Chapter Sixteen of an Untitled Work

Chapter 16

I’d had over a week to get a sketch out for my final project and all I had drawn was a naked, headless woman in a field. It was disturbing to look at.

“That’s gross,” Crispy said, looking across the table.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“Dang, Mikey. I thought you’d tell me what your vision was. You know, give me some artistic perspective.”

“Wish I had some,” I groaned.

“I’m sure it will, uh, come together,” he tried to reassure me.

“I might have to agree with Sarah Grace for once,” I stated plainly, “I might have writer’s block.”

“From what I’ve heard, writer’s block isn’t permanent,” he said encouragingly.

I threw my head back and stared at the ceiling. “Uuuuhhhhhh,” I moaned, “why do you have to be so friggin’ nice?!”

“Do I need to be meaner?” he asked, confused.

“It would help,” I said, slightly annoyed.

“Um, okay. You’ve done better,” he said uncertainly, “Is that good?”

“No,” I said grumpily. It wasn’t the drawing that was bothering me, although it wasn’t improving my mood. I should do this now–band aid style. I took a deep breath and dove straight in. “I have a date with Max.”

Crispy didn’t react. Instead, he picked up a pencil, opened his sketchbook, and calmly started on his next project.  “I figured,” he said evenly.

“You aren’t mad?” I asked, confused by his disinterest.

“Why would I be mad? You can go on dates with whoever you like,” he explained, “it’s not like I have any say in the matter.”

“That’s true,” I said quietly. For some reason, his calmness was more upsetting than his anger. He was so intense about Max being my boyfriend last week. Why was he okay with Max this week?

“Did Amelia already tell you?” I asked, searching for the reason behind his calm.

“No,” he answered.

“Well, okay then,” I said, returning to my own sketchbook. This was not at all what I expected. Why the sudden change of heart? Didn’t he care? This was eating me up. I attempted to draw a head on my nude woman two or three times before I angrily slammed my pencil down and glared at Crispy. How dare he be so stinkin’ cool? I couldn’t take this anymore. “Why?” I nearly shouted.

Crispy looked up, a little stunned. “Why?”

“Why are you so okay with this?” I asked.

“I heard you,” he explained. “You were right. I didn’t have any reason to be nosing around in your personal life. There are some things that I have no right to be a part of. You had to start dating sometime, right? And it’s not like I asked permission to date Cass.”

“Exactly,” I said blankly. Wasn’t that suppose to be my argument?

“Are you mad that I’m not mad?” he asked.

“That would be kind of stupid, wouldn’t it?” I said, more to myself than to him. “You didn’t really meet my expectations,” I admitted. “I guess I’ve gotten used to the drama.”

He set his sketchbook aside and turned his full attention towards me. I looked down at my unfinished drawing. May as well give up on it for today, at least. “I think it’s time to stop all this fighting we’ve been doing lately, Mikey,” he began. “things are going to change, you know? We’ve got to stop getting mad at each other for doing stuff that’s completely normal.”

I tried to think about what he was saying but my mind was only jumbled with questions. Were we fighting all the time? What kind of changes was he talking about? Were things changing now? RIGHT NOW? The idea of sudden change sent me into a panic. I could feel my heart racing. There was a huge possibility that whatever he was referencing was going to make me uncomfortable. I was immensely attached to my comfort. It took me a few seconds to realize Crispy was still talking.

“Once things get more serious, we won’t be able to do things like that anymore,” he continued. I could only assume he meant our vampire movie dates. “No girl in her right mind would be okay with me hanging out with you so much.”

“Like Cassi,” I said slowly. This was my first recognition of their relationship. Up until this point, she had been a mere inconvenience. He was her boyfriend. This entire time, I had thought of him as my friend, as if he were exclusively mine. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the first time it had occurred to him that he didn’t own me either.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. He acted like saying he and Cass were an item was admitting defeat. “Or someone else,” he added quickly. Was he still unconvinced that Cassi was more than a high school fling? “The point is, things will be different, say, when you get engaged or something. No way is your fiance going to want me hanging out with you alone.”

His eyes seemed sad. I really couldn’t imagine being with someone who didn’t want Crispy around, but he obviously could. I thought about the future. It would probably start changing the minute we left for college. We’d make new friends. Crispy would meet some girl at a mixer. I’d meet a guy in art class. We’d stop calling each other. Over time he would settle down with a wife and kids. And I’d be off with someone else, making a life separate from the one I knew right now. It all made me want to cry. Was that how I was suppose to feel about my future? While I was lamenting what could be, Crispy reached across the table and took my hand. Looking up, I could see that he was as just as distraught as I was. How could my life no longer be intertwined with his? It was like imagining life without my parents.

“Could we not talk about this anymore?” I asked slowly. I could feel myself choking up. I didn’t want to start crying in the middle of class.

“Sure,” he said, wiping a small tear from the corner of my eye. “Tell you what,” he said thoughtfully, “Why don’t we put a bookmark in this conversation?”

I squeezed his hand. He was right. We didn’t have to deal with the future in one afternoon. I wasn’t losing Crispy today. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” I said, reassuring myself that the bridge was a few hundred years ahead of us.

“Exactly,” he said, retracting his hand and picking up his pencil.

Feeling some relief, I started trying to work on my project again. I still couldn’t place a head on the figure. The more I messed with it, the more blurry and disgusting it looked. I needed to make some progress, so I quickly jotted down a title in the corner of the sketch and shoved the page away from me. Crispy turned the sketchbook around so that he could read it. “Field of Disturbance,” he read aloud. “Fitting,” he said pushing the book back to me.

“I’ve never been more…” I paused, trying to think of the right word to describe my frustration.

“Distracted?” he inserted.

I shook my head. “No. It’s more like…I’m…stuck.”

****

Just walk in there. Just do it. I must have said these two sentences to myself a million times as I hovered outside Daddy’s office door with my heart pounding in my ears. Had my nerves really gotten so bad that my heart had completely moved out of my chest? I was wringing my hands and whispering to myself the things I planned to say to him. I had to tell him I was going on a date. I HAD TO. Crispy and Amelia knew. It was only a matter of time before one of them slipped up and said something to their parents and then Daddy would find out from someone else that I was dating and we’d have a long talk about honesty and he would question the integrity of my suitor. Silently, I cursed the existence of boys and the necessity for populating the earth. It would be so much simpler if human beings were more asexual like hammerhead sharks. Lonely? Just produce another you! Poof! Problem solved. It would save all of us a lot of trouble if we didn’t have to constantly check our emotions and battle nerves – – just like I was doing right outside my father’s office door. I allowed myself one last deep breath and a repeat of my “just do it” mantra before I lightly knocked on the barely cracked door.

“Come in,” Dad answered the knock.

I inhaled the office. I spent a lot of my childhood sitting on the red carpeted floor, creating cartoon characters in yellow notepads pulled from Daddy’s desk drawer. The room was lined with homemade wood shelves, filled from top to bottom with various texts used to assist him in writing sermons. I used to count the editions of Bibles, wondering how one book could be translated so many different ways. The room always smelled like ancient book pages and winter green peppermints. It was a scent that reminded me of comfort. It took me back to the days when a five year old Michael would curl up in her Daddy’s lap and read comic books while the rain pelted the double paned window above his desk. Yet today, the familiar scent made me feel as if the message I was preparing to deliver to my father was a note of betrayal that would sour the normally comforting environment. I tried to push away the idea. Going on a singular date wasn’t betraying my father. It was just one date. Nothing more.

“Hey, D,” I said, “I need to talk with you for a minute.” My voice cracked a little as I sat down in the plush orange wingback armchair that faced his desk.

Dad placed a marker in the book he was reading and turned to face me in his black, leather office chair, the hinges making a short squeak as he revolved in my direction. “Shoot,” he said casually.

We sat in silence for a few awkward seconds while I mused over how to start the conversation. Finally, I decided to dive in headfirst. No need in skirting the issue. “I have a date,” I blurted unceremoniously.

Dad’s eyebrows popped up in surprise. “Do you? With who?”

“Max,” I said quickly as I shifted my gaze down to my bare feet. His stare felt too intense for me to look him in the eye.

“Have I met this Max?” he asked sternly. It wasn’t a question as to whether he had forgotten his encounter with Max, it was a reassurance that I had not introduced them and that I was planning on stepping out with someone who was in essence a stranger to my father.

“I work with him,” I replied quietly. I continued staring at my wiggling toes and hoping that this process could go by a little faster.

“When were you planning on bringing this young man by to talk with me?” he asked with increasing intensity.

I bit my lip. I wanted to say never. It was the truth. I would be more comfortable if my family thought I had no interest in dating at all. Secretive dating held an allure for me and if it weren’t for the fact that this town was just small enough for anyone my family knew to catch me, I probably wouldn’t be sitting in this position at all. Instead I gave my Dad a half-hearted truth, “I was thinking you could meet him when he came by to pick me up.”

“I would hope so,” Dad growled. He then began a series of questions that I had always known would accompany a conversation such as this: how old is this young man? does he plan on working at an ice cream shop forever? what is his major? what is his family like? Eventually, I had to grow a pair and force an end to the interrogation.

“It’s one date, Daddy. I’m not down here announcing his intentions for marrying me,” I sighed in exasperation.

“I don’t know this boy. I can’t have just any guy stepping out with my daughter,” he argued.

I stifled a laugh back from his “stepping out” reference. “It’s just a date, Dad,” I reiterated, “if he’s a bad guy, I won’t go on another one. It’s not a big deal.”

Dad plopped back in his chair in a defeated manner and started massaging his forehead with his left hand. “I thought I had more time,” he muttered, “to prepare for this moment.”

“Wasn’t eighteen years enough time?” I asked.

He leaned forward and gently placed a hand over my tightly clasped hands on my lap. “I don’t think forty years would’ve been enough. You’ll always be my baby girl and I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to let you go to someone else.”

I fought back a choke. He was talking as if I was leaving home. Max wasn’t my husband, but Dad felt this as if it were the first step to taking me away from him. I inhaled and repeated myself one last time. “Just a date, Dad. No big deal,” I croaked.

He sighed and rested back in the chair again. “Okay,” he relented, “I’ll wait to be rude to this guy later.” I must have made a weird face because he backed the statement with, “there’s no way this person is good enough for you. No one is.”

Chapter Fifteen of an Untitled Work

Chapter 15

It was a beautiful day. The sky was bright blue accented by a few fluffy clouds. They were what I use to call “happy clouds” when I was a little girl. They weren’t threatening at all. They seemed like they were skipping around like baby sheep. It was an unusually warm day for the end of November. Today, I was wearing a short sleeve shirt, when a just few days ago, I had to wear a sweater under my hoody to keep warm during my walk up to the school. Thanksgiving dinner had been a delicious, carb filled, delight. It was a good thing we had the protein from the turkey to balance our diet a little before we launched into all the deserts. Everyone had spread out into their various spaces. Canaan was blaring music from his room, Alexander was playing with dinosaurs on the kitchen floor while Mom and Mrs. Barrett washed dishes, Dad and Mr. Barrett were watching football in the cave, and me and Amelia were sitting on the front porch, enjoying the beautiful weather. I loved how uncomplicated our Thanksgivings were. While Crispy was traveling over thirteen hours to get to his grandmother’s place in Palm Beach, I was spending the day with my best friend and her family. No traveling, no stress, no family members that I haven’t seen since I was three. It was lucky that neither of our families had relatives to visit during the holidays. I suppose lucky wasn’t the right phrase, since our reason for being together on Thanksgiving was because our grandparents were dead. Still, it did simplify things a lot.

“You know, it’s nice enough to go to the overlook,” I mentioned as I stretched out my legs and wiggled my toes.

“A hike would probably help burn off all that food,” Amelia said, justifying a trip away from our perch on the edge of the porch.

We didn’t get to hike out to the overlook much during the cold months, so this was a special treat. Once we had our shoes on, we rounded the back of the house, crunched through the leaves beyond the backyard, and started our trek through the woods. We only had to walk a little way before we were at the barb wired fence that separated our property from Mr. Albert’s cow pasture. I waited as Amelia effortlessly climbed over the fence. I don’t know if it was her height or her ballet experience that made her climb look so seamless and graceful, but for me, the climb was never easy. I carefully placed my hands on the top wire, making sure they were in the spaces between barbs. Clumsily, I launched myself over the fence and landed on the bush on the other side. There was no point in trying to avoid the bush. It was where I always landed. Amelia helped me up and we found our way to the creek. We skipped across the stone path we had made years ago, when we were kids, and began trudging up a hill that was littered with cow patties. It was quite a dance to get to the overlook, but it was so familiar, it didn’t even seem like work anymore. The overlook was hardly steep, but it seemed so big when we were kids, that the name had stuck. In reality, it was the largest portion of hill in the pasture that just happened to overlook the pond. We sat down on a tuft of grass and watched the cows graze while we let our dinner settle. I couldn’t help but be thankful that we didn’t live next to a Turkey ranch.

“So what’s on your mind, Mikey?” she asked almost immediately.

“What makes you think there’s something on my mind?” I countered. She shot me a knowing look. No need in drawing this out. “Max asked me out,” I admitted.

“Really?! Oh, my gosh, Mikey…” she cut her excitement short when she caught sight of my face. I must have looked terrified. “I’m the first person you’ve told, aren’t I?”

Second, actually, I thought but decided against telling her about Sarah Grace. I simply nodded my head. “I’m scared,” I said in a small voice. It felt freeing to finally say the words out loud.

Instead of asking why, she gave me a hug. “Dating is kinda terrifying,” she said.

“It probably wouldn’t be so nerve wracking if I weren’t going on my first date at eighteen years old,” I muttered. “There’s no way to not screw this up, Amelia.”

She pondered my words before handing out her advice, “Maybe you shouldn’t think of it as a date.”

I didn’t really understand what she was saying, “But it is a date.”

“No. I mean, you guys get along really well at work, right?” she pushed. I nodded my head. “Then just go into this thing like you’re hanging out at work. It’s like a more sophisticated way of picturing people in their underwear.” she said.

“What if he wants to kiss me or something?”

“If you aren’t ready to be kissed, tell him so,” she said, “if he’s as decent as you describe him, he’ll understand.” She paused, “and as far as ‘something’ goes, you always say no to that.”

I smiled at her half-joke and then dove into the rest of my problem. “Max isn’t the only thing I’m worried about,” I blurted. I went into detail about my family and how I desperately wanted to avoid them.

“Just don’t tell them,” she said. I was shocked at her solution. It wasn’t like her to condone lying, unless she was trying to get out of a bad date. She read my face immediately. “It’s not like they have any reason to believe you’re going on a date. You’ve never mentioned Max to them and you’ve never lied to sneak out of the house. Just tell them you’re going out with friends. They’ll automatically assume it’s me or Crispy.”

