by Nyrae Dawn
So she’s a client.
A 9:30 client.
Nice. He might go from me to her. Hopefully we don’t share any of the same days.
She flips her hair over her shoulder. “Looking forward to it. I was thinking…maybe after you get off we could, like hang out or something?”
Oh, God. I really don’t want to hear Tegan and Legs make plans to go out.
“Um, thanks, but I can’t. I have to take my bro—I have an appointment.”
“Oh.” She looks at the ground and I actually feel kind of bad for her, but it doesn’t last long. I’m thinking about Tegan, wondering why he changed what he was going to say.
“I’ll see you later.” Legs walks away.
There are times my mouth just goes and I’m unable to stop it. This is one of those times. “Pick up chicks here often?” Ugh. What is wrong with me? It’s not like I care.
The treadmill starts to slow, indicating our twenty minutes is up.
Tegan jumps off. “I’m pretty sure I just told her no.”
“How old is your brother? It’s him you’ll be with tomorrow, right?” Why won’t my mouth stop moving?
Tegan groans, mumbling something that sounds like, “I knew it.” Then to me, “We’re not here to talk about what I do or don’t do, or about my family. We’re here because you wanted to make a change. If this is really what you want, I want it for you, but you’re going to have to decide right now.”
Now I feel like a bitch again. I’m judging him. Again. How many times have people done that to me? Not only that, but I’m being pushy about his family. It’s not like I want people to ask me why my mom can hardly stand the sight of me, so I shouldn’t be getting into his business. I lean against the rail of the treadmill. “You’re right. I suck. I get nosey and throw huge walls of sarcasm up when I’m uncomfortable.” Suddenly, I’m beyond uncomfortable. My face flames.
He kind of tugs on his hair. “Don’t be. Uncomfortable, I mean. We all have some kind of demon in our lives…” His voice trails off before he picks up my water bottle from the floor. “Huge walls of sarcasm don’t rank high on the list.”
I’m not sure where it comes from. Maybe the sound of his voice, but I can’t help but wonder what kind of demons Tegan’s hiding.
***
I wake up from my nap knowing I’ll be sore tomorrow. The weights we lifted were light. According to Tegan: Less weight, more repetition is best. I definitely felt the burn and dread the ache a full night of sleep will allow to set in.
Since I crashed as soon as I got home, the first thing I do is take a shower so I can head out to meet Em. Should I tell her about the gym? I know her. She’s not like me. She’ll give me crap for going, assuming I’m doing it for all the Billy’s at school, which I guess I am. But it’s not like I need their approval, I’m doing this to prove a point. I’m doing it for me…I think.
But there’s even more to my reason for not wanting to tell her. For not telling anyone. I mean, beside the fact that I don’t want people to know if I fall on my face trying. For some reason, I want to hold onto this. Something I have that’s mine. Not Mom’s to micro-manage, Dad’s to defend, Em’s to get all emo about. It’s something only myself—or Tegan, I guess—can control. If no one else knows, I don’t have to worry about damage control or avoid confrontations from anyone in my life.
Shower complete, I dress in a pair of black jeans, despite the heat. My legs are flabby so I always wear jeans or capris, and black is slimming, right? That’s what Mom always says. After putting on my light-blue, button up, short sleeve shirt, I add a little mascara to my eyes. They’re my favorite thing about myself and one of the only things I get compliments on. They’re a strange color. Almost icy in their blueness. I run a brush through my hair and call it good.
A few minutes later I’m heading to meet Em in our spot. She doesn’t like me going to her house, which I don’t get. I’d love a mom like hers. Not that I don’t have a good one, but Mrs. M is…loving? Em thinks it’s because she knows how miserable Em’s life is so she’s trying to make up for it by being overly attentive. I’m a little unsure of how that’s a bad thing.
The hard part is she doesn’t like coming to my house either because Em is…well, I guess she’s just like her mom, but she doesn’t realize it. Mrs. M wants to make things better for Em, while Em’s overly protective of me. The only difference is where Mrs. M is all hugs and smiles, Em is all sarcasm and, well, kind of rude comments. There have been way too many times she’s wanted to let that out on Mom, but since I won’t let her, it’s easier if we avoid my place as much as possible.
