by Laura Hopper
My room goes dark except for the stream of dim light filtering down the hallway from the living room. Luke’s hands leave my hair and move to my back. Slowly, slowly they travel from the tops of my shoulders, rubbing my back lightly, softly, sweetly. His strong hands reach the bottom of my tank top, which has ridden up a bit, so I can feel his bare hands on the inch of skin above my jeans. Just the touch of his fingers on the small of my back is enough to make my heart race even faster. And it was beating pretty damn fast already.
His fingers find their way under my tank top and are now working their way back up, only this time directly on my skin. They wander up my back until he has a gentle but firm grasp of my shoulders. In one impressively swift move, he lifts my tank top up and over my head and, before I know it, I am lying on him wearing only jeans and my black no-nonsense bra.
“This okay?” he whispers between deep, soulful kisses.
“Yeah.” I manage to eke out the syllable even though practically no sound escapes my lips.
“Here, we’ll make it even,” he says.
He sits up slightly, gently moving me from lying on top of him to kneeling between his legs. He takes his sweatshirt off, letting it fall to the floor next to my bed. In the dim light, I can barely make out the silhouette of his body, broad and strong and smooth, lying against my pillows. I feel extremely awkward sitting in front of him without my shirt on, even though the room is practically dark. I self-consciously cover my chest, arms crossed, each hand on the opposite shoulder. Luke laughs a little, taking my hands in his, opening my arms wide. Hopefully, in the low light, he can’t make out that I’m fully freaked. I’m not scared, and I don’t feel forced or pressured. I’m freaked in an excited way. Like I’m on a tropical island, about to jump off a rocky cliff into the crystal-blue water down below. Exhilarated, but unsure whether I’m really ready to take the leap.
“What’s the problem?” Luke asks.
“No problem,” I say, but I know he’s not buying it.
“You don’t want me to see your body?”
“I don’t think of my body as something that you would want to see,” I say.
“Are you kidding me?” he asks in disbelief. He reaches over to the nightstand and turns on my lamp. My hands jump back onto my shoulders like they are on springs.
“Come here,” he says. He gets up and guides me over to the mirror that covers the length of the door to my bathroom. He places me in front of the door and stands behind me, his hands interlocked near my bellybutton. “Look at you.”
Is he serious? I’m supposed to stand here, wearing jeans and a bra in a fully lit room, and gaze into the mirror at myself with Luke Hallstrom supervising? I don’t freakin’ think so. I put my hands over my eyes and hope he’ll give up on this mission. He takes hold of my hands and pulls them down to uncover my eyes. My lids stay shut tight. I only wish I could make it dark for him as well.
“Will you please open your eyes so you can see what I see?” he begs.
I open my eyes, but look everywhere except at my own reflection—the sandy-beige carpet, the molding around the doorframe, the backward photos reflected in the mirror.
“Come on, just for a second. For me.” I finally relent and stare straight ahead.
I try to see in myself what he clearly sees. I look at my image and the self-consciousness slowly evaporates. A blanket of reassurance covers me in warmth and comfort. Everything in the room seems to change, and Luke can obviously pick up on my new sense of ease. He reaches his hands behind my back and unhooks my bra. I keep my eyes locked on the mirror as my bra falls to the floor.
“My god, Janey, look at you.” I do as he says and look, searching to find the truth in his words. It takes significant effort for me to let him stare at me. His hands wrap back around my waist and find their way up to my chest, cupping my breasts. I watch his hands, and then I watch his face. I see how taken he is with me. I see appreciation and admiration in his eyes. Finally his eyes find mine in the mirror. He looks deeply into me, making sure we’re in sync. I turn around to face him and feel the whole of my naked chest up against his smooth brown skin. I lift my face to look at him and he delicately licks the tiny space between my lips.
“You’re perfect, you know that?” he asks.
“Maybe I’m just perfect for you.”
One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do was let Luke leave. But it is, after all, a school night, and my chemistry lab is not going to write itself. It’s amazing how much energy a topless make-out session can provide. I am burning through my homework when I hear Mom’s key in the door.
“Hi,” she calls when she steps into the house.
“Hi,” I say from my room.
A minute or so passes.
“Where’d the pizza come from?” Uh-oh! I never went back into the kitchen, and the pizza box is still sitting on the counter. No reason to lie, I guess.
“Luke brought it over,” I call from my room.
Silence. Footsteps. Mom’s face in my doorway.
“Excuse me?” she asks with curiosity more than accusation.
“Luke brought it over. That’s fine, isn’t it?” I say as though his visit was no big deal.
“Um. Yeah. I guess. It’s just a little strange that the first time you have him over is when I’m not home. Seems to me we should have discussed it.”
I try to be as casual as possible, like the thought never occurred to me. “Okay. I’ll ask you next time. It was no big deal. We ate pizza and then he left so I could do homework.” I leave out the best part. However, something tells me my mother and I would have differing opinions about which is the best part. Even though I’m not about to give her specifics of the events that actually transpired, it does not feel good or right to lie to my mother.
“Janey, try to remember I’m not stupid,” she says with knowing eyes and a slight smile.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, caught off guard. I feel my face grow hot.