That was kind of smooth.

“You’ll have to tell them eventually, Mike,” she made sure to point out quickly, “if there’s a second or third or twelfth date, you’ll have to let them know. This isn’t a permanent solution.”

She was right, but I made up my mind to let this be the solution for the time being. No point in planning for a future that didn’t yet exist.

“What are you going to do about Crispy?” she asked without prompting.

“I’m not sure,” I said in a distressed tone, “it really shouldn’t matter, should it? I mean, it’s not like he consulted me about Cassi.”

“You might want to bring that up when you guys fight about this,” she said.

“How do you?” I started.

“There’s no way you can broach this without it turning into an argument,” she stated almost factually.

“You don’t have any suggestions for me?”

“Your problems with Crispy stem much deeper than one date with Max,” she said, “and I can’t solve a problem that you refuse to acknowledge.”

I knew where this was going. It was hard to believe she was going to mention this after I had told her I was going on my first date with someone that wasn’t Crispy. “Don’t,” I said flatly.

“You guys love each other. I’m not the only person who sees it,” she pressed, “the only reason you can’t see it, is you’re afraid of what would change if you said it out loud.”

I was worried about enough stuff without her trying to convince me that I was in love with Crispy. I certainly didn’t want to talk about this. Silence fell between us. She didn’t apologize, she simply told me what my next move had to be, “Tell him when he gets back from Florida. That’ll give both of you a couple of days to cool off.”

We were well over due for a subject change, but I wanted to hurt her, so I brought up something that had to be going wrong. “So how are things with you and Jimmy?” I immediately regretted asking. If he hadn’t dumped already, he was preparing to.

“Good,” she said, brightening up, “we’ve been on five dates!”

Five? That was two over his average. One of two things must have happened: either Jimmy had grown up or he had dated every girl on campus. “Wow,” I said.

“I think he’s changed,” she said hopefully, “he’s a lot more open this time. It’s different, ya know?”

I didn’t know. People weren’t quick to change, least of all, Jimmy. He was hard enough to trust when he was being predictable, much less so now that he was doing something new. I couldn’t help but feel that he was pulling something over on her. It would be easy enough with her floating around in this twitterpated state.

“Maybe we could all go on a double date sometime,” she said dreamily.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I replied cautiously, “one step at a time, thanks.”

She laughed at my trepidation and began spouting mush about her wonderful relationship with Jimmy. I listened and responded as part of my best friend duties, but I seethed inwardly toward the boy who could potentially destroy the beautiful person sitting next to me. I would continue to be supportive like she had asked, but the minute he set a toe out of line, I would disintegrate him.

*****

Amelia’s advice was excellent but I felt that it needed some tweaking. I decided that I would tell Crispy about Max after I told my parents. He wasn’t more important than my parents, after all, right? Still, I felt pretty tortured the following Monday when we returned to school. It was hard to hide something from someone when they were being so incredibly nice. The guilt was creeping up on me, but it was Crispy’s gesture at lunch that sent me over the edge.

I was working hard at being extra frugal this year. I wanted to have plenty of money to put toward college, so I was brown bagging lunch nearly everyday. It was a fairly agonizing decision on my part. There was nothing I loved more than the greasy, fried foods that the school cafeteria provided, and the intoxicating smell of fries tested my resolve daily. After almost a full week of eating southern cuisine and artfully clogging my arteries, the smells emanating from the fry bats in the cafeteria were slowly killing me. I was silently cursing the PB&J that was loading down the bottom of my bag as I passed the popular table in the lunchroom. I was distracted by my hunger, so I almost didn’t notice Crispy’s arm, blocking my path.

“Got something for you,” he grinned.

I stood silently and waited for him to reveal the something. He seemed oblivious to the stares coming from the surrounding preps. It was like I was contaminating their space by standing there too long. Next to Crispy, Cassi was giving me the stink eye while protectively linking her arm through his. I raised my eyebrows to indicate to Crispy that he needed to hurry this process along.

“Here,” he said, handing a small platter of fries to me, “I got a little extra for you.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the fries.

“You know I can’t help but take care of you,” he teased.

I smiled and quickly headed for my usual spot. The judgement from the popular table was searing holes through my chest. Sitting at my table was Amelia, sipping out of her water bottle that read, Carrollton Ballet Company and pouring over her Advanced Biochemistry textbook. She looked up from her studies as I slid into my seat.   

She eyed the plate in front of me. “French fries and bag lunch? Are you feeling a little bipolar about lunch?”

“Crispy got them for me,” I explained, looking gravely at the fries.

“That was nice,” she observed.

“Mmhmm,” I agreed distractedly.

“You know, not eating the french fries isn’t going to make the guilt go away,” she said, nabbing a fry from my plate, “in fact, I think that in instances such as this, fatty food usually makes girls feel better,” she popped another fry in her mouth, “or so I’ve heard.”

She was right. No need in wasting a good plate of fries. I started in on the platter when she spoke up again. “You weren’t planning on telling him, were you?”

How did she always know what I was thinking? “Not anytime soon,” I admitted quietly.

“Funny how a plate of french fries can change things,” she said frankly as she returned to her book.

Chapter Fourteen of an Untitled Work

Chapter 14

Tamra had a real life hang over. She sat on the floor behind the cake display freezer, massaging her temples with her eyes squinted tightly shut. Although she was really, really cranky when she had a hangover, I preferred working with her in this state. She rarely talked except to complain about noise and she wore normal clothing. Today, she was wearing blue jeans, a pair of Nike tennis shoes, and a Baskin Robbins t-shirt that was actually in her size. She would stay in that spot next to the freezer the entire shift as long as I kept busy and quiet. Since I was still mad at Crispy for wanting to meet Max, I was pretty content to work silently making waffle cones. Occasionally, I would recall a portion of my conversation with him, slam the waffle iron shut and Tamra would yell at me. I was so fired up that I didn’t even mind burning my fingers on the edge of the iron when I fumbled to remove the thin layer of freshly cooked waffle batter. It was a good thing that business had been so slow. Neither of us was fit to wait on a customer in our agitated states.

“Watch where you step, you clumsy jackass!” Tamra howled so loudly that I dropped the cone I was rolling.

Max turned the corner eyeing Tamra cautiously as he headed for the time clock. He must have tripped over her on his way behind the counter. “Hangover,” I explained quietly as he slinked past the waffle cone station. He nodded understandingly and padded quietly back to the front counter.

“Leaving. Clock me out,” Tamra groaned to me as she gathered her things.

“Feel better,” I said in a hushed tone. If I feigned concern for her well-being during hangovers, she was usually nicer to me the next day. I didn’t have any real sympathy for her, though. What could she have possibly been doing on a Sunday night that would leave her feeling like this by late Monday afternoon? If anything, she deserved the pain. You’d think she’d have learned her lesson by now.

She put on her over-sized sunglasses and stumbled through the front door, pausing only to switch the dinger on as she left. We weren’t allowed to turn it off. Earl was very strict about it. A non-dinging door could result in missing a customer, and heaven knew we needed every customer we could get during the slow months.

I finished rolling my last waffle cone and began cleaning up my station. I was a little sad to see the last of the batter finished off, but now that Max was here, he would want to socialize and I couldn’t punish him for Cripsy’s attitude. Still, I sort of wished that Max had come in with a hangover too. The evening was uneventful enough. I kept the conversation going smoothly between me and Max but I truthfully wanted to be left alone to mull over my issues with Crispy. Was this really something I needed to be torked out over? The hours dragged on. We waited on the handful of customers that wandered in and talked about the latest in pop culture in between work duties. Every time the door dinged I would check to see if Crispy had ignored my demand that he stay away from Max. By the end of the evening, I was reflexively checking over my shoulder anytime someone passed the store window. I must not have been too obvious because Max never questioned what I was doing. I was glad that my exterior wasn’t reflecting my nervous anxiety. At closing time, I cranked the volume on the CD player so I didn’t have to try to converse any longer. Thankfully, Max didn’t seem to want to talk either. We were at our cars before he spoke up again.

“Been lost in thought this evening?” he asked.

And I thought I had been doing so well. He must have noticed I was distracted and gave up on trying to interact with me. Maybe he was just being nice and giving me my space. A small pang of guilt ran through me as I realized that my silence was unkind.

“Oh,” I said after the reality of this evening had set in, “I’m sorry. I’m just upset. I had a fight with my friend.”

“That’s understandably upsetting,” he said.

“Thanks,” I responded, “I don’t really know if it’s worth being upset about. My friend probably didn’t even know it was a fight.”

It was nice that he didn’t prod for more information concerning the fight. Either he didn’t care about the details or he understood that I wasn’t looking to share. I wasn’t going to dwell on the reasoning behind his actions. Just be thankful he doesn’t want to know, I thought to myself. I smiled to show him how appreciative I was of his understanding.

He shuffled, pulled out his phone and fiddled with it for a little bit before trying to start up a new conversation. “So,” he started, “how did you like your birthday present?”

I blushed. Was this the only thing on everyone’s mind today? “It was fun. Had to explain it to Cassi, though.”

“Poor soul,” he shook his head disapprovingly, “I bet you spend a lot of your time explaining things to her.”

“Usually,” I agreed, “but thankfully we don’t hang out too much, so I get lots of rest between explanations.”

He grinned and began fiddling with his phone again. I glanced at his screen to see what had his attention. There wasn’t anything on the screen. He was pressing keys at random and clearing the field. It wasn’t until I noted his actions on the cell that I realized he was nervous. But why? He didn’t leave me wondering for long.

“Would you like to go out with me sometime?” he blurted out.

The shock of the question kept me from processing it properly, “Out?” I asked.

“On a date,” he said quickly.

“Me?” I asked, still in shock.

“I’m not asking your car,” he replied.

I scanned the parking lot, looking for the hidden camera. This had to be a joke. I didn’t get asked out on dates.

“You don’t want to go out with me,” I said.

“Yes, I do,” he contradicted, “you shouldn’t be surprised. I haven’t been very vague about how much I like you.”

I started blushing again. “I thought you were just being really nice.”

“A little over the top, don’t ya think?”

I thought back over the past month. There had been a few signs: the teasing, the occasional touch of my hands, the singing.  “Maybe,” I said shyly. Then I was hit with a new realization. “But I’m in high school,” I said in an almost panicked tone, “and I’m American.”

“I’ll try not to hold that against you,” he laughed, “so am I going to get an answer anytime soon?”

I couldn’t think of any reason why I shouldn’t go on a date with Max. He liked me and I had just recently figured out that I liked him. Why not?

“Okay, sure,” I finally answered.

He put his phone away and smiled. “Okay, then. We’re going out,” he said, “how’s your weekend look?”

Now I could think of a million reasons why we shouldn’t go out on a date. My family was number one on that list. Dad would want to meet Max. I don’t know if he could handle the interrogation process…or if I could for that matter. Even if Max survived the initial interview with the parents, I would get tortuously teased before hand. The mere mention of a boy usually sent the whole family into a teasing feeding frenzy. Canaan would start singing “Michael and insert name here sitting in a tree…” and Dad would start prodding with questions that would send me into blushing fits. I didn’t want to deal with what would happen before an actual date. And then there was Crispy. I had promised I would tell him if something was going on with Max just a few hours ago. I swore that we were only friends. How was I going to call him up and tell him that I had lied? I never meant to lie to him. I needed time to think this out. Maybe I could get around my family and Crispy for a little while.

“Not good,” I answered, “you know, Thanksgiving is this week and I’ll be busy helping Mom out with that. Maybe we could do it after?”

“Right. American holiday. I’m still not use to that,” he nodded, “Next week, then?”

“Sure. We’ll talk it out at work,” I said.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, lowering his voice and stepping forward to close the small gap between us. Normally, I would’ve freaked out and made a b-line for Bessie, but after having been so honest, it felt wrong to retreat to hide my embarrassment. Why was I so embarrassed, anyway? Didn’t Amelia just tell me it was okay for a guy to like me? Shouldn’t I be relieved that I didn’t have to worry about hiding my own feelings anymore? Max took hold of my hand and raised it to his lips. I felt a sudden jolt in my gut. He lightly brushed his lips against my knuckles and smiled coyly at me. I immediately broke into goosebumps. He dropped my hand but continued holding it, intertwining our fingers. We stood in silence for a few seconds. I could feel my heart beating hard in my chest. I looked down for a moment to check and see if it was bouncing through my shirt like it did in those old cartoons where the creepy wolf fell in love with Red Riding Hood. I glanced back up to see Max staring at me in a way that made me feel completely exposed.

“Have a good night,” he said softly, finally letting me go and gently running his index finger down my forearm. He backed away to his car, keeping intense eye contact with me the whole time. “I’ll call you later,” he said with a wry grin on his face.

“Okay,” I responded. I sounded raspy and out of breath.

I turned and tried to walk slowly and calmly around to the driver’s side of my car. I wondered if I was pulling of calm well. I felt like I was going to puke but at the same time, I wanted to do a cartwheel. I never thought that the conflicting emotions of being happy and scared could be this intoxicating. I hated and loved the experience at the same time. I waited to see if Max was looking before I rested my head on the steering wheel and took a few deep breaths. It would be good if I were calm before I started driving. Finally, I sat up and started the engine. I was about to put the car in reverse and back out of my spot, when my phone beeped. I had a text from Crispy that simply read, I’m sorry.

The guilt I had pushed aside earlier hit me like a truck. Should I call him now or would that start a whole new fight? I decided that I was not the person to make this decision–not now, anyway. I was way too emotional to be wise. On Thursday, I’d see Amelia. She always knew what to do. I’d let her make the decision for me. Until then, I’d side step any conversations that involved either our dating lives.

*****

The next day, I found that I couldn’t concentrate. Reality had finally settled in and I couldn’t stop thinking of all the ways I could screw up this date with Max. I tried reassuring myself by thinking that he had already chosen to like me. I mean, he worked with me nearly everyday and despite the uniform, my clumsiness, my opinions, and my music, he liked me…or at least I thought he liked me. I wasn’t a boiling caldron of lust so it had to be my personality that he was into, right? Then again, Amelia said a guy would try to nail anything, so my absence of boobage may not be much of a deterrent. The continued worried thoughts were not helping me with the progress of my final project. I was still looking at a blank page, except this time I couldn’t even visualize the field. All I could think about was how to look hot without looking sexually appealing. Was that possible?

“Do you need to be inspired?” Sarah Grace asked. She was wearing a light navy blue floral shirt that seemed incredibly out of season considering the heavy winds we were experiencing today. I couldn’t help but admire her pants, though. The rust colored skinny jeans were classically vintage and worked well with her top. I thought about complimenting her but decided against it. There was no need to have friendly conversation with the cheerleader who was constantly and ignorantly critiquing my art work.

“No, I’m good. Thanks,” I said curtly.

