by Beth Bishop
After dressing—except for the hoodie—I took out my dryer and blew out my hair. I normally would’ve let it air dry, but the roar drowned out everything else so nicely. I dusted powder over my face, added a bit of clear gloss, tugged on my hoodie, and declared myself ready for the airport.
When I walked back into the bedroom, Linc and Whit stopped talking and looked at me. Whit started to speak, but my phone rang. I grumbled mock curse words, and after digging out my phone and seeing it was my stepmother, I answered.
Turning my back on the boys, I said, “Hey, Lizette.”
“Skye, honey. I just wanted to call and check in. Are you still going to that concert?” She sounded worried.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I don’t think that’s something Winston would approve of. Is anyone going with you?”
“Uh, yeah. Some friends,” I lied.
“Well,” she drew out the syllable, “I guess if you won’t be alone, I shouldn’t tell you no. I’m not really your mother.” She always said things like that, as if it freed her of any responsibility where I was concerned. “Are you flying out, today?”
“Yeah, at noon.”
“You’ve got plenty of money?”
“Some cash, and I’ve got a card. I’ll see you soon.”
“I look forward to it, honey,” she said.
I ended the call and turned back toward Whit and Linc. “Do I need to call a cab?” I asked as I scrolled through my saved numbers.
“No.” Whit came to me and pushed my hand down so I couldn’t fool with the phone. “I’m fine, and I said I would drive you.”
I dropped the phone in my bag. “Saying you will drive me and wanting to drive me are two different things. How long until we leave?”
He looked surprised and confused. “You don’t want to eat or anything? You have plenty of time.” He tried a smile on me. “I thought you might make me breakfast, again.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Could you be more self-absorbed?”
“It was a joke, Skye.”
I slung my bag over my shoulder and left the room. I went down to the bottom floor and over to the kitchen. Linc and Whit followed me. The three of us were the only people awake. After digging around in the fridge, I found a bottle of juice. In the pantry, I found a box of meal bars and snagged one.
As I shook up the juice, I asked, “Can we go, soon?”
Whit took out a bottle of juice. “I didn’t think you had a bad time last night. I mean, other than Linc getting in bed with you.”
I chugged the juice and set the bottle down on the counter. “You are completely clueless, you know. Unconscious Linc,” I jerked my head toward him, “wasn’t really much of a problem in the grand scheme of things.” I took a big bite of the meal bar and found it overly chewy. I crossed one arm over my stomach and propped my elbow on it to hold the meal bar near my mouth. “Did you have fun after I left?”
“I’d say,” Linc chimed in, which got him punched in the arm by Whit. “What? It isn’t like she wouldn’t find out.” Whit glared at Linc.
I held up a hand. “Don’t tell me.” I took another bite and chewed like a cow. “Just take me to the airport.”
“I didn’t screw anyone,” he said, taking my wrist and pulling my hand away from my body.
I shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. Screw whoever you want.” I cringed internally at using crude language, but it seemed appropriate and necessary. “It isn’t like we’re dating.”
“But…I want us to date,” he said.
“Yeah, and he wants to—”
“Shut up, Linc,” Whit snapped.
“If that’s true, you shouldn’t have done whatever it was with another girl.” I pulled my hand out of his.
“It’s no big deal,” Linc said, as if I was being difficult. “Sicily just gave him head.”
“Dammit, Linc,” Whit said.
“I thought she went upstairs with Derrick,” I said. Whit looked at me but didn’t correct me. “Ew. She did, and then she did that with you? Double ew.” I looked at the meal bar, but my appetite suddenly left me. “She obviously likes you a lot. Maybe it worked out for the best.”
“I like you, though,” Whit insisted.
“I guess you should’ve remembered that before you put your,” I gestured to his crotch, “in her mouth.” I swallowed and held the meal bar out to them. Whit waved a hand at me, but Linc took the bar and ate the rest of it.
