by Devin Sawyer
“I got started but those files are a mess. I’ll have to organize them all before I can actually start reviewing them. I can meet you here again tomorrow. Same time.”
I try to express my gratitude, but all that comes out is, “Sounds good. Thanks.” And I watch her walk away with Emily who is waving emphatically as they go.
~
The following day I’m a little shorter on time and I don’t get the time to go home and shower. Ms. Williams is notorious for bringing her car in just a few moments before closing and flirting shamelessly with whoever is servicing her that day. I suspect she would like to be serviced in more ways than one, but not a single one of us would dare to go there. I was the lucky bachelor today standing at the desk when she walked in six minutes before closing. So, after a half hour of putting up with passive touches and glances, I got Ms. Williams out of the shop and now I’m rushing to meet Ari. I’m still in work clothes which consists of dirty work jeans and my custom shop uniform top. I have a white T-shirt on underneath it, but I’m also convinced the uniform is only masking some of the smell emitting from me and for half a second, I worry that Ari will call the whole thing off when she gets tired of hanging with the help.
I arrive at the same coffee shop as yesterday and notice Ari hasn’t made it in yet. I get in line to grab a drink and take the same table as yesterday. The same fear as yesterday creeps up into my stomach that she won’t show. I don’t even care if she brings Emily with her every damn day as long as she’s willing to help me. Panic makes itself cozy in my gut and I begin a rapid tap on the table with my pen until I noticed the annoyed lady a table over. I decide to distract myself with my phone instead and pull it out to text Jeff to see when he will be in town again next. I pass a few messages back and forth with him when Ari’s messenger bag slams into the seat across from me.
“Hey,” is all she says, and unenthusiastically at that.
She turns heading for the barista, but I stop her when I say, “One grande iced white chocolate mocha with cinnamon.” She turns and glares at me, her eyes narrowing into tiny little slits. “I ordered for you. Same thing as yesterday. Hope that’s okay.” I hold the drink out toward her and she hesitantly takes it. “I asked them to hold the rat poison,” I joke, hoping to confirm that this was just a nice gesture and I’m not trying to poison her, and I’m pretty sure it has the opposite effect, but nonetheless, she takes a slow sip of the drink.
“Thanks, I think. Also, maybe don’t make jokes about poisoning people.”
“Is that one of the rules? One of the things not to do or say to women?”
She stares at me as if I’m an idiot. “I never thought I’d have to add that one, but yes, how not to treat a lady rule number ninety-four: Don’t make morbid jokes.”
I laugh at her dry humor and simply offer “Noted. I’ll make an effort to fix that.”
I pull out the same box of things she was working on yesterday and lift it to the table. “If your friend isn’t coming today to interrogate me maybe I can help you.”
She takes the folder from the top of the box and hands it to me.
“We are organizing all the receipts by month and preferably day of that month. Just take a receipt from the box and then file it in with that month’s folder.”
I nod my head. Simple enough. Ari looks back down at her files and sets to work. Guess there will be no friendship bracelets or weekend mani/pedis over gossip here. We work mostly in silence for the first twenty minutes or so and I do just as she instructed filing carefully. It takes a lot longer than I expected and I feel a loss for resolution to come quickly. When I finally can’t take sitting not two feet from someone without a single word uttered, I break.
“Do you like it here? Emily made it sound like she wasn’t crazy about it but she also just got here last year.”
“It’s okay.”
This girl could use some serious social skills. She’s acting as if it’s painful to talk with me, which I’m pretty sure from my history of talking to other girls that is not the case. Usually I have to be the one to cut things short. I try again.
“Alright, do you play any sports? Cheerleading? Any hobbies?”
I see her physically grimace when I mention cheering.
Her eyes never even meet mine as she asks, “Do I strike you as the school spirit type?”
“Look, I know you’re full of that can-do spirit somewhere in there and since we have a MUTUAL agreement why don’t you show me a little bit of it. At least, try to be amicable.”
She shifts in her seat and I can see her discomfort.
“Yeah,” she says. “I can do that. I don’t mean to be a bitch. I just don’t make new friends easily and I find forced interaction difficult.”
“You don’t say,” I retort.
A small smile lifts on her face but I can see her trying to hide it.
“Ah, she does smile.”
“I do smile! But I don’t cheer. Ever. Not even a quick chant.”
“Got it. Cheer fantasies will stay tightly locked up here.” I tap on the top of my head.
“Don’t push your luck, bud,” she says a true smile this time.
“Got it. Got it.” I put my hands up in mock surrender.
I mutter under my breath just loud enough for her to hear me. “Ra, Ra, Ree. Kick him in the knee. Ra Ra Rass. Kick 'em in the….other knee.”
“What the hell was that? Any why are people knee kicking…Do you cheer at Jiu Jitsu competitions?”
“No, I just thought maybe you needed some inspiration or something. Never too late to start. Plus a few extra classes on that resume wouldn’t hurt your Ivy League applications.”
Death stare.
