by Marie, Tessa
I slide the filled baking sheet into the stove, and once I set the timer for fifteen minutes, I sit at the table with my library book. The words blend together as my mind drifts to Dean’s scars.
How did he get them? How did his parents die?
The sound of the shower stops. I debate going upstairs and checking on him. See if he needs anything, but decide against it. I closed my bedroom door before heading back downstairs so at least I know he won’t be snooping.
“Hey,” I hear his voice from the stairwell. I put my bookmark in to hold my page.
“Hey.” I can’t help but smile. His hair is wet and swept out of his face, making his eyes and a tiny scar above his left eyebrow more noticeable. He swapped his black t-shirt for navy blue. Knowing he has more than one makes me happy. His sweatshirt is draped over his shoulder along with his backpack.
Beeeeep. Beeeeep. I jump to turn the timer off and take out an oven mitt. “I didn’t know what you like,” I say, pulling the pan from the oven. “So I kinda made a little bit of everything.”
He moves off the last step and comes towards me. As he leans past me to see what’s on the baking sheet I smell a hint of lavender and mint.
“You went all out, Preppy,” he says.
“I figured I owed you more than a shower.” I grab a serving platter, so much for avoiding doing dishes, and place the buffalo wings and pizza bites on it. I cut the potato skins into halves and add them to the plate. “Can you go into the cabinet above the sink and get out a couple of dishes?”
“Sure.” He reaches up and the lower part of his stomach peeks out from his t-shirt. I remember how his chest looked and how it felt up against my body. I look away when I hear him laugh.
“Where do you want them?” He’s grinning the jackass. Maybe I was checking him out, but still.
“Uh, on the table.” I set the platter in the middle of the table and fill two cups with iced tea. “Dig in.”
Dean fills his plate with one of everything, and not one to shy away from food, I do the same. For the first few bites we are quiet, and I curse myself for not thinking to put music on. There’s nothing worse than awkward silence.
“So why do you volunteer at the soup kitchen?” he asks. “I’m assuming it’s not because you’re doing community service for violating probation or anything like that.”
“Harvard, Princeton, and Yale won’t accept me on my grades alone. Being the smartest in my class isn’t enough. Every high school in the country has a valedictorian and they’re all vying for the same thing. I need to stand out amongst the crowd.”
“That explains why you were at the library on Saturday.”
“Actually, that was for a pleasure trip.”
“Because you knew I’d be there?” He smirks, and I swat his arm. “I’m kidding. That was just an added bonus.”
Words get lost somewhere between my throat and my lips when I look into his eyes. Any witty comment I was about to deliver disappears, and I stare at him like a dog in heat.
“Do you do any other community service?” he asks, and I break our gaze looking down at the pizza bite on my plate.
“You weren’t my first library card,” I say with a smile.
He rests his chin on his hand. “What else? I have a feeling you’re full of surprises.”
Normally I’d change the subject. I hate talking about myself to people I don’t really know, but the way he looks at me, expecting, mostly intrigued, encourages me, and the words fall out.
“I also built houses for Habitat for Humanity.
His eyes widen, and he pops a pizza bite in his mouth. “Now that’s awesome. Where?”
“A couple in this area. One in Detroit. I also spent a summer in Guatemala.”
“Guatemala? Land of the Mayans. Did you get to see the Tikal ruins? I would kill to see them in person.”
“You know about Tikal?”
“The largest of the Maya cities, of course I do. Did you know the architecture dates back to the fourth century BC?”
I smile and for once in my life, I’m happy for my vast knowledge of ancient civilizations. “I did actually.”
Most people my age don’t even know who the secretary of state is and here he is spewing history of another country as if it’s as natural as talking about the weather.
“Impressive,” I say.
“I know.” He winks, and I roll my eyes.
“Seriously though, how’d you know all that?”
He shrugs. “I spend a lot of time in the library. It’s warm, they don’t bother me, and I like to read.”
“I didn’t pin you as a reader.”
“I didn’t pin you as a house-building, world traveler, Preppy.”
“Good point.” The corner of my lips tug and I feel the heat burning up my neck into my cheeks.
“Just so we’re clear. I don’t read those girly books with the half-naked guy on the covers,” he jokes.
“Really?” I say in my most surprised voice. “Because those totally seem like your thing.”
He laughs. “Oh! I see how it is.”
“Okay then, what do you like to read?”
“Non-fiction. Ancient history mainly. There’s something cool about how they had such little to work with and managed to make structures that are still around today. There are buildings built within the last ten years that won’t make it another hundred.
“Looking at pictures of the pyramids of the Mayan ruins kind of gives me hope. I mean they had nothing to work with and look what they created.” He scratches his forehead then shrugs. “Pretty stupid actually.”
“No, it’s not.” It’s not stupid. It’s insightful and true. He said I’m full of surprises, but he is too. “Not at all.”
“Anyway, back to you and Guatemala. What’d you do there?”
“I helped build residential homes and renovate an orphanage. I lived on a cot for a month, showered at five minute clips with cold water, the food wasn’t great…” I stop, realizing how ungrateful I sound. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asks, and I hate that he looks confused because now I have to say it.
