Waking up was the shit part. How in the hell was I supposed to go through that all over again? I wished I could phone it in and just sleep but life is more often cruel than kind. I had yearbook again today and I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing Mr. Bradford back in school knowing full well where his hands had been and where they would be again. I felt anger towards him, all sorts, but jealousy too. In a lot of ways I’d always been jealous of him but this was different, more focused, more acute.
It’d be hard to contain myself today, hard not to confront him.
Chapter Eight
Avery
When I woke up the next morning I saw that Olivia had accepted my friend request on Facebook. I smiled, staring up at my phone. I wanted to click on her profile and look through it but I needed to shower and get ready. School was still a thing I had to do.
I slid out of bed and padded out of my room and down the hallway, peeking in on Mom. She was still out and probably would be until after I left. When I slipped into the bathroom, I grabbed a fresh towel and put it on the rack above the toilet. I switched on the water and it came down in an icy torrent, splashing off the tile and hitting my bare legs.
I shed my usual sleepwear, t-shirt and flannel pj bottoms, and got under the spray. My eyes snapped open. This is how I woke my brain up, every morning an ice cold shower that shocked my body into feeling alive. My mind wandered back to the Facebook request, even as I tried to busy it with other things.
She had accepted. Either she felt guilty for being kind of bitchy to me or she was hoping to get information off of my profile. Let her, I didn’t have anything on there. It was all basic information that could even be pulled off a search engine. I didn’t even use messenger. Ben and I only communicated by text, calls, or snapchat and I deleted my accounts for a while after Adam died. That part of my life ended on the side of a road in a mess of twisted metal.
The outside world wasn’t a place I wanted to be in contact with then. I sank into myself and retreated from all my friends. Eventually, they stopped calling and then we moved, making me even more distant. There was only one person who stuck with me even when I was telling her to go away. My best friend, Holland. When we were moving from San Diego she helped us, coming up to make the transition easier for me.
She is the only person who knows what a disaster my life really is. No one else has ever seen it at its worst but she also saw it at its best. When we met it just clicked. Within one day I knew I could trust her and she would never betray me. It didn’t mean we didn’t fight or have tension but we would always make up.
That was the difference. I could trust that she would always love me, no matter how much of a recluse I became the summer after Adam. It was hard to keep track of each other now that we were seniors. She was busy with her life and I was constantly wandering. The last time I saw her was a year ago. Her parents let her spend part of winter break with us. Probably, the only week that my mom was close to normal in years. Maybe I could get her to come up for spring break in a few months. I smiled into the pounding water and spent the rest of my shower thinking about that instead of what would happen Saturday. How Ben would take over my world for a night. At least I wouldn’t be numb.
I turned off the shower and reached out past the curtain to get the towel I’d hung earlier. Water dripped from my skin until I started to dry myself off, going slowly, taking care. Mornings were my favorite time. Sunrises and the calls of birds outside my window. Between birdsong and Mom’s presence not far I could never feel totally alone.
I wrapped a second towel around my hair and wandered back to my room. Sometimes being human sucked. I unwrapped the towel from my head and tossed it over the back of my desk chair.
The clock on my nightstand blared to life, interrupting my daydreams and I reached over to turn the alarm off. Somehow my body always ignored the schedule I wanted and woke me up about fifteen minutes before my alarm. I took in a breath through my nose and pushed it back out quickly, unwrapping the towel and letting it lay open. My body was exposed to the cool morning. I looked down, trying to figure out why people were infatuated.
All I saw was pale skin, muscles hiding underneath, and curves. I reached down to my stomach, pinching at the little bit of fat I had. With a shrug I stood, done with the reasoning of my own physical worth. The pile of clean clothes I’d yet to fold still sat in the laundry basket. I went through and found underwear and a bra, dressing for comfort.
