by Nessa Morgan
I shy away, looking at my hands between us, avoiding his intense gaze.
He tips my head up with his hand. “I’ve been waiting for a moment like this,” he whispers.
I open my mouth to ask ‘Why?’ but his lips cut me off before a word leaves my lips. He presses into me, pushing me against the sharp edge of the counter but I don’t care, I barely notice it. His hands remain on my hips but mine travel, up his chest, past his neck, threading into the soft locks of his hair.
If he ever decided to cut his hair, I think I’d cry. Not little I’m unhappy tears, I mean full out blubbering sobs. One of my favorite things about him is his hair. When he refused to get his hair cut last year—Molly wanted him to completely cut it off—I spent that night braiding it. I still have the photo on my phone and computer for blackmail purposes. It’s even tacked on my bulletin board.
I should post it on his Facebook wall like a good girlfriend.
Zephyr pulls away; I unconsciously follow, wanting his lips. He laughs, resting his forehead against mine. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to do that in this kitchen.” I know now. “Whenever I saw you, your hair dripping wet, smelling sweetly of cherry blossoms, it hurt not to do that.”
The only thing I can think to ask is, “Really?” Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull him closer.
“Really.”
I play with his hair, twirling it around my fingers, feeling how soft it is against my skin.
“Am I going to walk in on you two making out every morning now?” Jamie asks. There’s a slight whine in her voice. She’s standing in the doorframe of the kitchen with her arms crossed along her chest. Neither of us heard her walk in and I usually listen for the door opening. Though, I was a little bit distracted.
“No,” I say while Zephyr says, “Yes.”
I playfully smack him. “No,” I say louder, placing my hands on Zephyr’s stomach to push him away. “Hi, Jamie.” I say, smiling widely.
“Good morning, Joey.” She takes the first seat at the dining room table and pulls her silver compact from her purse, checking her makeup. She slides a manicured finger beneath her eye, fixing whatever mistake she found. “So, how’s the honeymoon phase?”
“The what?” I ask, feeling Zephyr’s hand slip down my arm, his fingers threading with mine. Jamie’s gaze briefly drops to our hands, her hidden smile revealing itself, before she turns her attention back to the tiny mirror in her hand.
“The honeymoon phase?” she repeats, clicking her compact close and slipping it back into her Chanel purse. “Never mind”—she waves a hand through the air—“though I feel the need to do that whole protective thing.”
“I know, Jamie,” I start, preparing for the lecture—or whatever it’s called—when she tells me how important her brother is, how she’ll get revenge if I ever break his heart, the usual yadda yadda. I already know these things.
“So,” she starts, standing away from her seat and crossing her arms across her chest. “Zephyr”—that surprises me—“if you hurt her, even a paper cut, I will kick your ass, capiche?”
Capiche?
“Noted, Jay.” He looks to me, smiling. His hand tugs on mine.
“Good,” Jamie says, plastering a beauty pageant smile on her face as she looks from me to her brother. “You both are so cute together.”
We’ve heard.
While I didn’t expect her to stand up for me—I didn’t expect her to say anything remotely close to that to her brother of all people—she did put a smile on my face. I leaned into Zephyr’s side and waiting with them until it was time to head off to school. Jamie and I started talking about chemistry and physics, a class I took last year as an elective because I was interested, when Hilary walked, eh, more like crawled, through the front door.
Hilary drops her bags in a heap by the door, letting out an exhaustive sigh as she straightens and tucks her orange hair behind her ears. She turns toward the living room, her smile slowly disappearing as she spots me… on Zephyr’s lap. “Uh, hello?” she asks with her hand pointing to me… still on Zephyr’s lap. “What’s this?”
All eyes are on me. I neglected to tell my aunt anything about this last night. What was I supposed to say? Hey, Aunt Hil, while you were over here, debating my punishment and if I’ve finally snapped, I was making out with the boy next door. I don’t think that would’ve turned out well.
