All Our Worst Ideas

by Vicky Skinner

  “Oliver?” Mama demands, and I’m already backing away from their bedroom door because I don’t want to do this with them. I just want to go. “Oliver, from work?”

  I nod and try to close the door slowly, until there’s nothing but a sliver of light left. “Yes, that Oliver. We won’t be out too late. Okay, bye.”

  “Amaría Valentina Richardson, you get your butt back in here.”

  I sigh and open the door all the way. “Mama, it’s just a date.”

  Her face lights up. “A real date? Like, boyfriend/girlfriend?”

  I roll my eyes. “This isn’t the third grade.”

  “Where are you going?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. He’s just going to pick me up. He didn’t say where we are going.”

  Carlos scowls. “I don’t like the sound of that. Are you sure you can trust this boy?”

  I shrug again because I trusted Jackson, and look how that turned out. “Yes, I trust him.”

  “And you’re not going to do anything inappropriate,” Mama pipes up.

  “Right,” I say, without adding that Oliver and I have been alone on a dozen different occasions, and we could have had sex all those times and they never would have known the difference. But they don’t need to know that. The last thing I need is to be on a short leash from here on out, especially if Oliver and I do want to take things to the next level.

  Mama narrows her eyes. “I don’t know about this.”

  I sigh. “Mama, it’s just a date. You never asked this many questions when it was Jackson.”

  She throws her hands up. “I knew Jackson. I don’t know Oliver.”

  “Sure, you do. You met him at family dinner.”

  “That doesn’t count.”

  I stand in the open doorway while she chews on her lip, both of us waiting for the other to speak. But I’ve said everything I need to say, and when I hear Oliver’s truck pull into the driveway, I bolt down the hallway.

  “See you later!” I call behind me.

  AMY

  OLIVER TAKES ME to Knucklehead Saloon, and I’m so excited, I throw open the door before he’s even put the truck in park.

  I’ve always wanted to come here, but it’s not exactly the kind of place my parents are particularly eager to let me visit, as it’s mostly a biker bar.

  “Who are we seeing?” I ask, rushing around to Oliver’s side of the truck and grabbing his hand to pull him along. Holding hands with Oliver feels so natural, like it’s something we’ve been doing our whole lives.

  Oliver has a smile on his face that I’ve never seen before, and he digs his heels in long enough to pull me to him and kiss me.

  My stomach cartwheels. Kissing him feels natural, too, and we ignore the people moving toward the bar from the parking lot in favor of making out against the side of Oli’s truck. His fingers skim my thighs, just barely skirting under the hem of my dress, and I’m suddenly very glad I wore a dress, even though it’s still cold out. Oliver keeps me warm with his body pressed up against mine.

  “We’re going to miss the show,” he says against my neck, and I sigh before pushing him away.

  “Who are we seeing?” I ask again, and this time it’s him pulling me along, my boots crunching along the pavement.

  “An eighties cover band,” he says. “They don’t do under-twenty-one shows very often, so I bought tickets as soon as I saw. Hope that’s your thing.”

  “Definitely my thing!” I have to shout at him because we’ve stepped just inside the bar, where it’s balmy compared to the cold air outside. We stop long enough to show our IDs and get stamped as underage, and then Oliver is moving so confidently, I know he’s been here before.

  People are crammed against one another, and Oliver doesn’t stop as we pass the bar and tables full of already tipsy middle-age show-goers. He keeps moving until we’ve walked right out another door, onto a patio, and the world seems to descend into magic.

  A band is already onstage, singing “Hungry Like the Wolf,” and I can’t stop the smile that stretches my face. This. This is what I want, to feel this happy for the rest of my life. There are people everywhere, at long tables spread out across the patio and pressed against the railing of a second-story viewing area. Bright neon paints everyone’s faces in pink, and twinkle lights are wrapped around the stair railings.

