by E. K. Blair
Kason stands and shoves his phone into his pocket. “It’s her second day. She isn’t ditching with you two drones.”
“You good, Ady?”
I give Micah a nod and then take his hand when he reaches down to help me up. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. And Kason’s right. I can’t skip out on class.”
“Text me later if you wanna meet up after school.”
The two of them run off, leaving me behind with Kason, and my chest flutters at the thought of spending more alone time with him.
“We need to get going,” he says, and I follow alongside as he leads me to his car.
He walks over to an old muscle car, unlocks the passenger side door, and opens it for me. I shoot him a smile and slip in. His scent blends with the aged leather, and I can’t help myself when I take in a lungful.
When he’s behind the wheel, I buckle my seat belt. He works the pedal a few times before turning the key that brings the car to life.
“Is this a sixty-eight?” I ask, and his eyes dart over to mine in questioning surprise, to which I respond, “My dad used to take me to a lot of car shows when I was younger. It was kind of our thing.”
“Sixty-nine, actually.”
“Close enough.”
The engine rumbles, and I find myself sneaking glances his way, wishing for traffic to slow us down because I’m not quite ready to return to school yet. The way the muscles in his forearm constrict with every gear he shifts is mesmerizing. The littlest movement causes the biggest chemical reaction within me.
“You two still go?”
“Ever since my parents divorced, he’s sort of been doing his own thing.”
“How long ago did they divorce?”
“When I was thirteen. So, it’s been around four years,” I tell him without going into any detail of how my dad managed to almost entirely exclude me from the new life he’s created so effortlessly. “What about your parents? They still together?”
He turns into the student lot, completely dodging my question when he parks the car, saying, “We need to hurry before we’re late.”
I curse the tension that returns, but it doesn’t do anything to curb the curiosity I have about him. Why the heck is this guy so evasive when I attempt to dig the same way he does with me?
“Thanks for giving me a ride.”
The both of us step out of the car, and he gives me a halfhearted “See ya later,” before we head in different directions once inside the school.
I make it through my next two classes before sixth period comes around, all the while trying not to dissect Kason when I know nothing about him. He’s already sitting at his desk with his notebook open when I walk in.
“Hey.” My voice comes out meek when I take my seat in front of him, and he responds with an equally meek, “Hey,” of his own.
I don’t attempt to say anything else, and it isn’t even a solid minute later when our teacher takes to the front of the class, offering me only a shred of distraction from the guy who sits behind me. Then, like yesterday, when the bell rings, he rushes out of the class and leaves me behind to pack up my bag and wonder what his deal is.
When I arrive home from school, my mother’s car is already parked in the circular drive.
“Mom,” I call out as I walk through the front door.
“In the kitchen, dear.”
“What are you doing home so early?”
When I walk in, she turns away from whatever she’s cooking and gives me a tight hug. “I had to go get new tags for the cars and decided to come home instead of going back to the office.”
I take a seat at the bar as she stirs whatever jarred sauce she’s heating up. If there’s one thing my mom is not, it’s a cook.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come home last night until after you were already asleep.”
“It’s okay.”
“Tell me how your first day went.”
I watch my mother, who shares the same bright blonde hair as I do, tend to her cooking in her high heels and pencil skirt, and smile. “I’m happy you’re home.”
Looking at me from over her shoulder, she shoots me a wink. “Dish, girl. I want to hear all about it.”
“You act like my life is soap opera worthy.”
“Honey, you’re seventeen. Everything should be soap opera worthy.”
I shake my head and proceed to tell her about the past two days. I talk about Micah and yesterday’s afternoon trip to the beach and today’s lunch out at the bay. I then go on and mention Kason and my limited interactions with him. My mother and I have always had a close relationship, despite the fact that her job demands she spend more time in the office than at home with me.
“I get the feeling that he finds me annoying and only talks to me out of politeness. I mean, Micah practically gave him no choice but to drive me back to school after lunch.”
“My two cents?”
“Please.”
“Guys don’t behave out of politeness, especially teenage boys.”
“He’s just hot and cold,” I tell her and then retract my word choice. “Not hot. More like warm.”
She fills two plates with store-bought tortellini, spoons vodka sauce over the top, and places them on the bar top before taking her seat next to me.
“So, I take it this Kason is good-looking.”
“Extremely,” I gush, stabbing a tortellini before taking a bite.
“It’s day two, Ady. Give him a chance to warm up to you.”
“Oh, that’s another thing. He only calls me Adaline when he knows I prefer to be called Ady. It should annoy me, but . . .”
“But he’s hot, so you like it?”
“You’re crazy,” I accuse jokingly.
“And you’re not denying it,” she shoots back.
I shake my head at her.
“I wanted to talk to you about work. The firm has wasted no time handing me over my first case. It’s a pretty intense one that’s going to require a lot of long hours in prep for trial,” she explains. “I know we just moved here, but—”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I understand.” And I do. My mother is a criminal defense attorney and has an impressive record of wins under her belt. That doesn’t come to those who don’t put in the hard work and time. At this point, I’m used to taking care of myself.
