by Arthurs, Nia
I almost laughed. Wishful thinking. None of them ever would.
The door opened and Monique slid in. She held a small box. In the shadows, I couldn’t figure out what it was.
Her hand roved the roof until it landed on a switch. Light flooded the front of the car. I winced, adjusting to the sudden brightness. When I glanced down again, I recognized the symbol on top of the box.
It was a first aid kit.
Monique opened the tab like an expert. She grabbed an ear swab and a tube. After squeezing gel on the tip of the swab, she wielded it at me.
I leaned back. “What are you doing?”
“Hold still.” With more boldness than I’d expected of her, she grabbed my chin and yanked me close.
My face hurtled toward her. My gaze landed on her lips, but before I could get close enough, she yanked me to a stop.
“When my dad gambled with his workers at the site,” she explained quietly, “he used to get into fights. He has a naturally smug face. People always thought he was cheating. I patched him back up whenever he came home.”
“That must have been hard.”
“I don’t know. It just was.”
It just was. I understood. Only people who’d lived their entire life in dysfunction would say something like that.
Eyes focused on my face, Monique gently swiped at my cheek. When she pulled the stick back, I saw blood caked on the end of it.
“How’d that get there?” I marveled, brushing a finger over my skin.
She slapped my hand down. “Stop. I’ll clean it up for you. Don’t move.”
I let my hand drop, soaking in her closeness. If I pretended that the past few minutes hadn’t happened, I’d feel a lot better about having Monique all up in my personal space.
She looked cute when she concentrated. Her tongue darted to the corner of her mouth, poking between her supple brown lips. Her eyes were narrowed and a crease appeared between her slender eyebrows. She had a tiny mole on her temple.
My anger and fear slipped away, leaving something far more powerful in its place.
“That was antibiotic. Now I just need to put on the band—” Her words whirled into nothingness when she caught my gaze.
She didn’t look away like she usually did. Her brown eyes pinned me to my seat. Understanding glimmered from behind her hooded lids.
Something deep inside me responded to her. Responded to the fact that she wasn’t just seeing through me, she was seeing me.
Whether the look in her eyes was pity or attraction, I didn’t care anymore. My head angled toward her, swooping down for her mouth.
Monique pulled back at the last second. A quick side-eye at my mother explained why she’d chosen to reject the kiss. At least, that’s what I was hoping it meant.
She cleared her throat and slapped a band-aid in my hand. “You can put that on yourself.” She grabbed her tools and tossed them back into the medical kit. Scrambling for the door, she mumbled, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
A moment later, she rolled out of her seat and then she was gone. I woodenly turned and stared through the windshield.
A snort tugged my gaze to the backseat. “That was painful.”
“Mom! You’re awake.”
“I have been for a few minutes.” She straightened slowly, a hand to her head. “I thought my son had more game than that.”
My cheeks burned. The only thing more embarrassing than being teased about Monique’s brush off was having my mother witness it.
“Can we not talk about this?” I groaned.
“We’ll talk about it.” She offered a lopsided grin. “What’s her name?”
“Mom…”
“Should I go down to your school and investigate myself? I know your principal. I can get on the intercom and make an announcement.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
I frowned. “Monique, her name’s Monique.”
“Pretty. Is she your girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Do you want her to be?”
I started the car. “We’re going home. I’ll pretend I can’t hear you.”
“That’s so cute.” Mom chuckled. “My little boy’s got a crush.”
I wanted to answer her, but I held back. Mom would take anything I said now as fodder for her teasing.
Thankfully, she kept quiet on the way.
Dad wasn’t home when we got in.
I was glad. I left Mom with strict instructions to take a shower then I warmed up some soup and gave her medicine to help with the hangover. We watched Family Feud re-runs while we ate dinner.
I noticed her gaze darting to the door routinely. She was waiting for Dad.
But he didn’t come home at all that night.
I heard Mom crying herself to sleep later. My hands curled into the blanket. I wanted to hit something, but it wouldn’t make things easier for her. Mom would never be free from this prison unless she stepped out on her own.
Until then, I had to offer help where I could and watch her suffer when I couldn’t.
Unable to sleep, I grabbed my guitar and ran my fingers along the strings. Music was like my band-aid. It blanketed my soul, offered hope. It made the chaos of my world seem bearable.
But it wasn’t just my relief.
I sang quietly, knowing that the music would be faint but that it would reach Mom. She stopped crying. I sensed that she was listening even though I couldn’t see or hear her.
Lifting my voice, I sang and—in my own way—told her to stop crying. That the world wasn’t so dark. That things would get better.
My voice went hoarse after an hour. I set my guitar against the stand and tiptoed over to Mom’s room. When I cracked the door open, I saw her sprawled on the massive bed. Her mouth was open and she snored lightly.
I smiled and backed out, closing the door behind me.
When I woke up the next morning, Mom seemed like her usual self. She made no mention of anything that had happened yesterday.
Not until I was dressed and ready to head out the door.
“Later, Mom!” I yelled, swiping my car keys.
