Just Me

by L. A. Fiore

  On the surface, my aunt looked like any other soccer mom, but there were times when I would catch her unawares, and the expression, or rather lack of one, on her face chilled me. It was possible I was just being morbid, but to me it seemed like it wouldn't take too hard a push to send my aunt completely over the edge. She always made the hairs on my arms stand just a little bit on end.

  My uncle had really tried to make me feel wanted and loved, but he learned quickly that my aunt had a will of iron. The courts forced me on them, but it didn't mean she had to do any more for me than feed me and keep a roof over my head. Even family dinners turned strained when I joined them; it was only after I left the table that the happy sounds of a close family resumed. A few weeks after I moved in with them, I started taking my meals in my room. I thought someone would object, but nine years later, no one had, though my uncle continued to invite me to share a meal. However, he didn't push it and for that I was grateful.

  After that conversation in the kitchen, was my aunt finally going to make an effort to be nicer to me? I fell asleep wishing for just that.

  Chapter Two

  The following morning as I was leaving the house, I was stopped by my aunt, who attempted to make eye contact without much success. After our conversation last night, was her inability to look me in the eye embarrassment over her treatment of me?

  “Your uncle, the girls and I are leaving for Disney World tomorrow and we will be staying for the week. I've already called the Wrights, and they've agreed you can stay with them while we're gone. Pack your things and bring them to school with you tomorrow morning.” Her gaze shifted from my shoulder to meet mine. “You aren't invited, be clear on that. This is my time with my family. So even if your uncle asks you to join us, you aren't wanted.”

  Clearly she’d shed her problem with looking me in the eye. After last night, and the hope I had felt at the possibility that my home life was about to improve, her words hurt like hell. “Okay.”

  She barely waited for an answer before she turned her back on me and walked away. What changed from last night to this morning? And did she intentionally throw me off last night with feigned kindness so her rejection this morning would hurt all the more? If that was the case, she wasn't just mean, she was also vindictive and more the aunt I had come to expect and not the anomaly I met last night.

  An hour later I sat in English Lit sketching and listening to my iPod when Sebastian entered, but instead of accompanying Kira, he was with Jim: the captain of the soccer team. I lowered my head before he could look my way, and busied myself with my drawing. Just seeing him had me feeling edgy, in a good way. Yes, I sported a healthy crush on Sebastian—a boy I didn't know at all. I bet his ink could tell me a lot about him, because being that covered so young, made me suspect what he had done held a great deal of meaning to him.

  My head lifted when I felt his stare on me. Looking into those pools of turquoise caused a heat to sizzle all the way down my spine. Time seemed to stop for a moment as our gazes locked, but sooner than I wanted, his attention turned back to the front of the class. Was this what Sophia felt every time she fell in love—the nerves in her belly, the pounding of her heart in her chest, the overwhelming need to touch, taste and explore? If it was, I understood now why she “fell” so often. It was a heady feeling.

  After class I waited until Sebastian left before I packed up my stuff and headed out into the hall. I hoped he would be there waiting for me, but when I stepped out into the crowded corridor, he was nowhere to be seen. Disappointment, and a bit of resentment, filled me as I started for my locker because it almost felt as if Sebastian was embarrassed by his interest in me: the only explanation I could think of as to why he didn't speak to me at school.

  My oil canvas had already been placed on an easel when I arrived in art class. Because I was in the middle of a project, Ms. Whitney allowed me to work independently. My painting depicted our town square with the white steeple from the Baptist church surrounded by trees in my favorite earth tones: deep russet, goldenrod, burgundy and burnt orange. As I settled behind the easel, I slipped my ear buds in and listened to Yael Naim as I lost myself in my work.

  Fifty minutes had passed quickly when Ms. Whitney touched my arm, signaling the end of class. I cleaned up my workspace and headed to lunch to meet the gang. They were already at our table when I entered. Shawn saw me and waved as I walked over and dropped my backpack on the floor.

