, I’m captivated. He’s seducing me with his eyes. A nervous flutter swims through my stomach. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat. Pounding. Constricting. I swallow hard.
Then I find the better half of myself.
Marching forward, I point my finger at him. “You wanna know something about me?”
His blue-green eyes sparkle. “Yeah.”
I ram my finger into his chest. “I don’t like you.”
He smirks, amused. “Is that so?”
“Yeah. That’s so,” I mock him. “You can take your curiosity and shove it.”
I turn speed-walking to the front door, but on my way a door to my right opens out of nowhere and whacks the back of my head. Hard.
Slumping, I go face first into the wood floor. And after that, well I don’t remember what happened after that because after the door whack me in the head, I pass out.
Chapter 7: A Tour Like No Other
There’s a power drill beneath my skull drilling holes into my brain. The buzzing and pounding is in my ears, my eyes. It’s everywhere. I struggle opening one eye at a time. Then I try to sit up. The buzzing and pounding intensifies and I lie back down as nausea rushes through my stomach. Massaging my throbbing temples, I curse. “I’m never drinking again.” Hangovers suck.
Glow-in-the-dark stars and the pristine white ceiling cloud my vision. Looking down, my eyes adjust to the powder blue walls and the rays of sunlight entering my window. I’m in my room. But how did I get here? The last clear memory I have is me talking to Adam after I ran into him. Maybe I walked home. Or caught a ride with someone who was leaving the same time I did.
Mom pounds on the door. I lie back as the pounding in my head throbs deeper. Ugh. “Yes,” I answer weakly.
Her voice is vibrant and cheerful. “You up in there, sleepy-head?”
Another weak answer. “Yes.”
“Do you want breakfast?”
The thought of breakfast makes me want to hurl. “No. Is there coffee?”
“Yep,” she says briskly. “It’s fresh.”
“Great.”
“Oh. And Adam called. He’ll be here in thirty minutes.”
“Thanks, Mom.
Footsteps plod down the hall. I roll my head and face my alarm clock. 11:00. Wow. It stuns me that she let me sleep in until now. Mom has this theory about sleeping in, even on weekends. She always says if you sleep in past nine in the morning, you’ve wasted half of your day. Well, maybe she’ll waste half of her day, but since I don’t go to bed until two in the morning, I figure just before noon is a pretty good time to begin the day.
After tossing back four extra strength Tylenol and throwing on some clothes, I join Mom in the kitchen. She slides the chair out next to her with her foot, reading glasses on, not taking her eyes off an article she’s engaged in in today’s newspaper. “Have seat, sweetheart.”
I’m half-way to the coffee pot. “I’m just—g.”
“She cuts me off. “I’ve already poured you a cup.”
“Milk and sugar?”
“You bet.”
Taking a seat next to her, I shovel three heaping spoonful’s of sugar and a dollop of milk into my cup. I’m not really a coffee drinker. The only time I want the brown liquid is the day following a drunken bender. Somehow the caffeine helps with severe hangovers. Mom takes her with nothing in it. Just black. I tried it black once. Never again. Drinking the plain black coffee was like swallowing a mouthful of liquid compost.
Mom shuffles the paper and I feel her eyes on me as I sip from my mug. I meet her gaze. She scans me up and down with a disapproving frown on her face. I look at her puzzled and shrug. “What?”
Another distasteful glare. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I tug on the sleeves of my extra-large sweatshirt. “Yeah. So. What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
She closes her eyes, shaking her head. “You look like you work at a gas station.”
“Mom, I’m giving a tour of our freakishly small town. Not meeting the President.”
“I know, Ellory. That’s not the point.”
“I’m not going to get dressed up to point out how many cornfields this town has.”
She buries her head in the paper. “I just thought you’d want to look presentable, that’s all.” Her voice is soft and sad. I think somewhere deep inside of Mom she wishes I was more like Wren, frilly and girly. Always dressing up and going out for mother-daughter shopping trips. That’s not me. That will never be me. I like my worn jeans with self-made holes. I like my vintage rock-n-roll t-shirts. And I like my sweats. End of story.
Adam lays on the horn and I almost choke on my mouthful of coffee.
Mom flips over another page of the paper. “Somebody’s impatient.”
“Tell me about it.” I slide out of my chair and kiss Mom on the cheek. “I’m sure I’ll be back soon.”
“Have fun,” she says musically.
Yeah. I’m pretty sure this tour is going to be anything, but fun.
Outside, Adam lays on his horn again when I’m three feet in front of him. I think I’m deaf. And now I’m pissed. A severe hangover and blown out eardrums aren’t exactly a good combination. And on top of that, I don’t like him. Yeah. This tour is going to suck—for him.
Opening the door, I growl, “Let’s get this over with.”