My favorite jeans hung in the closet. They were a pair of old, dark-wash skinnys that I’d picked up in a thrift store for five dollars. Right on the right knee there was a rip but it wasn’t one of those on purpose rips that manufacturers put in their pants. It was an honest rip. Someone had fallen or tripped to put that tear there.
That’s why I liked them so much. They were so soft and I could feel that they had a good story. The first shirt I found was Adam’s old The Clash tee that he stole from Dad when he was thirteen. It was big on me so I knotted it to the side of my waist. It was getting so worn that the graphic on the front was cracked and flaking away.
Shoes were easy. Boots, comfortable ones. Even if school meant sitting most of the day I hated bad shoes. They drove me insane. When I laced them up, a sense of completion took me over, allowing my attention to shift. My keys sat on the desk and I didn’t even bother taking my bag. I hadn’t done any homework, just like Ben predicted.
Before I left the room I grabbed my old faux leather jacket and pulled one arm through while I walked through the house. It was quiet as usual, only the hum of the refrigerator and the swish of the ceiling fan greeted me. The chill hit me as I opened the door and turned to lock it. It was supposed to be warmer in the afternoon. If it was warm enough I’d probably blow off practice to go somewhere, anywhere that might be fun.
When I pulled into the student lot I saw the usual groups outside waiting for the first bell. I got out and walked past them, waving back to a few that bothered to note my appearance. I didn’t know a lot of people, but a lot of people knew me. I just tried not to be a dick. I hated being rude to people unless I had a good reason. The only person I really cared to see wasn’t present anyway.
Right when I hit the door I saw her. Olivia was sitting at a table just outside the music room. She seemed upset, maybe dazed. That is, until her eyes found mine. A faint smile stretched on my face as I passed, my eyes glued to hers without waver.
Their intensity hit me, finding something inside my mind and stirring it. I didn’t know what it was but I didn’t mind her looking. The tension only lasted a few moments but I could feel her eyes boring into my back. I flexed my shoulders and resisted the urge to look back.
When I got to the second set of doors I couldn’t help myself. I turned, one hand on the latch and the other by my side. One last look and I slipped into the first floor class hallway. My phone buzzed and I took it out of my jacket pocket.
Olivia: Can we meet this afternoon for the interview?
I chuckled and shook my head, typing as I walked to homeroom. The girl was persistent.
Me: Sure. 3:30 in the media center?
Olivia: Don’t you have swim practice?
Me: Yeah, but I can blow it off.
Olivia: … okay, but let’s go somewhere else. Meet me in the parking lot. 3:30.
I shrugged, typing out an affirmative response. The bell rang and I drifted into the classroom, taking a seat at the back. I wondered where someone like Olivia would go off campus. Maybe the public library or a café? I didn’t know enough about her to give a good guess.
Whatever. I didn’t care as long as I wasn’t at home. Maybe it would even be interesting. I pulled out my phone again, hiding it beneath the cover of my desk. Instead of listening to Mrs. Pinelli talk about Hamlet I opened Facebook and started checking out Olivia’s page.
There weren’t an overwhelming number of pictures. Mostly photos of her at events and school functions, but not many of them had other people in them. I kept clicking through, my t
humb hovering over the screen. I almost missed it.
There was one photo of her with a really hot looking girl. The girl was gorgeous. Her arm was around Olivia who looked kind of uncomfortable but something about it held my attention. Something about the way Olivia stared back.
Other than that picture her profile was pretty standard, listing her activities and a few things she liked, movies and music. I went back to the photo albums and clicked on the one I hadn’t looked at yet. I flipped through, seeing photos like the ones I’d seen in the other album but they were older.
As they went, Olivia got younger until I got to the last one. She looked about ten or eleven and she was sitting at a baby grand piano, her tiny fingers on the keys. The dress she had on was black and it looked kind of stiff and satiny. Her dark hair was back in a braid and even though the photo was a profile view of her face I could see the concentration. She was so focused on what she was doing. It was kind of cute.
