by Rachel Kiss
For another thing, the hot chick on my bed broke into my room.
“Um, I’m going to go,” Cheri says, and hurries towards the stairs.
I slap my forehead with dismay before I chase after her.
“No wait!” I tell her and grab her arm to stop her.
She does actually stop. She turns and gazes up at me, only what can I say? I mean, she’s kind of acting like I just got caught cheating on her, and I kind of feel like that—like I got caught cheating. But that’s stupid.
Still, I sputter out, “I didn’t know she was here.”
“Clearly,” Cheri grunts.
She’s still acting betrayed. This is weird. “So, stay,” I tell her.
She scoffs. “I think you’ll be a little busy.”
I can’t explain to her that Bianca is a little crazy. I mean, not while Bianca is watching us from my bedroom doorway with a sad little frown. So, I can’t explain to Cheri that the crazy chick broke into my room. Or that I’d much rather write a song with her (Cheri) than do whatever Bianca has planned. (Though I’m sure it would have been enjoyable—well, until the enjoyable moment was over, but then the drama. Oh man, the drama!) (Shudder.)
I give Bianca I quick peek. “Um, I’m going to walk my friend to the door—meanwhile, get dressed, because my mom is going to be coming home any second. But thanks for cleaning my room.”
I lead Cheri to the door since I can clearly see I won’t be able to convince her to stay. I don’t just stop at the door, though. I walk her to her car.
“Thanks for the brownies, and for stopping by.” I know this incident has made it so she won’t ever do that mind-blowing, angels-singing event ever again—show up at my house unexpectedly. Well, not while she’s still with Jackson. (She’ll do it when she’s not though.)
“I really wish you’d stay,” I tell her. “The chick broke into my room—she’s a little bit unstable.”
“She cleaned your room for you, Irelan,” Cheri says dryly.
“Yeah, that was nice.” I have to admit that. Bianca is nice. Too bad about the crazy.
“I guess that trumps over my brownies,” Cheri says, sounding a little wistful.
I tilt my head. What’s going on? She’s wistful? No need for that. “Stay,” I urge her, quickly changing tack. I mean, Cheri wistful—over me? Whoa. Not happening. Well, not if I can help it. I coax coaxingly, “We can work on the song—just like you planned. Only now in a clean room. That will be a nice change, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “And what will Bikini-Bimbo do?”
I wince. “Look, she’s crazy, okay? Beautiful and kind, but crazy. And scary. She has a football player boyfriend. Believe me, he’s scary too. There’s a bunch of scary attached to her.”
“You should choose better girls,” Cheri says.
“Duh.”
But she drives away.
(Whimper.)
CHAPTER 10
***IRELAN***
*IRELAN*
Just a few days after the Bianca-bikini fiasco I’m at work. “Five fifty,” I say through the open window. (I’m working the drive-thru. Real fun.)
I tell the driver this money-due information not bothering to look at the person yet as I’m busy putting the finishing touches on an order at the same time as I’m waiting for the driver to hand over the money. (Yeah, I’m a multi-tasker. That’s what I get paid the big bucks for.)
When I don’t receive the money, I finally look up and my eyes lock on—Cheri’s.
I’m sure my eyes light up. Hers sure do. Which is awesome. I mean, wow.
“Irelan—hi!” she says, sounding surprised to see me, though why I’m not sure. I mean, I work here. And she knows it.
She goes on kind of stammering and flustered a bit, “I was hoping you’d be here, but I didn’t think you would be.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “I work here.”
“Right. But a lot of times you’re not here when I come by—I mean, lately.”
I gaze at her flushed cheeks, kind of in a stupor. Man, she looks pretty all pink, but I’m confused. Why’s she pink?
Not able to get into it with her right now, as I’m at work, I smile playfully, “You come by a lot?—stalking me, are ya?”
I know it’s not true, of course. For one thing, this is Cheri. For another, she doesn’t come by that much—though yeah, it’s true, lately I haven’t been here that much. I haven’t been able to put in many hours lately due to soccer practice and tennis, and homework (homework kills me).