I bite my lip and fidget with my hands. “I sound like a total bitch. There were people there that had nothing. People here that…well you know.”
“You want to know what I think?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say, and my body retreats into itself, ready for the awful thoughts he must have.
He leans across the table and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, his hand lingering for the longest of seconds. “You’re not a bitch. Like you said, it’s not your fault you have things, and I don’t. Same goes for the rest of the world. What’s important is that you appreciate what you have. Which is why sleeping on a cot sucked and five minute showers were awful.”
The way he looks at me, eyes serious but gentle, lip quirking ever so slightly in the corner, it makes me think I’m not so terrible. Makes me happy he didn’t get up and walk out the door. Because I like talking to him.
“Thanks,” I say and dip my head because I can feel the heat spreading up my chest to my cheeks.
“Tell me more about Guatemala,” he says and I find the courage to look back up. As soon as my eyes meet his, the embarrassment from before is gone. I toss a jalapeno popper in my mouth and talk around it.
When I can’t possibly eat another popper or potato skin, I take my plate to the sink. I turn the water on and once the sponge is in my hand, I’m instantly aware of Dean’s presence behind me.
He leans over me, sliding his hand down mine, shooting chills up my arms and into my ears. My breathing turns ragged, and I take a deep breath to try and settle my nerves.
“You cooked, I’ll clean,” he says in this low, sexy voice.
“It’s okay. I got it,” I say as if his hand touching mine, as if his chest pressed against me, doesn’t affect me in the slightest. Meanwhile, my heart pounds so hard and fast, I’m sure he can hear it, and if not, I’m sure he can feel it.
/> “I insist,” he says against my ear. I let go of the sponge and spin around. I suck in a breath when my face is only centimeters from his. Up close his skin is smooth, and I can tell he must have taken the time to shave while he was upstairs. I want to kiss him, curious as to what his lips would feel like against mine.
Instead, I slide myself across the counter until I’m away from his body. I sit back down at the table and take a sip of my iced tea.
“I still can’t believe you went to Guatemala,” he says over his shoulder.
“It’s actually one of my best memories. Top two for sure.”
“What’s the other?”
“The other what?”
He turns from the sink, his one hand holding the sponge under the faucet. “You said top two. What’s the other?”
A smile spreads across my face and a giddiness I only ever feel when I think about this moment courses through me. “Meeting Minnie and Mickey,” I say with a little too much gusto.
Dean laughs and the giddiness dissipates, lost to the burn in my cheeks.
“Oh no.” He turns the water off and dries his hand on a towel. Then leans over to me, brushing a finger across my cheek, following the burn. “I’m not laughing at you.”
“I know that.”
“Really?” His finger trails back down my skin. “Because your cheeks say otherwise.”
“Okay, fine. Maybe I thought you were making fun of me.”
“I thought you were tougher than that.”
“Me too,” I whisper. “But with you, things are different.”
Our eyes catch, and I look deeper than the gorgeous copper color. He breaks the hold, running a hand over his smooth chin. Silence spreads between us and I’m desperate to keep the awkwardness away.
“What’s your favorite memory?” I ask.
The white of his teeth peeks out from behind his lips and the corner of his mouth twitches. “When I was seven, I went to the carnival with my parents and my sister. They had that game where you have to throw a ping-pong ball into a fish bowl and you win a fish. I wanted a fish so bad. I wasn’t allowed to get a dog because my sister was allergic to them.
“Five bucks for a bucket of balls and not a single one went in. I was so upset. Then this old man walked over to me. He had a ball in his hand, said it was his last one, and since he had no luck maybe I’d have better. I basically told him I sucked, but he insisted. So I took the ball and tossed it into the air.
“I was so certain it wouldn’t go in that I started walking away when the guy, my parents and sister started screaming.”
“It went in?” I exclaim.
Pride fills Dean’s face. “It did.” He runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t remember ever being happier. For a week, every time I looked at that fish it brought me this feeling of accomplishment. Of happiness.”
“Why only a week?”
“Then I was in foster care and my foster family made me get rid of him.” The pride that was so evident on his face vanishes, and I can almost see the sad boy within.
I want to ask about his parents. Why he’s on the streets now? But the questions get stuck in my throat. The grandfather clock in the living room sounds. Eight on the dot. It’s getting late. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?” I ask not sure of what else to say or do. All I know is I don’t want him to leave.
“No. I’m going to get going.”
My heart sinks, but I refuse to let the disappointment show. “Good idea. It’s getting late.”
He nods. “Thanks for the shower and the food. That was really cool of you.” He slips his arms though his hoodie and steps towards me. “To be honest. I thought you’d be scared of me. I guess you’re more trusting than I gave you credit for.”
“Yeah, well, don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t.” And by the look of sincerity in his eyes I believe him.
“You sure you want to go? I mean, you can stay. Like I said my mom won’t be home until tomorrow night.” What am I thinking? I’m not.
