The Way We Are

by Shandi Boyes

  I've always been known as a little standoffish, but I'm certain that title has changed to “downright asshole” the past two weeks. Even Brax and Chris don’t want to hang with me anymore. Can't say I blame them. Misery is best handled solo.

  I’ve done a remarkable job avoiding Savannah the last two weeks, so you can be assured today's slip up is an accident. After an unexpected sleep in, I rocked up to school an hour after first period. I circled the block three times seeking a space. When I came up empty-handed, I gritted my teeth and pulled my truck into the parking lot bordering the track where Savannah's cheerleading practices are held, confident I'd be long gone before she arrived.

  My plan was brilliant... until it was snagged by Ms. Forrester’s love of a lecture. She was worried about my grades, positive I’m not going to graduate with the test scores I received earlier this month. She offered offsite tutoring, not understanding my less-than-stellar performance had nothing to do with smarts and everything to do with a pretty blonde with dazzling green eyes.

  I can ignore Savannah all I like during daylight hours, but I can’t control my thoughts when I am sleeping, and no matter how hard I try to forget her, she pops into my dreams every night. Every. Single. Night.

  Even though Ms. Forrester is double my age and has a hairy top lip, I refused to look like a weasel with a broken heart any more than I already have the past four weeks, so I sucked up my excuses and accepted the study plan she assigned for the last weeks of school. If I stick to the plan as scheduled, she will let me re-take my final exams. Although I’m not expecting a scholarship to some fancy-schmancy school, decent grades may award me with more opportunities than just being a fast food cook.

  “Ryan?!” the female shouts again, her voice revealing she's upset by my ignoring her.

  Hating that I'm taking my anger out on unsuspecting victims, I scan the open parking lot. Noticing my truck is the only one in left, I spin around to face the voice. My interests pique immensely when I spot who is standing under the awning of the gym shed. It's Amelia Roach, crowned the prettiest girl at Ravenshoe High when Savannah left to attend her new school five years ago.

  “Hey, Amelia,” I greet her, pretending I just now heard her shouting my name.

  Amelia slants her head to the side and arches her brow, wordlessly calling me out as a liar. Her call-it-as-she-see-it approach curves my lips high. I've always been a fan of girls who tell it like it is. That's why Savannah's been on my radar since the day we met.

  I freeze, paralyzed with annoyance. Why can’t I just forget her? She made her choice, yet I'm the loser who continually brings her up like she is the innocent party.

  I look left and right. Happy to discover there are no vehicles approaching, I push off my feet, meeting Amelia halfway across the dusty parking lot.

  “Sorry, I was kind of in my own little world.” Since my apology is honest, it comes out sounding that way.

  Amelia smiles. “That’s okay. I’d rather you be distracted than avoiding me.”

  She swivels on the spot, her innocent act not matching her sexpot appeal. Amelia has the type of beauty that will grace the pages of fashion magazines for years to come: big brown eyes on a milky white face, a smile that makes your knees weak, and a body a saint would have a hard time ignoring. She rightfully deserves the title of Prettiest Girl at Ravenshoe High, even if she was only crowned after Savannah left.

  "Umm...I was wondering if I could ask you something?" Amelia licks her dry lips as her eyes widen with fear. Her nervous response shocks me. She sang the national anthem in front of a thousand students at a pep rally last week, so to discover she's nervous from wanting to ask me something has me intrigued.

  "Sure. What do you need?" I'm assuming it's a ride, considering my truck is the only one left in the parking lot. Ravenshoe High turns into a graveyard within minutes of the final bell, but with summer break rapidly approaching, it's even more deserted.

  The panic in Amelia’s eyes doubles before she stammers out, “I was wondering if you would be my date to the prom?”

  I take a step back, stunned by her question. “You want me to take you to prom?” I question, certain I heard her wrong.

  Her big chocolate eyes stare up into mine as she nods her head. “You don’t have to pick me up or anything. We could meet there. I just figured since you were going alone, and I was going alone, we could go together.” Her tiny nose screws up more with every word she speaks.