“I was drunk,” he said. “I wanted you, and you shot me down.”
“Yeah, and she was willing and convenient.”
Chewing and smiling at us, Linc said, “She gives great head, too.”
“Linc!” Whit rubbed his forehead.
“Well, she does,” he said.
“Shut up, already.” Whit punched Linc’s upper arm hard enough to turn him sideways. “You aren’t helping.”
“Hey,” I intruded, “at least he doesn’t pretend to be a nice guy.” Linc wiggled his eyebrows at me. “I get exactly what I expect from him, except for the hacky sack thing.”
“Yeah, I’m really sorry about that,” he said, wadding up the wrapper and chucking it at the garbage can. “Glad your ear is okay.” He reached up and playfully tugged on my earlobe. I smacked his hand away from me. “My leg really hurts, though.” He indicated the bright red spot where the comb hit him. “I think you should kiss it, and make it better.”
Ignoring that, I looked and Whit and said, “I’m calling a cab. I need to get my bags out of your car.”
“I will drive you,” he insisted. “Just let me change and get my keys.” With a final glare at Linc, Whit headed back upstairs.
As Linc and I watched him go, he asked, “Are you going to forgive him?”
“For what? We’d have to be together for him to cheat on me.” I looked at Linc. “What is it with you guys? Must you have every wish granted? Nobody ever tells you no or wait? You are all so spoiled.” I looked around me, at the enormous house sitting on ridiculously priced beachfront land, filled with ungodly expensive furniture and art. Lizette would love it, even if the colors and styles weren’t her taste. The kitchen alone cost more than my childhood home. “Sicily needs to respect herself more. If someone doesn’t like you, nothing you do for them is going to change their feelings.”
“Skye…” Linc paused and waited until I looked at him, “I think I love you.”
I looked at him and rolled my eyes. “God, I need a shovel.”
“What does that mean?”
“I need a shovel for all the bullshit you people are piling on me,” I explained. “Tell Whit I’ll be outside.”
I rinsed out the juice bottle and put it in the recycle bin. I hoped that by the time I got to the airport, I might have my appetite back. I could grab a snack before my flight. I wouldn’t have to see any of these people again before school resumed, and I could put the whole, wretched ordeal behind me.
When I headed for the door, Linc stopped me. I gave him an irritated look, but he smiled at me—not his usual, creepy or goofy smile, but a real smile. I think it was the first time I ever saw genuine emotion from him. He held my upper arm just long enough to kiss my cheek. Then, he released me.
“I really did have fun playing pool,” he said more seriously than I had ever seen him.
“Yeah, it was fun. Tell everyone…you know what? Never mind. They don’t care.”
“You seem so lonely, sometimes,” he said as I walked toward the front door. “All the numbers in your phone…they’re either your dad, your stepmom, or like take-out and cab companies.”
“Loneliness is just part of life, Linc. I’m used to it, and those other numbers are awfully handy when you can’t drive.” With that, I went out the door.
Chapter Eight
I didn�
�t have to wait long for Whit to join me at his car. At school, he never looked messy, even when he’d been playing soccer or rowing. Today, however, he looked rough. His hair was a rat’s nest, his eyes were sunken, and once we got in the car, the smell of alcohol coming out of his pores filled the interior.
The drive felt like it took forever. I stared out the window and away from Whit the entire time. I didn’t speak to him, and he didn’t try to speak to me until we were in the drop-off lane at the airport.
He lifted the last suitcase from his trunk and said, “Look. I was drunk and horny, and Sicily is a very persuasive person.”
“I told you that it isn’t necessary for you to explain or justify your behavior, and I really don’t want to know about it.” I grabbed the handle of the smaller suitcase and pulled it over the curb. I punched a button to release the handle to full-length in preparation for rolling it.
“What Linc didn’t tell you was how pissed she was when I called her your name.”