The chrome buttons on the stereo gleam and sparkle. I look over my shoulder and every inch of the black leather interior is spotless. He is also spotless. With a wrinkle-free navy blue button-up and matching faded jeans. Maybe someone purchased him from a Banana Republic catalogue. Even the spikes in his hair are gelled perfectly and parallel to one another. He’s definitely a perfectionist and he’s definitely a neat freak.
“Good morning to you, too,” He muses, whimsically.
Adam is pleasantly chipper this morning and it makes me sicker than I was before I got in the car. “Just drive,” I grumble.
I stare out the window as he backs out of my driveway. Looking at his beautiful face hurts. Every time I find myself looking at him, I think of the way he laughed at me when I saw him in the parking-lot. I don’t know if I should’ve expected anything less. No matter what Wren thinks, I know guys like Adam never like girls like me. I’m not
perfect enough. Or pretty enough. Or thin enough. And I’m certainly not lady-like.
Honestly, I’ve never questioned that part of me. I’m perfectly content with my adequate self. I like my hazel eyes. My size eight figure and I like dressing comfortably. I don’t believe that it’s necessary to fancy myself up for someone else. If I want to do that, I’ll do it for myself. Not for some boy.
Then again I just met him. So far, Adam is more mysterious than anything.
Adam stops at the end of my driveway and looks both ways. He crooks me a smile and I catch the sight of his perfect teeth in the refection of the window. “You didn’t sound too excited to see me.”
I face him with a scowl. “You catch on quickly. Good boy. Do I seriously look I’m excited to see you?”
A right turn, a shrug, and a laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe. I think there’s an appealing person beneath the bitchy attitude.” To avoid any more awkward conversation, I roll my eyes and look out the window again. “I think there’s more to you than you’re letting on,” he proclaims.
“Too bad you’ll never find out,” I say coldly. “To be honest I’m surprised you showed up for this stupid tour.” That’s the truth. After last night, I don’t know what it’s going to take for him to really get that I don’t want to be anything to him. Not even his friend.
“You should be thanking me,” he tells me.
We pass a line of thick trees and miles of maze comes into view. “To your right we have our first cornfield. Wait…Did you just say I should be thanking you?” I ask with an edge to my tone.
“Yeah. Because you should be.”
“For what?” I’m half-laughing. Half-disgusted.
“Taking you home.”
“You took me home?”
“I did.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Yes. I did.”
“You’re a liar. You couldn’t have taken me home.”
He narrows his eyes. “Are you sure?”
I don’t remember how I got home so there is a slight possibility. No. He couldn’t have. “Yes. I’m sure. I’m sure because my front door was locked and my Mom would have yelled at me this morning because I snuck out last night.”
“I know. You told me.”
“I did not.”
“You certainly did. You even told me that I had to put you through the window.”
How does he know this? This is excruciating. I wish I wouldn’t have gotten so drunk. I wish I could remember. I change the subject. “On your left, we have surprise-surprise, another cornfield.”
“Don’t change the subject,” he interjects.
“Why not? I’m supposed to be giving you a tour aren’t I?”
“I didn’t come because I wanted a damn tour. I came because I wanted to get to know you.” No. This is not happening. I wrap my fingers around the wheel and jerk it to the right. He yanks my hand off the wheel. “Are you crazy?” He raises his voice. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Take me home,” I demand. “This tour is over.” Something about the way Adam said he wanted to ‘get to know me’ doesn’t feel right. A bout of nausea waves over me. I need to get away from him. I need to get out of this car.
A hysterical laugh vibrates in Adam’s throat. “I’m driving. This tour is over when I say it’s over.”
“I’d rather be dead than be in this car with you.”
“That can be arranged,” he says icily.
I crack my knuckles. Breaths leave my throat short and raspy. I’m flushed and on the verge of freaking out. “If you don’t take me home right now, I promise you. I will jump from this car.”
A deep booming laugh fills the confined space. “No you won’t.”
Up ahead, a bright red stop sign fills my gaze. Oh, this boy doesn’t know me at all. A second later Adam takes his foot off the gas pedal. In a flash, I undo my seatbelt, open the door, and jump from the car.
I roll several times on the ground and scuff my hands on the blacktop, but other than that, I’m okay. Adam’s tires screech and skid as the car slides to a stop just before the road sign. I start walking. I don’t want to give him the opportunity to confront me.
But, he’s quick, too quick. A minute after I start walking, he’s right next to me keeping up with me stride for stride. He grips my elbow and whips me around, facing him. “You could have killed yourself!” he shrieks, enraged. “Do you have a death wish?”
I grit my teeth and tug on his fingers. “Let go of me!”
He tightens his grip around my arm. “No.”
“Let go!” I scream. “You’re hurting me!”