  “Let’s find a place to stand,” Oliver says into my ear as he hands a guy two tickets, and then I’m dancing as we move onto the patio, finding a spot by the stairs to stand. Lights flash out at us, pink and blue and green, and I close my eyes as Oliver stands behind me, his hands on my hips.

  I lean my head back, rest it on his shoulder, and say into his ear, “How could you be so sure I was going to be down with an eighties cover band, since I have such inferior music tastes and all?”

  He rolls his eyes, and then his hot breath in my ear makes me shiver. “You date me, you date cheesy Duran Duran covers.”

  I laugh loud, since no one can hear it over the music. “Am I dating you, Oli?”

  He nips my earlobe. “I don’t take girls I’m not dating to cheesy eighties concerts.”

  I crane my neck to look up at him, at the curve of his jaw and the stubble across the cleft in his chin. We listen to the band for a long time, some songs I recognize from listening to them with Mama or Jackson, and some I don’t recognize but really like. After a while, we squeeze over to the bar and Oliver orders us waters before we move through the shuffle back to our spot.

  But a group of leather-clad women are now leaning against the railing where we were standing, so we climb the stairs and find a spot on the balcony, against the golden twinkle lights, looking down at the band from up high. I love watching their fingers move over the guitar necks. I always wanted to learn how to play something, anything, but especially the guitar, and my heart aches for it again now, more than ever.

  I sip my water and look up at Oliver. He’s not looking at me, his eyes glued to the stage, but I’ve learned that just because Oliver isn’t looking doesn’t mean he’s not paying attention. His thumb moves back and forth against my hand. He’s holding it tight, his fingers wrapped firmly around mine, and I know he can feel that I’m looking.

  “What is everyone going to think when they find out you’ve got the interior of a marshmallow?” I shout to him.

  He looks down at me with only his eyes. “Are you going to tell people?”

  I pretend to think about it. “What would happen if I did?”

  He purses his lips. “I suppose I’d have to kill you.”

  I scoff. “You couldn’t stomach murder, York.”

  He moves quick, sandwiching me between the railing and his body, and he’s so tall, he blocks out everything else around me, until everything is his pale skin and his freckles and his Human League T-shirt. His hands press the railing on either side of my waist, and maybe he’s trying to intimidate me, but all he’s doing is making me want to jump his bones. His eyes bore into me and then drop to my mouth, but then the song ends and the applause begins.

  OLIVER

  I HAVE THE Lumineers playing as we drive down the highway. Amy leans her head against the fogged-up window and sings along. We drive right out of Kansas City, until the lights from the city are dim enough in the distance that we can see the stars.

  I take her into Independence, to a quiet stretch of road far from where we live, and park beside a field. I know this spot from dozens of trips out to Independence, an open field, encircled by trees, but open to the night sky right above where we sit. It’s the perfect spot for stargazing.

  “Why, Oli, are we parking?” she asks, one hand on her chest.

  “Yes, Grandma, I guess you could say that.”

  “And will there be … necking?”

  I grit my teeth. “God, I hope so.” I reach into the back seat for the blankets I brought with me while Amy gets out of the truck.

  “Here.” I hand her one of the blankets, and she immediately wraps it around herself, and I
’m immediately sad to not be able to see her in her red dress anymore. I leave the truck running, the Lumineers playing out the open windows, and we climb into the bed of the truck after I spread a blanket over the cold metal.

  Maybe the whole stargazing thing is a bit of a cliché, but Amy is pressed against my side, her warmth seeping into my bones. I can feel every soft inch of her, so I don’t give a damn how cliché it is.

  “You’re like a space heater,” she says, pressing her nose into the place where my neck and shoulder meet, and I shiver at the touch of her icy skin.

  “No, you’re just so tiny you don’t produce any body heat.”

  “True.” She wraps her arms around one of mine and holds it against her body, and I have no clue how she can be cold when my entire body is on fire.

  “Want to lie down?” I ask, and she nods.