“I’m not about to believe that this boy came over and all you did was eat pizza. I understand that you’re not going to tell me everything, but don’t play me for a fool.”
“Mom . . .” I am at a loss for words.
“It’s okay, Janey. You’re seventeen and you like a boy. Just remember I was seventeen once, and things aren’t that different.” She doesn’t seem mad, but I still feel extremely guilty.
“We kissed—” I start to say.
“Hey,” she interrupts. “I’m not looking for details. Just know I’m aware of what teenagers do. Keep that in mind.”
How should I have handled that? This is all uncharted territory, and clearly I am not armed with the tools to navigate it. She stands in my doorway during an extended silence.
“How was your night?” I ask, changing the subject. And just like that, she is back to being an apologetic, newly separated mom, looking at me with big sad eyes, searching for signs of how I’m handling the change in our family life. Little does she know that the dissolution of my parents’ marriage is giving me much-needed freedom. Freedom to explore the other part of my life that’s unfolding. What’s the saying? Every cloud has a silver lining? Luke Hallstrom is my silver lining.
That night I get undressed and, before I put on my pajamas, I go back to the mirror. I stand there naked. This time, I’m alone. There’s no gorgeous guy by my side making me feel sexy and wanted. No heat or anticipation in the air. It’s just my reflection and me. I see the same body I’ve always found there, but never took the time to appreciate. The same narrow shoulders, small chest, and muscular legs. I remind myself of Luke’s words: Open your eyes so you can see what I see. I stare into the mirror and search for the person Luke has found. Slowly, she begins to emerge. A strong, pretty girl is surfacing. Could it be she’s always been there?
Chapter Sixteen
Lunch at school hasn’t changed much. Danielle, Sloan, and I always seek one another out and find a spot at the outdoor picnic tables. Brett used to sit with us, b
ut he’s been distant since our episode in the hallway. I’ve tried to be friendly when we have debate, and I’ve sent him a few random texts, but he’s holding a grudge. I see him in the distance eating his lunch on the grass with his friends Noah and Oliver.
Charlie often sits with us because god forbid he miss an opportunity to put his hand on Danielle’s ass. Meanwhile, Sloan has been running hot and cold lately. Sometimes she enthusiastically gives details about the hot new science teacher and how she’s fairly certain he wants her. Other times, particularly when the subject of Luke arises, she gets frosty and goes tightlipped. I figure I’ll give her the space to be moody and she’ll come around soon.
Lunch today is like any other. We discuss whether it’s better to take the ACT or the SAT.
“I’ll suck at either,” Charlie says.
“I plan to have Janey take mine for me,” Sloan jokes.
“Got room for one more?” It’s a familiar voice from directly behind me. I turn around to see Luke standing there, holding a giant sandwich and a shiny red apple.
“Sure.” Danielle moves over, practically climbing into Charlie’s lap, in order to give Luke plenty of room to sit between us. Sloan perks up a bit. I don’t think she’s ever been this close to Luke, and, having lusted after him for so long, it’s probably kind of a thrill for her to be sitting near him.
“What’s everyone talking about?” Luke wants to know.
“Junior stuff. SAT or ACT. Any opinion?” Sloan asks.
“I took the ACT,” Luke answers.
“Congrats on BC,” Charlie says. I worry it might seem weird that Charlie knows where Luke’s going to college. Does Luke think I’m sharing the details of his life with all of my friends? Does he know that news like early admission and an athletic scholarship spreads like wildfire through school and Charlie, a wannabe athlete but indisputable klutz, undoubtedly knew this information long before Luke said two words to me?
“Thanks, man,” Luke says, putting down his sandwich and placing his arm around my shoulders. I almost spit out my almonds when I feel his touch. My first reaction is to shrug him off in an effort to keep the secret that we’ve been hanging out. I have to remind myself that everyone sitting at this table knows what’s going on. Of course, they don’t know that last night Luke took my shirt off and felt my boobs. Although that’s hardly relevant right now.
“You’re going to run track there?” Charlie asks.
“That’s the hope,” Luke says.
As the guys continue their conversation, Danielle and I catch each other’s eyes and fight the urge to laugh out loud. Sloan gives me an excited, stifled smirk, and I know that she’s thinking, Oh my f-ing god, that guy is so hot and he’s so into you. I appreciate that Sloan is sharing in the excitement, because it would suck if she got jealous and bitchy.
From across the patio, I see Luke’s friend Zach Nelson approaching. It looks like he’s coming over to us, but I can’t be certain. I haven’t officially met Zach, but I know he and Luke have been friends since middle school. Zach is on the football team and is hoping to walk on at a Division I school next year. Luke talks about Zach sometimes, how much fun they have together and how much he respects that Zach works really hard on the field because he’s not a naturally gifted athlete. As Zach nears, his girlfriend, Emily, also someone I’ve never met but know all about, catches up to him. Holding hands, they walk over to us.