“You don’t usually take two days to start a project,” she observed. How did she know that?

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” I admitted.

She pulled up a chair from the table adjacent to mine and slid next to me. “Maybe you should talk to someone about what’s bothering you,” she pointed out.

I glanced at the front of the room where Crispy was talking to Mrs. Smith about something in his sketchbook. “You can’t talk to him about it, can you?” Sarah Grace observed.

“No…well, not yet at least. I don’t know how to bring it up,” I said.

“You love him, don’t you?” she whispered intensely.

“No,” I said a little too adamantly, “nothing like that.”

She sat up straight and looked at me, confused, “What else could it be?” I was appalled that she believed that was the only option.

“I have a date with this guy and I told Crispy there was nothing going on there,” I said.

“So just tell him you were wrong and that you have a date. I really don’t see where there’s a problem,” she said simply.

I shook my head, more at myself than her. I shouldn’t be confiding in someone that knows so little about me. What other reaction did I expect from her? Still, I felt the need to try and help her understand my relationship with Crispy. “It’s the first time I’ve lied to him,” I explained, “even if it was unintentional.”

“He’s got Honey Badger. I don’t think he has a right to be mad at you,” she said. She still didn’t understand.

I stared back down at the blank page and thought about the field. Had talking to Sarah Grace cleared my head? I suppose it didn’t matter who you talked to as long as you got the problem off your chest. “Thanks. That helped,” I said, and I meant it.

She smiled brightly. “No biggy. You have fun, k?”

“Have fun doing what?” asked Crispy as he slid back into his seat.

Oh, swizzle sticks. I wasn’t ready to tell him about Max. I shot a panicked look over at Sarah Grace and waited for her to reveal me.

“Eating turkey,” she lied smoothly, “I mean, it’s nasty gross that she eats the world’s ugliest bird every year but you know, whatever blows your skirt up, right?” And with a subtle wink, she got up and sauntered smoothly back to her table. I silently thanked her from where I was sitting. That was the first truly cool thing she had ever done for me.

“Sorry about that,” Crispy said, “It’s bad enough that she insults your work all the time but now she’s insulting your major life decisions.”

I laughed, more out of relief than at Crispy’s comment. “It’s cool,” I replied, “for once, talking with Sarah Grace wasn’t too bad.”

Chapter Thirteen of an Untitled Work

Chapter 13

After washing off all the girliness and waiting for the caffeine to pass through Cassi’s system, I laid in my sleeping bag, looking at the ceiling and thinking about my evening.

“You awake?” I heard Amelia whisper from the sleeping bag next to me.

“Yeah. I think that I’m going to lay off of coffee from here on out. It makes me hear wind indoors.”

“Don’t give up on coffee yet. I’m pretty sure you’re hearing the fan.” Amelia pointed to the ceiling.

I rolled over to face her. “Why are you still up?”

“I’ve been waiting for her lady the duchess of gossip to go to sleep so I can talk to you,” she explained.

I propped myself up on an elbow and leaned in closer so that I wouldn’t have to whisper anymore. “I’m so glad. I wanted to talk to you too.”

Amelia smirked. “I figured,” she said smugly.

I sighed. “I’m going to skip the conversational waltz and get down to the dirty dancing,” I jumped in, “Is what Max did this evening normal dude stuff? I mean, was that something he would do for a friend or does it mean more?”

“So not normal,” she answered quickly.

“But it wasn’t a mushy song or anything so I’m in the clear, right?”

Amelia furrowed her brow in a confused manner. “He sang a song about you being the most beautiful girl in the room,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but that song also compares the girl to a part time model, a prostitute, and a tree. So it doesn’t really mean he likes me likes me, ya know?”

“With the exception of the prostitute, those are all beautiful things. Even with the silliness factor, he made sure to single you out, Mikey. I think he might be into you.”

I flopped my head onto my pillow and covered my face. Despite the extreme darkness, I knew she could see my face bursting into flames. It had to be radiating through the pillow.

“I don’t know how to take this, Amelia,” I mumbled into my hands.

“I thought you liked him.”

“I do. It’s just that, well, he’s not suppose to like me back. I’m not sure how to handle someone who isn’t completely rejecting my existence.”

Amelia pulled my hands away from my face and stroked my hair. “Just let it ride,” she said soothingly, “breathe and accept that you are perfectly lovely and attractive to the opposite sex.”

I suddenly felt a little relief. The brick that had been sitting on my chest all night seemed to be more like fish bowl pebbles. “I AM pretty awesome,” I said proudly.

Just then, there was a jolt in the bed next to us as Cassi flopped over and let out a giant snort. We immediately had to pull our pillows over our heads to contain all our laughter. Just when I thought I had gotten all the giggles out, Amelia lifted her pillow and whispered in a sultry tone, “so sexy right now.”

And the day ended in perpetual laughter.

*****

The following Monday, I found myself glaring at a blank page in front of me. Just sketch SOMETHING, I thought to myself. I needed something big for my final piece, something that would tie my portfolio together. Why couldn’t I think of something? I twirled my pencil between my fingers, closed my eyes, and tried to get lost in thought. All I saw was black, inky, darkness. I thought of a color to splash on the emptiness in my mind. Blue, lavender, a bright yellow…a field…a field of wildflowers with a perfect blue sky backdrop. I needed something in that field, something dynamic and natural…maybe…Max. I shook my head out of my artistic trance. Crushes kill creativity, I scolded myself.

“Oh, wow. You seriously need to get some work done,” I heard an annoying voice say over my shoulder.  “God, you must be suffering from writer’s block or something,” Sarah Grace commented stupidly.

“I’m brainstorming,” I grumbled.

She pulled a chair up next to me. “What were you thinking about?” she inquired as she swooped her hair to the opposite side of her neck.

“A field,” I responded shortly.

“Just a field? Damn, Michael, you can do better than that.” She picked up one of my abandoned pastels and started doodling hearts on my empty sketch pad.

“Do something with that,” she ordered bossily as she colored in the hearts.

“That’s not a crayon,” I said in an annoyed tone.

“You don’t use enough red. Do something with red. It’s eye popping.”

“Thank you,” I said as I yanked the pastel out of her hand.

She stood up and adjusted her brown leather, fringed vest so that it fell behind her boobs. It was obvious we were approaching Thanksgiving because she looked like a whorish Indian. “You’ll see, Michael. All you need is red.” and with that, she turned and bounced off to the popular table.

“She ruined my pad and my pastel,” I grumbled as I observed the smeared end of my pastel.

I tore the page out of my sketchbook, wadded it up, and threw it on the floor. That’s where cheerleader art belonged. I stared down at the fresh, empty page and tried to pull the vision of the field back up.

“So you’re not even going mention him?” Crispy said from across the table. He was glaring at me and palming a miniature football tattooed with our team mascot.

It occurred to me that we hadn’t spoken to each other the entire class period. I put down the sketchbook and leaned back in my chair to give Crispy my full attention. “Him?” I asked.

“Your new boyfriend?” he said in an accusatory tone.

“Boyfriend?! Are you talking about that rumor?! I’m not even friends with Terris!”

“Max,” he said warningly.

I ducked my head so he couldn’t see the blush that was creeping into my cheeks. “Your girl has talks too much,” I said in a hushed tone.

“So it’s true?! You have a boyfriend and you were just going to hide that from me?!”

I couldn’t believe how upset he was getting over this. “No. He’s a friend from work. Cassi is blowing things out of proportion,” I replied defensively.

“A friend that sings to you,” he shot back.

“Did Cassi tell you what he sang?”

“Something about pretty trees,” he shrugged.

“It was The Most Beautiful Girl In the Room by Flight of the Conchords. It was a birthday present and a joke,” I made sure to stress the word joke.

His face began to relax and he set the football on the table. “Oh. I thought you were…” he trailed off. “Sorry.”

I rolled the football back and forth on the table. “Why was it such a big deal?”

“I’m not sure. It was the first time that I had ever thought you weren’t sharing something with me. It kind of ate me up.”

“You got upset about about a guy singing a song about pretty trees to me? What kind of dude did you think this was? A Birkenstock wearing hippy? C’mon. Would I go for that? Ever?!”

We both started to laugh. Once we had settled down, he joined me in the football rolling. “Just to be clear, would you tell me if you had a boyfriend?”

“I’d call you five seconds after the first kiss, girlfriend.”

“Seriously, Mikey. Would you?”

I stopped the ball and looked him in the eyes. “Crispy, you’re my best friend. Of course, I’d tell you. Why would I hide something like that from you?”

He smiled and started rolling the football again. “So when do I get to meet Max?”

The question floored me. I sat still as if a loss of movement would make the weird question disappear. I ignored the football as it slowly rolled past me, off the table, and onto my feet. “What?” I asked. Perhaps if he rephrased the question, it would make more sense.

“When do I get to meet this guy?” he repeated a little louder.

I wanted to shout “NEVER!” but my actual answer was, “At work?”

Crispy smirked “Was that a question?”

I thought for a moment.“No?” Why was I stating everything in question format? Was I practicing to be a contestant on Jeopardy?

“No, it wasn’t a question, or no I can’t meet him?”

I stared down at my hands. When had I started tapping my pinky? I glared at the defiant finger and forced it to behave. Why did Crispy need to meet this guy? Why was it bothering me so much? It’s not like it was unusual for him to be a part of everything in my life. Then it hit me. He didn’t have a right to be part of this. It was MY crush and I was the only one who needed to deal with it. How dare he try to make me feel ashamed of having a friend he hadn’t met. It’s not like I was on speaking terms with all his jocky douche bag friends. He was trying to bully Max…size him up. Now I was a little angry.

“Yes,” I said forcefully.

He let out a condescending laugh. “What does that even mean, Mikey?”

I sat up straight and crossed my arms. “It means it wasn’t a question. It means I’m completely certain that I don’t need you as a body guard. It means I don’t want you to ‘meet’ Max, and it also means that I don’t want you lurching around my job, distracting me.”

“Geez, Mikey,” he said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He looked a little hurt. I hated that puppy dog face he made when I snapped at him.

“Squirrel nuts,” I mumbled to myself. “Look, you’re little spy has done a good enough job of sniffing out Max. Why not just leave it at that?”

He leaned forward and gestured for me to move in closer. “My spy is overly dramatic and bad with details,” he whispered.

“You don’t believe that he’s just a friend, do you?”

Crispy sat back and stared at me. I could hear him saying What do you think? very clearly in my head.

“Get over it,” I snapped, “you can’t always be my whole world. I’m going to make other friends and you may or may not meet them.”

I angrily gathered my sketch book and quickly shoved it in my bag. The idea of him being so overly protective got me fired up. The nosy little bugger. The bell rang. I flung the bag over my shoulder, marched around the table, and poked my finger into Crispy’s chest, pushing him back ever so slightly.

“AND,” I nearly yelled, “I may or may not go out and do stuff without you! You-you-you…BLOCKHEAD!” What a stupid insult.

I violently pushed my shoulder strap closer to my neck, gave Crispy one last evil glare, and stomped out of the classroom. Surely, confidence would override the stupid insult. As I rounded the corner just outside the room, I nearly bumped into Cassi. I stopped short and stuck my ink stained finger in her face.

“And you have a fat mouth, you heifer!” Without waiting for a reply, I continued my parade of huffiness out of the building and down to Bessie.

 

 

Chapter Twelve of an Untitled Work

This week I mention a specific song that a lot of people may have heard but just in case, I thought I’d post said song so the reader can refer to it if they need to:

Chapter 12

It was hard to have a first impression of the cafe. I had to adjust to the thick wall of smoke before I attempted to navigate the space. Thankfully, Max was familiar enough with the area that he cautiously guided me through the packs of coffee drinking, clove smoking hipsters. He found an empty booth with mismatched benches and politely excused himself to meet with the rest of his band. Once my eyes stopped watering, I sat back and surveyed the room. It looked like an artist’s afterthought. The wall opposite me was painted, floor to ceiling, like an Indian shrine. It was a not-so-subtle tribute to Shiva. The goddess was the giant central figure of the painting surrounded with sunbeams of red and gold. Next to the giant painted wall was a reading corner comprised of dilapidated shelves piled high with worn out books and magazines. Between the shelves were sagging couches that I assumed were picked up off the side of the road and teaming with vermin. There were couples on the couches who were working hard to meld into one person. Obviously, the reading corner wasn’t used for reading. The kitchen-slash-bar area of the cafe took up the right hand corner. I could see straight into the cooking area where the “chef” was sitting on the counter and flirting with one of the waitresses. An overly pierced cashier was leaning over the front counter, reading “Gay City News”, which led me to believe she was a very proud lesbian that had no interest in serving her customers. The entrance to the kitchen and the mouth of the register area was surrounded by a homemade lattice that was covered in plastic ivy and mismatched strands of twinkle lights. There was a broken jukebox and an old-school Mrs. Pac Man machine in the corner next to the kitchen area. The wall behind me was littered with various independent art pieces. One piece involved half of a pink Cadillac popping out of a canvas to depict a gruesome car accident. Next to that, there was a mural of grotesque, rotting faces showing the progress of human decay. This is where my art will come to die, I thought to myself. There seemed to be a section of the wall portioned off for elementary school art, thanking the establishment for it’s service to the community. I tried to imagine what a joint like this had to give to the city of Carrollton besides a haven for those wishing to die an early death. The front of the cafe had a display window with a small stage built in front of it. There were a few fake trees littered around to hide the mass of wires and plugs needed for all the band equipment. Above the stage was a random, broken disco ball. The whole place led me to believe that once you started college, you completely forsook hygiene and decorating 101.

Before too long, I started feeling awkward. I looked out of place. I was sitting alone, in a dress, without a beer. I may as well have mounted a neon sign above me that flashed, “HIGH SCHOOL KID!” I surveyed the room for Cassi and Amelia. Surely they had seen me walk in with Max. It occurred to me that they may have kept their distance so that I could have some alone time with the boy. Was I suppose to find them? I began walking around and looking for my entourage. The cafe was fairly crowded. Bumping into people’s shoulders and elbows was unavoidable. I finally gave up on trying to walk through the crowd and stood in one place, checking every corner of the room. Finally, I spotted Amelia, leaning against one of the shabbily constructed shelves in the reading corner. She was talking to someone. She was smiling and laughing as she talked enthusiastically to guy who had his back turned toward me. I squinted my eyes and took a few steps to the side to get a better view of this person. She didn’t usually strike up conversations with strangers, so this must be someone we both knew. The guy was wearing a red, Mr. Roger’s-like cardigan and a pair of khaki’s. From the back, he looked like he had invested his life-savings in the GAP. He was tall and slender with chestnut hair. Who did we know that fit that description? I edged closer and finally got a glimpse of his face. It was Jimmy. Three date Jimmy. I could feel myself starting to rage. What the heck was he doing talking to her? Better yet, what was she doing talking to him?