  “What happened to your date?” I ask with shock dangling on my vocal cords.

  In the past two weeks alone, I’ve witnessed three men get mortally wounded asking Amelia to be their prom date. It wasn’t that Amelia viciously declined their invitation; it was seeing their confidence stripped when she told them she already had a date.

  “Ah...” She coughs to clear her throat. “The guy I was hoping to go with never got around to asking me.” She chews on her bottom lip before quickly adding on, “You never asked me.”

  The color drains from her face when I fail to respond. I want to reply; I just don’t know what to say. Amelia and I have spoken a few times during English and say the occasional hello in the hall our joint lockers are in, but this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.

  “Oh god,” Amelia whispers under her breath. “I thought maybe you were doing the suave bad boy don’t approach me without a warning attitude as a way to get attention. I had no clue you genuinely want to be left alone.” She throws her hands up to cover her flaming face. “I’m so embarrassed. I can’t believe I was so stupid...”

  Hearing my deep chuckle ring through her ears, Amelia's hands fall from her face. She glares at me in horror, mortified by my laughter. I shouldn't be laughing—I’m an asshole for laughing—but I’m so shocked at her belief my appalling attitude has been for show, I can’t help but laugh. This proves what I’ve always thought: the good guys always come last.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize through laughter when Amelia blows air out of her nose before pivoting on her heels and stalking away from me. “Amelia, seriously, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. I’m just—“

  "What, Ryan? Shocked, stunned, surprised that anyone not named Savannah is interested in you?" The anger in her voice makes quick work of my laughter. "Or have you finally pulled your head out of your ass to realize there's an entire population of girls who would happily let you defend them from a turtle-squat like Axel?"

  “A turtle-squat?”

  Amelia's tiny hands ball into fists as she screams her frustration into the street. "All you got from that was turtle-squat? My god, Ryan, I knew you were blind, but I had no clue you were stupid."

  “Amelia,” I call out when she continues trekking across the parking lot, her steps so long I have to jog to keep up with her. “Come on, stop. I’m sorry. I’ve just never heard anyone use that reference before. I won’t laugh again. I promise.”

  When my pledge doesn't slow her strides in the slightest, I shout, "I had my heart broken; doesn't that give me a bit of leeway in the asshole department?"

  That slows her steps.

  "I wasn't laughing at your request for me to take you to the prom. I was amused that you saw my attitude as enticing. I don't get it; seriously, I don't. Why would you want a guy who treats you like shit when you can have one who worships you? That's like ordering pizza and pulling off the cheese. It doesn't make any sense."

  “It does if you don’t like cheese,” Amelia whispers, peering at me through lowered lashes.

  I return her stare, equally shocked. “You know I don’t like cheese?”

  Her long hair hanging in her face can barely hide her smile. “Every senior knows you hate cheese, Ryan. Just like they all warned me that holding out for you to ask me to prom was as stupid as it was pointless.”

  When the crunching of gravel sounds through our ears, we crank our heads to the noise. Savannah’s car is entering the parking lot. Although grateful she's alone, my stomach still swirls at seeing her again. This is the fi
rst time I’ve laid my eyes on her in over four weeks. Even with five years of absence, that’s a record for us.

  “I knew Savannah had a hold over you; I just never fathomed it consumed your entire life.” There’s no anger in Amelia’s words; they are too filled with remorse to let anything else through.

  After gliding her hand down my arm in a comforting manner, Amelia pivots on her heels and heads back to her group of friends lurking in the shadows. While following Savannah’s car gliding down the gravel-lined road, I consider Amelia’s comment. She only said two sentences, but the underlying message packed more punch than an entire novel.

  When Savannah’s car pulls into the empty space next to my truck, my turmoil grows. She had a choice of over two dozen spaces, yet she parks directly next to my truck. I want to pretend it's a sign she's ready to step away from our argument, but the sweat slicking my skin warns me not to be foolish. This is most likely just another mindfuck like the kiss we shared in the coat closet four weeks ago. She didn’t kiss me because she wanted to; she kissed me to keep me quiet. I went into that closet with every intention of talking, and she stumped my plans by using any arsenal she could. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t piss me off. I hate being taken advantage of—hate it!