“Plus, you wouldn’t look so bad in one of those uniforms.”
Angrier death stare. Is that even possible? She’s got this look locked down.
“I don’t like the girls at my school who are in cheerleading, like not even a little bit. Got it?” Her tone is sassy. I salute her.
“Ma’am, yes ma’am. Maybe we should start putting in your application for the military tomorrow.”
She rolls her eyes light-heartedly, wearing tired of my antics. “You’re incorrigible.”
I bring my hand up to my heart and mock emotional tears. “You’re just full of nice things to say, aren’t you?”
“I warned you I was dark, twisty, and pissy,” she informs, splitting her attention between the receipts and me.
“You don’t get to pin your own trademark. IF that were the case, I’d be tall, dark, handsome, and charming…shit. I am all those things, bad example. I’ll try again. I’d be wealthy, smart, and funny. The world chooses for us, fate, and our environment. All that nature vs nurture, crap.”
“Well we certainly won’t list you as funny.” Her voice drips with light sarcasm and I smile at her. She’s trying her hardest to be difficult but I already know I’m wearing her down.
I make a mental note of how cute she looks when she gets feisty. I think I’ll like ruffling her feathers.
“Get back to work or we will be going through receipts for years to come.”
I don’t mention that idea doesn’t sound so awful to me. With Jeff back and forth, and moving a half hour from all my friends, this is the most enjoyable interaction I’ve had with anyone in this town and I welcome it.
I go back to my work as to not get scolded again and we work for another half hour. Ari begins to pack up her things and I tuck away some of the files in to the box I’ve been toting around. We walk out together and Ari unlocks her bike from the rack and I load the papers into my truck.
“I can give you a ride if you want,” I offer.
I’m sure Ari’s been in much nicer vehicles than mine but it’s certainly better than sweating her ass off on her ride home… because that would be a shame. It’s a very nice ass from what I can tell. She eyes me with suspicion, and rightly so, seeing as how I was just thinking about her ass.
“I’m not sure how many times I’
m going to have to stress to you that I’m not trying to poison you or kidnap you to make you my precious. It’s just a ride home.”
She rolls her bike over to the bed of the truck and I let down the tailgate and take the bike from her, lifting it up and setting it in the truck.
She heads around to the passenger side and I head to the driver seat. I lean over to unlock the door for her, because manual locks are over rated, or at least when you’re the working poor they are. She hops in and I start the engine.
“Which way?”
“Uh, to The Quarry. 1862 Minter Rd.”
I know the way. The Quarry is an upper middle class subdivision outside of town that’s made up of large lots on multiple acres, heading out toward the ritzier areas of Layton. We drive mostly in silence until I decide to whisper in a raspy voice.
“It rubs the lotion on the skin…” Before I can even finish, a hand comes flying across the bench seat and smacks me in the chest.
“OW!” I exclaim through laughter. “That was harder than I expected.” The laughter continues to consume me and I rub the tender area where she just slapped me.
“Maybe I wouldn’t be so skeptical of you if you would quit quoting horror movies, ya creep!”
“I’m not a creep! I’m adorable. You’re just easy to fluster.” She shakes her head in amused frustration at me.
“You heard all about me yesterday. Why don’t I get some questions in?” I ask doubtfully.
“What do you want to know?” She picks at her fingernails as if she’s drawing out the dirt underneath but there isn’t anything there, a nervous tick at best for her.
“I don’t know. Any siblings?”
“Nope. Only child right here.” She points to herself.
“So, Emily is your best friend...”
“Phenomenal observation skills, Captain Obvious,” she sasses back to me. I roll my eyes at her dramatics.
“Got a boyfriend I should be worried about? Any rich boy pipsqueak that might show up while I’m in the middle of a coffee and want to beat my ass?”
“Definitely not. And I don’t think anyone in my school could beat your ass. You’re much…larger” —she waves her hands around her arms and chest as if trying to show me the areas where I would out-muscle the guys in her school— “than any of them.”
I don’t bother telling her the other places I’m probably “larger” than them but I don’t think she would find it as funny as I do.
“I said he would want to beat my ass, not that he could.”
I pepper her with more questions as we drive into her subdivision and I stare at the large lots with grand homes placed elegantly on each piece of land.
“Alright what about Layton. Have you always been here?”
“All my life.”
“And how many years is that exactly?”
“Eighteen in January.”
“Ah, still a minor. That’s cute.” I reach across to pinch her cheek the way my grandma used to but she smacks my hand away first.
“Take the next left. We’re down the dirt road.”
“Do girls normally let you get away with acting so obnoxious? Or are you especially partial to me?” she quizzes as I stare in awe at her home as it comes into view. A large white brick home with large columns out front and a hideous fountain. I throw the truck into park at the top of the circle drive.
“Look at us. We’re becoming best buds. I’ll have to keep my eye out for friendship bracelets after all.”