Our eyes linger on each other’s longer—very enjoyable. I could do this all day. However, as I’ve mentioned, I’m at work. So I drag my thoughts off her lips, and my eyes off her long-lashed doe eyes. “Five fifty,” I tell her.
“Um … what? Oh!” She snaps out of her magical daze. Well, that’s what I like to think of it as, but she’s probably just got Jackson junk on her mind, and she’ll probably be telling me all about it once I get off work. Something to look forward to. Not. Though it will be nice to see her again—maybe she’ll even look into my eyes some more. Okay, that’s something definitely to look forward to. But it’s probably not going to happen. So I probably shouldn’t hold my breath or get up my hopes. I hate disappointment.
“I threw in free fries,” I tell her, since that’s all I can get away with here. Though I’d slip her a milkshake and just pay for it myself. But before I get a chance—weirdness happens.
She quickly hands me the money and chirps “’bye Irelan! Call me later!”
… and she drives away without her order.
I blink after her.
Ok-ay. Her mind is very much somewhere else today. I wonder what’s up? It sure didn’t look like it’s something bad, though. I mean, the way her eyes were all sparkly.… Man, I hope Jackson didn’t propose to her.
When Cheri comes back to the window she’s even more red-faced than before, as I silently hand over her order—and a free milkshake. Well, free to her.
She laughs sheepishly, “My mind is in La-la Land today.”
I grin, “Clearly.” I wink, “Enjoy it.”
I say this knowing I won’t. Since I can almost guarantee it has to do with Jackson. Not even just ‘almost’ guarantee it; I can definitely guarantee it. Nothing else gets her so giddy. Just the wad.
“Be sure to call me,” she says. “We can get together and finish that song.”
“Wait—what?” this girl from work—whose name slips my mind, overhears and butts in. Not smiling. (She never smiles.) “I thought we were getting together after work to ‘write a song’,” she tells me. Then she glares at Cheri. “That’s code for fooling around, by the way.”
Cheri turns even more pink. “Uh, not in this case.”
“Then she’d probably rather ‘write a song’ with me,” Frowny says.
This is very not true. But before I can tell this to Cheri, Cheri says, “’bye Irelan,” and she speeds away.
I watch her go with my brow furrowed.
First of all, I didn’t plan to ‘write a song’ tonight with Frowny. Second of all—wah!
I text Cheri, “I’m not ‘writing a song’ with that girl tonight—or any other night.”
“Have you ‘wrote a song’ with her in the past?”
I avoid answering. “Let’s stop using that term as code, okay? Because the next time I invite you over to ‘write a song’ I don’t want you to get the wrong idea and not come.”
“Look, I’m not jealous or anything—I’m just concerned for you.”
I scratch my chin, though mentally I’m scratching my head. Did I somehow indicate I thought she was jealous??
Frowny comes up to me and looks belligerent (as usual). “I was just saving you from that girl,” she says. “She has a really popular boyfriend.”
“Do me a favor,” I tell her. “Don’t save me from any more girls.”
CHAPTER 11
***IRELAN***
*IRELAN (a few weeks later)*
“You get what I mea
n?” Cheri puts down her guitar, looking at me.
I don’t actually “see” her looking, but I can feel it.
“Sure,” I murmur, repositioning my fingers on the frets, “it’s like me and Valerie.”
She squints at me. “What’s like you and Valerie?”
“Uh.” I glance up from my guitar and yeah, Cheri’s eyeing me with a furrowed brow. Great.
“Um, well … what you were saying.” I can feel my face getting hot. It’s possible I’ve missed the gist of her ramblings as I was messing with my guitar and only half listening.
It’s not that I’m lacking in the friend department though. I’m not. Normally I hang on every word the girl utters. But tonight I’ve been pretty intent on getting down this song I’m working on. Also, it’s around 2 A.M. and Cheri has a way of getting philosophical in the wee hours.
Still, I thought I was following the conversation, pretty much—obviously I wasn’t. She’d been saying something about how people can like each other one way and not in another, then suddenly change their minds and like them the other way as well, but how lots of times it ends up screwing the great thing they had going in the first place—something like that.