“I didn’t tell you?” I ask, feigning innocence. Everyone can tell I’m lying about something, my voice ends in a nervous squeak. I remove my arms from around Zephyr’s neck, trying to pretend this is a natural occurrence for us. I wouldn’t be sitting on his lap if he didn’t pull me there when we sat down, anyway. I was perfect content to sit on the couch.
“Tell me what?” my aunt asks with her hands on her hips.
I fumble for words, trying to think of how to tell her. I’m not sure how well she’ll take it, I mean, he’s always just around, I don’t want things to change.
I shoot Zephyr a glare, silently begging for his help, but he shies away.
Thanks, boyfriend.
“They’ve found love,” Jamie offers. I turn my glare to her. “Isn’t it a little disgusting?” she asks my aunt, ignoring the look on my face—wide eyes, open mouth, I bet I look sexy.
“When did this, uh, happen?” my aunt asks as she peels her jacket down her arms, lying it along the back of the chair. She ties up her hair, freeing her face.
“Uh…” I trail off, trying to stall. How’ll this affect what happened with us last night? We sort of made some progress, right?” Last night?” I tell her. I’m not sure why I ended in a question; I guess I’m just nervous.
“Seriously?” she asks in disbelief. She leans to the side to get a better look at Zephyr, who’s jokingly hiding behind me. At least, I think he’s joking. I hope he knows my aunt won’t hit him. I will—but never my aunt. “Better late than never,” she mutters under her breath as she walks through the living room.
“Huh?” I ask, trying to catch my aunt’s attention.
“Better him than that Ryder fellow,” Hilary continues.
“Tell me about it,” Jamie chimes from the dining room.
“Y’all could’ve talked to me, you know?” I point out loudly, watching Hilary walk up the stairs heading to her room. “Night,” I call up to her. She waves a hand above her head showing me she heard me.
“I love it when you get all Southern,” Zephyr coos near my neck.
I point another glare in his direction. “Shut up.” That makes him throw his head back in laughter.
“Welp, time to go,” Jamie announces, slapping her legging-clad thighs as she stands, tucking her chair back beneath the table. She grabs her bag and Zephyr walks me through the door, swinging our hands between us like little kids. We’re weird.
“I’ll see you later, yeah?” he says, not meaning the question. I nod. He leans forward and gives me a quick kiss before I slide into the car for Jamie drives us to school. This is when she starts making fun of me.
“You are so love struck!” Jamie laughs, putting the car in reverse and backing down the driveway as her brother briefly watches us.
“I am not!” I object loudly, watching Zephyr walk back to his house through the yards. “I’m, well…” I trail off, trying to think of the appropriate word. “I’m smitten.”
“You’re a little smitten kitten, is what you are,” Jamie jokes as she heads through town. It feels good to joke with her again. “I’m only kidding, it’s adorable, Joey. Zephyr really likes you—he’s always liked you liked you.”
What is this? Hey Arnold?
“I learned that last night,” I mumble, feeling my cheeks heat up as the memories of last night flood my mind. Sitting on his floor, kissing him for the first time, the painting of me—it all seemed so surreal. And I wouldn’t change any of it, not a thing.
We walk into the school together before separating, she heads toward Marcus and his outstretched arms, and I head toward my loc
ker. I still notice the weird looks people give me, from the full out stares to the avoiding to the look-and-divert, I just don’t care today. I’m in such a great mood I don’t think anything could bring me down. I grab my books from my locker and head toward my first class as I check over the notes from yesterday.
Walking down the hall, I bump into someone with the same hard build as a wall. I only know that it isn’t a wall because walls don’t make sounds when you walk into them. This person sounded to be in pain.
I look up, and now I understand the pain. Connecting eyes with the person I walked into, I let out a loud snort when I see his face. The eyes are still the familiar pale blue, still ocean like, only the thick rim of a blue-ish, purpling bruise surrounds them. He was right, too. Zephyr did break his nose.