Since neither of us are real social people, we always meet up at the park when it’s nice, or if we need to stay indoors, there’s this hole-in-the-wall coffee house that doesn’t have name brand attached so the kids from Hillcrest don’t go. The park is huge, with a skateboarding area, baseball, and all that, and this little circular area with a little pond, ducks, and a couple gazebos. Amazingly, it’s never crowded. Once in a while on the weekends, we catch a party or something and have to bail, but usually it’s only littered with a few people here and there. Probably other outcasts like us.
I get there early and head back to our favorite gazebo, close to the pond where we usually feed bread to the ducks.
“Hey.” Em plops down beside me, wearing her signature black, another reason Mom scoffs at her. It’s different than the kind of black I wear. For Em it’s head to toe. She’s really not Goth or anything, but it’s not often you see the girl wearing any different color. Instead of just wanting to slim down, though, I think she hopes it will somehow make her disappear.
“Hey you,” I say, nudging her when I notice she’s keeping her head tilted down. It drives me crazy when she does that. I sort of get it with other people, but there’s no reason for her to try and hide her birthmark from me. It’s strange how she can be so strong yet so vulnerable at the same time. Like I said, if someone looks at me wrong, Em’s quick to give it to them, but she struggles to make eye contact for herself. “Did you bring the bread?”
“Yep.” She pulls half a loaf out of her bag before sliding a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. It’s funny how quick she warms up when it’s just me. She wouldn’t do that with anyone else because it gives a prime look at the oversized, brown birthmark on half of her neck and the side of her face. It only takes me a second to block it out.
Sounds crazy, but it’s true.
“How were the classes, Miss. Overachiever?” It’s the most ridiculous thing I can say.
“Yeah, because I’m the overachiever out of the two of us. You can do anything, Bell, and we all know it.”
I flash to the gym. For some freak of a reason, that makes me think about Tegan. About how he ran with me because I needed it.
“You’re smiling. Why are you smiling?”
I grab some bread from Em and toss it at the ducks. “I’m not smiling.” Was I smiling? Why would I smile thinking about the torture that is the gym and Tegan?
“Um, yeah you were.”
Suddenly I feel really guilty for not telling her about the gym.
I blame it on my whole fear of failure thing. How typical is it for someone to try to shed a few pounds and fail? But the fact is, if anyone would get it, it would be her. Still, I’d have to hear about how lame it is, how I’m fine the way I am and if she ever saw Tegan, it would be over. She doesn’t trust anyone, and even though I don’t trust him either, my huge wall of sarcasm has nothing on hers. “I don’t know why I’m smiling, Em.” Which I don’t, so I’m not lying.
Lucky for me, Em gives up, something she usually doesn’t do easily. We hang out for a while, making sure to feed the baby ducks more often than the adults, then she pulls her laptop out of her bag and we each buy some more music for our iPods. I’m a little more careful than her because I have a big fat bill I have to pay to Tegan and if I spend too much I’ll either be screwed or have to ask my parents for more. It’s not a big deal, becaus
e they’ll give it to me, but I’m not really the blow cash kind of girl so they might wonder what I’m spending it on.
We’re out here a few hours when we decide to brave my house. If we get home before Mom, I can usually get Em out without risking a Mom vs. Emily smack down. We’re packing up her stuff when I hear a familiar laugh in the distance.
“It’s hot as hell and you’re still wearing all black and a sweatshirt? Don’t tell me you’re going to be one of those kids who show up to school with a machine gun, Monroe.” Billy’s walking with a few other guys from our school. The other three don’t say much, but they never stop him either.
“You’re such a jerk,” Em sneers.
Billy laughs, hitting Patrick in the arm which makes Patrick laugh, too. I guess he needs permission. “Emo chicks are funny.” Billy stumbles a bit. Ah, that’s what this is about. They’re drunk. I’ve heard of them coming down this way and drinking under the bridge sometimes, but I figured it happened after dark.