“Tell Monique I said hi,” Mom said with a sneaky grin.
I laughed and headed to the garage.
On my drive to school, I mentally reviewed the notes for my upcoming test. I wanted Monique to be pleased with me, for one. I also wanted to prove that she was an effective tutor. Last night, Marissa had thrown shade on her abilities. That didn’t fly with me.
Maybe my initial reasons for seeking her out were questionable, but Monique was a good teacher. I wanted the world to acknowledge that.
Ten minutes later, I strode down the hallways, looking for Monique. She was by her locker, slipping books out. I slid up to her, a smile blooming as the memories of our near kiss filled my mind.
She jumped when she saw me. “James!”
“Hey.”
“Hi.” She clutched her books to her chest. Her thick eyelashes fluttered. “Are you ready for your test?”
“I studied some more when I got home. I’m ready.”
“And how’s your mom?”
I looked down. “She’s alright.”
“Good.” Monique cleared her throat. “I, um, have something for you.”
“What is it?”
She thrust a tin container at me. It was small and flat. I shook the pan around and heard things jangling inside.
“It’s everything you’ll need to ace your test,” she said.
“So a cheat sheet’s in here?”
“Very funny. There are number two pencils, pens, highlighters, and peppermint candy. Peppermint contains ingredients that can energize your brain.”
“I’m touched.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile creeping over her lips said she was pleased. “Go on. You can’t be late.”
“Thanks for this.”
“Good luck. I’ll see you after school.”
I gave her a tender grin. “
It’s a date.”
14
A New Addition
Monique
Harley and I met up during lunch. We normally ate in the courtyard to avoid the noise from the cafeteria. Several circular benches peppered the lawn. We sat beneath the one farthest from the school buildings. An orange umbrella shaded us from the sun. The breeze blew gently, dispelling the heat.
“How’s your dad doing?” Harley asked.
“He’s okay. He got a new job so hopefully, he can keep his paycheck and not splurge it all on black jack.”
“It doesn’t sound like you expect this one to stick.”
“I’m cautiously optimistic. What about you? How’s Paisley performing in her pageants?”
“She’s okay. Mom says she needs to lose weight if she’ll compete with the champions.”
I scrunched my nose. “Your mom wants a five year old to go on a diet?”
“Yup. It’s sickening, but Paisley says she doesn’t mind so Mom’s acting like she’s just catering to what her daughter wants. We both know Paisley only cares about these stupid things because Mom does. I try to slip her a Twinkie when I can.”
“Our parents are seriously messed up,” I mused.
“Tell me about it,” a voice said. A moment later, Angie plowed her legs into our bench and dropped her tray down. “Mine is a pastor and, let me tell you, he shouldn’t be telling anyone how to live their lives.”
“Uh,” Harley’s blue eyes widened, “who are you?”
“Hey.” Angie stuck out her hand. “I’m Angelica Bolton. You can call me Angie.”
“Angie?” Harley hesitantly accepted her handshake.
“What are you doing here?”
Angie flung her head so her long braids, tipped with golden clips, almost stung me in the face. “I’m eating.”
“I get that,” I said impatiently. “Why are you eating with me?”
“I wanted to come by yesterday, but I got caught up with some things.”
“That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here now.”
She set her fork down and looked at me. “Anyone who knows Wuthering Heights enough to have a discussion is someone I want to know.”
“Wuthering Heights?” Harley mouthed.
“I’ll explain later. Look Angie. I appreciate the compliment, but—”
“But what?” She looked up, her mouth filled with rice. “You don’t want to be friends with me? Why? Because I smoke? I’m too ‘rebellious’ for you or something?”
“That’s not… I never said that.”
“Let’s just eat,” Harley said, dousing the fire. He eyed Angie and thrust a fork toward her. “I think I’ve seen you around. Don’t we have chemistry?”
“Hold your horses, Blondie. I’m interested in someone else.”
I snorted. “He meant the class.”
“I know.” She winked. “Harley, right? We took chemistry last year. You’re the loner who never got picked when it was time to work with lab partners.”
Harley squirmed.
I frowned at Angie. “Hey!”
“I’m just stating a fact. Chill.” Angie dug her fork around her food. “How are things going with Catherine? Still married to Edgar?”
“What is she talking about?” Harley whispered, his face puckered in confusion.
“It’s nothing.” I turned to Angie. “And that’s none of your business.”
She nodded. “I see. Things are still complicated.”
“Are you girls still talking English?” Harley yelled.
Angie explained with flying hand gestures. “Monique is Heathcliff and James Sawyer is Catherine.” When Harley still looked lost, she added, “From Wuthering Heights? The novel by Emily Bronte.”
Harley wrinkled his nose. “I don’t…”
“Monique’s hung up on James Sawyer.”
“What?”
Angie shook her head. “How do you call yourselves best friends and not share this stuff?”
“When did you get with Sawyer?” Harley cried.
“It’s not true, alright? Can you lower your voice?”
Angie chewed calmly, as if she hadn’t just stirred up a hornet’s nest. My instincts when we first met were right. That girl was trouble.