She sets her fork down, and with an endearing expression, she tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“All the time,” I respond. “Seriously, though, I’ll be fine.”
“You’re my favorite.” She takes a bite of pasta. “I was thinking that since we’re having an early dinner we could go to the beach and do some exploring. What do you think?”
Most seventeen-year-olds probably wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out with their mother, but not me. And when she offers her time, I take it, knowing how precious it is to the both of us.
“I’d love that. Just ditch the heels.”
There should be laws against creepers like me, but I can’t help myself. Although, at this point, I should really make it be known to Kason that the pool he’s been cleaning for the past two weeks is mine.
I’ve continued to grow closer in my friendship with Micah while Kason still keeps me guessing where I stand with him. I don’t even know if I have any standing at all, or if he’s nothing more than the teenage daydream living in my head.
Crushes suck.
It’s the constant wondering about what could be, only to be tormented by what might never be. For now, I push those thoughts aside as I head down the stairs to say hi before he figures out on his own that this is my house and questions why I never said anything.
I slide open the large glass doors and step out onto the veranda. The movement catches his attention from across the yard, which makes him look up.
“Hey, stranger.”
He lifts his sunglasses, only to squint against the bright sun as he looks over at me. “Adaline?”
“I was upstairs, and when
I looked out my window and saw you, I thought I’d come say hi.” Even though I’ve been secretly watching you all the other times you’ve been here.
He tosses the skimmer back into the water with a loud splash. “I didn’t know this was your house.”
With an uncomfortable smile, I nod as he starts to roundup his supplies. “You already done?”
“Yeah.”
This interaction is so awkward that it edges on painful.
Why is he so hard to talk to?
“You thirsty?”
“I have water in the truck.” He grabs his belongings and then looks over to me with a fleeting, “Have a good weekend,” before opening the gate.
I give up. I swear I’ve never had to struggle so much with simple conversation than what I do with him. At this point, I’m sure he sees me as nothing more than annoying. I mean, if he cared to talk to me, he’s had more than enough opportunities to do so.
My phone buzzes from my back pocket.
Micah: Got any plans for the day?
Me: None. I’m turning into a loser over here.
Micah: Come be a loser at my house.
Me: Let me throw myself together and I’ll be over.
Micah: Throw yourself together? It’s after 3:00.
Me: Again . . . loser status. I’ll head your way in a bit.
He texts me his address before I go back upstairs, take a quick shower, and get dressed. While pulling my hair back into a ponytail, my phone rings with an incoming call from my mother.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, dear. I wanted to let you know that I purchased your plane ticket for spring break. I emailed the confirmation to you and your father, but I haven’t been able to get ahold of him.”
That isn’t surprising.
“Look, I’m slammed and don’t really have the time to track him down, so would you mind trying yourself?”
“Do I really have to go?” I sigh.
“Yes. You really have to go. If anything, look at it as a chance to hang out with all your old friends.”
“This borders on child abuse, you know?”
“There are worse things in life.”
“Are there?” A muffled laugh comes through on her end. “I heard that,” I accuse.
“Your dramatics are amusing.”
“I’m so glad I can be your source of entertainment.”
“Just call your father, will you?”
With a reluctant groan, I agree. “Fine. I’ll call him.”
When I end the conversation with her, I scroll through my contacts and call my dad, who I haven’t spoken to since the move two weeks ago. But it isn’t like he’s blowing my phone up to talk me, so I don’t feel bad. His voice mail picks up, and I breathe out in relief before leaving him a message to call me back. And with that taken care of, I dab on a touch of lip gloss and grab my keys.
Micah lives on Harbour Island, so it’s a quick ten-minute drive from my house in Hyde Park.
“Where are your parents?” I ask when he opens the front door.
“Anniversary trip to Connecticut,” Micah responds as I walk through the foyer and back to the living room, where I flop down next to Trent on the couch.
“What’s up, Ady?”
“Not much. What’ve you guys been doing all day?”
Micah grabs his T-shirt off the back of one of the chairs and shrugs it on. “You’re looking at it. Just been hanging out.”
“We should go do something then,” I suggest, but Trent can barely drag his eyes away from some movie that’s playing on the television. Micah, who’s now lying on a loveseat with his legs dangling over the arm, is equally distracted by whatever he’s reading on his phone. “Okay then,” I mutter to myself as I lean back into the plush cushions. “This works, too.”
“There’s pizza in the kitchen if you’re hungry,” Micah offers before his cell vibrates with a buzz.
“Dude, this movie blows. I’m gonna go out back for a smoke. Wanna come?”
Micah lifts his eyes toward Trent. “Nah, man. I’m good.”
“Ady?”
“No thanks.”
He heads to the pool out back, and I take the remote and flip through the channels when Micah’s phone buzzes yet again.
“Who are you texting?”
He doesn’t even acknowledge me as his thumbs tap against the screen at record pace.