“What’s up?” Zach asks, sitting down on the other side of Sloan. Emily stands behind Zach, hands on his shoulders. I can tell she’s as unsure as I am about this random group and why we are gathered around the same lunch table. She notices Luke’s arm around me and gives me a long once-over, as though I’m a complete stranger. It’s clear she’s never seen me before in her life. High school is funny that way. We know names, stats, and details about many of the kids who are older, particularly people like Luke, Zach, and Emily. But we rarely have that information about people younger than we are. Now Emily, who I happen to know is a volleyball player and has had many boyfriends (I know this because there are always a lot of public displays of affection at school), is giving me a Who the hell are you? look.
Similarly, Zach assesses the group around the table. Particularly Sloan, Danielle, and me. “So, you guys are all juniors?” he asks.
“Yep,” Sloan answers, taking a sip from her water bottle.
“Do you know any cute girls for our friend Miles?”
Luke jumps in. “Zach. Seriously, man?”
“What?” Zach asks innocently. “What’s the problem?”
“You want them to pimp their friends out to Miles?” Luke asks.
“I was just curious,” Zach says.
“Miles can find his own action,” Luke says.
“I may know someone,” Sloan says with a grin.
“E.B.,” Danielle cautions.
“E.B.?” Luke asks curiously, popping the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth.
“E.B.?” Zach echoes.
“Inside joke,” I say.
“Well, that’s no fair. Please explain,” Luke says, looking at me with that Hallstrom sparkle in his eye.
“No way!” Sloan says quickly, staring at me hard, as though she fears I might give in to Luke’s charm.
By the end of lunch, a mere twenty minutes later, before Emily and Zach walk away, Emily turns to me and says, “We should all hang out.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say.
What does that even mean? Does she want to double date with Luke and me? Is she suggesting everyone from the lunch table, including Sloan, Danielle, and Charlie, hang out together? Have I entered new social strata now that I’m dating Luke? Am I now accepted into this group of senior celebrities? I guess, somewhere in my subconscious brain, I figured my friends and Luke would never intersect, thus I could continue to avoid navigating the choppy waters that result when my worlds collide.
The following Friday night, I find myself in the back seat of Zach Nelson’s Toyota FJ Cruiser. Zach and Emily are in the front, and Luke is next to me. Again, I feel too young and awkward to be in this group, but Luke tries to make me feel comfortable. He keeps grabbing my hand and telling me how great I look. Getting dressed was a challenge. Thank god Sloan came over to help. In a way, I was dressing more with Emily in mind than Luke. Emily always looks so sophisticated and glamorous. She always has the right jeans, the right sweater, and the right scarf thrown haphazardly around her neck. Even when she’s in her volleyball uniform, she looks like a model.
Sloan had to practically force me to wear the new top I bought in La Jolla. It was so fun to purchase it, but then every time I saw it hanging in my closet it practically mocked me, as if to say, You know you’re never going to have the guts to wear me. That top—softer, sheerer, and lower-cut than my other clothing—looked like it just didn’t belong in my wardrobe. The tags still hung from the neckline, tempting me to return it. But Sloan would not take no for an answer, so I really had no choice. We paired it with dark skinny jeans and Sloan’s black suede boots. I have to admit, even though I feel like I am playing dress-up, I like the way I look. I actually feel pretty.
As we near the restaurant, Zach and Emily start arguing in the front seat. Something about the music on the radio.
“Why did you change that song?” Emily whines.
“Because Taylor Swift is weak,” Zach says.
“You know I love that song.”
“So what? I want to listen to real music.”
“But if you know I love it, you should want me to be happy,” Emily says with real anger in her voice.
Their argument continues as Zach pulls the car into the parking lot. Am I really listening to this? Are two reasonably sane people really having a legitimate fight about something so ridiculous? It escalates and Zach tells her she’s being a bitch. I am so uneasy, not sure what I’m supposed to be saying or doing. Maybe they forgot we were sitting back here.
“We’ll meet you in there,” Luke says, opening the d
oor and getting out. He holds the door open for me and before he shuts it he says, “By the way, Zach, you’re the one being a bitch.” We escape from the tension-filled SUV into the comfort of a red leather booth in the crowded Italian restaurant.
“Sorry about that,” Luke says as though it’s his fault.
“That was crazy,” I say.
“They fight like that all the time.”
“What’s the point? Why be with someone who makes you so unhappy?” I ask.
“Guess they like making up,” he says, and a sly smile indicates just the kind of making up he is imagining.
“Very funny. Have you ever been in a relationship where you fought like that?” I ask him.
“I’ve only had one other real relationship, and no, not much drama.”
He must be talking about Amanda McKay. They were always together last year. She was a senior and he was a junior. I would see them holding hands walking down the hallway, and sometimes kissing at her locker. She was always the lead in the school musicals. I went to see Grease last year, and I remember seeing him waiting for her after the show with a huge bouquet of flowers.
“That’s a good thing,” I say.
“Yeah, it was mostly good. She was older. Taught me a lot. She was my first real relationship. And my first, well, everything.”
I immediately feel a surge of self-doubt. She was his first. You always remember your first. Tough to compete with that.
“Where is she now?”
“Right around the corner, at UCSD.” Ugh! It gets worse!
“Do you still talk to her?”
“Yeah, sometimes. She’s busy. I’m busy. But we check in, stay in touch. She’s a great girl. Super talented.”