I got the vague impression she was talking about her and Jackson—as that’s usually who she’s talking about when she starts referring to “people.” She and Jackson have this deranged on-again, off-again relationship that I’ve probably mentioned to you a hundred times by now, as it’s always there—hanging around like a booger on a beautiful masterpiece. You want to wipe it away, but you don’t want to devastate the person by actually doing it.
Anyway, it seems Jackson wants it on again. Already. I’d just gotten Cheri back, then—pow! Jackson. Again. Not that I’ve ever “had” Cheri. That’s not what I mean. It’s just when she’s not with Jackson, I get her focus. But I feel I’m losing her again. (Whimper.)
But Cheri’s such a “guy.” (That’s her term, by the way. She always calls me that. But it fits here.) She’ll never just come out and say exactly what she means. Then again, I tend to do the same. Maybe that’s why we’re such good friends. (Well, and because she rocks.)
Cheri stares at me intently. She seems to be waiting for my response. So, letting out a breath I take a half-hearted stab, though now I have the feeling I’m pretty much in the dark. “It’s just that relationships change,” I tell her. “Like Valerie and I used to be … dating or whatever, and then for a while we hated each other, but now we’re friends … sort of.”
Cheri gives me a sympathetic smile. “You still like her.”
“No I don’t.” It’s a lie, and she knows it, of course. I look back down at my guitar, studying my finger positioning as though it’s fascinating. I mumble, “Not like I used to.”
Cheri gives a little poor-you laugh, sort of tender and caring. “Yeah you do. You were practically crying when she came with Sabrina to the concert tonight.”
“I was not.” A chill runs through me though, thinking of Valerie and Sabrina together. Seeing them holding hands—it had been like a punch in the gut. Or a knife in the back. I wasn’t ready for it.
“Well you looked really hurt.” Cheri pauses, her warm brown eyes studying me. “Irelan, the girl’s is evil—get over her.”
Sigh. Easier said than done.
I put down my guitar, not feeling it anymore. Instead, I wrap my arms around my waist, kind of doubling over. “She was really into me later, though. Maybe you were lost in Jackson as usual, but we talked for a long time. It was nice.”
“No. I was totally there. I saw.” Cheri stares at me a moment, then shakes her head. “You’re like an abused puppy or something when it comes to Valerie. You let her kick you around and you just keep coming back for more.”
I know what she’s saying is true. I know that. Whenever Valerie is even remotely nice to me I start wagging my tail, happily gobbling up any attention she throws my way. I don’t know why I’m like that with her. I don’t usually let people walk all over me. I think it has a lot to do with Valerie being my first girlfriend. It’s left me emotionally confused. I’m not sure if I miss her or just miss having an actual special “girlfriend.”
“Well, I broke up with her.” I peek up at Cheri. “That’s not letting her kick me around.”
Cheri shakes her head in this way she has—like get a grip, simple one. She doesn’t think I whole-heartedly dumped Valerie. She doesn’t believe my heart was in it. “Irelan, you’re so cool. You deserve better than her.”
I roll my eyes. Yeah, I’m really cool. Valerie is the only girlfriend I’ve ever allowed myself to have. Ever. Still, I broke up with her. Maybe that’s not a big deal to Cheri, but it is to me. It was hard to do. I mean, yeah, I had to do it. I knew Valerie had been hooking-up with her old girlfriend and lying to me about it. She’s a cold heart-annihilator, I’m aware. But it’s one thing to know you need to break up with someone. It’s another to actually do it. Still, I did it.
“Look, it’s late.” I stuff on my shoes and grab my gig bag. “I should go.”
When I get to my house, I flop into bed still wearing my clothes. Life is totally cruel. When I was with Valerie I was miserable. Now that I’m without Valerie I’m still miserable—and now I’m lonely as well.