My first impulse was to rush through the crowd and punch him in the gut, but that was hardly socially appropriate and might end in an encounter with the cops. I quickly looked around the room to find Cassi. She was a walking interruption. I needed her super powers of annoying small talk and purposeless gab. I tried to narrow my search by looking for something shiny among the crowd of grunge. Finally, I caught a glimpse of hot pink in the corner at the jukebox. I edged through the maze of college students and finally popped out next to Cassi, who was applying mascara in the reflection of the CD’s encased in the top part of the jukebox.

“What are you doing?!” I said in an accusatory manner.

“Freshening up,” she replied as she placed the mascara brush back in the container and then proceeded to brush her eyebrows with her pinky finger. She turned around and placed the mascara back in her clutch. “The bathrooms here? Nasty. And there’s no mirror! I don’t know who owns this place, but it’s like they don’t care.”

I couldn’t help but be dumbfounded by her horror. Just looking at the cafe should have given her an idea of what the bathrooms would be like. I shook myself out of the blond fog Cassi had enveloped me in.

“Why are you even freshening up? It’s not like there’s anyone here to impress,” I pointed out.

“So? You never know who you’ll bump into,” Cassi explained as she looked around the room.

“You left Amelia alone, you hooker!” I yelled out of frustration. I grabbed her upper arm and forcefully began to drag her through the crowd toward the reading nook.

“What is your problem? I left her with a friend?!” Cassi whined.

“You left her with Jimmy,” I said angrily.

“Who’s Jimmy?”

I shrugged off her ignorance and continued roughly through the crowd of complaining twenty somethings. After what seemed like ages, I finally popped out of the smoke cloud of students and stepped in between Amelia and her admirer.

“There you are!” I exclaimed a little too enthusiastically. I shouldered Jimmy, pushing him further away from Amelia.

“Excuse you,” Jimmy huffed.

I kept my back turned toward him, pretending he didn’t exist. “I thought we’d lost you, Amelia. I’m sorry we left you alone for so long. Cassi got lost in the bathroom,” I bubbled on.

“Hey!” Cassi exploded. I glared at Cass and pulled her closer to me to build a wall of person between Amelia and Jimmy. “We should find a place to stand or sit or something so we can enjoy all of…” I paused and looked around the room, “this.”

Amelia pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow as if to say, “you are a huge jerk.” She bent at the waist slightly and peered around my human blockade. “Call me later,” she said in a flirty tone.

“Sure,” Jimmy responded enthusiastically. “Nice to see you again, Mike.”

“Michael,” I corrected him grouchily. My sour mood didn’t seem to affect him. He shrugged, waved to Amelia, and headed into the smoky fog.

“What was that?!” Amelia growled as we began walking away from the reading area.

“Yeah,” Cassi chimed in, “you made me sound like a first class idiot.”

“Would you rather I go into a detailed description on how you were checking your make up in a CD because you were scared of the bathroom?”

Cassi’s face went blank. She reminded me of the dumb pigs that the angry birds knocked over. She must have been shocked that I had the nerve to call her out on her shallowness.

“This isn’t about you anyway,” I barked. “Look,” I said changing the conversation direction back toward Amelia, “I was trying to save you from the imminent disaster that is three date Jimmy.”

“Maybe I didn’t need saving,” Amelia huffed.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Amelia looked down at the floor and shrugged.

“Amelia! He ALWAYS pulls the same stunt,” I lowered my voice and shoved my hands in my pockets to mimic Jimmy, “Hi, remember me? I’m seriously charming and totally into you until uh, that other hotter, looser chick becomes more available and horny.” I glared at her and continued my rant.  “Do you really want to go through this again? Really?”

“Maybe you should back off. It’s not like you have ever been on a date.”

“That was low, Amelia,” I said angrily.

A look of shame fell across her face. “Sorry. It’s just…he’s exactly what I’m looking for in a guy. I feel like it would be stupid if I didn’t give him another chance. I mean, what if he’s THE ONE?”

I cringed at her reference to the world’s most overused romantic phrase. “You know I don’t believe in that crap.”

“You know that I do! I think you should at least pretend to be supportive,” she replied quickly.

“I can’t support someone who has repeatedly hurt my best friend. Do you understand that?” I said pitifully.

“Well, this is happening and no matter how it turns out, as my best friend, I expect you to at least be nice to him in public.”

“Fine,” I said begrudgingly.

“I’m glad you’re honest with me,” she said, putting her arm around me. She seemed a little ashamed of causing a scene.

“Sure. Whatever,” I grumbled, crossing my arms and beginning to pout.

“And I’m glad you’ve got my back, yo,” she said in her whitest gansta voice, throwing up some gang symbols with her fingers.

I smacked at her hands and laughed. “Stick with what you know, nerd.”

“Can we find a seat now?” Cassi whined behind us, “these shoes are just for looks not hikes across the country.”

*****

Not surprisingly, we ended up back at the mismatched booth that had begun my journey across the cafe to rescue Amelia. With all the people that were milling around the room, I was surprised that the booth had remained vacated during our presentation of high school dramatics. It made me wonder if the booth was infected with a VD or something.

“Can you catch the syph from a grimy seat?” I leaned over and whispered to Amelia.

“Not unless you have a special relationship with the bench, Mikey,” she giggled.

“Uhhhhh,” Cassi groaned from across the table, “how long does it take a band to warm up?!”

“Wouldn’t you know?” I questioned her. She did play flute in the marching band, after all.

“Marching bands just play, Michael,” she responded haughtily.

“She must be asleep during band practices,” Amelia whispered.

At that moment, there was some microphone feedback from the stage. Me and Amelia turned to see Max standing with his guitar, adjusting the mike stand.

“Hello, y’all,” he said in the most pitiful southern accent ever.

The crowd burst into laughter.

“So glad everyone’s here to see us this evening. Normally, we’d just jump into the fun but I have a little something special I’d like to do tonight. You see, my girl, Michael, is here to see yours truly and it just so happens to be her birthday.”

The crowd began to applaud and I sank down in my seat.

“I see you over there, girl,” he said pointing his guitar pick in the direction of the forbidden booth. “I’m a bit on the poor side, so instead of getting you a gift, we’re gonna play a song. Hope everyone enjoys it. Especially you, birthday kid.”

“O-M-G, Michael. He’s like, in love with you,” Cassi said at an annoyingly loud volume.

“Shut up,” I snapped. I wanted to barf or hide or both. This was worse than the touching. At least I could get him to stop hugging me. I had to sit, smile, and act like this was immensely flattering instead of embarrassing to the core.

Amelia leaned over and started rubbing my back in a circular motion. “Breathe,” she said calmly.

I let out a huge breath of air. No wonder I was so dizzy.

“Now look like you’re happy and not about to drop your eyeballs on the floor,” she ordered.

I plastered on a grin and waited. Please don’t sing something sappy, I thought to myself.  Max pulled up a black stool, worked himself into a comfortable position, strummed a few meaningless chords, leaned forward to the microphone and sang the first word of the song. The minute he crooned yeah, I burst into laughter. He was singing The Most Beautiful Girl in the Room by Flight of the Conchords.

“He remembered!” I explained excitedly to Cassi and Amelia. “He remembered that this song always makes me laugh! We talked about it last week. That is just so…” I trailed off. Did I almost say “cute”? I quickly checked to see if they had noticed my near slip up.

“Did he just compare you to a tree?” Cassi said, wrinkling her nose with disgust.

“It’s a metaphor,” Amelia kidded.

While Amelia and Cassi discussed the meaning of the tree, Max ended the song. Clapping and whistles from the serious fans filled the room.

“Happy birthday, Michael,” he said lowly into the microphone amidst the noise.

I waved shyly.

“This was weird,” I said to Amelia.

“You mean adorable,” Amelia responded.

“Whatever,” I said cooly.

She pushed my shoulder and shook her head. “Sure, Mikey. Whatever.”

Chapter Eleven of an Untitled Work

Chapter 11

“Don’t flinch,” Cassi ordered.

“You’re holding a pencil half an inch from my eye ball,” I said squarely.

“I’m not going to poke you,” she quipped.

I smacked her hand away from my face. “That’s awfully reassuring, Cass. Tell you what, how about I hold a knife half an inch from your neck and tell you the same thing?”

Cassi popped the top of my hand and moved the pencil back toward my eye. “Don’t be a baby, Michael. This is for the greater good.”

“You don’t even know what that means,” I said snarkily.

Cassi ignored me and pulled on my eyelid as she started applying the pencil. “This would be a whole lot easier if I had some help from someone,” she growled at Amelia.

Amelia was sitting on the hot pink, fuzzy rug in a split with her torso stretched slenderly across the middle, arms reaching toward the doorway. “I need to stay limber for ballet,” she mumbled into the carpet.

“Whatever,” Cassi said in an aggravated tone, “looks like you’re trying to stay limber for sex.”

I laughed loudly.

“Michael!” they both shouted in unison.

“What?! That was funny!” I said more to Amelia than anyone.

Cassi smacked my leg, “Sit still!” she scolded. “You made me smear the eyeliner.”  I knew she wasn’t upset with me about laughing at her comment.

“It’s wasn’t funny,” Amelia said defensively as she stretched her arms behind her back.

“Oh, I don’t think you were there. Let me recap it for you. You see, Cassi said you were getting ready for sex. That’s flippin’ hilarious.”

“I do own a pair of black panties so I guess that’s partly true.” Amelia said cattily as she lifted her left leg up next to her head.

“Stop moving, Michael!” Cassi’s bossiness was getting on my nerves. I fluttered my eyelashes quickly.

With a huff, Cassi stepped back and leaned against her dresser. “Why are you so weird?!”

“I’m not weird. Just hard to house train.”

Cassi threw her arms in the air in an exasperated manner. “Saying stuff like that is weird, Michael. Could you put it on pause for two minutes so I can get your eyeliner on, please?”

As much as she annoyed me, her patheticness made me feel slightly sorry for her. “Fine.”

Once again, she began her arduous task of beautifying me. “Could you take a time out from your ballet limber whatever and help me?” Cassi asked Amelia again.

Amelia lowered her leg and sighed. “Since you asked so nicely…”

“Great. You can start curling her hair.”

“This doesn’t seem like a productive use of time,” I said to the ceiling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Stop blinking.”

“What is the point of getting me all prettified if I’m going to take all of this off in a about an hour and go to sleep?”

Cassi set the pencil down and picked up the mascara. “You’re right. We need to think of somewhere to go.”

“Too bad we live in Carrollton,” Amelia commented.

“We could try to sneak into a club. I’ve got a fake I.D. I’ve been wanting to use,” Cassi said excitedly.

“As much fun as it sounds to drive into deadly Atlanta traffic and do something illegal, I think I’m going to pass,” I said moving my head slightly to left to avoid the mascara brush.

“What else would you do? I don’t want y’all reading books about boys all night. I want to meet real life boys,” Cassi said, clasping hands with me so I wouldn’t wave her off again.

“We could go to Baskin Robbins,” Amelia said quietly.

“You guys are fat enough. I’m not going to let Michael get ice cream on her dress either. So unless you’re suggesting we go look at sprinkles…” Cassi trailed.

“I was thinking of looking at other things,” teased Amelia.

I started blushing immediately.

Cassi’s attention shifted at the sight of my hot, red face.  “Amelia, what do you know?”

“Mike’s got a new…” Amelia started.

“Co-worker!” I inserted quickly. I pinched Amelia’s leg and gave her an ugly look.

“I don’t get it. You want to go see a co-worker?” Cassi mused as she tilted her head and examined my face for further improvement.

I lowered my head and looked down at the pink striped duvet underneath me. “I don’t want to go see him.  I…”

“HIM?!” Cassi practically yelled. She put down the mascara and bounced onto the bed next to Amelia. “Dish. What do you know?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking me?” I pushed.

“Shut up,” Cassi ordered.

I shot a death look at Amelia that said, share anything and I’ll take off your legs.

“It’s just something I like to tease Michael about,” Amelia lied smoothly.

Cassi sat back and crossed her arms. “I may be short but I’m not stupid. Someone better spill soon or I’m going to call Christopher and tell him that you’re hiding things.”

That was a pretty good threat.

“Fine. It’s really not a big deal. He’s just this guy that I work with that I think is pretty cool.  He’s in college. He plays in a band. That’s really all that’s worth knowing.” My explanation sounded like a run-on sentence. “But he’s not working tonight,” I added quickly.

Cassi squinted her eyes and stared hard at me. “There’s something else you’re hiding.”

I shook my head.

“Yes, there is,” she insisted.

Amelia cleared her throat and looked across the room.

“Amelia,” Cassi purred, “What’s in that pretty little head of yours?”

“I was just thinking,” Amelia trailed.

Cassi crawled across the bed, placed Amelia’s face in her hands and stared into her eyes.  “What were you thinking?” Cassi pushed.

“I was thinking that the Corner Cafe would be a great place to take Michael tonight.” Cassi put her hands down and sat back with a satisfied smile on her face.

“That’s where he is,” she said smugly.

“I don’t know that I want to go anywhere,” I said loudly.

“Shut up,” Cassi ordered again.

“You say that a lot,” I responded grouchily.

Cassi stood up, put her hands on her hips and took a protective stance directly in front of me.  “Look, Michael. You are full of excuses all the time. Today is your birthday and I’m going to make sure it’s the best ever whether you like it or not. Now sit back and shut up and embrace change. We have a lot of work to do.”

*****

It seemed like I was held captive by the beatifying police for hours. It may have been less than half an hour but the torture of getting tugged on and slathered up, made it seem twice as long. When they had finished, Cassi pushed me in front of a full-length mirror that was propped against her wall.

“Well?” Cassi asked pushily.

“I look….very….pink,” I said slowly as I eyed the glamazon in front of me.

“It’s magenta,” corrected Amelia.

“It’s a dress. On ME.” I couldn’t help but feel shocked at the bizarre reflection.

“It’s a skirt and blouse combo and you look fabulous,” said Cassi as she brushed some lint off the front of the black pencil skirt.

She had used most of Amelia’s wardrobe to outfit me and I was surprised that she had edged out her whorish fashion sense while dressing me. Along with the black pencil skirt, I was wearing a ruffled magenta blouse with a high-waisted, wide black belt with magenta embellishments. The only reason I knew the belt was embellished was because Cassi had mentioned that was the one portion of the belt that made it special and worth wearing…about a million times. My thick, black hair was curled into loose spirals and Amelia had swept my bangs to the side with a large, magenta rose hair clip.  Cassi topped everything off with some chunky black bracelets and a pair of black kitten heels with a magenta stripe down the back of the heel.  I wasn’t sure if I liked the look.  It was a bit alien to my personality.

“I want you to sit very still while me and Amelia get ready,” Cassi ordered as she sat me down on the edge of her bed.