Ryder scowls when he notices me standing in front of him. Turning up what remains of his once-perfect nose, he walks down the hall toward his locker.
I laugh loudly as Ryder practically runs away from me with his tail between his legs.
Finally, a little imperfection comes his way.
First period is normal, as are second, third, and fourth. I learn a lot, as expected, but I’m bored without Zephyr. At lunch, I walk up to Harley and Kennie with a smile on my face, I’m excited for interaction but I’m more excited about seeing their faces when I tell them what happened between Zephyr and me.
I spot Avery taking the seat next to Harley. I spy Harley blushing and bashful. That’s new. Avery smiles when I walk up. Is he always this happy to see me or is it just because of who my best girl friend is? All I ever see is him smiling.
He’s just a jolly fellow.
“Hello, everyone,” I say loudly as I take my usual seat next to Kennie. “How are you this fine afternoon?”
I’ll admit that I’m piling it on, but I can’t help it. I become more sarcastic when I’m happy. Actually, I’m more sarcastic and annoying with any emotion I have.
“Hold up,” says Kennie with her hands raised, whipping her head in my direction. “What happy juice have you been drinking?” she asks.
Happy juice? Random.
I raise a brow.
“You’re happier than a kid in a candy store,” Kennie points out.
“A fat kid in a candy store,” Harley clarifies.
“I haven’t been drinking any, uh… happy juice?” I tell them, the phrase still weird in my mind.
“Does this have anything to do with Zephyr?” Avery asks with mischief in his eyes. He knows something. He has that look about him. Knowledgeable.
“That depends,” I start suspiciously, angling away, looking at him through to corner of my eye. “What do you know?”
His smile grows bigger. “Well, last night,” he starts, making a production out of it. “At exactly 10:37 pm, Zephyr posted on Facebook that he was in a relationship with one Joey Archembault,” Avery explains, his hand, palm up, pointing to me.
I shake my head lightly from side to side, laughing.
“WHAT!” Kennie yelps, her ponytail smacking me in the face as she turns her head quickly. She reminded me of a poodle. Harley spits her soda across the table, nearly dousing me in Cherry Pepsi—not my ideal scent. “Are you serious?” Kennie asks Avery, ignoring me.
“I may have lied about the time,” Avery answers, still confirming that his best friend now had a girlfriend: Me.
“I haven’t been checking my feed,” Kennie states as she tugs out her iPhone, clicking the blue icon leading her to Facebook. “I need to like this, like, immediately. When were you going to tell us?” she snaps at me as she frantically scrolls through her feed. I think she may explode. I’m not sure if I’ll be responsible for that.
“Well, if it weren’t for yappy over there.” I point to the tall, ox-built redhead. “I was going to tell you, well, uh, now,” I stutter out, shooting an angry look toward Avery. “But thanks, Avery, for beating me to the punch.”
“Proud to do it,” he replies, smiling as he throws an arm around Harley’s shoulder. “Hey, man,” he says to someone behind me. I turn, finding a tall Jackson and similarly tall Ksenia walking up behind me. The both slide onto the bench beside Harley, avoiding the Pepsi mess next to me.
I guess, when he’s back at school, this’ll be Zephyr’s new table. That thought alone makes me smile though I always knew we’d sit together.
“I heard about you and Zephyr,” Ksenia starts, her accent thicker than I remember. “Congratulations.” She smiles.
“Thanks,” I reply, smiling back to her.
This lunch, the time spent with these people, really makes what’s happening in school seem not important. And it isn’t, not really.
Nine
After lunch, I head to American Sign Language, wishing my friends a good rest of the day. I don’t have any classes with them other than lunch—which isn’t even a class—and gym with Harley, but I choose to ignore that as well. I take my seat in the second row and wait patiently for class to start.
During class, a student office attendant walks into the room and hands Mr. Penn a pale blue slip of paper, signing thank you before she leaves. He looks at it, signs my name, and I’m off to the guidance counselor’s office for some reason.