Tonight she told me the only reason she was with Sabrina was to make me jealous. She said she misses me—that she realizes she should have treated me better. She seemed so sincere, but it’s no secret that she can be a good liar. She’s lied to me before. Lots of times, apparently. Cheri’s probably right. I should just get over Valerie. Why can’t I just get over her?
CHAPTER 12
***IRELAN***
A few nights later I’m at Cheri’s again. We’re down in her basement, working on a song. That’s how we got to be close friends again in high school. We discovered we’re both into writing songs and playing the guitar. Plus we re-discovered each other, that we’re into a lot of the same stuff—like video games and pool. So, that’s what our friendship consists of, mostly, we play a little pool and play a little guitar. She beats me at both. (But I let her.) (Shhh.)
Right now we’re not playing pool, we’re working on a song. It’s giving me a headache.
I sigh, leaning back. “I don’t feel like writing a love song.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean.”
It’s around eleven. Cheri and I have been at this for hours. I should finish some homework but I don’t want to go. It’s fun hanging with Cheri even if we don’t get anything accomplished. Sometimes I wish we weren’t such good friends. Maybe she’d look at me as more than just a bud. (Though probably it takes not being a girl.)
“Maybe we should write a song called, ‘Love Sucks,’” she suggests.
“Yeah. Or maybe ‘Valerie Sucks’—that sounds good.”
Cheri coughs over a laugh. “Are you mad she’s going to the dance with Sabrina?”
“Yep,” I say, but really it’s more that I’m hurt. Valerie’s been being all sweet and flirty to me lately and following me around school like a puppy dog. She keeps telling me she wants to get back together. I on the other hand kept saying, “I don’t think I can trust you.” Apparently, I was right.
Cheri nudges me gently. “Irelan, you’re better off without her.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. She’s always saying this, but she doesn’t understand. Cheri has Jackson and a bunch of other guys beating down her door for a chance to be her boyfriend. What if Valerie is the only person for me? I mean, I can get girls. Easy. That isn’t a problem for me. But finding that “special someone”? It doesn’t seem to be in the cards for me.
We go upstairs to raid her fridge, but decide to make cookies instead. Only then we can’t decide between chocolate-chip and peanut butter, so we conclude to make both. Cheri’s mom is gone for the weekend and her brothers live with her dad now, so we’re able to crank the music up loud, and it feels … good. I mean, I feel a lot better. I still inwardly get chills about Valerie—but I don’t ache.
As bad.
“Valerie hates school dances.” I make a huge mess with the flour as I state this. “She’s only going with Sabrina because she knows I need to go.”
“You want to go?—to a school dance?” Cheri makes it sound like the thought is inconceivable.
I grimace. “Not ‘want’ to go. Need to go. My parents—they only let me go to my things these days if I go to theirs as well. I mean, their things they think I should go to. Like school dances, and school stuff like that. Stuff they consider ‘normal teen activities.’” I shudder at the quote.
Cheri turns reflective. “Look, Irelan, you don’t need Valerie. I’ll go with you to the dance.”
I raise my eyebrows. Whhh? “You would?”
“If you really want to go.… Do you really want to go?”
“Yeah. But you hate going to school events when you and Jackson aren’t together—you said you feel like everyone stares.”
She has pissed off a lot of boyfriends this way.
She shrugs. “I guess that says something about our friendship—huh?”
Tingles crash through me. “Yeah … I guess.”
Only … earlier today I’d overheard Jackson telling his friends he was going to make Cheri go to the dance with him. He sounded pretty positive that he could. I’d been kind of worried that he could too. I mean, I might be a wuss when it comes to Valerie, but Cheri isn’t exactly a stonewall when it comes to Jackson. He usually gets his way with her. He’s the only guy that can do that. But he makes her melt. He makes all of her brain cells disappear.
I think about not mentioning this to Cheri now—that Jackson is planning on her going to the dance with him. I mean, ‘cause I’d really like to show up at the dance with her—that’d show Valerie. Plus, you know, I’d like to dance with her. But here she is, proving how much our friendship means to her. I’d feel like a creep messing with her already plunging relationship with Jackson. Sigh. I guess I have to tell her. Ugh.