Suddenly, three-thirty seemed far away. And it was because the rest of the day seemed longer than the two days before. I avoided Ben, taking the long way around to Trig. I just didn’t want to even think about him or Saturday right now. So, I let myself wonder about Olivia. Who the pretty girl was from that picture. My curiosity got me through the last few classes.
The last bell rang at three-fifteen and I just sat, waiting for everyone to file out. I hated the rush. People piling into the aisles all at one time. It was stupid. So, I waited till it was clear before I got up and ambled toward the door. I slipped my hands into my jacket pockets as I walked.
The student lot was on the side of the building, close to my classroom. I went down the main hallway, past the atrium, and through the tall open area where the staircase was. There was a smaller hall that overlooked the gym. Floor to ceiling windows lined it, showing a view of the pool below.
I could see some of my teammates filing into the locker room at the far end. Coach wouldn’t even care that I missed practice. The only reason we won district last year was because I carried the team. I kind of set my own practice schedule because no matter what, I got it done when it came to competition. Either way, swim was a choice.
I looked away, toward the door at the end of the hall. Most everyone had already gotten to their cars in the lot by now. It was always a mad rush to get out of this place. Everyone nearly ran to go to their activities or to get home. I liked the school when it was empty. It was my favorite time to swim.
Sometimes I stayed after practice and just swam. The pool was where I got it all out. The anger and hate, no one could tell if you were crying when you were swimming. Each stroke, each kick released a little more of everything that I kept locked tight. I forgot people existed when I swam or ran, it was like meditation.
At the door, I waited a second and then pushed, opening it to the afternoon. The lot was about half empty. My car sat in the second row of spaces, all by itself. Most of the kids parked as close to the front as they could so they could get to their cars and get out. I looked around, scanning for Olivia. The football field sat off in the distance to the left. I could see it through the leafless trees. I checked my phone for the time. “She’s late,” I muttered. It was only a few minutes past but she seemed like the punctual type. There was a big crack in the sidewalk by my foot. I scuffed my boot against it before heaving a sigh and walking over to lean on the side of the building.
Impatience usually wasn’t in my wheelhouse but I felt a little on edge. I shrugged, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep them warm. I was about to just text her but a slick black sedan pulled up in front of me. The windows were tinted so dark I couldn’t see inside. The passenger window rolled down.
“Get in,” Olivia called from the driver’s seat.
I glanced up and down the car, wondering what kind of seventeen year old girl drove a Caddy. She reached across and opened the door, waving me in. She kept looking around like someone was going to jump out or see us together. I let out a low laugh and got in, sliding into the soft leather and reaching out to close the door.
“Hello to you too,” I gibed.
She took off at a moderate pace, driving to the end of the row and then circling around to get to the exit.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
She didn’t answer for a second, more intent on turning out into the flow of traffic. I studied her profile, trying to see the little girl in the picture. Her jawline was sharp, perfect. Her nose curved up just enough to be the right shape for her face. She was gorgeous, not that she projected it. It was only becoming apparent now.
“Somewhere we can talk.”
I wondered if she even knew where she was taking me but she had purpose to how she drove so I sat back, content to see where she would go. I was starting to become very distracted by her, like waking up to find myself down a sort of rabbit hole and she was the white rabbit.
Chapter Nine
Olivia
The only good thing I have to say about Tuesday is as at least it isn’t Monday.
On Monday I was twisted and angry for most of the day. It’s Tuesday now. I’m something else.
That being said, so far Tuesday has been far too harsh. Reality is just closing in on me as it often does. Thank God I had that stress relief last night with Nat. Yeah she left laughing but, hell, I don’t care. I was so emotional already, so needy. All those thoughts about Avery? Trust me, Nat did me a favor. I swear, ever since I hit High School, my sexual cravings have kicked into overdrive. It’s almost like they didn’t exist before. It’s like I’m some whole other person. I was never this weird as a kid. I was softer, not as often ruled by stress or cravings. I was serious and sensitive but I wasn’t ruled by chemical reactions and emotions, at least, not this much.