  We look up at the stars, pointing out the few constellations we know as we listen to the music. She puts her head on my shoulder, and I look down at her, those dark eyes of hers so close that I feel like I can see every pigment in them in the moonlight. It isn’t much different from looking up at the stars.

  “You make me want more,” I whisper, and her eyes widen. I shake my head, realizing how that sounded.

  “More?” she asks.

  I run a fingertip along her jaw. “You make me feel like maybe I have a future.”

  She’s much less bashful than I am, reaching up to press her hand against my cheek. Her skin is cold, and I turn to press my mouth against her palm, breathing steam into it. “Of course you have a future, Oli.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t even be honest with my mom about not going to school. You have so much to offer, and I’m just here. With nothing to give.”

  A crease appears between her brows. “Oliver York, you have so much to give. What is it going to take to make you realize that?”

  I want to tell her that hearing it come from her mouth is one step toward believing it could be true, but instead, I kiss her and hope she understands.

  OLIVER

  SOMETIME LATER, Amy decides she wants a hot dog, and half an hour and a trip to a drive-through later, we’re sitting in the cab of the truck, quiet as we eat.

  Amy slips out of her boots and puts her feet up on the dashboard as she takes a bite out of her hot dog. Her dress rides up her thigh, and my palms start to sweat. Outside the front windshield, the Missouri River is swaying hard in the wind. We’re parked on the edge of the beach, the windows cracked. There are goose bumps crawling up Amy’s arms.

  “So, is this a normal first date for you?” she asks, a tomato clinging to the edge of her mouth. She swipes at it with the back of her hand.

  “Never been on a date.” I lick relish off my finger.

  She stops chewing and looks over at me. “Never?”

  I shrug, watching the waves in the moonlight. “I’ve dated girls. But most of the girls I dated just wanted to make out or go to parties or watch TV. Nothing so … official. I’ve never been good at all this.”

  She pops the last bite of her hot dog into her mouth. “You’re a tragic case,” she says, her cheek all puffed out with food.

  We sit, quiet, without music for the first time since we met. Just us and the sound of the waves.

  “I come here sometimes, when I don’t want to go home,” I tell her. Her darkly painted fingernails, her delicate skin, her red dress—it all shines in the dark, the whole world just shadow and light. “It’s better with you.”

  She sits for a minute, a slight smile on her face, and then she says, “Okay. Music time. I haven’t gotten a shot in a while. Seems like a good time to win.”

  What Amy turns on breaks the silence so completely that it’s almost startling. “The Strumbellas,” she shouts over it. She’s turned it up so loud that I’m pretty sure the people driving by on the highway can probably hear it through our rolled-up windows.

  And then she’s dancing in her seat as the song picks up even higher, throwing her arms over her head and wiggling around so enthusiastically that all I can do is laugh.

  When the song ends, she collapses against the seat like that one dance took everything out of her, and I lean across the console to kiss her. Against her mouth, I say, “That was adorable, but you’re going to have to do better than that.”

  AMY

  I DON’T MEAN to fall asleep on the way home, but it’s late, and I’m so relaxed as we bump our way back into Kansas City, that I can’t keep my eyes open.

  I jerk awake when we come to a stop in front of my house, and I realize it’s because Oliver has pressed his hand to the inside of my arm, the slightest of pressures to wake me up.

  “Did I bore you?” he asks, but he’s smiling, and I kiss him before climbing down out of the truck, my boots dangling from my fingers.

  “Thanks for the best first date ever,” I say, my hand curled into the open window.

  His eyebrows go up. “Does that mean there’s going to be a second date?”

  I bite my lip. “Guess you’ll just have to ask me and see.”

  And Oliver’s smile rivals the brightness of the moon.

  OLIVER

  “YOU HAVE ONE new message. First new message from phone number…”

  I scowl at my phone while Brooke putters around behind me in her office. She’s trying to reach over me to get to a stack of papers, and I reach out to grab them and hand them to her.