She stood up, looked me over and gently pushed a small strand of hair out of my eyes.

“Gorgeous,” she proclaimed. “This guy is going to barf on himself when he sees you.”

“I really hope not,” I said with a concerned look on my face.

 Amelia laughed at me. “I’m sure he won’t actually barf, Mike.”

“Couldn’t we just go and get some coffee or something? I don’t really need to see anyone.”

“You don’t drink coffee,” Amelia said pointedly.

“Losers hang out at coffee joints,” Cassi added.

“I was just thinking about you guys. These sort of things tend to get loud and rowdy and stuff,” I said as I started nervously playing with my bracelets.

“Excuses, excuses,” Cassi ticked.

“Don’t stress,” Amelia said reassuringly, “it’ll be fine. I’m sure no one will make a big deal out of your make over.”

I pasted a fake smile to my face to make Amelia feel that she had calmed my nerves. The two girls headed to the vanity mirror and began applying miles of make up. I looked at my shoes and tried not to think about the night ahead of me.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” I whispered to the odd reflection.

I looked over my shoulder to see that both Cassi and Amelia were too busy to notice what I was doing. In a final act of defiance, I kicked off the shoes and pushed them under the bed. I wiggled my toes and let out a huge breath of air. Even if I was dressed up, I was going to be myself tonight.

*****

I smiled to myself and rubbed my feet all across the dashboard of Cassi’s car. This act of defiance was greatly improving my mood. It was extra sweet that there wasn’t a thing Cassi could do about me defiling her precious Dodge Charger.

“Jesus, Michael! Get out of the car!” Cassi yelled through the passenger side window.

“Swearing will get you nowhere!” I yelled back.

Smirking, I lounged back, put my hands behind my head, and closed my eyes. Time to relax. It was a genius move on my part to lock myself in the car so I wouldn’t have to go into Corner Cafe. Hanging out with hoodlums was actually working out in my favor for once. Cass hadn’t even noticed I had slipped her car keys out of her bag.

She began banging on the glass with her hot pink clutch. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” she screamed even louder.

I cupped my hand my ear to signal that I couldn’t hear her.

“Alright Michael, you leave me no choice,” she threatened.

I turned my head slightly to observe what empty threat she had to throw at me. She pulled both her arms into her sweater and fumbled around underneath. My eyes got bigger as one of her arms emerged holding a beige, strapless bra. Does she think stripping is going to get me out of here? Cassi forced the bra into Amelia’s hands and opened up her clutch. After rummaging around for a few minutes, she pulled out a wooden handled pocket knife. She tucked the clutch under her arm, violently grabbed the bra out of Amelia’s nervous grasp and began tearing through the padding with the knife.  Throwing the bra to the ground, she proudly held up the silver under wire and smacked it against the window pane. I sat still as I watched her forcibly straighten the wire and proceed to shove it between the window and the door.  After three tiny wiggles of the wire, the lock popped up and she quickly swung the car door open.

“GET-OUT-OF-THE-DAMN-CAR,” she growled through clenched teeth.

I gingerly stepped out of the vehicle and straightened my skirt as I stood up. I watched her carefully as I walked slowly around her left side. No need to further anger the short girl with the knife.

Cassi slammed the door shut and put her right hand out in front of me, “Give me the keys.  NOW.”

I dangled the keys at a height I knew she would have trouble reaching.

“Lower,” she sneered.

I dutifully lowered the keys and she snatched them out of my hand. She forcefully placed the keys and the knife in her clutch, stepped closer to me and stuck her tiny, bony finger in my face. “You WILL have fun tonight or so help me, I’ll cut you,” she threatened.

“Okay,” I said hesitantly.

Cassi stepped back, pulled her sweater straight, smoothed her hair and took a deep breath.  “Good. Now that we have an understanding, let’s go.” Turning around, Cassi corrected her posture to better enhance her boobs. She bounced forward in her four-inch black heels and led us across the parking lot. I followed dutifully, wondering what else I could do to unleash Cassi’s dark side in the future.

Despite the fact that I was hardly wearing a heel, walking across the roughly paved parking lot was challenging. Perhaps the random pot holes hiding behind giant weeds were the problem, or maybe it was the singular light pole at the far end of the lot that caused me to trip five different times.  Whatever the reason, Cassi was convinced I was stumbling around on purpose. In her frustration, she had given up on leading us to the cafe and was now personally escorting me by the arm toward the narrow alleyway that led to the front of the town square.

I pulled away from her tiny grasp as we neared the end of the alley.  “I think I can walk by myself now. Thanks, Cass.”

“Can you? I was beginning to wonder,” she snapped but let me pass anyway. To an onlooker, it may have seemed like a kind gesture but it was really her version of a dare. I held my chin up high, took a step forward, and tripped over a large crack in the sidewalk. I could feel myself tumbling toward the small pot of wilted marigolds, so I attempted to steady myself. Instead, I face planted into the back of some stranger.

“Oh, my God, Michael! What is wrong with you?! Are you friggin’ drunk?,” Cassi echoed loudly from the alley.

I carefully stepped backward and started mumbling an apology to the unsuspecting landing pad.

“Michael?” asked a familiar English voice.

Max turned and gave me a huge hug. “Who knew I’d LITERALLY bump into you tonight?”  he laughed.

“Sorry,” I said, feeling confused by the sudden run-in.

I pushed away from his embrace and looked at the pot of marigolds to avoid eye contact. “You invited me to come see the band, so I thought that you’d…I don’t know…um…here I am?” I explained in a flustered manner. I could feel my face getting hot. I was scared enough to show up at his gig dressed like a Bratz doll, but to have two instances of physical contact before I had mentally prepared for the encounter was emotionally overwhelming.

Cassi quickly nudged in front of me. “I’m Cassi. I’m like one of Michael’s best, best friends,” she said as she enthusiastically pushed out her chest, “and that’s Amelia,” she said dismissively.

Amelia gingerly waved and smiled shyly.

“Max,” he said as he took turns shaking their hands.

“Oh, wow. You could be like a Beatle or something,” Cassi blurted out stupidly.

Max looked at her blankly.

“Because you’re like British and in a band,” she explained.

“Ah, but I don’t hail from Liverpool. I’d be more like a Radiohead,” he joked.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Is that your band? If it is, that is like, the worst name ever. So gross, right?” Cassi turned to me to see if I backed her up.

“Right, Cass,” I replied, “you should totally choose a different name, Max. You know, something like the Sex Pistols or Arctic Monkeys.”

“Ew. Now you are just being lude. Come on, Amelia. Let’s go find you a guy.”

“See you inside,” Amelia said quietly as she passed.

“Be safe!” I yelled after them.

“Is she really one of your best friends?” Max asked as soon as they had entered the building.

“Nowhere near it,” I answered bluntly. “She’s Crispy’s girlfriend. He’s out of town so she decided we were going to be besties for a few days.”

“Yikes.”

“Seriously.”

“So were you planning on getting some action tonight?” Max asked as he eyed my ensemble.

I pulled my blouse a little closer to my neck. “So embarrassing,” I mumbled more to myself than to him.

“Why?”

“This is Cassi’s work. She kind of made me her evening project. It’s…uncomfortable,” I explained as I kicked a pebble into the crack of the sidewalk.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed. She does decent work for a ninny,” he reassured me.

“Ninny. Good word.”

We stood in silence for a few minutes. My mind rushed with things to say. Was it easier to talk at work?  For some reason, all I could think about was my cat. I needed to come up with something more interesting than cats, so I started with the obvious.

“So,” I began, “shouldn’t you be inside?”

“Nah,” he said as he leaned up against the alley wall, “we don’t go on for a while.  I thought I should step out for a bit of fresh air. That building doesn’t promote breathing,” he explained as he pointed to a group of college students entering the cafe, enveloped in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

“I didn’t know there were establishments that allowed smoking indoors,” I commented.

“You don’t go drinking much, do ya?” he noted.

“Is it that obvious? Could it be my age?” I mocked.

A burst of cool air flooded the alleyway and I crossed my arms for warmth.

“Let’s get you indoors,” Max said as he removed his corduroy jacket and placed it across my shoulders, “you aren’t properly dressed for these conditions.”

He put his arm around my waist and started escorting me toward our destination. Once again, I found myself unprepared for Max’s advances. Realizing how close he was to me, I froze and jolted to a halt.

“You alright?” he asked.

“New shoes,” I answered, “give me a minute. They hurt my feet.”

“After three steps?”

“They’re really, really new…and my feet are big…for a girl,” I verbally vomited.

“Should I carry you in?”

He must of thought this was a cute joke but his question made my left knee buckle. The idea of him carrying me over any threshold, even a smoky dump of a cafe, made me want to faint a little bit. Max pulled me closer to him to counter balance my funky knee spasm.

“Did they drug you before they squeezed you into those tiny shoes?” he joked.

I smiled and removed his arm from around my waist.

“Can I be honest?” I asked nervously as I took a small step back.

“Depends. Are you going to criticize my trousers?”

I looked at his skinny jeans and gave it some thought. “I should, but no.”

Max looked at me quizzically. “What is it, then?”

“You’re…older…and in college and I’m…well, me, you know?” I could see that my rambling wasn’t clearing the air fast enough.

Max’s glasses slid down his nose slightly and he stared, waiting for more explanation.

“Look, I’ve never been closer than five feet to a guy that I wasn’t related to. All this touching you’ve been doing is making me…..uh….squibbly.”

He laughed. “Noted. I’ll slow down.” He reached out his hand as if asking permission.

I hesitantly placed my hand in his. Surprisingly, even with notice, my stomach flip-flopped at his touch.

“I’m really pleased that you’re here tonight. I have a birthday present for you.”

“You do?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes, but you have to wait for a bit. Is that alright?” he asked politely.

I nodded.

He gently released my hand, walked to the door, and opened it for me. “Shall we?”

Chapter Ten of an Untitled Work

Chapter 10

“Happy birfday,” said a sweet little voice.  

I opened my eyes to see Alexander barely peeping at me over the edge of the bed. “Who told you to wake me up?” I asked with my face only inches from his.

He clapped both hands over his mouth and shook his head violently.

“Who was it?” I said a little louder.

“No one,” he giggled.

 “Are you sure?” I asked as I wiggled my fingers over his belly.

He started laughing. “It’s mommy!”

“Mommy?  Are you sure?” I teased as I pulled him into a bear hug.

He wiggled his way out of my grasp and crawled to the middle of the bed. “It’s your birfday!  Get up! Get up!” he yelled and stomped on the bed.

I pulled on his left foot until he lost his balance and crashed onto his back on the mattress. He laughed uproariously and I started tickling him.

“You better give me birthday kisses!”

“No!”

“I want my birthday kisses!”

“No! No!”

“Birthday kisses, now!”

He laughed harder. “No, I can’ts!”

I stopped tickling him. “Why?”

He tucked his lips into his mouth and grinned. “No wips,” he pointed.

“You know what that means, don’t you?”

Alexander started squirming.

“Are you ready?”

He giggled and squirmed some more.

“It’s time for Universal kisses!” I attacked his face with tiny smooches. Alexander cackled.

“Alright, kids. Time for breakfast,” Mom said from the door.

I let go of Alexander and he rolled off the bed and scurried out the door. I stretched out for a moment before forcing myself out of bed and heading to the kitchen for my birthday breakfast.

Mom had always been good about making birthdays a big deal. Canaan had gotten so use to the birthday ritual that he would whine, “But it’s my birthday,” anytime someone crossed him. I wasn’t so spoiled that I would stoop to that level but I did indulge myself in the perks of Mom’s birthday goodness. The whole day was devoted to what I wanted. She served all my favorite foods for breakfast, lunch and dinner. This morning, I was enjoying French Toast with a side of bacon and a piping hot mug of hot cocoa. The kitchen was decorated with green and blue streamers and a hand-made sign that Mom had kept from one of my childhood birthday parties that read, “Happy Birthday, Princess!” All my presents were lined up on the kitchen counter and wrapped identically in blue and green polka-dotted paper. I sipped on my cocoa and reveled in my moment.

“I’m going to serve your dinner for lunch since you’ll be with the girls tonight,” Mom said as she gathered the empty piles of plates off the table.

“Why’d you mention that? I was enjoying my morning,” I whined as I slumped back in my chair.

“I thought you liked hanging out with the girls,” Mom said after crashing the dishes into the sink.

I grimaced at the way she freely used the phrase, the girls.

“ I like hanging out with Amelia, Mom. Have you ever known me to have any quality one on one time with Cassi?”

“She’s around a lot,” Mom motioned to the entire house as if it were an annoyance that it was so big.

“She’s only around when Crispy is here,” I grumbled.

“Don’t exaggerate, Michael,” she scolded as she scrubbed the cast iron skillet in front of her, “the way you talk, you’d think Cassi goes everywhere Crispy does.”

“Doesn’t she?”

“Not this weekend,” she pointed out.

“Touche.”

I heard a thud come from the other end of the dining room. Canaan had dropped his head onto the table.

“Can we move this along?” he mumbled into the table top.

“Sit up,” Dad ordered without looking from behind his paper.

“Sit up!” Alexander screamed as he pounded his hands in the syrup puddle on his plate.

“Come on! I’ve got a life to live already!” Canaan whined.

“It’s my birthday,” I said in an annoying, high pitched tone.

Canaan squinted his eyes and scowled down the table at me. I could tell he had some more venom to spew.

“Do have something you’d like to share with the family, baby brother?” I pushed.

“No,” Canaan said resentfully. He knew he had to be nice to me or he’d get a tongue lashing from Mom.

Dad could sense that Canaan’s patience was on timer so he pushed Mom to move our morning festivities forward. “Mary, could clean up wait? Why don’t you sit down so Michael can open her presents?”

Mom sighed and set aside her half washed skillet. She hated to leave things unfinished. Instead of argue the finer points of completing a project, Mom gathered the presents on the counter and laid them in a pile in front of me. I found the present that looked like it had been wrapped by an someone who had been born without thumbs and opened it first. It was a margarita magnet.

I leaned over and kissed the sticky mess sitting next to me. “Thank you, Zander-man. I love it.”

The syrup covered face exploded into a bright smile and Alexander reached out for a hug. I hesitantly leaned in and hugged the sugar monster and quickly jumped back to my next present. Amelia had always said it was polite to open presents carefully and keep the paper for later use but I liked the theatrics involved in destroying a present like a rabid T-rex. After the shower of gift rap had settled, I sat back and surveyed all my goodies. Mom and Dad had obviously been plotting with Crispy. Sitting in front of me was a full collection of Oasis CD’s. “It was Cripsy’s idea,” mom admitted.

Canaan had gone all out this year and given me an adjustable mood ring that he had jimmied out of a broken prize machine at Chuck-E-Cheese. Mom had decided to add an extra gift, and gave me a royal blue dress with matching strappy sandals in the hopes of adding some femininity to my wardrobe.