“And you’re a dumbass.”
Billy ignores her. “What about you, cupcake? Is that your plan too? Or wait, I bet you’d take a bullet for me, wouldn’t you? Love makes people do crazy things.”
I actually feel my face turn red. It’s a mixture of embarrassment and anger. I’m not sure which emotion is the strongest. Whichever it is, it’s making me mute. Nothing I say will matter: I don’t love you. I don’t even like you. Well, of course I don’t, but all of that’s just going to make me look even more pathetic. The fat girl in denial.
“Screw off, jerk. The only person who loves you is you. Stop trying to win Annabel over. It’s getting pathetic.”
I want to hug and smack Em at the same time. It’s amazing that she sticks up for me, but on the other hand, stop trying to win Annabel over? She just set me up to take more crap from these guys.
Billy falls to the ground laughing. This time, Patrick doesn’t need a nudge to join in. Soon, all of them are laughing at my expense. Em grabs my arm and pulls me away.
“Don’t go away mad! Just go away!” Billy yells during laughs. “Poor Cupcake and Birthmark. You’ll never amount to anything, but don’t let it get to you. At least you have each other!” His voice almost echoes as we walk farther away. I still hear it, over and over.
“They suck,” she says when we’re almost to our cars.
“Yeah.” And so do I. I’m mad at myself for letting them get to me and mad at myself for not standing up to them.
“All boys suck. Don’t ever trust them. Girls like us? They’re always going to end up hurting us.”
Her words shock me a little. Em’s always a little of a downer, but I’ve never heard her talk about guys like that, like someone else has hurt her I don’t know about. Right now, I don’t have time to think about it. All I can think of is I know she’s right. And it more than sucks.
Chapter Four
DIDN’T WEIGH TODAY. GUESS I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO DO IT DAILY. NO PROMISES.
The thought of meeting Tegan today is nauseating. It’s stupid and I hate myself for it, but I can’t stop running over the things Billy said in my head. Being that girl, the one who lets jerks like him make her feel like this, bites. I know I shouldn’t care. Hell, I don’t care, not about him, but I care about me and I don’t want to set myself up to get hurt again. Not from Tegan specifically, but the whole gym thing. I feel like I’m setting myself up to fail.
I drop my head against the steering wheel, even angrier now that I feel like I am those things just because he said it. Knowing you shouldn’t think a certain way and making it true are two different things. People who’ve never experienced it don’t get it. “Don’t listen to them,” “There’s nothing wrong with you,” “Just forget about it” are just words. Sure, they may make the speaker feel better, but it’s hard for the person hearing them to actually let it seep into their brains and hearts.
Ugh. Now I’m feeling sorry for myself and that frustrates me to no end. So instead of crying in my leather seats, I get out of the car and head inside. Like yesterday, Tegan is waiting for me, but missing is the causal smile I’ve seen in him. This is a painted on, total Ken doll smile. There’s a slight dusting of stubble on his jaw. And his eyes, they’re not as lively as the other two times I’ve seen him. Like he’s riding the high he gets when he’s giving me a hard time. Right now they look like they did when he was helping his brother out of the car. No, they look almost pained. Angry.
Strangely, I miss the other smile. Which makes no sense except that right now, I could really use some positive energy.
“Tegan, you up for an extra shift this week? Jim told me to ask you.” It’s a different girl behind the desk today. He turns to her.
“Do you have to ask?”
She laughs. “I’ll let him know.”
“Mornin’. You ready?” When he turns to me, Tegan tries to sound light. Too bad it doesn’t ring true. What does he have to hide? Me, it makes sense that I have demons, but with him it doesn’t.
“Not particularly. How are you?” My question-filter never rests around him. It would benefit me to remember I don’t care. Not about him, Billy, or anyone else.
I’m not sure why I expect him to. He doesn’t answer. Instead, Tegan signals with his head (he’s always doing that) for me to follow him and I do (I’m always doing that). “Are you sore?”