  “Hello, Oliver, this is Matt with the admissions office at Missouri State University. We’re calling to confirm your campus tour this afternoon at—”

  I hang up and look at the clock on Brooke’s computer.

  Shit.

  I forgot I was supposed to change my work schedule so I could drive out to St. Louis and tour the Missouri State campus, and now it’s too late. I sigh. I’m so exhausted with trying to keep track of all the lies I’ve told Mom that I’m not even sure I give a shit anymore.

  I delete the voicemail. Just one more thing Mom won’t know about.

  “Everything okay?” Brooke asks, leaning against the desk and absently flipping through the papers I just handed her. Even though Brooke has her issues with her parents and the stresses of running this place, this is the way she always exists in my mind: carefree and confident, taking care of her shit like an adult and living the life she wants.

  “Brooke, can you teach me how to run a business?”

  Brooke’s eyes stop scanning over the page in her hand, and she turns to look at me. “Really?”

  I shrug. “Only if you’re cool with it. I want to learn how to do what you do. I want to learn how to have a place like Spirits.”

  Brooke grins. “Well, I can’t take all the credit since Lauren’s parents did most of the work, but…” She tosses the stack of papers onto the desk with a smack and leans back on her palms. “I’d be honored, Mr. York.”

  AMY

  I ALMOST FORGET that it’s gymnastics and karate night until Hector comes running out of his bedroom in his gi. He walks straight past me and to the fridge, where he pulls an already poured glass of milk from the shelf and swallows it in three gulps.

  Mama tosses a loaf of bread and sandwich supplies on the table for dinner before rushing off to take care of something else, so I fix sandwiches for me and my kid siblings, all the while considering my options. My parents are usually gone for two or more hours when they take my brothers and sisters to their activities. That’s usually time I use to revel in the peace of the house, but tonight I’m thinking about Oliver. I’m thinking about lying in his truck and looking up at the stars.

  I take out my phone and text him.

  My family is going to be gone for a few hours tonight. Want to come over?

  They’re all putting on their shoes when I get a text back.

  Are you sure?

  I laugh because when I first met Oli, I thought he was a badass. I thought he was the kind of guy who would quietly sit in the corner but rip you to shreds if you got too close. But now I know Oli is j
ust a big softie, one who’s afraid of getting me in trouble and saving himself for the right person, and my heart bursts when I think about it.

  I’m sure. We don’t have to do anything. I just want to be with you.

  Maybe it’s a forward thing to say, but I don’t want him to be nervous about coming over. I don’t want him to think I’m going to pressure him just because he’s a virgin and I’m not. In the back of his truck, he kissed me and held my hand and ran his fingers along every inch of my exposed skin. And I’m okay if he just wants to do that again.

  Leaving work now. Be there soon.

  OLIVER

  I GET HOME from work, planning to get straight into the shower. I want to be fresh when I meet up with Amy. I know she says we don’t have to do anything, but I want to be prepared just in case we decide we’re going to do something after all.

  But I never make it to my room because Mom appears in the living room, and she’s wearing an expression that says I’m in deep shit.

  “Did you forget about something?” she demands, her arms crossed tight over her chest and her mouth the opposite of her big-gummed smile.

  I just stare at her. I can probably assume this is about Missouri State, but it could be anything, honestly. “I’m guessing yes?”

  She lets out an exasperated noise that kind of makes her sound like a horse. “You were supposed to tour Missouri State this afternoon, but instead, I got an email from their office because you never showed up for check-in.”

  “Why did they even contact you?” I demand, and I realize as soon as she scowls at me that that’s definitely not the point.

  “Because I’m the one who scheduled the tour, Oliver! I’m always the one who schedules the tours and contacts the admissions offices and forwards you the applications! You won’t do it yourself!”

  “Because I don’t want to go!” I just blurt it out, and when I do, I wish I could stuff it back into my mouth. This isn’t how I wanted to have this conversation. This isn’t the time for it. But now she’s looking at me like she doesn’t know who I am.