He grips my free arm and pulls me close. So close that I can taste his breath. A pleasant mix of coffee and spearmint gum. His eyes burn into mine. Scorching. Smoldering. But emotionless. There’s nothing behind them and the absent emotion excites me and frightens me at the same time. “Please let go,” I plead. “Please.” I feel like he’s examining me again. Or maybe he’s searching for something. A spark for him that clearly isn’t there.
“You owe me,” he says, thoughtfully. He’s confusing me. One second he’s furious, the next he’s calm. A light switch flickering on and off. On and off.
“Owe you? I don’t owe anything.” I try my best to keep my voice level because every other part of me is shaking. “Adam, I don’t like you like that.” More than anything, I’m trying to convince myself that those feelings don’t exist.
Shortly after I tell him that, he releases my right wrist and twirls his fingers through my hair. “You do something to me.” He’s mesmerized. And I’m terrified of him. Of my feelings. Of being vulnerable. “I haven’t figured out what that something is yet,” he tells me. “But I will.”
The brush of his fingers sends a volt of electricity through me. My hands twitch. My insides spark. And what Adam does next startles me. He kisses me. He kisses me roughly and hungrily. The kiss startles me so much; I pull out of it, whip my free hand back and slap him across the face.
Adam staggers backward, seizing his jaw. His bulging eyes switch from my hand to my face. His mouth hangs open. His fingers massage the fresh red welt on his jawline. I’m not sure what to do. My heart plummets from my chest to my stomach. My throat is coated with saliva so thick, I’m not sure I can apologize. I swallow hard and open my mouth to speak, but a forced grunt comes out instead. Finally, I say, “I’m sorry I hit you.” It comes out shaky and insincere. And I do the only thing I can to avoid the situation. I turn away from him and run down the street.
Adam doesn’t follow me this time. I hear his car doors slam shut, the car engine as it roars to life, then sound of his tires peeling out. I’m relieved. What just happened between us tortures me. And I almost topple over breathless and conflicted.
What did he mean I owed him? The simple question haunts me. And owe him for what? Him supposedly bringing me home? And what does he expect to get? My v-card? That will never happen.
Things have just gone from complicated to more complicated. My life consists of complicated on a daily basis, but those complications usually have to do with me getting in some kind of trouble—not complications involving the opposite sex. Maybe that’s why I never entangle myself with the boys I’ve messed around with.
There’s no attachment. It’s just plain, simple fun. With Adam, I know it could lead to more than fun, so I close myself off. Block out the feelings. I’m a brick wall.
Perhaps he likes me because he thinks I’m a challenge. From what I’ve heard from guys in the past, they liked a good challenge. Easy girls aren’t challenge. There’s no thrill in the chase. Maybe that’s why Adam wants me, because I don’t want him. Is that better than being with a girl who offers up sex like an all-you-can-eat-buffet? Girls like Katie. For the first time in year I actually feel sorry for her. What was she thinking when she slept with half of the town? Katie and I will never be friends again so I guess I’ll never know the answer to that.
A puttering muffler pulls me from my thoughts. I
squint thinking I might see Adam, but a large black truck with a lift-kit stops next to me. Blake.
He rolls down the passenger-side window and tilts his body so he can see me. “Hey there, drunkee,” he chuckles.
I climb up the side of the truck, clutching onto the open window. “Hi, Blake.”
“I’m surprised you’re walking today.”
I smirk. “You know me. I’m not gonna let a lil hangover ruin my day.” Today, I can blame Adam for that.
“You should thank the new kid.”
What the hell is with everyone?
“Why should I be thanking him?”
Blake shakes his head. “Because he carried you home.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I mutter. Adam wasn’t lying. Even though I keep telling myself he was. According to Blake, he wasn’t.
“I’m serious, Ells. I smacked you in the head with the door when I was coming out of the bathroom. You blacked out. Then Adam scooped you up in his arms and carried you home.”
“Like carry, carried?” I ask with a detached voice.
“Like virginal bride over the threshold, carried.”
Guilt tugs on my insides. “It’s like a mile from my house to his.”
Blake nods. “I know, right? I told him he was nuts, but he didn’t listen.”
Gee Blake, I’m glad I found out who the real gentleman is around here. He quickly changes the subject. “You going to Fall Fest?”
Fall Fest happens every year in Burton during the middle of October. A festival that farmers started years ago to celebrate the fall harvest. It’s not anything spectacular. They only have a few rides, food booths, games, and one haunted house that went from cool to lame when I turned twelve.
Up until now, I completely forgot about Fall Fest. I can’t even think about the only minuscule fair our town has. All I want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep. That and I want to forget that today happened at all. “I don’t think I can go. I’m supposed to be grounded.”
“Since when has Ellory Graham ever let a punishment stop her?”
I laugh. “Never.”
“So I’ll see you there.”
A Whisper To A Scream Page 6