  My eyes drift back to Amelia while shouting, “Amelia! Wait up.”

  Her steps stop, but she remains facing her friends, as if she's as untrusting of my motives as I am of Savannah’s.

  I watch her chest rise and fall three times before asking, “Will you go with me to the prom?”

  Her friends clap their hands and squeal with glee. Unfortunately, Amelia's reaction doesn't mirror theirs. She remains as still as a statue, so frozen, the movements of her chest no longer register.

  “Please? Give me a chance to show you the good guys are just as worthy.”

  My pulse rings in my eyes when Amelia slowly spins around to face me. I’m not going to lie, I’m genuinely nervous. I’m never asked a girl out before, so I’ll be devastated if she says no.

  “You’re not just asking to get back at Savannah?” Amelia’s voice is barely a whisper to ensure Savannah can’t hear her.

  “No. I swear,” I answer, my tone as honest as my statement. “It’s time for a major life adjustment. If you’re willing to go gentle on me, I think this could be a step in the right direction.”

  Amelia grins at my playful comment. It isn’t a cutesy I'm a good girl smile; it's one that would set any red-blooded man's heart racing—mine included.

  “I’ll be gentle for you, Ryan,” she whispers as the fire in her eyes detonates.

  “That’s a yes?” I double-check, wanting to ensure my rusty dating skills don’t have me mistaking a “no” as a “yes.”

  “That’s a yes,” Amelia confirms, pacing toward me.

  Pretending she can't feel Savannah's eyes watching our every move, she digs a pen out of her knapsack before securing my hand in hers.

  "Call me later, and we'll work out the details," she requests while scribbling her number onto my palm in permanent black ink. She slaps the cap onto her pen before lifting her eyes to mine. "If you don't have plans this weekend, maybe we could go out before prom? You know, to clear out your cobwebs before the big night."

  I arch a brow, suspicious of the underlying message in her suggestion. My hunch is proven accurate when Amelia winks, answering my question with as many words as I used to ask it.

  “Don’t let me down, Ryan,” Amelia pleads, her voice not as confident as the gleam in her eyes.

  “I won’t,” I pledge, knowing too well the effects of broken promises.

  I wait for Amelia and her friends to disappear into the shadows before making my way to my truck. Since Savannah arrives first to cheerleading practice, our vehicles are the only two in the lot. Instead of setting up the field for practice, she's leaning on the front quarter panel of her car, basking in the late afternoon rays.

  Acting as if my heart isn’t racing a million miles an hour, I dig my cell phone out of my pocket. With how much my hands are sweating from spotting Savannah’s sneaky glance at me from beneath her honey locks, if I don’t add Amelia’s number to my phone now, it will no longer be scrawled across my palm by the time I leave this parking lot.

  Besides, using my cell phone as a distraction is a brilliant move on my behalf. Not only do I slip into the driver's seat of my truck with only the quickest glance at Savannah's sun-kissed thighs; I only catch the teeniest whiff of her rosy scent as well.

  One obstacle down. Three hundred million to go.

  22

  Ryan

  "What did you do?" Brax cranks his neck back to the flashing blue lights illuminating the midnight sky. "Were you speeding? I thought you had your speedometer fixed last week?"

  "I did. I wasn't speeding."

  Ignoring the gnawing at my stomach, I scan the cabin of my truck, seeking anything that might betray tonight’s illegal activities. Other than a half-empty bottle of scotch resting at Brax's feet, my truck is clear of evidence.

  “Slide that under the seat,” I suggest to Brax, nudging my head to the liquor bottle.

  I cup my hands around my mouth, then breathe out slowly, ensuring the four shots of whiskey I chugged down earlier tonight aren't still lingering on my breath. Other than needing a Tic Tac to cover the garlic aioli sauce smothering my fries at dinner, my breath isn't too bad.

  My hand falls from my face when a brisk tap sounds on my driver’s side window. After dragging my eyes from the neck of the bottle still protruding between Brax’s feet, I lock them with the officer requesting for me to roll down my window.