“Made out pretty good this year, sis,” Dad said as he looked over one of my CD’s.

“Yup. Not too shabby. I may even wear the dress, “ I said, winking at my mother. Mom was busy collecting the discarded wads of wrapping paper.

“You’d look lovely in that color,” she responded, stuffing paper into a giant trash bag.

“Thanks, guys. All of this is great.” I announced as I neatly stacked all the presents to better transfer them to my room.

“Well, I hope you have a wonderful day, sweetie,” Mom said sweetly and kissed me on the top of the head. “You have fun with your friends tonight, okay?”

I rolled my eyes.

As if the word tonight was a hot word, Dad looked up over the CD and gave me a warning about my evening with the girls. “Don’t go anywhere wearing a halter top,” he said sternly.

“I’m not planning on going anywhere, Dad.”

“If you do, don’t let Cassi dress you.”

“No arguments here, D,” I said.

“I’m sure Cassi means well,” Mom reassured, “she only wants you to feel special on your birthday.”

“I don’t know if I like her brand of special,” I shot back.

“Try to be pleasant, Michael,” Mom warned.

“Okay,” I replied. No need to start a stupid argument over Cassi. It was MY birthday, after all.

*****

I parked Bessie in Cassi’s gravel drive with fear in my heart. I could already feel the trembling bass booming from her bedroom window and I hadn’t exited the vehicle yet. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my overnight bag off of the passenger seat and flung open the door. I needed to approach this night like a band-aid…one quick, painful motion and it’s done. Amelia’s car was already parked politely in the grass to avoid blocking the drive. At least I wasn’t going to suffer through the night alone. I tightened my hold on my bag, took a deep breath and headed for the front door. A sharp squeal caused me to slip on some gravel and fall, knees first, into the flower bed next to the driveway. It sounded like someone had shot a hawk.

Cassi’s head popped out of her window. “Hey, birthday girl! I thought we were going to have to come kidnap you! AMELIA! SHE’S HERE!”

She quickly disappeared back into the house. I stood up and began wiping the dirt off of my knees. Looking down, I noticed I had flattened a daffodil.

“This bodes well for the rest of the night,” I said to the flower as I leaned down and attempted to make it stand tall again.

I heard a rumble ahead of me and looked up to see Cassi dashing down the front steps clinging to Amelia’s hand and dragging her reluctantly behind her. I gave up on resurrecting the daffodil and stood up to face my birthday onslaught.

Cassi threw her tiny frame at me and devoured my waste with a giant hug. “OMG! We are going to have so much fun!”

I wrenched myself out of her overenthusiastic hug and smiled weakly.

Ignoring my need for space, Cassi grabbed hold of both my hands and began bouncing in place.  “You WILL NOT believe the amazingly perfect outfit we picked out for you. You are going to look so freakin’ HOTT,” she exclaimed.

“It’s pink,” Amelia said flatly.

I scrunched my nose. “I don’t wear pink.”

“LOL, Michael. You are SO going to wear pink tonight. We are going to transform you into a birthday, HOT-T,” Cassi nearly screamed. “I’ve got the make-up set out and the curling iron is warming. OH! And I know you are like, five times bigger than me but I think I found something in my closet that may fit you. It’s a little last season but, I mean, if we can get you in anything halfway fashionable, I think I’ve done my job…our job…whatever.  Have you shaved your legs? If you haven’t we should probably do that first…and shower too….just to be on the safe side. Oooo! I totally forgot!  I got you a present! I used a little of it yesterday but it’s still mostly full so it’s not a big deal. Ugh! I just totally gave away what I got you. Can you guess?”

She paused to breathe for a moment and I stared at her blankly.

“You’ll never guess. It’s glitter spray! I was walking through Victoria’s Secret and I saw it on clearance and I thought, ‘Michael never uses glitter. I should get her some.’ AND I DID! How wild was that?!”

She continued rambling perkily as she bounced up the stairs to her front door. Her speech was highlighted with minor squeaks of happiness in each sentence. Me and Amelia stood still and watched as she continued to entertain herself, never noticing that we weren’t following.

“I’m in hell,” I said depressingly.

“Yep. Hell is filled with walking, talking emoticons and glitter spray,” Amelia said sarcastically, “C’mon, Michael. Let’s get this over with. The sooner you’re dolled up, the sooner we can go to sleep.”

“Do you think she’ll notice if I just go to sleep during the torture process?”

“Probably not. Sounds like a great experiment. Michael, you may have just saved our evening.”  Amelia put her hand on my lower back and pushed me toward the doorway. We could still hear Cassi squealing in the distance. “After you, birthday girl.”

I sighed and took a giant step across the thresh hold. “Into the vapid abyss!” I announced to the empty living room.

At just that moment, Cassi’s head popped around a corner. “There you are!”  I jumped back and stepped on Amelia’s toes.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“I thought you’d left,” Cassi said as she took me by the hand and led me across the room.

“Crossed my mind,” I admitted.

Her fake cackle filled the space. “You are too much!” she said waving her hand as if to dismiss me. “I started the shower for you. Be sure to use my loofa. It will scrub off all that extra dead skin on your face.”

Amelia giggled behind me. “Dead skin can totally destroy your face, Mike,” she said in a mimicy tone.

Cassi stopped and turned toward us, “I know, right?!” She took hold of Amelia’s hand and looked her sincerely in the face. “I always knew you understood me, even though you’re, like, freakishly tall.”

Amelia’s expression got somber and she clenched her right fist. I could tell she was fighting the urge to punch Cassi.

Oh, wow.  This is going to be a blast. I thought to myself.  Cassi began spewing fashion nonsense once again and herded us toward her room. As the door shut behind me, I couldn’t help but feel like I was being led to the gallows of fabulousness.

Chapter Nine of an Untitled Work

Chapter 9

“I get the feeling that actual American football is a little more complicated than this,” Max said as he pushed the paper triangle across the table toward me.

“More or less,” I said, “I think there’s more than two players and a big green field with lines or something.”

“Doesn’t your brother play football?”

“Yeah, but I never go to the games. I’m afraid I might catch whatever the cheerleaders have.”

“Good call. You wouldn’t want to get more pregnant than you already are.”

“Right,” I said, pointing at him.

“What are you going to name the li’l bugger?”

“Hadn’t really thought about it,” I said as I absently pushed the football back toward him.

“What about Max Jr?”

“There are few flaws in that name, I’m afraid,” I said, catching the football as it slid off the side of the table, “first, you’re a fourth, so Junior is already taken, Delbert.” Max Cringed at the sound of his name, “Second, you aren’t the father.”

“Don’t go laughin’ until you get the test results back,” he quipped.

“If you are the father, I really wish our time together had been a little more memorable,” I said pushing the football over the edge of the table.

“If you’d steer clear of the pubs, you’d remember me,” he joked.

“SCORE!”  I yelled, throwing my hands into the air.

“That’s what she said,” he said quickly.

“Nice. You’re getting better at those,” I noted. “So where are we at now? Four to three?” I asked.

“Try three to three,” he said, picking up the football.

“No, no, no. We’re not doing your funky European math. In American, I’m winning.

“One more round?” he asked.

I looked up at the clock on the wall. “We should probably try doing some work. We close in an hour.”

“Alright, another time then,” he said pocketing the football.

I rounded the counter and grabbed a large plastic container to start emptying the contents of the yogurt machine.

“I should really teach you how to clean these monsters,” I said as I watched the yogurt plop slowly into the container. “It’s not really fair that I have to take apart a giant machine every time we work together. I’m a delicate flower. I need to do, you know, delicate work.”

Max emerged from the back room with the broom and dust pan. “I’ve told you I’d take a shot at it whenever you’re ready to teach me,” he replied.

“I know, but I don’t like sweeping and mopping the floor either. Couldn’t you do all the work and let me sit around and supervise?”

Max propped his head on top of the broom handle and pretended to ponder the absurd idea.  “Sounds nice but I get enough supervision when I work with Tamra.”

“Right,” I responded as I pushed the lid down on the giant yogurt bucket. “At least I don’t have to work this weekend,” I said in an attempt at being positive.

“You’re not?!” Max asked slightly panicked. “Who am I working with on Friday, then?”

I chuckled to myself as I started emptying the second machine. “You’re working with Earl.”

“That’s great. If I had known that, I wouldn’t have filled the topping bar this evening.”

“But then Tamra would have missed out on your…um,” I tried to stop myself from finishing the sentence but I had already gone too far.

Max stopped sweeping and gave me a quizzical look. “My what?”

“Your…um…uh…shoes,”  I could feel my face starting to burn.

“My shoes?” he paused and pondered his worn down, gray New Balance tennis shoes.

“Tamra’s really, really into shoes,” I said as I rushed over to the sink and began filling it with soapy water. Washing dishes would keep my back toward Max.

“Do you like my shoes?” he asked. His voice seemed much closer. I glanced over my shoulder to see him leaning over the counter, very interested in what I had to say.

“You have nice footwear, I guess…um, I don’t really look at…uh, feet,” I delved further into the dishes and tried to calm down so I would stop blushing.

“So Tamra had you peepin’ at my bum today, eh?”

“What?! No, no, no, no, no…I don’t look at…uh…bums…or you know, stuff below the belt…other than shoes….occasionally.” I looked down at the water in front of me and wondered if it would be less awkward to stick my head under the bubbles.

“Alright. Just seems odd for Tamra to take an interest in something less carnal,” he said.

“Yeah, well, she likes to change it up every so often,” I said with a nervous giggle in my voice.

“While we’re on the subject, I think you have great shoes,” he said a little too flirtatiously.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to have my back toward Max anymore. I spun around quickly and grasped at the edge of the sink as if it were the only thing holding me up. “Subject change!” I shouted.

Max laughed, grabbed his broom and started sweeping again, “If you say so. So, if you’re not working this weekend, what are you doing?”

I waited for him to concentrate on the dirt before I returned to my work. “It’s my birthday Saturday. I’m going to be doing birthday stuff. You know, cake, presents, candles. Not really in that order, though.”

“Well if you aren’t too partied out, you should pop by the Corner Cafe Saturday night.”

“Why’s that? Independent poetry night?”

“Better. Me and the band are playing.”

“Oh, wow. I’d really love to be there. It’s just that…” I trailed off.

“What?” he prodded.

“I kind of have plans to have a sleepover with Cassi and Amelia,” I said pathetically.

“Bring them by,” he said.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I replied.

“Good. If you come, I can show you all my moves.”

I could feel myself starting to blush again. I lowered my head in between my shoulders, just in case he was looking. “I think we need some music to work by,” I said trying yet again to change the subject.

“What you got for tonight?” Max asked as he swept some dirt into his dustpan.

“Youth and Young Manhood,” I replied, pulling a CD out of my book bag.

“Sounds manly.”

 “It is. This is stuff from back when Kings of Leon weren’t so soft and girly. Besides, I could use some manliness up in this joint.”

“Ouch. Why not kick me in the niblets next time?”

I laughed. “I’d really rather not talk about any more body parts tonight if you don’t mind.”

Max nodded and I pushed the play button on the batter covered CD player. Tamra needs to stop using this while she makes waffle cones, I thought to myself as I smacked the side of the player to get it to start.

“Holy Roller Novocaine makes me want to drive fast,” I said loudly over the music.

“You know they featured this song during a race scene in Talladega Nights?” Max yelled across the store.

I nodded my head and returned to dismantle the yogurt machine as Max began dissecting the song. I could finally settle into our routine with no fear of blushing anytime soon.

*****

After work, I found myself in the same predicament I’d put myself almost every night since Max had started working at Basking Robbins. “I’ve completely broken my own rules,” I said as I stared at the dangling light on the not-so-secure security pole.

“You make rules for yourself?”  Max asked.

We were leaned up against his car, talking about nothing and observing the empty lot around us.

“Lately, it makes good sense to set down some ground rules for myself,” I answered.

“What rule are you breakin’ tonight?” Max inquired.

“Go home directly after work,” I said, “It’s what a responsible person would do. Do you know how incredibly dangerous it is to stand around outside, in the cold, at night, in the middle of a parking lot, with a guy you hardly know?”

“Yes,” he said quickly.

I raised my eyebrows and shot him an accusatory look. “You enjoy hanging out with random men in dark parking lots?”

He laughed. “I live for danger. I’m a regular James Bond.”

“I could see how someone would mistake you for James Bond,” I teased, tapping the side of his glasses.

“I normally wear contacts when I’m in the field,” he said as he adjusted  the glasses.

 I laughed and pushed away from the car. Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I quickly glanced at the time. “Ten thirty. Not too late. I’d better go.”

Max reached out, grabbed my hand and pulled me toward him. “Is it really so bad to stay and talk with me?”

I felt a tingle run down my spine. My stomach felt like a floppy, flat tire.

“No. Talking with you is,” I searched for a word but all I could think about was the guy holding my hand. I stared at his thumb as it caressed a circle around the base of my index finger. “Nice,” I sighed.

I looked up into his deep, blue eyes and realized that I was no longer referring to our conversations. A giant lump of guilt got stuck in my throat. I needed to run. I jerked my hand out of his and started rambling through my bag for my keys.

“It’s not nice to make my parents worry when I come home late. We should limit our conversations to work. Once I step out of that door,” I waved my keys at the store frantically, “I’m not your conversation person type thing to manipulate.”

I realized that my voice was starting to get loud and squeaky. I looked over at Max to see his reaction. Surely he was terrified by this weird outburst. He was still coolly leaned up against the VW with his arms crossed and a crooked grin on his face.

“Okay,” he said calmly, “we’ll keep it professional. We’ll only screw around at work.”

I dropped my keys. “I-I-I-I don’t screw,” I stammered as I weakly.

Max picked up my keys and placed them back into my hand. “I know. I just like to get a rise out of you,” he explained as he curled my fingers over my keys. “You’re cute when you get worked up.”

I laughed nervously. “What else am I here for, but to entertain?”

“Go home. I’ll see you Saturday,” he said as if we had a date set in stone.

I attempted to keep cool as I walked around to the driver’s side but as I turned to wave goodbye, I tripped over my shoelace and knocked my knee into the bumper. Just keep walking. Don’t look up, I thought to myself. I rushed into the car and attempted to start it quickly but I found that I was fumbling with the keys.

Max knocked on the window. “You okay to drive?” he yelled through the glass.

I grinned and held up the keys to show that I had finally found the correct key. After Bessie started to roar, I turned to give Max a goofy thumbs up. I waited for Max to get into his car before I exited my parking space. Once I reached my first red light, I took a huge breathe of air.

“Holy crap!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. I laid my head on the steering wheel and whined to myself.  “I have a crush on Max. This is so not good.”