All morning before school I had to listen to my mother rant about some stupid case. So much for confidentiality. I get it though, who else can she talk to?
For whatever reason Mother’s delusional enough to assume I actually agree with every small opinion she decides she should have. I will never be on the twisted side of imprisoning our nation’s youth. Locking things away is never the solution.
Unlike my mother, I actually understand why a kid with neglectful or horrible parents might want to break a rule or two or seven. Kid’s like that don’t have anything to look forward to and for the most part their reasoning isn’t all there. And don’t even get me started on the educational systems they were probably raised with. Statistically speaking, most of these so-called criminals and juvenile delinquents are a product of abject poverty. They weren’t given the training or upbringing I was. In other words, it’s not their fault. Yet my Mother works in this shady business that makes prisoners out of the young. I can’t exactly wrap my head around it. A part of me does know that my mother IS a better judge for these kids than most others would be but she’s still a big part of a busted system that pedals in pain for profit. Trying to find that balance where I can agree with what she does, I always fall short. I couldn’t do it myself, there’s too much pain. She seems okay with it though.
In the kitchen, while my mother spoke on and on about the lawyers, and their arguments and the insanity of their choices, I just sat there drinking my coffee. I sat right in the light and shut my eyes. I imagined the sun was all there was. Just the sun and me. No people. Just us.
Then my mom would hit a certain high mark in her story and she’d shriek out of rage or slam a cupboard and I’d snap right back into reality. I dunno. Sometimes I get to school and I just know I’ve been through too much already for one stupid day. What’s the point in being able to reason and learn if all it’s bound to do is make a person sad?
I can’t tell her these things. Not that she’d even hear it if I tried. She’d twist my words around. Make me out to be saying something else, something not about her. She’d twist my argument. Mold it like clay. She’s weird that way. Some people prefer to invent their own realities rather than working with what they really have. As a method for long-ter
m sanity it seems effective. My mother and father; they both thrive.
All-in-all, it’s an injustice. I’ve never felt farther away from my parents in my whole life. I’m too aware now. Too grown up. I’m finally in a position to outwardly judge. The whole time growing up I thought I was just being unfair to them. It’s hard to judge your parents when they insist on spoiling you beyond reason. Yeah, they don’t really know me and they would probably disown me if they knew about Nat but I can’t hate them because I had so many advantages growing up as a Holbrook. Too many to count. Talk about privilege. The only way I could become a failure now would be if I just up and died or killed someone out of boredom or stress.
After that morning madness I drove to school feeling harried. Because of my mother I didn’t even have time to listen to music in my car or unwind which I usually did in the mornings. I like to sit in my car and bask in the glory of being alone. Meanwhile, all the other cars file into the lot one-by-one. All the other students mill about and sometimes I stare and watch. Usually though I’m writing something or working on homework or thinking about my unfinished work in Dad’s lab (the work I shouldn’t even be doing because he does not approve).
I didn’t get enough sleep last night. I had weird dreams where I was sitting in a salon chair and my hair was falling out and Ben was there sweeping it up off the floor and asking me polite questions about my day like nothing was wrong. I didn’t turn to look at him, I only ever used the mirror. It was very fucking symbolic and I hated that. Even while asleep my mind wouldn’t rest.
The sun was harsh when I left the house. I had no time to enjoy it, no time to bask.
I felt agitated the whole time I was driving to school and then I remembered I promised to give Gavin advice since he took over my spot as Captain of the Debate Team. It had gotten to the point where debate was just no fun anymore. Just another thing on my list. I guess I actually realized how pointless it was. Nat showed me that. I didn’t even study, or practice, and I’d still win. No challenge. Forget it. My parents being the way they are, the last thing I want to be is a fucking Politician anyway. Feeling right can come far too easy. It’s the other thing that’s hard for people to take.
Paper Dolls, Book One Page 6