  “Hey guys.”

  “Art class?” Sophia asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll be right back.” I moved to the line right as Sebastian entered the cafeteria with Jim. His head was turned away from me, engaged in conversation with Jim, but, as if he could sense my presence, his shoulders tensed only seconds before his head turned and our eyes met. Was it possible that his body reacted to my nearness too? He didn't offer his customary grin but the expression on his face, one that read loud and clear he was interested, sent delicious little chills down my body. He passed by me, and I couldn't help glancing at him from over my shoulder only to see that he was walking backwards to keep his eyes completely on me. As you can probably guess, my body responded to his nearness. My damn knees went weak again. He stared at me hungrily and openly in the middle of the cafeteria with all those eyes watching, so maybe he wasn't embarrassed by his interest in me, because it wasn't possible for him to be any more obvious. His attention would most likely be short-lived though, but I planned to enjoy it while I had it.

  My friends glared at me when I returned to our table.

  “Is there something we don’t know?” Poppy asked as soon as I sat down.

  “No.” Which wasn’t a lie and what little connection I did have with Sebastian, I wanted to keep all to myself.

  “Well, that look he just gave you was not nothing.”

  “Poppy, there is nothing going on.”

  She reached for her cup of yogurt and her shoulders slumped. “I guess I just wish there was.”

  You and me both. I said nothing and took a bite out of my apple.

  All through lunch my eyes were drawn to the jock table where Sebastian sat. I wanted him to walk across the cafeteria, take my hand and lead me somewhere private. Wanted that so much that I was tempted to walk across the cafeteria to him, take his hand and lead him somewhere private.

  After lunch I headed to my locker. As soon as I opened it, a note fell out. I unfolded the sheet of loose leaf paper to see a single line of masculine script that simply read:

  I like email better than texting. Bastian.Ross@gmail.com

  For a few minutes I just stood there wondering how he knew which locker was mine before I folded up the note and stuck it in my back pocket. I grinned all the way to class.

  ***

  Later that night I sat on my bed with my laptop and thought about what to write.

  Hi Sebastian,

  I like email better too. Is Bastian what your family calls you? My friends call me Lark. Are your sleeves the only tats you have? I’d really like to see them sometime. The little I've seen looks beautiful. I have been working on a design, but I haven’t settled on what exactly I want. Are you new to town or just school?

  Lark

  I realized it was kind of lame, as I sent it, but if I asked too many questions right out of the gate, he might have canceled his email account just to avoid my inquiring mind. A few minutes later, I received his reply.

  Hey Lark, I like that.

  No, my family calls me Sebastian, I just like Bastian better. I have another tat. I'll show it to you sometime. When you're ready to get your tat, I'll take you to my guy if you haven't got a place to go. I'll even find ways to keep you distracted while he's working. ;-) I’ve heard you’re an artist. Maybe I could see some of your work?

  What were you laughing about that first day in English Lit?

  He heard I was an artist? Had he been asking around about me? I liked the thought of that. My face heated—how could I possibly tell him what I had been laughing at, way too revealing, s
o I chickened out and replied simply: Night Bastian.

  ***

  The following morning I woke up early and packed a bag for my week-long sleepover at Poppy's. Grabbing my laptop, I headed downstairs to find the girls eating with Uncle Eddie.

  “Have fun this week,” I said, but Uncle Eddie’s comment stopped me as I started for the door.

  “Are you sure you won't join us? I realize you're a senior, but this could be the last time we can vacation as a family.”

  My heart stopped as I turned to him. Didn't want to join them? If he only knew. I heard my aunt’s footfalls down the hall, probably coming in a mad dash to keep me from revealing the true reason for my exclusion. Not that I intended to correct his assumption, because I had no desire to go where I wasn't wanted.

  “I've a lot of school work and I don't want to get behind. Have a good time.” And with that lie, I hurried from the house. When I stepped outside, I was surprised to see Shawn’s car in the driveway. He hopped out and walked toward me, reaching for my bag as he did.