“Micah,” I call loud enough to get a mild, “Huh?” in return.
Abandoning the remote, I walk across the room to where he’s lounging, lift his ankles and squeeze myself onto the loveseat before dropping his legs on my lap. “Tell me who’s got your attention.”
He lowers his phone. “Not a chance.”
“You’re acting suspect.”
“And you’re acting nosey.” His phone buzzes again.
“I’m a girl. Nosiness is engrained in all female DNA.”
“Is that so?”
With curiosity heavy in the air, I reach my hand to the underside of his thigh and jab my fingers into the muscle. I crack up laughing when he lurches off the loveseat with a high-pitched squeal, surrendering with, “Okay, okay. Damn.” He tosses the phone into my lap before dropping back next to me.
“Who’s Jen?”
“Some chick I met at a party last weekend.”
I toss the phone back without reading any of their texts. I might be nosey, but I’m not entirely intrusive.
“Just some chick, huh?”
“Are we seriously doing this?” He shifts and gives me a nervous smile. “I don’t have any other female friends that I spend as much time with as I do you. And as chill as you are, I’m not down with painting each other’s toe nails while gabbing about who I’m texting or whatever shit you girls like to do.”
“This Jen has you wound up,” I tease. “And to be honest, I don’t expect you to gab to me about anything. And while we’re on the topic of gabbing”—I look out the panoramic windows to the billowing smoke floating above Trent’s head—“is he smoking weed?”
Micah chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, why?”
I lean forward and look back at him from over my shoulder, stressing, “Oh my God. Are you serious?”
“Dude, relax.”
Turning away from Micah, I stare out at Trent as he takes another pull.
“Are you that sheltered?”
“Apparently,” I murmur. Back home in Texas, I hadn’t known anyone who smoked pot, let alone had the chance to watch someone smoke it. “Do you do it, too?”
When I look at him, he holds an expression of amused disbelief, as if my asking is completely asinine.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I answer for him. “Where do you even get it?”
“From your little buddy, Kason.”
“Kason? Seriously?”
At this, he laughs at me. “Dude, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Take a breath. Whatever afterschool specials you’ve been watching have really warped your head. It isn’t a big deal.”
I sit back and look to my new friend who is clearly amused by my reaction, and I play it off when I tell him, “I met McGruff once, you know?”
“Who the hell is McGruff?”
“The crime dog,” I exclaim. “He came to my school when I was in the fourth grade.”
His smile grows, and he slings his arm around my shoulders. “I bet you also have a framed photo of George Bush somewhere in your house, too.”
I thicken my accent for his benefit when I joke, “Right next to my framed NRA membership certificate.”
A moment passes, and when our laugher dies down, he surprises me when he says, “Don’t ever do it.”
I tilt my head to the side and look at him. “Do what?”
“Pot.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t a big deal.”
“Not for us, but it is to you, and I like that whatever conservative town you were raised in has kept you green.”
I smile, feeling lucky to have him as a friend. When he picks up
his phone to continue texting Jen, I feign indifference when I respond to his previous statement, muttering, “And Kason isn’t my buddy. He hardly knows I exist.”
Trent bursts into the room, takes one look at the television, and groans, “Not the fucking Food Network,” to which I crack up.
Hours waste away while we hang out and watch television. I listen as the two of them talk music and skateboarding. They make plans to hit up a new skate park over in St. Pete next week, and I text Molly off and on. It’s a comforting feeling to simply hang out with these two and do nothing together.
The room soon begins to darken as the day fades, and I step out back where the pool overlooks the bay to watch the sun before it kisses the water. My bare feet step into the thick blades of grass, which are cool beneath my toes, and walk out to the dock where an impressive boat sits. Water gently laps against the fiberglass.
“Ady,” Micah hollers from the house. “We’re going to get takeout. You coming?”
“I’m going to stay and watch the sunset. Just get me whatever; I’m not picky.”
I sit on the edge of the dock, my toes barely skimming over the top of the water. The sky is painted flawlessly in burnt oranges and almost fluorescent pinks. Colors that burn so brilliantly above, I can feel their heat on my bare shoulders.
I snap a photo and text it to Molly.
Molly: I’m so jealous.
I smile, but it doesn’t feel good on my face, so I let it go.
Me: I miss you. Wish you were here.
Molly: You’ll be back here soon enough. Spring break!!!
I brace my hands behind me and lean back, tilting my head to soak in the last few rays of light before the sun submerges itself beneath the water.
Tranquility is interrupted by my ringing cell, and my stomach sinks a little lower in my belly when I see it’s my dad calling.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Your mother sent me your flight information, and I needed to touch base with you,” he says. “I won’t be able to pick you up from the airport because Parker has his soccer game at that time, so can you see if one of your friends can give you a ride?”
“Where’s Gwen going to be?”
“She’ll be at the game, too.”
Irritation pricks from within. “Can’t you miss one game? He’s her son, not yours.”