“I’m just tutoring him,” I explained.
“Are you sure that’s it?” Harley peered at me. “Why do I get the feeling you’re hiding something?”
“I’m not!” I avoided his eyes.
“Look at me and say that again.”
I whirled on Angie. “Do you see what you’ve started?”
“You two are cute. Have you ever dated?”
“Ew!” Both Harley and I hollered.
“Why would you say that?”
“We’ve been friends since kindergarten.”
“She’s like my sister.”
“Okay cool.” Angie shrugged. “So how do I get inducted into this little club? Do I share my sob story? Run around in my underwear? Drink a whole keg upside down? What?”
“Why do you want to be friends with us?”
I slapped Harley’s shoulder. “Why wouldn’t she? We’re cool. We’re down.” I threw up two peace signs. “We run this place.”
Angie grinned. “Sure… keep telling yourself that. And to answer your question,” she pointed to Harley with her fork, “like I mentioned earlier, not only did Monique know who Heathcliff was, but she knew his story. It means she read the book. She understood it. And I respect that.”
Harley nodded intently and then folded his arms over his chest. “She’s cool. I say we let her in.”
“Zip it.”
“Why not? It’s always been just the two of us. Maybe it’s time we shake things up.”
“We can’t just… be friends. That isn’t how it works.”
Harley shrugged. “It worked well enough for me in kindergarten.”
“Don’t worry, Monique.” Angie patted my shoulder. “You and Harley have a longer history together, so you can always gang up and outvote me.”
I had no other argument.
Just like that, Angie became one of us.
The next few days whirled by in a blur. I went to school. Ate lunch with Angie and Harley. Tutored James in the evening. And then went home.
Despite my fears, Marissa hadn’t come after me yet. I still felt uneasy about being in the middle of her and James’s drama so I made sure to keep my boundaries with James as we did tutoring. Every time he tried to crack a joke or flirt with me, I ignored it or pointed him back to the lesson.
It was working. For now.
On Thursday, I went to class like usual and headed to our table in the courtyard for lunch.
Angie was already waiting there, her head bent toward a book. She wore her braids up in a large bun. Her shirt read ‘Life Is Meaningless’ and her jeans were so shredded it looked like she was wearing rags.
I stood back and watched her. Angie’s weird fashion choices aside, she was stunning. Her dark skin was smooth and pure without one blemish. Her nose was slim and her lips were plumper than mine. Which was saying a lot. Kids used to call me ‘basketball lips’ because mine were so huge.
Angie glanced up and waved enthusiastically. I still couldn’t get used to her presence, but she seemed to have no problem with our tentative, sometimes awkward interactions.
“Hey,” she said, closing the book. “I was just reading this new novel Harley recommended.”
“You’re aware he only reads Greek mythology and comic books.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it, girl.”
I slid my tray on the table. “Where is Harley anyway? I didn’t see him in the lunch line.”
“He texted and said he had a meeting and wouldn’t be here.”
My eyelashes fluttered. “Wait, Harley texted you?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“Um,” she looked at me like I was crazy, “there’s this thing called a cell phone and you type up a message on your
keyboard—”
“I know what a text message is!” I screeched.
Angie leaned back. “You don’t have to yell.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just… he didn’t text me.”
“Oh. That’s awkward.”
“When did you two get so close?”
“Why?” She grinned mischievously. “Are you jealous?”
I gave her the stink eye.
Half-laughing, Angie said, “It’s no big deal, okay? I mentioned that I loved to read and Harley offered to send me a list of his favorite books. I’m down with historical literature, so I figured I’d give his Greek stuff a try. We exchanged numbers because of that.”
I pushed my fork around my plate. “I’m sorry for jumping down your throat.”
“It’s okay. Change is always difficult. That’s why it’s hard for Harley to accept that you and James have a thing. He doesn’t want to lose your friendship.”
“Did he tell you that too?”
She tapped her temple. “Just intuition. If it was unrequited love, I would know.”
“Right. You mentioned you had an interest in that.” I studied her face. “Why?”
“That’s a conversation for another day.”
“Chicken.”
“Hey, I’ll admit my deepest, darkest secrets when you admit you’re crushing on James Sawyer.”
“Would you stop that? Someone is going to hear you and take you seriously.”
“Who? We’re on the outskirts of the courtyard. Besides, why would anyone want to eavesdrop on us? It’s not like you do anything worth gossiping about anyway.”
I glared at her, but when I saw a familiar figure sprinting toward me in the distance, my expression shifted to surprise.
James.
“What are you staring at?” Angie mused. Then she glanced over her shoulder. “Oh.”
James wore a grey T-shirt and jeans. His sneakers crushed the grass as he ran pell-mell toward me. I cupped my forehead to shade my eyes from the sun’s glare and watched him.
James moved fast as lightning. In three strides, he was in front of our table.
I rose uncertainly. “Hey, what are you—?”
My words were cut off when he threw his arms around me and pulled me to his chest. I was still inside the bench so the wooden seats kept our knees from touching, but everywhere from my chest to my head squashed against him.