Should I be worried?
I really hope this has nothing to do with the fight. The last thing I need is to talk about my feelings like I used to in elementary school. I already have one shrink; I really don’t need another.
Mr. Stone, the guidance counselor assigned to my class, had his door closed when I walked down the hall. I hate disturbing others but I knock quietly and politely, waiting for him to wave me in through the tiny window on the door.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Stone?” I ask after poking my head into the tiny office, noticing the clutter accumulated throughout his employment. There’s a plant hanging in the corner that desperately needs water—it’s turning brown and drooping—but I seriously doubt he notices. There’s a stack of books, several stacks in fact, in the corner of the room. His desk is too big for the office but I don’t think he minds or notices. He’s not one to notice things like that. He’s a bit of a scatterbrain. How did he even get this job, anyway?
“Yes, Joey.” Mr. Stone sets aside the folder in his hand he was looking through and points to a desk chair in front of his desk. “Take a seat, please.”
I sit down, crossing my legs at the knees. I let my backpack back in class so now I’m trying to find something with which to fidget. If this is going to be a discussion about what happened the other day, I’ll need something to distract me.
“What’s this about?” I ask, worried I may’ve done something else wrong thought I haven’t a clue as to what. I haven’t injured or threatened anyone since yesterday, I swear. I’ve turned in my homework, I’ve complied by the rules, and I haven’t snapped at anyone in a few hours. I’d say I’m doing pretty well.
“Just touching base with you,” he tells me, folding his hands in his lap. For a guidance counselor, he looks young enough to understand teen issues, but I strongly doubt that he’d understand my generation, whatever that really means. “Seeing how everything’s going.”
“Everything’s going good.” If you ignore the detention and the fact that I introduced my foot to someone’s private parts, I’m doing just great.
“I can tell.” I’m not sure if I should take that sarcastically… He grabs the file—it must be mine—opening it and flipping through the multicolored papers inside. I always thought, with my past, problems, and issues, my folder would be this five-inch thick brick of paper. I guess I was wrong or that’s not my entire folder. “You’re pulling straight As.”
“I know,” I say cockily with a polite smile. If you’re going to be cocky about something you’re good at, confident is the word I prefer to use, it’s better to show that you’re at least nice about it.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you since the beginning of the year,” he continues, running his palm along his forehead.
“What ab
out?” I ask with interest. This must be more important than a few weeks detention.
“I know that registration for your senior year’s right around the corner,” he begins, pulling out a sheet of pale yellow paper from the file folder, his eyes skimming over it. “Have you thought about what you wanted to take next year at all?”
I shrug. “Not really,” I answer. “Actually, I’ve already taken all the senior core classes.” Because I’m a nerd like that. I skipped having a lunch period last year to take AP Statistics because it looked interesting. I even fit AP Physics into my schedule last year.
“Exactly,” he nearly shouts. The sound of excitement makes me jump.
“What does that mean?” I ask when my heart beat calms.
“Just that you’re on track to graduate this year,” he answers, matter-of-fact.
Now why didn’t I think of that?
I bite my lip so the comment doesn’t leak through.
Slowly, the words start to make sense and what he says hits me in the face like ton of bricks.
Graduate?
As in, like, no longer attend high school? Ever again?
“This year?” I ask, dumbstruck. “As in, a year sooner than I should?” Wait… what? “Okay, that was stupid to say,” I grumble, embarrassed at how pathetic I’m acting. But this news is freaking awesome.
“You’re currently taking senior classes,” he tells me, handing me a copy of my schedule.
“No, I’m not.” Not completely—but why am I correcting the man? “My English class—”
“Is advanced English for seniors,” he finishes, explaining to me. My eyes scour the page in my hands, and sure enough, AP English 12 stares at me. When did I sign up for that? How did I sign up for that? “Everyone in that class is a senior accept for you.”
Well, that doesn’t make me sound weird at all. Though, now that I think about it, I am the youngest one in the class…