  I secure my first breath in nearly thirty seconds when the dark—almost black—eyes of Regina reflect back at me.

  “You scared the shit out of me,” I mumble under my breath while yanking at the old crank on my driver’s side door.

  Although suspicious of Regina's motive tonight, she is one of a small handful of people I trust. No charges of domestic violence have been filed against my dad, but the number of incidents in my household has dramatically declined since Regina inserted herself in my father's case. I don't know what she's doing or how she is doing it, but the noose she placed around my father's neck weeks ago tightens every day. I'm confident it will only be a matter of time before he hangs via his own stupidity.

  "If you’re not doing anything illegal, you have no cause for worry," Regina fires back, her words as wary as my facial expression.

  I was worried she was one of the many corrupt men and women my father works with. Although I don’t have proof of my dad’s shady dealings, I do know he consumes the equivalent of his wages in alcohol every week, so where does the money for his stripper fascination and gambling habit come from?

  Brax sits straighter when Regina shines her flashlight into his face before gliding it down his body. Mercifully, the shadow of his splayed thigh hides the bottle of scotch from her view.

  After running her flashlight across the dashboard of my truck and around my feet, Regina returns it to my face. “Alright, out of the car,” she demands, her tone low.

  I shoot Brax a sideways glare, panicked as fuck. The last time we got busted for underage drinking, I wasn't driving, yet I only escaped conviction by the skin of my teeth. So if she’s seen the open bottle, I'm a goner.

  “Come on. I haven’t got all night.”

  When Brax undoes his seatbelt, Regina says, “Only Ryan. He’s the one sitting behind the wheel of a deadly weapon with alcohol leeching from his pores.”

  “It’s not alcohol. It’s sweat,” I argue, pleading innocence. “You’re making me nervous.”

  Regina doesn’t reply... unless you include grunting as a response?

  I swallow several times in a row before clambering out of the door Regina is holding open for me. When I join her on the cracked sidewalk, she gestures her head to my truck. “Flatten your palms on the roof and spread your legs.”

  I glare at her, silently pleading for her to pretend she
never saw me. I only had four nips of scotch, and that was over three hours ago, so I can’t be over the limit. Well, not the limit for people of legal drinking age.

  Sweat coats my skin when Regina nudges her head to the roof of my truck again, wordlessly demanding I follow her command. When I do, she places her flashlight on my roof, blinding me with its bright rays. "Are you carrying anything that could harm me? Knives? Weapons? Needles? Etc. etc."

  “No,” I reply, shocked by her line of questioning.

  I may have been participating in illegal activities before she pulled me over, but I’m not a criminal. Well ... I don’t think I am?

  “What are you doing out here, Ryan? Looking for trouble?” Regina asks as her hands glide down my thighs, which are spread to the width of my shoulders.

  “No. I’m not looking for trouble. All kids stay out late on Friday nights.”

  “Mhmm,” Regina murmurs as her frisk switches from my right thigh to my left. “But most teens pick a better location than rundown warehouses three towns over.”

  I swallow the brick lodged in my throat before replying, “Yeah, well, I’m not most teens. I needed to get away for a bit. Needed to clear my head.”

  My confession freezes Regina’s hands within an inch of the wad of cash sitting in the breast pocket of my jacket. “I thought things had improved at home?” The pounding of my pulse in my ears is unable to hide the worry in her voice.

  After standing from her crouched position, she yanks on my shoulder, requesting for me to spin around.

  “They have,” I reply, hating the worry rapidly brewing in her dark, stormy eyes.

  She helped my family more than I could ever express, so the last thing I want her to feel is guilt.

  “It’s just... temperamental. Always has been.”

  I pull away from her touch when she moves a chunk of my hair that has fallen in front of my eye to reveal a half an inch gash to my right brow.

  “Did your father do that?” Regina asks, her words strained through a tightened jaw. She expresses her concern in the same heartfelt way Savannah did weeks ago when she thought the scars on my abdomen were compliments of my dad.