I closed my eyes. “Is that supposed to make it better? That you were imagining it was me?” I opened my eyes to look at him. “Is that supposed to tell me that it’s me you really want? Maybe it does, but it certainly does not show me that you care about anything or anyone but yourself.”
I took my shoulder bag off and strapped it to the top of my suitcase and around the towing handle. I walked back to Whit, took the pull strap from him, and tugged my large suitcase onto the sidewalk. “I think I can get it from here, Prince Charming.”
“Don’t be like that,” Whit said, walking over to me.
I yanked the suitcase so that it hopped and then rolled toward me. “No, you don’t be like that. Don’t try to be something you’re not. You are a playboy, so stop trying to act like someone who isn’t.”
“Well, I do have manners. Let me at least help you check your bags.”
“Whitney,” I blew out a puff of air. “I got along just fine before I had your help. I think I can still manage.”
“I hate it when you call me Whitney.” He stepped closer and snagged the strap. “I don’t want you to leave mad at me.”
“It’s not about what you want, and I’m not mad at you,” I said. “Disappointed? Yeah. Yeah, Whitney. I really wanted to believe that all the crap I hear about you isn’t true. You made me believe it was possible, and then you squished it.” Nearby, people gave us odd looks as they passed, and traffic began backing up. “Now, when we go back to school, they are going to hate me even more. So, thanks for a swell time, Whitney. I should’ve just stayed in the city.”
“Don’t.” He let go of the bag and wrapped his arms around me. “I’ve never liked anyone the way I like you. I don’t want you to like someone who hit you in the head with a hacky sack more than you like me.”
I laughed. “Linc? Give me a break.”
“He told me he likes you.”
“Yeah, well. It’s probably because you like me.”
“Maybe. No.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to lie. He liked you before I met you.” Whit laughed. “His father would never approve. The Moores are even more stuck up than the Hastings.”
“Yes, I’m beginning to see a pattern. Trying to date me is just another form of rebellion.”
“Not for me,” he insisted, “and my parents are supportive, because I really like you, and…and you’re a good girl. Give me another chance to show you that you can believe in me.”
“I’ll think about it.” I waved a finger around at the cars and an approaching policeman. “You need to go before you get a ticket. I’m going into the terminal.”
“Okay, but first.” He leaned in to me and kissed me. It was just a soft kiss on the lips, which was all I could stomach with the smells that poured off him. “I’m going to miss you. I’ll call you.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly.
Whit let go of me, and I rolled my bags into the terminal. After printing my tickets and checking my bags, I slipped off my sneakers, went through security, and found the waiting area for my gate. While I waited, I got out my laptop. After I plugged in my earbuds, I pulled up an online alternative radio station and got some tunes going while I checked my e-mail. In my pocket, my phone vibrated, and when I took it out, I found I had two texts.
The first one was from Whit. It read, “Care for u. Nvr agn.” I mouthed, “Whatever,” at the text and deleted it.
The second text, sent earlier, was from “Luv_ya_Linc”. I smirked, thinking that when he had my phone in the bathroom, he must have put his number in it. When I did a quick search, I found that indeed his cell and home numbers were listed in my contacts under the same, goofy name. The text read, “Wat r u up to? Txt me.”
“Waiting, listening to,” I listened, “Weezer,” I typed back.
Within ten seconds, I got a reply. “Song?”
“Perfect Situation.”
“Cool.” There was a brief pause and then, “Fight?”
I shook my head and then felt stupid for doing it. “Nunya,” I typed back.
“?”
“None of ur biz nunya.”
“So u did.”
“Y r u txtng me?”
“Bc I luv u.”
I snorted. “Whatev.”
“U saw my name.”
I smiled in spite of myself. “U r ridiculous.”
“That hurts.”
“Y Linc?”
This time, there was a significant pause. “Gotta go. Fun slpng w u. Do it again soon.”
“Figures,” I muttered as I closed my phone.