 

 

Chapter Eight of an Untitled Work

Chapter 8

“Hmmm…you know what that needs?” I looked up from my linoleum square to see Sarah Grace  with her head cocked to the side, twirling a piece of her hair around her index finger. Her nails were freshly painted in a bright shade of red.

Obviously, it was a Wednesday. I shook my head, disgusted with myself. It was sad that I knew that Sarah Grace had her nails done every Tuesday evening because she didn’t have cheer leading practice. I knew as much about her as I did one of my best friends. It was so wrong. I put on my plastic grin and stared at her.

“I think it needs color, you know? I mean, it’s kind of blah. I know I wouldn’t want that gray colored thing hanging on my wall. Ick.”

I raised my eyebrows. Was she seriously that dumb? “It’s a linoleum print, Sarah Grace. I design it, carve it, ink it and transfer the design to paper. It’s kindsaof like a giant stamp.”

She stopped twirling her hair and wrinkled her brows. Great. She was confused. If I didn’t dumb down the conversation, she would stand here all day. I opened my mouth to give a simpler answer but instead sat there speechless and continued to stare at her glazed over expression. I couldn’t think of a more dumbed down way to explain my project.

Crispy came up behind her from his trip to the pencil sharpener and patted her on the back.  “That is an excellent suggestion, Sarah Grace,” he said as he escorted her away from the table.

“You should use red!” she yelled over her shoulder.

“Why is it always red?” I said to myself as I began carving the linoleum again.

“Sarah Grace just asked me if I was sleeping with you,” Crispy said as he opened up his sketchbook. I put down my razor and stared at him. He was carefully drawing a square on the center of the page. He concentrated on his primitive drawing without any sign that Sarah Grace’s comment may have bothered him at all. The dead silence must have shook him out of his drawing stupor.

“What?!” he asked loudly.

“Were you going to add anything to that sentence or were you planning on letting me imagine how the conversation ended?” I replied in a perturbed manner.

“Obviously, I told her no,” he said in an annoyed tone. “I kind of figured you’d come to that conclusion on your own. I thought it was funny that she asked.”

I picked up my razor and started carving again. “It’s not funny,” I mumbled to the linoleum.

“I heard that,” Crispy snapped.  “You know, you need to settle down. Back before that,” he pointed to the bandage on my head, “you would have laughed at stupid rumors.”

“Forgive me if I don’t like being an imaginary slut,” I shot back. I started carving more violently into the linoleum, hoping that the work would make my smut talking peers disappear. Ever since the fight between Laken and Terris, the gossip mill had been working overtime. Everyone knew that Terris had been sleeping around but up until the moment I had gotten shoved off of my stool, no one had a theory as to who the “other woman” was. One hospital trip and twenty stitches later, I was the whore of the school. The rumors varied from sexing it up with Terris to all-night orgies with the football team.  The worst rumor was that Alexander was my son. It bothered me that no one needed any proof in order to believe all the lies. All anyone needed was one well-placed accident.

Now I was jumpy and nervous. It seemed everywhere I turned there was whispering and pointing. I was working hard on finding other ways to become invisible. I had started reading books in between classes while listening to my Ipod. If I was being talked about, I wouldn’t be able to see or hear it. But I had to keep my eyes and ears open during classes. My paranoia made me tense and edgy. I could hear every noise in the room. It felt as if I were being smothered with whispers and drowned in stares. I was short with everyone and extra accusatory. I felt like I was being hunted. I couldn’t relax until the day was over and I was safe within the confines of Bessie. The art room seemed especially loud with rumors today. I could feel the hard stares from every corner of the room. I dug harder into the linoleum and tried to concentrate. The snickering and muffled laughs were getting louder. Concentrating on my work wasn’t working. I looked up to see if Crispy noticed the change in the room.  He was carefully re-edging his square with fat, black, lead lines. I started working again but the mumbles were distracting.

I closed my eyes and started whispering to myself.  “It’s all in your head. No one cares what you do…no one. Just get through this class. That’s all you need to do.”

“Mikey!” Crispy yelled, jumping across the table.

I looked down at my hand to see blood running over my tile.

“What were you doing messing with a razor while your eyes were closed?” Crispy asked brutally as he pulled his shirt up and wrapped it around the palm of my hand.

“I was tired, I guess,” I replied quietly.

“You need to wake up,” he ordered.

“She’s gone suicidal,” someone snickered from the back of the class. I knew I hadn’t imagined that comment. My chest started to feel tight and my eyes started watering.

“You need out of here,” a soft voice whispered. I looked up to see Sarah Grace cradling my hand with some tissues. “I’ve got this,” she assured Crispy as she helped me out of my chair. “Mrs. Smith, Michael had an accident. May I take her to the restroom to take care of it?” she asked a little too formally.

“Take the hall pass,” Mrs. Smith said absently, gesturing at the pass on the edge of her desk.  She never looked up from her project. For the first time all afternoon, I couldn’t hear the loud whispers of my classmates. I was focused on Sarah Grace’s odd behavior and Mrs. Smith’s lack of reaction toward my bleeding palm.

*****

“I must be a severe klutz,” I said out loud. I cringed as the cold, concrete walls of the empty restroom echoed my voice back to me.

“Yeah,” replied Sarah Grace as she dabbed a wet paper towel on the palm of my hand.

I wrinkled my brow and stared down at the pattern on the tips of my Converse. I was really talking to myself and it irritated me that Sarah Grace had answered so matter-of-factly about my lack of grace.

“I suppose that’s why Mrs. Smith wasn’t really worried about me,” I said to my shoes.

“Get over yourself,” Sarah Grace said flatly.

I snapped my head up quickly and scowled at her. Who was she to tell me to get over myself?  Didn’t she spend half the day admiring her reflection in her compact?  I pulled my hand out of her well-manicured grasp and held it next to my chest. “Thanks. I think I can handle it from here.”

She snuffed and forcefully pulled my hand back open. “Quit acting like such a victim. You put a target on yourself. The reason people pick on you is because they know they can,” she said as she began dabbing my cut again.

I felt confused. Why was she saying all this?

“If you just acted a little more confident and tried looking halfway normal, you’d be just fine. I mean, you aren’t completely hideous, so if you’d just put in a little effort, you probably wouldn’t have half the school calling you a slut,” she continued.

“Ow,” I yelped.

“Oh, sorry. Did I hurt you?” she asked with an innocently.

“Yeah, a bit,” I pouted.

“I know you aren’t sleeping around,” she reassured me as she applied the wet paper towel to the cut.

“Really? But why did you?” I trailed off, afraid to ask why she had questioned Crispy.

“Look, you may as well wear a bright yellow jumpsuit that reads “virgin” across the groin. It’s a little obvious,” she said as she eyed my ripped jeans and vintage Beatles shirt. “I just wanted to figure out what the deal was with you and Perky.”

“Oh,” I said looking back down at my shoes.

“So what’s the deal?” she asked.

“Nothing. We’ve been friends since we were two.” I explained.

“Huh,” Sarah Grace said a little disappointedly. She removed the paper towel and watched my palm for a few minutes to see if the bleeding had stopped. Stepping back with a satisfied look on her face she started to head out of the bathroom.

“This thing that’s going around about you right now, it’ll blow over. Don’t stress it. Only the band geeks believe that crap, and that’s because they’ve got nothing better to talk about than the spit in their instruments,” she threw the nasty paper towel in the trash next to the door. “But if anything changes between you and Perky, you let me know first, okay? That’s shit worth talking about.”  She opened the door, hesitated for a moment and turned toward me one last time. “Watch out for that girl of his, though. That bitch is like a rabid honey badger.”

With that, she sauntered out of the restroom humming Bad Romance by Lady Gaga. I stood by the sink, stunned by her comments and the realization that I wasn’t the only person who thought Cassi was a little overzealous about Crispy.

*****

Driving to work, I thought about my strange encounter with Sarah Grace. Was she being nice?  What did she care if I cut my hand off, much less stabbed it? This was turning out to be a very confusing week. I was dying to tell Crispy about my conversation with Sarah Grace but I didn’t want him thinking I was making trips to the bathroom with the head cheerleader to talk about his girlfriend.  School was making me feel squinchy. I decided to concentrate on the events ahead of me and stop thinking about the implications of Sarah Grace cleaning my boo-boo.

Work had been enjoyable since Max had started. I had less and less time with Tamra which was a plus and Max was fun. We never seemed to have a pause in conversation unless we had a customer. Even then, we usually continued discussing our chosen topic. Yup, work was going to be a nice distraction from life. I pulled into my usual parking spot and smiled as I looked over at the Blue VW Beetle parked next to me. Last week, I had to lie to mom about dragging my tail through the door two hours later than usual. Max and I just couldn’t seem to end our talk about Kanye West. Laughing about celebrities while leaned up against his car was becoming an after work ritual. I needed to come up with a better reason for coming home late. Last minute customers wasn’t going to hold up as an excuse for much longer.

A sudden burst of guilt fell over me. Why was I lying about talking to Max after work?  It was about as harmless an activity as petting a bunny. I knew I was being a coward by attempting to avoid the session of twenty questions that would ensue if mom knew I was talking to a boy. If anybody in my family knew about Max, they would start making boyfriend jokes and I just wasn’t ready to deal with that. I sat up straight in my seat and looked seriously at Bessie’s odometer.

“Tonight, I’ll say goodnight and go straight home. No hanging out. I mean it,” I said sternly.

There. Now that I had filled myself with determination, I felt I could leave the safe confines of my car. I was going to be responsible teenager and get home at a reasonable hour. I held my head high as I crossed the parking lot. No British college student slash musician was going to stand in my way.  As I approached the door of Baskin Robbins, I saw Max leaning over the topping bar carefully refilling the hot fudge.  I took a deep breath and grabbed the door handle.

“He has no power over you, Michael,” I whispered to myself as I stepped indoors. Max looked up at the tone of the doorbell and gave me a subtle head nod. I immediately shot him a giant smile in response to his cool hello. As I headed to the bathroom to change into my uniform, I cringed inwardly.  Already, my resolve was slipping.

*****

Looking in the bathroom mirror, I began questioning my appearance. Should I adjust my ponytail? Is there anything in my teeth? How many buttons should I button on my polo? For some reason, my pink work polo felt scandalous today. If I buttoned up too high, I felt choked but if I went with my usual one button, I felt like my boobs were going to pop out of my shirt. This was not a normal inward debate. My boobs had not gotten any bigger and my shirt had not shrunk. With that realization, I stepped away from the mirror and undid the top button of the polo. I must be close to starting my period. That’s the only practical explanation for my sudden need to look presentable at work. Grabbing my bag, I left the bathroom and rounded the corner to the back counter of the store.  Tamra was leaning up against the doorway to the back room, seductively licking a red sucker. I did a quick glance of her wardrobe and felt much better about my appearance. Somehow, she had reconstructed her polo to cut down past her chest and was revealing her black lace bra to the world.  She was also wearing her typical denim mini-skirt with a bright red belt cinched around her fat waste.  I suppose she wanted to enhance her rolls. To top off the practicalness of her ensemble, she was wearing red, sequined stiletto heels. She was working hard to make a fifty cent whore look classy. The expression on her face told me she was hunting men. I glanced around the store to see who her prey was, but other than old-man-Fred (who came in everyday for a one scoop of vanilla and one scoop of chocolate in a cup), no other man meat was to be found. Maybe she really liked that sucker. I walked around the side of the counter and settled my bag on a stool.

“Whachya think?” Tamra asked.

“About what?”

She pointed her sucker to the topping bar where Max was leaning over some multi-colored sprinkles. “That ass,” she nearly groaned.

Ew. I slipped past her and headed toward the time clock.

“Tell me you noticed how tight that ass is,” Tamra nearly yelled over her shoulder.

Now would be a great time to take me home, Dear Lord, I prayed silently. I took a deep breath and concentrated on lining my card up underneath the time clock.

“If I were younger, I’d be tapping that,” I heard a strong southern drawl say behind me. Did she seriously follow me back here to continue this gross conversation?

“So that’s where you draw the line, huh?” The minute the sentence came out of my mouth, I regretted it. I did not want to lose my job over a co-worker’s butt.

Tamra threw her head back and cackled. “You are a funny little shit,” she wheezed between laughs.

“Only today,” I replied as I put my time card in it’s assigned spot.

“But seriously, are you gonna get with that?” she said placing her hand on my back and escorting me to the front counter. “You should be on that. For reals,” she reiterated as she stuck her sex stick back in her mouth.

“Did you just say for reals?”

Tamra ignored me and continued her pervy observation of Max. “That ass is so yummy I could go over there and bite it,” she purred.

The idea of someone biting a butt made me a little sick. “Do you realize what comes out of there?” I asked.

She continued to ignore me and went on seductively licking her sucker as she stared down poor Max. I stood next to her and tried to see what she was seeing. I suppose it was pretty nice for a pooper.  I shook myself out of my train of thought before it got disgusting. “I thought you didn’t like Max,” I commented.

“Oh, he’s a shitty worker. You know, just about an hour ago, he made me get off the phone with Raul to help a customer because he was ‘busy’ taking a cake order. What the hell?!  That person could have waited. It’s not like the fucking ice cream was going anywhere.”

“Virgin ears, Tamra,” I said as I put on my apron.

“Whatever. Just because he ain’t worth a hooker’s dollar don’t mean he don’t need a good lay,” she vulgarly explained.

I cringed at her bad grammar. “Oooookkkkkaaaaayyyy,” I sighed, “well, I’m officially clocked in, so you can leave anytime you want. Now would be good.”

Tamra chucked the half eaten sucker in the trash and grabbed her purse from under the counter.  “I do have places to be and people to do,” she joked.

“Clever.”

“Work on gettin’ yours tonight, alright, Michael? Call me if you need some pointers,” she said loudly as she adjusted her belt.

“Sure thing, Tamra.”

“You guys could make some cute bastard kids,” she yelled as she walked across the store toward the exit. I leaned against the counter, exasperated.  I seriously need to invest in some leopard print duck tape for her mouth, I thought.

“Who are you having bastard kids with?” Max asked.

I jumped and clutched my chest. I must have really bad hearing. Everyone was sneaking up on me today. “I thought you were filling the topping bar. You scared me.”

“Finished,” he said patting the sealed container of sprinkles in the crook of his arm, “you pregnant?”

His question nearly made me laugh. “Uh, no. I’d have to stop being a lesbian first.”

“Then why would she say that?”

“She’s trying to make me her protege,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“You’d do well to follow that one,” he said nodding toward the door, “she seems very successful in her line of work.”

“Funny,” I said elbowing him. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my latest project.  “Check it. I made a paper football today during math. Now you can learn how to be a real American,” I teased.

“Brilliant. I always wanted to be a famous paper triangle star,” he said as he examined the object.