Actually, I am sore, but the emotional pain from yesterday overpowers the physical. “Yeah.”
“That’s a good thing, ya know? We don’t want to overdo it, but those are like your war wounds. It means you’re working your muscles, training them.” I study him for a minute, surprised at the little things I’m starting to catch. It’s obvious he’s upset, that for one reason or another he’s having a bad day. But he doesn’t talk about it. Ever. Well maybe not ever, but at least not that I’ve seen. Instead just focuses on my problem, which yeah, it’s his job. Somehow I know it’s more than that.
“You worked hard and you should be proud.” His words pull me from my thoughts and switches them to another.
Poor Annabel. That’s a cow name, you know. Your parents must have known you’d be fat. I’ve heard people who are fat as teenagers will be cows forever. Stop it! Why the hell am I letting Billy Mason get to me? “Not that it will help,” I mumble and even as I do, I want to snatch the words back. Not because I don’t want Tegan to hear them, but because it makes me mad at myself. Why do I let my resolve slip so easily? I believed in myself when I came up with this plan and I already doubt it, just because of dumbass Billy?
“Hey.” Tegan stops me with his hand and I immediately notice how warm he is. “No doubting. The biggest thing you can do for yourself is have faith. I…you have to believe that, okay? The human body can do some amazing things.”
He almost said “I” have to believe. His words fill a part of me I wouldn’t have thought him capable of filling and not for the reason I would think. But the way his voice almost cracks, the depth of…well, belief in them, makes me want to believe too. Somehow, I can tell he needs it as much as I do.
“Um, okay. Yeah, I believe. Sorry. Bad day. I had to deal with this jer—never mind. Just feeling sorry for myself.”
“Yeah, shitty day for me, too.” Tegan stands there like he’s thinking. A little smirk teases his lips and I wonder if he realizes it before I start to wonder why I noticed it. I should not be noticing things like this about Gym Boy. “Okay, I have a plan, but you have to A) not mind if we deviate from your regularly scheduled workout for a bit and B) you have to work really hard to earn it.”
“What is it?” Like I’m going to agree to something without knowing what it is. Yeah right.
“I’m not telling. Let’s just say we’re working on that trust thing you mentioned you need to have for your trainer. I will say, it’ll help and I think you’ll enjoy it. I’ll enjoy it too. That’s all you’re getting out of me, though.” He crosses his arms, but this time, the tension’s gone.
Is it possible for a day at the g
ym to screw with your head? I’m really starting to think so because before I can talk myself out of it, I find myself saying, “Fine, whatever. But this better be good.”
“Deal. Let’s get going then. We have a lot to cover today. I have some time between you and my next appointment, if you don’t mind us running late.”
That automatically makes a sheen of sweat slap itself across my forehead. Great. We haven’t even worked out yet and I’m already sweating. How attractive is that? Plus, adding the words running and late together don’t sound good to me at all, but I nod anyway.
Luckily it doesn’t start out as bad as I thought when I find out the first item on our list is to work out a meal plan. He doesn’t tell me what to eat. We just talk about what I usually do eat, he gives me a book on suggestions, a diary to write my meals in, and the amount of calories I need to stay under.
“Oh, and water. Be sure you drink a lot of water.”
I nod, a little sad I’ll have to say goodbye to Ben and Jerry. “What about you? You drink smoothies.”
“Not you too.” He groans. “Can’t a guy have a sweet tooth? At least its fruit I’m reaching for and not something else.”
I know he didn’t mean it, but his words sting. I would be the one reaching for something else. He can have a smoothie a day because he’s not trying to lose weight. He moves on, not seeming to realize how his statement affected me.
We begin our aerobic on the treadmills and to my surprise, Tegan jogs with me again. We up the speed a little and I try to ignore the easy rise and fall of his chest while I’m panting for breath. From there we head into weights and resistance training and I’m wondering when this whole idea of his is starting. So far we’re basically doing the same thing as yesterday. My legs burn like they’re on fire while we do some machine that is supposed to give me quads of steel. They feel more like jelly at the moment.