I tooled around online for a while, read some Wikipedia articles, and googled the Moores. I still couldn’t get over the fact that my daddy had a Wikipedia page, but it blew my mind that some of these kids had them. My appetite returned, so I grabbed a roll and hot cocoa from Cinnabon and called that lunch and breakfast. After my snack, I dug out my volume of Poe and started “The Purloined Letter,” but I couldn’t concentrate on reading.
I felt better when we boarded, as I was ready to get out of New York and back to the South. I had visited New Orleans a few times over the years and enjoyed it. Beyond the food, the city itself pulsed with voices and music. I hoped the concert would be just the thing to bring me out of my current funk. Then, it would be on to Savannah. It would be warm there—maybe warm enough to sit out in the sun on the patio.
Just before I turned off my phone for take-off, I got another text from Linc. It read, “U don’t have to b lonely. I am an ass. Sry.”
“Yeah,” I said to my phone. “Well, at least he admits it.”
I stuck my backpack between my feet, slipped my phone into it, and closed my eyes. I knew I didn’t sleep, since I was aware that we took off, that the in-flight movie began and ended, and that the captain informed us when we changed time zones; however, I didn’t really pay attention to any of it. I was thinking about what Linc said.
Other than to tease me, it surprised me that he noticed me at all, much less how I felt. He was right in that I was lonely at times. Until Lizette married my father, I spent most of my time alone. Well, even after they married, she didn’t spend much time with me. As an only child with only one parent—a parent who worked all the time—I learned to entertain myself and keep myself company. Most of the time, social gatherings made me feel awkward, simply because I wasn’t used to being around lots of people. I think I had said maybe two words at my father’s and Lizette’s wedding.
I never felt lonely until being around a large group of people for an extended period. Once they were gone, or once I was gone, I noticed the absence of them. It wasn’t even specific people—just the absence of people.
Here, I was crammed on a plane with loads of them, and in several hours, I would be in New Orleans, take a cab to the hotel, and be alone, again. I wondered if Whit or Linc felt that way. I
would never ask either of them, but I wondered nonetheless.
Even though I was trapped in a social class whose culture I generally abhorred, I didn’t want to be poor, again. Being poor sucked, but being rich—the type of rich that my father was and in the circles he thrust me into, because he thought it was what was best for me—introduced me to a new level of separation from everyone else. I hated it, but I had no idea what to do about it. Since I didn’t, I got out my MP3 player, queued up some Breaking Benjamin, and silenced my problems with someone else’s.
I enjoyed the ride from the airport to the hotel. The historic areas of the city, the old houses and cemeteries, and the Spanish moss in the trees were just as lovely and spooky as I remembered. New Orleans reminded me of home.
The concierge seemed wary of me when I checked into the hotel. He hesitated, judging my youthful appearance and lack of adult supervision, but then gave me a room key. That was the beauty of the Internet and my father’s credit card.
My suite on the city-side of the Hilton was spacious and comfortable. It had a large picture window that foremost showed me a view of the Harrah’s casino. From so high up, I could see several blocks. To the far right, I saw part of Canal Street and all the cars jammed along it. The plane landed right at five o’clock rush hour, but it didn’t matter. Except for Sundays, the streets were always jammed.
I watched the people, too. From up in my tower of sorts, they looked so small. Yet, I was the one who felt small…and alone. I debated on ordering room service but decided to go through the walkover to the Riverwalk Marketplace.
It was warm enough to shed the hoodie, so I did. I stuck my wallet and phone into a small bag I could wear across my body. After putting away my laptop and stuffing my e-tickets into my suitcase, I left my room for the mall.
I didn’t care about shopping, other than popping into a store aimed at tourists in order to grab myself a Big Easy T-shirt. Once that task was completed, I wandered the mall, looking up at the exposed, metal beams and industrial lighting, and studying the window displays of clothes, jewelry, toys, and gadgets. I had gumbo and a dunked sandwich at a homey, Cajun restaurant.
