Forks

by A.E. Davis

I think I may have broken a few records getting ready. By the time I was presentable, luckily Ken had vacated the bathroom. So I was able to brush my teeth really good and put on some deodorant. I didn’t look great or anything but I looked a heck of a lot better than I did fifteen minutes ago. Taking a breath, I headed downstairs.

  To my surprise, once Mom saw me coming she got up off the couch and left me alone with Viktor. “Sorry about that,” I said, giving him a sheepish smile, pulling my arms back into the long sleeves of my oversized sweater.

  “No,” he said, standing. “I’m sorry I didn’t call first, but I didn’t have your number.” He was wearing a dark sweater, with a white t-shirt underneath and jeans, and he looked completely drool-worthy. His gray eyes sparkled and his lip lifted up into a slow grin.

  “It’s okay,” I said, and sat down on the opposite side of the couch. My slouchy boot-socks slipped further down my leg.

  “I brought coffee, though.” He smiled and picked up a cup, holding it out for me.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the Styrofoam cup and pulled off the lid, inhaling the heavenly aroma. Nothing smelled better than a cup of fresh coffee in the morning. I took a sip. It tasted wonderful and was just how I liked it—black.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, lifting his brow.

  “Yes, it is just what I needed.” I cradled the cup, the heat warming my fingers. It was chilly in the room. Actually, it was chilly in the whole house, except my bedroom, unless the window was open. The whole heat-rises thing.

  “Rough night?” he asked, his face beaming suddenly with humor.

  “How’d you know?”

  He shrugged. “Just a lucky guess,” he said, and then took a sip of his own coffee.

  “So what did you do last night?” I asked, setting my cup back down.

  “Nothing much,” he said, looking away.

  I chewed on my lip, not knowing what else to say. I was crappy at small talk. My old friends used to talk non-stop so I never had to worry about my end of the conversation, usually. Instead of talking, I grabbed my cup and took another sip of coffee.

  “Did you go to the “Prom”?”” He did air quotes.

  “Yeah.” I scrunched up my face, remembering a bit too clearly, how Glinda had stolen the spotlight from me.

  “That bad?” he asked.

  “Nah, it was fun…for a while.”

  “Why do you say it like that?” He leaned forward, suddenly looking interested. His light gray eyes were disconcerting. “Did something happen… with Vincent?”

  “Ah….” My face flamed with color. “No, nothing much,” I skirted around the truth, definitely not mentioning our almost kiss.

  “Did you two dance?” His eyes narrowed and the color of his eyes seemed to darken.

  “For like a minute.” I made a face like it was no big deal and took another sip of coffee.

  “What about the rest of the night?”

  “I watched people dancing.” I rolled my eyes.

  This seemed to cheer him up immensely. “What was Vincent doing?”

  “He danced with Glinda.”

  He barked out a laugh. “He danced with Glinda?”

  “Yeah, what’s so funny about that?”

  “Ah, nothing” he deflected. “So did you meet anyone else…interesting? Or did you just stand alone all night?” He gave me a lopsided grin.

  I felt like hitting him. “I talked to one of the tour guides from La Push.”

  “Who did you talk to?” His eyes flashed.

  “Um…” I shifted uncomfortably under his relentless stare. “This guy from the reservation, Lucky,” I said and pulled my legs up into a cross-legged position.

  “What did you two talk about?” He stared at me intently.

  “Not much, just about some tour he said I should go on.”

  “They’re always trying to push that stupid tour off on people.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing, I guess.” He raked his hand through his hair. He seemed irritated.

  “Have you been on it?” A lock of his hair stuck out to the side and I had a sudden urge to fix it.

  “On what?” he asked distractedly, his gaze on the pictures my mom had set up on the mantle. I was in a few of them, looking ridiculous.

  “The tour?” I prompted. I was trying to get him to stop looking at my ugly pictures. Especially the one I had a sequin headband on my forehead for one of my dance recitals.

  “Ah… no,” he scoffed, bringing his gaze back to me.

  “Then how do you know it’s stupid?”

  “I guess it’s not, if that’s what you’re into.” He sounded disgusted at the prospect of such a thing. “Are you into that sort of thing?” He lifted his brow in question, his voice mocking.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It sounds like it could be fun.”

  “Go for it then.” He snapped and shrugged out of his jacket.

  I wasn’t sure where all venom was coming from but it irked me. “Maybe I will.” I crossed my arms like an angry kid.

  “Go then,” he snipped back, his lips pressed into a firm line. He tossed his jacket over the back of the couch.

  “Fine,” I huffed. “I will.”

  A pregnant pause passed between us, neither saying anything. The silence was palpable. My bravado was dwindling and I shifted uncomfortably under his unrelenting stare.

  “Maybe you’ll get lucky…,” he said, his voice taking a hard edge.

  “Pardon?” I asked, not sure, if he was talking about the boy Lucky or getting lucky…

  He exhaled, making a face. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and they’ll give you an Indian name,” he taunted.

  “Yeah, right,” I laughed, thinking he was kidding but his face held no expression. It was disconcerting and I didn’t get it. “Are you upset with me about something?” I blurted not meaning to. My brow creased.

  He audibly sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Nah, I just want to get this over with.”

  “Oh.” My stomach clenched. I knew it was stupid, but I felt like crying suddenly. Freaking Donkeyhole.

  “So, what do you want to watch first?” He pulled his jacket down and took out two movies from his pocket.

  I stared at the DVD’s not registering what he was saying—too caught up in my pityfest.

  “Amber…” He shook the movies in the air. “Which one?” he asked.

  I refocused. Somehow, in my moment of self-pity, I had forgotten the real reason he was here. “I guess the original and then the other one.”

  “Sounds good,” he said and tossed his jacket back on the couch.

  Standing, I grabbed the movie and put it inside the DVD player. When I turned back around my stomach flipped at the sight of him sitting on my couch looking so…freaking hot, while I doubted I even looked warm. It wasn’t fair. Grabbing the remote, I sat back down and turned on the television. Even though I tried to keep my eyes front and center, I couldn’t help but take a few small peeks at him. His long legs were kicked out in front of him and his arms were crossed. A breathy sigh slipped out, which made him turn. He lifted his brow. I leaned forward and grabbed my coffee. “Do you think we should take notes?” I asked trying to cover my gawking.

  “I think I can remember what happens.” His lips twitched.

  “Oh right. Sure, of course.” I faced forward and stared at the television. I was very aware of his proximity to me and found it hard to breathe. I was so nervous my palms were sweating. Not fifteen minutes into the movie, I had to go to the bathroom. I stood up.

  “Where you going?” he asked, picking up the remote and hitting pause.

  “Ah…I just need to …ah…use the bathroom.” I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans.

  “Want me to wait?”

  “Nah, you can let it play.” I hurried from the room and up the stairs. Once in the bathroom, I rinsed the sweat from my hands and checked my face in the mirror. It was red and my eyes loo
ked overly bright. I put on some more deodorant. I even did a hair-flip like my mom and almost fell over. “Keep it together,” I told myself and left the bathroom.