I snatched the triangle out of his hand. “This,” I paused and rotated the paper football so that Max could observe every angle, “is the great American football. You will be unstoppable after I teach how to play.”

Max took the football and held it up to the light to better look at it. “I see. Let’s get to it. We need to be careful, though. I don’t want to injure your bastard child.”

Chapter Seven of an Untitled Work

Chapter 7

Double Rainbow all the way across the sky… “What in the name of Thundar?!” I thought to myself. The sudden noise shook me out of a peaceful sleep. I laid still as I reacquainted myself with my surroundings. What day was it? Where was I? I heard a thud and realized that I was in my room, listening to the Double Rainbow alarm ringtone on my phone. The thud I had heard was Nubby jumping off the bed. I rolled over and hit the snooze button on my phone. Nubby was beginning to paw at the door.  I stumbled out of bed and cracked the door so she could head toward food.

“Is it really Monday?” I asked the poster of Molly Ringwald on the opposite wall. The weekend had gone by too fast. I heard mom slamming cabinet doors in the kitchen and the thunder of toddler feet on linoleum. Those weren’t weekend sounds. I ran to my closet and quickly pulled out my paint stained overalls and a flannel shirt. If I wanted to get a shower, I had to rush. Canaan may be slow to move on the weekends but when it came to early morning showers, he was the Flash. I didn’t want to start my day waiting for him to get out of the bathroom. Canaan had just made it to the door when I rushed in front of him and slammed the door.

 “Cow!” he bellowed.

I ignored his insult and jumped in the shower. It was much more practical for me to shower first. I didn’t need as much bathroom time as the hairless wonder did.

*****

Canaan was fiercely mad at me. Our car ride into school had been in complete silence. Normally, we would exchange insults before we started fighting over radio stations, but this morning, he crossed his arms and looked out the window for the entire trip. I should have been more concerned but the quiet ride was a nice change. It gave me time to clear my mind before I headed into the danger zone. He let out a snort as I pulled into the parking lot. I was barely parked when he jumped out of Bessie and slammed the car door.

“Canaan!” I yelled across the lot.

He turned and glared at me.

“Have a great day, little brother,” I yelled cheerfully as I gave him my biggest smile.

Canaan adjusted his book bag on his shoulders and turned around, disgusted with my annoying act of kindness. I chuckled to myself as I gathered my things. He hated when I ignored his juvenile temper tantrums. Why was he so intense all the time? Half the stuff we fought about wasn’t worth the energy we put out. It’s a phase, I thought to myself as I watched Canaan pound off in the distance. I rummaged through my bag and found my Ipod. I sighed as I looked at the daunting task in front of me.  There were seven hours yet to suffer through. Once I took that first step, there was no turning back. I was stepping into the belly of the beast. I hit the play button and began to walk away from Bessie.  Johnny Cash’s black mood fell over me as he sang Hurt through my headset. This probably wasn’t the best mood music for my walk to class but I let the pain of the lyrics run over me as I ascended the stair case to first period.

*****

The smell of formaldehyde overwhelmed me as I walked into first period. We must be dissecting something today. The classroom was still fairly empty. Most of the students sat out in the hall and socialized before the first period bell rang. If you were in the classroom before the bell, you were either studying, hungover, or a complete loser. I shuffled carefully past the line of desks and found my way to my lab table. There was already a dissection tray at each lab station. I put my Ipod away and removed my books from my book bag. Opening my sketchbook, I surveyed the room for something to draw while I waited for class to start. Mrs. Larson was reading the newspaper at her desk.  Sitting in the first desk closest to the door, Ida Mae was reading an old Rolling Stone Magazine with the cast from Twilight on the cover. She read that old, tattered magazine everyday. You didn’t need to have a conversation with her to know that she was obsessed. At the station across from me, Jake the quarterback was slumped over his history book, slowly falling asleep. I pulled out my number four pencil and quickly started an outline of Jake as his head fell forward onto the book in front of him.  He had started drooling when the bell rang for class to start. Jake’s head shot up quickly and slammed his book shut. Since he was no longer sitting still, I busied myself with shading the portrait of the drooling jock. I could hear the screech of stools being moved against the granite tiled floors and the noisy jabbering of the class as they settled in their seats but I never looked up from my drawing. There was a person on either side of me now and Mrs. Larson was giving the morning announcements. I would have to give up on the drawing soon.

“Wow, Michael,” whispered the girl to the right of me.

I paused from my work to see Laken staring at my sketchbook.

She pushed her maroon dyed hair behind her ear and pulled my sketchbook over so she could look at it. “How many portraits of sleeping students are you going to do?” she asked as she flipped through it’s pages.

“It’s the closest thing to a human model I’m going to have until college,” I responded. “People who are awake move too much.”

She stopped on a portrait of Sarah Grace with her head hanging backward over her desk and her mouth gaping open. “You should mass copy this one and post in on every locker in the school,” she said.

I ignored her comment and took my sketchbook back. “Your eyebrow looks infected,” I commented as I put my sketchbook in my bag.

Laken gingerly reached up and touched the silver hoop protruding from her red, swollen eyebrow. “Yeah, it hurts like hell,” she replied, “I’m going to stop by Standard Ink today and get some sea salt spray and see if it doesn’t get better.”

“You shoulda gotten your ears gaged,” said Terris, from the other side of me. “You woulda looked so badass.” He stuck his finger through the giant plastic hole in his ear and wiggled it around to make his point.

“You don’t look badass, Terris.  You look like you’re trying to feel your roots back in Africa,” quipped Laken in response.

“Whatever, whore. You’re not hard core enough to handle gaging,” he said, leaning over me to swipe one of her pens.

She scratched the top of his hand with her long black nails.

“Don’t touch my property, Siph boy,” she hissed.

He quickly nabbed the pen and licked the blood off the top of his hand as he glared at her.

“You carry disease,” she snarled.

“Got it from you, damn prostitute,” he growled.

In an explosion of anger, Laken lept up from her seat, hurling the stool across the aisle and jumped at Terris, knocking me to the floor.

“You bastardous, cheating man-whore!” she shrieked.

Terris held his hands up in front of his face as Laken frantically beat at him with her ineffectual tiny fists.

“Did you think I didn’t know?! Did you think I wouldn’t find out?! Was it good?! Was it?! Was it?!”

I quickly scurried underneath the lab table as she continued to beat on Terris. He was balled up in the floor and bits of green hair were falling around him. The whole classroom was standing and gawking at the bloodbath. Mrs. Larson and Mr. Rowe came bounding around the corner of the table. Mrs. Larson pushed her way between the two of them as Mr. Rowe grabbed Laken’s flailing arms. She jerked free of Mr. Rowe’s grasp and lunged at Terris one last time. Mr. Rowe grabbed her by the waist and secured his footing while she continued to fight against him. Laken was sobbing heavily now. Her dark, heavy eye make-up was flowing down her face. She slumped to the floor suddenly and began wailing into her hands. Mr. Rowe leaned down and began whispering to her as Mrs. Larson helped Terris off of the floor. His face was scratched and their were bloody spots on his head where hair had been ripped out.

“Everyone go back to your seats and start reading Chapter 11,” Mrs. Larson announced as she began escorting Terris out of the room.

Laken crawled around the corner of the table and began yelling again. “You’re the whore!  You’re the whore! YOU’RE THE WHORE!” she screamed clenching her fists.

Terris ducked his head under Mrs. Larson’s arm and they quickly retreated the room. Laken began to run after them but Mr. Rowe held her back. She fought with him for a small moment before melting into his arms.

“It’s not fair…so not fair…” she sobbed into his cardigan.

It looked like the brawl was finally over so I crawled out of my safe spot. I slowly picked up my knocked over stool. I sat down and opened my book to Chapter 11. The words were looking blurry and the book was getting smaller. I placed my hand over my eyes in an attempt to gather myself. The room started spinning. In fact, it looked as if it were in a tunnel and getting smaller by the second.  I raised my hand.

“Mr. R-r-r-owwwee?” I stammered.

My hand fell limp and I felt a sharp pain in my forehead.

“Mikey!” I heard a familiar voice yell.

“Crispy?” I said weakly.

“Mikey?! Mikey?! Can you hear me?!” Crispy asked frantically.

“You can have the shower first,” I mumbled. My eyes felt heavy and something warm was running down my face. I couldn’t hold my eyes open anymore. Everything was fading and before I could gasp for help, the room got suddenly dark.

*****

Ow. My head really, really hurt. Was this a migraine? It felt like my brain was going to pop out the front of my skull. Should I open my eyes? I couldn’t remember what happened or why my head was hurting so much. No, I wasn’t ready to open my eyes yet. I needed to get my bearings first.

Think, think, think, Michael. What do you remember last? Canaan ignoring me, the car, my Ipod, formaldehyde, Jake, Laken’s eyebrow…a fight…the FIGHT.  I opened my eyes to a horrendously bright light.

“That freak pushed me,” I said.

Daddy’s head popped in front of the light. “She’s awake,” he announced over his shoulder.

“I can’t believe she pushed me,” I complained, gingerly touching my head.

Dad put moved my hand away from my forehead. “Who pushed you, sweety?”

“That freak with the infected eyebrow,” I answered. “She pushed me over so she could beat up that green haired loser.”

“She’s got her memory,” I heard Crispy say from the other side of the room. I sat up on my elbows and slowly looked around the room. It was stark and very beige.

“I’m in the hospital? What am I doing in the hospital?” I looked at Dad for an answer.

 Crispy spoke up and answered for him. “You hit your head during the fight. The doctor thinks it was on the edge of a table or something sharp. There was so much going on that no one noticed at first.”

I rolled my eyes and laid my head back down on the flat pillow. “Go figure no one noticed me.”

“You fainted from all the blood loss. You had to have about ten stitches,” Dad explained.

I reached up and felt a giant bandage on my forehead. “This is the worst Monday ever,” I stated factually.

Dad leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Yeah, today kind of stinks but it got better when you woke up. We’re glad you’re okay, sissy girl.”

I couldn’t help but smile after hearing that kind of mushiness. “Love you too, Daddy.”

He stroked my hair. “I’m going to step out for a bit and call your mother. She’s worried sick.  I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t get lost, old man,” I teased.

“He’ll be gone for a while,” I said after dad had left the room. “I’m sure mom has a million questions for him. She asks really stupid questions when she’s scared.”

Crispy moved his chair up next to the bed. “Thanks for getting me out of school today, Mikey.”

“I was totally thinking of you when I was pushed off of that stool.”

“I figured you had it all planned out. So what did you say to Laken to put her into that rage?”

“I told her she looked pretty like a flower.”

We laughed for a moment and then Crispy hopped up on the bed. He stretched out and put his arm around me. I laid my head on his chest.

“You scared me today, Mikey.”  It was a simple sentence, but it spoke volumes.

I kept silent and let the his words sit in the air.

He started stroking my hair “Don’t do that again, okay?”

We didn’t say anything for a while. I thought about how I would’ve felt if it had been me in that situation–what I would have thought when I saw his head covered in blood, passed out on the floor? I probably would have panicked and started crying. I could hardly handle the thought of him getting tackled every Friday night. I silently promised to take better care of myself so I wouldn’t scare him anymore.

“So what was the deal with Laken today?” he asked.

 “I think her and Terris broke up again,” I replied. “I liked them a lot more when they were making out like a couple of drunk college kids.”

“I hope me and Cassi don’t have a fist fight at school when we break-up,” he said off-handedly.

I tried hard to disguise the shock in my voice. “Are you planning on breaking up with Cassi?”

I could feel his body stiffen up. “No, I mean, not today. It’s just that, uh…” I looked up at his panic stricken face. “It’s just that, she’s cool to hang out with and all but I don’t see myself spending the rest of my life with her, you know?  We’re young, it’s high school, it’s not serious…”

For once, I felt sorry for Cassi. “Does she know that this isn’t serious?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. We’ve never really had that conversation.”

“She thinks she’s in love with you, Crispy. You should have THAT conversation.” I cringed a little on the inside. I didn’t like defending Cassi but she deserved some honesty.

“I guess you’re right,” he said quietly.

I felt bad. It was like I was mothering him all of a sudden. “Whatever, it’s your relationship. You do what’s right for you.”

“It’s cool, Mikey. Why don’t we watch some TV?”

“That sounds wonderfully normal.

*****

“Explain to me again which one is McDreamy,” Crispy asked pointing the remote at the television.

“The dreamy one, you retard,”I replied.

He laughed. “I’m a dude, Mikey. I don’t know if a guy is dreamy or not. He’s just another penis.”

“The dark haired one that’s always flirting with the skinny chick on the elevator.”

“Oh, okay. Got it. That makes total sense.”

It was sweet of Crispy to suffer through a Grey’s Anatomy marathon while we waited to be discharged. Dad wouldn’t have suffered through hours of sex and drama. It was a good thing mom still had him tied up on the phone. It seemed like I had been in this room for far too long. Hospitals didn’t move at a human pace unless you were five steps away from dead. After what seemed like eternity, there was a light tap at the door. It creaked slowly to reveal a young, brunette woman with her hair placed sloppily in a bun, wearing purple Looney Tunes scrubs. A look of surprise ran across her face when she saw Crispy cuddling me in the bed.

She awkwardly cleared her throat.“How are you feeling, Miss Saint?” she asked as she looked at my chart.

“Broken but lucid,” I answered.

She walked across the room to check my bandage. “Everything looks good,” she said as she blinded me with her small pocket light. “Any pain?”

“My head is kind of pounding,” I replied.

“Okay,” she said as she scribbled on my chart,“well, I’ll have the doctor write you up a prescription for some pain meds and then you should be out of here.”  She gave me a false smile and eyed Crispy.

Without warning, he pulled me into a giant, loving embrace. “Did you hear that, sis? We’re finally going to take you home!” he exclaimed as he began giving me multiple sloppy kisses on my cheek.

I tensed up and smiled awkwardly at the shocked nurse standing next to the bed.

Crispy shot his head up and stared at the nurse. “What? You did you think I was her boyriend or something?”

I swatted at him. “So gross…get off me!”

The nurse slowly backed toward the door. “Ooookkkaaayyyy, um, someone will be back with your discharge papers very shortly. We’ll do what we can to get you out of here quickly.”

She turned and dashed out of the door.

“You idiot!” I shouted, smacking Crispy on the arm.“You scared that poor woman. She was just doing her job.”

“No,” he corrected, “she was just judging us,” He scowled at the door. “It serves her right for making blind judgments about people.”

I settled back into the bed and concentrated on the Siamese twin surgery taking place. “It’s not your place to condemn the hospital staff. Besides, you asked for it being all up next to me in my bed.”

“You could kick me out anytime, Mikey,” he whispered quietly.

What a weird thing to say. “Shut up,”I ordered and snuggled under his giant arm. I couldn’t see his face but I knew he was smirking.