  “Morning Lark.”

  “Hi. Thanks for the lift.”

  He glanced behind me at my aunt’s house briefly as a look crossed over his face. “No problem at all.”

  Poppy stuck her head out of the passenger side window. “Come on, let’s go. We have seven days together!”

  Shawn held the back door open for me. “You’re going to wish me home after seven days.”

  She turned serious at that. “Never.”

  ***

  After homeroom I walked to English Lit and took my seat. Right before the bell rang, Bastian walked in. His eyes found mine and as soon as he did, his lips turned up slightly on the one side. Why didn’t he make an attempt to talk to me in school? I was curious enough about that to ask him, but he was never in one place long enough for me to approach him.

  I dismissed his odd behavior and took a moment to appreciate the view. He wore a long-sleeved black shirt so his arms weren’t visible—a crime in my opinion—and his hair was pulled back into a ponytail, so nothing hindered the beauty of his face.

  Throughout class my eyes lingered on his back. More specifically how the cotton of his shirt stretched tight over those magnificent muscles. At one point he turned his head, his blue/green eyes peering at me from over his shoulder. Busted!

  After class Bastian left as soon as the bell sounded, and when I walked out into the hall, no surprise he wasn't there.

  At lunchtime I sat with Poppy, our conversation centered around a party she wanted to attend. Parties really weren’t my thing, because I didn't like crowds nor did I enjoy shouting over the loud music and other voices just to be heard. But for Poppy, I'd go.

  Bastian sat with the “populars” again and why that bothered me I couldn’t say. It did though, almost as much as the fact that Bastian could grin at me all day, but only talk to me via email. I wouldn't mind that so much, if not for the fact that he seemed to have no problem with talking in person to the likes of Kira.

  Lunch had just started, but I wasn’t in the mood, so I stood. “I’m going to work on my painting. I'll catch you guys after school.”

  “Okay, but Lark, you’re dressing up tonight for the party.”

  “Ugh!” I was Poppy's life-sized Barbie. She had started this tradition when we were in middle school, around the same time I had adopted the color black as my signature color.

  “‘Ugh’ all you want, but I’m getting my hands on you tonight and you're going to look amazing!”

  “‘Amazing’ is stretching it a bit. I’ll see you later.”

  “Amazing!” Poppy called after me.

  ***

  Painting and sketching soothed me—I was always in a good mood when I left the art room. I made my way toward my locker when I heard my name being called in that deep voice. My knees went weak and my hands grew damp. Turning in his direction, I watched as he approached me in that easy stride of his.

  “You weren't at lunch.”

  My heart started to pound. He noticed. “Not today.”

  He stopped just in front of me, and being that close to him was intoxicating. His chest dominated my view and the strongest urge to run my hands down that body nearly had me doing so. He reached for my hand, his smile turning a bit wicked. “We haven't officially met. I'm Bastian.”

  His large hand completely enveloped mine and the heat that burned up my arm from the contact was delicious. “Lark.”

  “It's nice to meet you, Lark.” I saw his mouth moving, but I didn't hear him since I was fixated on his hand still wrapped around mine.

  “Are you going to tell me what you were laughing at in English?” He asked.

  I heard that and responded with a resounding, “No.”

  He'd taken my answer as a challenge. I saw it burning in his eyes, which he confirmed when he said, “I'll get it out of you, somehow.”

  My body started to throb and suddenly I wanted the games to begin and hopefully his method to make me talk involved him putting his hands on me, everywhere.

  He brushed his thumb over the knuckles of the hand he still held. “See you soon.”

  I wish. He released my hand somewhat reluctantly, before he started away from me. Turning my head, I watched as he peered at me from over his shoulder and winked. Yep, I was totally crushing on Bastian Ross.