However, this not thinking thing, I’m kind of liking it.
“I really appreciate the offer, but I’m good.”
“Do you have somewhere to go?” I ask, and as the words settle between us, I fear his answer.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve been roughing it long enough. I always have a place to go.”
The fear doesn’t dissipate, because he’s lying his ass off. He hasn’t said anything that would make me think he can’t take care of himself, but I see the faint bruise along his jaw. The healing split in his lip.
“Do you want a ride then?” I ask.
“Now Preppy, don’t go spoiling me. Besides, I like to walk. There’s a lot that can pass you by when you’re in a car.”
“When will I see you again?” As the words fall out of my mouth, I realize I’ve stepped into the territory of actually caring about this person.
“Soon.” He zips his hoodie and puts a jacket over it. “We can’t seem to stay away from each other,” he says as he puts his hood on and walks out the front door.
It’s already too late to get into the lotto for the Y, so I head to the Laundromat. I have some extra cash so I can wash my clothes and towel. The Laundromat is warm, and I can sit there until about eleven when they close.
I could have slept in a warm house and not had to worry about the wind chill or someone sneaking up and stealing the rest of my shit. I couldn’t though.
First off, I don’t accept charity and that’s what it would have been. Secondly, I didn’t know how much longer I could be near Anna without trying something.
There’s something about that girl that gets my blood boiling, but at the same time makes me want to be near her. I’m sure the last thing she wants is some homeless guy making a move on her. I already stupidly tucked her hair behind her ear. What the hell was that?
Thank God I stopped there because I’m sure my face would have been greeted with her hand.
In the bathroom, with her body pressed against mine, I could smell cherry blossoms. It reminded me of summers in my backyard. I shake the thought from my mind and step into the Laundromat.
The Laundromat isn’t crowded. There’s a lady in the one corner folding her clothes and a guy in the other packing his clothes into bags.
I go to farthest open machine, pull out my GED prep book, and reach in for my clothes.
The GED test is coming up in May. I’ve considered taking it, but after talking to Wanda, I figured what the hell. I turn eighteen in May, and I won’t be a prisoner to the State anymore. They won’t be able to force me back into foster care.
My clothes don’t even fill a small machine.
“Surprise. Surprise. Wasn’t expecting to find you here.”
“Hey, Wanda.”
“You remember my name,” she says, and I raise my eyebrows at her, but don’t respond. “I didn’t see you at the Y tonight.”
“I got tied up. I’m guessing you didn’t get in.”
“Nope. Figured I’d come in here and warm up before I get kicked out.”
“I’m actually doing laundry. You can say you’re with me.”
She nods in appreciation. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” We sit in silence. I don’t know if it’s because she’s just enjoying her time in a heated building or we’ve exhausted our small talk and have nothing to say.
I pick my book up and skim through the pages. I can’t exactly concentrate with Wanda sitting right next to me.
“That’s a good one,” she says, and I shoot her a curious eye. “The book I mean.”
“I just got it.”
“It’s helped me a lot. Think I’m ready for that test. I didn’t know you planned on taking it.”
I shrug. “You sparked my interest.”
“Cool.”
“You think you’ll be able to turn your life around?” I ask. “Because honestly sometimes I think I’m wasting my time.”
“If you want
something enough it’ll happen. You just can’t give up. That’s why I got this.” She points to the butterfly tattoo on her neck.
Thick black detail with orange accents, but against her olive skin the colors aren’t as vibrant.
“It symbolizes rebirth. When I got kicked out, I felt it was my opportunity to finally live freely and openly. It was basically my own rebirth. I got rid of the person I pretended to be in order to please my family and became the person I always wanted to be. It kind of sucks right now, but you have to work your way up in life. It helps you appreciate things, you know?”
I nod. The hot shower I had today at Anna’s was a little piece of heaven. The food which most people consider junk, was the best I’ve had in a long time. Being near Anna, feeling something other than loneliness, just being able to feel anything at all, was nice.
The washing machine stops. I toss my wet clothes in a dryer the sit back down next to Wanda. It’s kind of comforting to have someone sitting with me, even if we aren’t really talking. I guess Wanda was right after all.
I’m happy to know someone.
I spent the rest of my weekend daydreaming about Dean, wondering how he was spending his Sunday and hoping he had a warm place to sleep. Katie called me Saturday night after he left. She was hanging out with Paul, her newest obsession. I have yet to meet him. He’s older, graduated however many years ago, so it’s not like I’ll see him at school.
I’ll wait and see if she’s still talking about him in a week. She has a tendency to be completely infatuated one minute then the next not even know who I’m talking about.
On my way to school I stop at the bagel store. I’m craving a cinnamon raisin and a vat of green tea. The same man is at the counter. Does he ever take a day off? He’s old. He should be enjoying life. Then again my mother loves her job and she’d rather do that over anything else, including spending time with me.
“Good morning. What can I get for you today, young lady?”
He’s always so cheerful too.
“Hi. Can I get a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese?” I say, looking directly at the bagel this time so I know I’m not seeing something that’s actually not there.