With your history of creepy statements, I’ll have to pass on the bracelets, especially since they will probably look more like handcuffs.” Her face stills. She didn’t intend it as an insult about where I came from, but nonetheless we both have caught coincidental meaning. I shake it off.
“Nah, I’m not a big fan of handcuffs where I come from. We prefer rope.”
“Well that’s just kinky.” Her cheeks redden as she says it but I bark out a laugh at her bluntness.
“Touché.”
She looks away and up at the French doors framing her plantation style home decorated with black shutters. It looks like this home was designed in the old south. My intimidation grows and the divide between us seems to widen. She looks back at me and I feel the silence stretch thin between us. It’s uncomfortable and I’m not quite sure why she hasn’t gotten out of the truck yet.
“My mom’s in there spying on us, wondering who you are right now. My parents aren’t bad people. At the root of things, they are just two small town folks, but ever since Dad started landing bigger tax jobs at the office, well, they have appearances to keep up.” A pregnant pause pierces the conversation again.
“I should probably go. I’ll see ya tomorrow, Torren.” I nod my head at her.
“See ya, Ari.” I watch her as she unloads her bike and walks to the door. I’m sure she will have to partially explain my presence, but I know she won’t own up to her dad my real motivation. He would remember me. I doubt he would let his daughter make the deal she had if he had known, but I played on her weakness, I honed in on her desires. A car for her time and knowledge. I’ve gotten in over my head this time.
Chapter 5
Ari
I wake to a message Saturday morning from Torren asking if I want to go get a look at my car today. I squeal in bed. My car. By the time school starts in a few months I’ll have my own car. It won’t be the Mercedes or Range Rovers the other kids are driving but it will be mine. Falling on the “poor side” of a rich town really sucks sometimes. By poor, I mean middle class, but even that sounds like a four letter word to most the people at my school. I read over the text Torren sent again and respond, letting him know I’ll meet him at the coffee shop. Dad would be less than enthused to see me running around town with Torren. I may not be upper class in Layton but he certainly doesn’t want me fraternizing with previous Glennville residents.
When I arrive on my bike, I see Torren’s truck parked out front. I pull down the tailgate and begin lifting my bike as high as I can to load it.
“Whoa, whoa, I got it.” Torren’s voice comes rushing toward me. He helps me ease the bike in and lay it on its side, then he hands me a coffee he must have been getting when I got here.
“Thanks.” I beam at him, unexpectedly pleased to see him but more so the coffee. He smiles back at me and I notice how ruggedly beautiful he is. I push the thought away as quickly as it came. Torren is allowed to be wickedly hot, but I’m not allowed to crush on him. Residents of Glennville, even previous ones, are banned as attractive options so long as I live in this town. It’s social suicide to date below you. Not that we would ever date. I don’t know, nor trust, Torren well enough to even consider that option, but the way his body moves and his muscles bulge, it’s hard to ignore his presence. That’s for sure.
“Let’s go.” He nods his head at the truck and leads me to the passenger side, opening the door for me.
It’s a nice warm day and I feel the sun kiss my shoulders and legs through the window, which haven’t gotten as much sun as I would like this summer.
“So, what are you going to name her?” Torren asks as he hops in.
“Name who?” I ask, confused.
“Your car. You have to name your first car.” He looks at me like I’m ridiculous for not knowing this and I laugh at him.
“Why does it have to be a her?” I ask
“Cars are always female. They just are. They are sexy, like women.” He suggestively raises his eyebrows at me and I laugh again at how silly he is being today. I feel a little silly too and maybe it’s because I didn’t come straight from work for once.
“Well maybe I want mine to be a guy. I’ll have to name it once I see it.”
He nods his head at me and continues to drive. I know where the shop is. I hadn’t noticed it much before Torren started coming around, but now every time I pass by, I wonder if he’s there or working.
When we pull up, I want to jump out and run to it but I try to control myself because I do
n’t know where I’m going. Torren leads me out back behind the shop, where various rusted machines and car parts lie around. I feel a little nervous about the condition this car might be in after all. I notice the shape of a vehicle with a large drop cover lying over it and Torren leads me in that direction.
“You ready?” he asks, grabbing the edge of the cloth. I squeal, nodding my head, unable to contain it and he huffs out a laugh at me. I’m doing a horrible job of maintaining my aloof reputation today.
“You sure? Because we can come back another time?”
I shoot him one of my best ‘don’t mess with me’ glares and he pulls back the cover in one swift pull. It’s an older model, but the paint is a shiny black and the top is down. The seat interior still looks in great condition.
“Hop in.” He opens the door for me and I slide into the seat.
“I don’t have it running just yet, so you can’t drive it but I thought it might give you a little motivation to see what you’re working toward.”
“It needs a new convertible top though. I won’t be able to get you one of those.”
“That’s fine. I’m sure I can manage that. I’ve been saving. What kind of car is it again?”
“A Chrysler LeBaron. They don’t make them anymore.”
I nod my head and begin opening all the different compartments.
“This is perfect,” I say. “You’re sure you can get it running?”