  ***

  After school we drove to Poppy's house. I wanted to talk with her about Bastian, but she and Shawn were having a rather intense conversation, one that I politely tuned out. We entered the house and as soon as her mom saw me, she gave me a big hug. Her enthusiasm over me staying with them touched me. As I studied Poppy next to her mom, they looked almost like twins with the same build, petite and trim, and blond hair with several shades of gold laced throughout it. Poppy wore it long and one-length and her mom, a short bob that was cut just below her jaw. Their eyes, however, were the exact same shade of blue.

  We chatted while she made dinner, and when Mr. Wright got home, we moved to the dining room. I loved the coziness of the room despite its size: hunter green painted walls, thick creamy white crown moldings, a gas fireplace trimmed in white featuring pictures of the family in assorted sterling silver frames. The huge Waterford crystal chandelier hung over the antique cherry dining room table that could comfortably seat twenty people in the ladder-back chairs. Potted plants, in brightly colored ceramic pots, were tucked in the corners, heavy brocade drapes framed the floor to ceiling windows and artwork, from oil landscapes to black and white sketches (several of which were mine), covered the walls.

  While feasting on chicken scallopini, one of Dr. Wright's specialties, we all got caught up. I was always a bit conflicted during these family moments, because though I loved being thought of as one of the family, I wasn't really a member of theirs.

  After dinner I helped clean up before Poppy and I went upstairs to get ready for the party. A text binged my phone while Poppy was in the shower; it was Bastian.

  Lark, r u going to Damian’s 2 night?

  Yes, r u?

  Yes, if u r. See u there.

  Suddenly, I was really looking forward to the evening. Poppy entered the room and rolled her eyes. “Lark, shower. I have work to do.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Once I showered, Poppy rolled my hair with curlers and dragged me to her closet.

  “You are so not wearing black.”

  “I like black.”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Bastian is going to be at the party.”

  “Bastian?”

  “He prefers being called that.”

  Poppy stopped pushing hangers around in her closet and turned to look at me. “You've been holding out on me. How do you know he's going to the party?”

  “He texted me to ask if I was going.”

  Poppy immediately jumped onto the bed next to me. “How does he have your phone number?”

  “He gave me his when he came into Alfonso’s the other night.” I held her glare, feeling a b
it guilty for not sharing my news about Bastian sooner with her. “He gave me his email address too.”

  “You’ve been secretly communicating with Bastian?”

  “Yes.”

  “So why don’t you guys talk in school?”

  That was the main question, wasn’t it?

  “I honestly don’t know, especially since he was the one to give me his phone number and email first. Although he did approach me after lunch today.”

  “Details.”

  “He basically just introduced himself.”

  “And your emails, what do you guys talk about?”

  “Not much, but he’s offered to take me to his friend for my tattoo.”

  Her eyes sparkled as she lightly knocked her shoulder into mine. “That was nice of him to offer. What else does he have to say?”

  “He's going tonight because I am.”

  Poppy beamed. “So tell me again how operation “Win Sebastian” is never going to happen?” She hopped off the bed. “Now I’ve more of a reason to get you all dolled up. Come on.”

  Two hours later, Shawn, Poppy, Sophia and I headed to the party. Poppy really was good. My black, straight hair now had a wave—falling in soft curls around my face. She lengthened my lashes with mascara, tinted my cheeks, my eyelids and my lips. Hip-hugging faded blue jeans, black leather boots—with a matching belt—and a halter top in emerald-green satin with a very low neckline were the clothes she selected for me and I had to say, I really liked it.

  “I can’t believe you aren’t wearing black.” Sophia sounded almost in awe.

  “I will concede Poppy may have been onto something with losing the black.”

  We arrived at the party. Damian’s parents were off skiing and apparently they had no problem with him having what they thought were a few friends over. Clearly Damian and I had different definitions for how many people constituted “a few”. We climbed from the car and Sophia touched my arm. “There's Tyler. I’ll see you guys later.”