Olivia Christakos and Her Second First Time

by Dani Irons

  Chloe takes a deep breath. “So I know none of this is my business and I deliberated all morning about how much to tell you or if I should say anything, but...” she reaches into her jeans pocket, pulling out a folded piece of notebook paper. Her next words sound vaguely robotic. “Wyatt told me you don’t want to see him.”

  I sigh.

  Chloe keeps talking. “I get that, I guess. Even though you haven’t tried to kick me out and seem pretty open to learning more about your family...”

  I give her a sharp look. Shouldn’t she be taking my side since we’re supposedly best friends?

  Her eyes widen, like she can sense my annoyance with her. She backtracks. “...but I guess the whole boyfriend thing is a little different. You don’t want some strange guy feeling you up. Not like Wyatt would take advantage that way. He’s patient and nice. I just...um...” She hands me a slip of paper. “You should try letting him in.” Her eyes go soft and her mouth twists up into a small smile. When I turn my attention to the paper, Chloe reaches down and kisses the top of my head.

  Surprisingly, I don’t mind it.

  “We love you, Liv.” I nod, but don’t return the sentiment. I like Chloe so far, what little I know about her, but I’m still unsure about Wyatt. “I’ll be back when I can. If you need anything from me before then, call me. You have my number in your phone.”

  I look around for my phone, but don’t see one. “Any idea where that might be?”

  “I don’t, but I’ll ask your parents.”

  Then she slips out of the room.

  I stare at the paper. Part of me wants to tear it open and see what’s inside. Wyatt’s kindness makes me curious about him. But on the other hand, I should trust the feeling of resentment that I had the first moment I looked at him. Something is going on there and I need to find out what it is before I let my heart go anywhere near him. And this paper might sway me in the direction I don’t want to go.

  Seconds later, Cora lets herself back into the room. I tuck the paper underneath the lamp next to my bed. She hands me a tray of food and sits down to watch me eat it.

  * * *

  I dream.

  I’m sitting in a hospital, staring at my sweaty, writhing mother from a chair across the room. A strong arm rests on my shoulders. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” my dad asks next to me. “Because it’s okay if you want to go out into the hall.”

  I shake my head. I want to be one of the first to meet my new sister. To meet Natalie. She will be named after my favorite singer—Natalie Cole. I’m actually surprised they let me in. But my mom insisted I see my sister born and no one seemed to have a problem with it.

  After a few more pushes, the baby lands in the doctor’s arms. Her skin is bright red, she’s covered in muck and blood, and I don’t want to touch her. I look away. She cries, the doctors check her out and then she’s wiped down. Wrapped in a blanket.

  “Hold real still, kitten,” Dad says to me, and hands me a warm bundle. I don’t move. I only stare into that blank, wrinkly face, feeling proud. Like I’m the one who made this creature.

  My dream spins and tilts.

  “Red Rover, Red Rover, let Olivia come over.” And then I’m running. I love the feeling of the wind whipping through my hair. I pick the best spot to enter the chain—one between wimpy Wyatt Rosen and Chrissy Stansfield, who’s the smallest in our class.

  I break through their clasped hands too easily and my momentum causes me to stumble. I take a deep gaspy breath and put my hands in front of me before I fall, but I crash hard into the grass and roll over several times.

  I can feel dirt on my face and tears in my eyes. Someone materializes above me. Wyatt. Everyone around is laughing but him. He offers a hand, but I don’t take it. Instead, I sit up and try to wipe the dirt of my face. It’s difficult, though, because my tears are making the dirt stick.

  Wyatt brushes off the back of my head, delicately pulls the flowered bobby pin from my hair, and sticks it in more securely. He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “You okay?” he whispers.

  My eyes pop open; I feel grass below me. I look around, but I’m in bed. The dream lingers and I wish I had a notebook nearby to write it down. Instead, I close my eyes for a few more seconds, trying to remember the warmth of Natalie in my hands and the soft touch of Wyatt’s fingers in my hair before everything begins to fade away.

  Were they real memories? Maybe these dreams are the beginning of something bigger. I feel like they are, anyway. Like I’m on the precipice of a cliff, getting ready to let go and dive in. But that hope is edged in worry. What if I don’t get any memories back? Or what if I only get small ones, like what happened with Natalie’s hairstyle?

  My stomach plummets. I don’t want my entire life to be just...gone.

  I sit up, the house so quiet it makes me nervous.

  I notice two things: food and an empty room. For once, no one is waiting on me to wake up. The dinner tray is close and identical to the breakfast and lunch ones, except it has a blue cross painting with a bowl of grapes and a tuna sandwich atop it. I grab the bowl of grapes like someone might come and steal them if I’m not fast enough and pop one into my mouth. They are dark purple, unlike any other grapes stored in my memory. Like they’ve never existed until this moment. They aren’t sour at all, they have a dark sweetness and I eat them slowly to savor them.

  After my bowl of grapes and before stuffing myself with the sandwich, I remove the paper that Chloe gave me from underneath the lamp. After a dream like that, I can’t not open this. I want more of the Wyatt puzzle to be filled in.

  The paper feels warm, even though the lamp isn’t on. It’s silly, but it’s like Wyatt’s warmth still lingers on the paper. It makes a satisfying crinkle when I open it. It’s a list. There’s no greeting, no salutation, no “love,” and there’s no signature, even though Chloe already told me who wrote it. I brush my fingers over the letters, which look familiar somehow.

  I’ve never seen you cry.

  You really love your sister.

  Your second toe is bigger than your big toe and you secretly love the way your feet look even though you act like you don’t.

  You’re allergic to food dye (but I think you made that up).

  You peed your pants on purpose once in fourth grade because you were mad at the teacher for yelling at you (again) for talking too much in class. Your mom came to pick you up and instead of being embarrassed, you stuck your tongue out at everyone as you left.

  You giggle when bitten on the ear.

  You moan when kissed on the neck.

  You will never, ever settle for something you don’t want.

  I know some of this sounds generic. But maybe, as you begin to remember things, you’ll remember these. And you’ll trust me again.

  A blush heats my face as I replace the letter under the lamp. I stare at the blank wall, feeling hot and itchy, wondering if this house has any air conditioning and if so, why it’s turned down so low.

  A trickle of sweat runs down my back and I hear something down the hall click on. Air begins to blow directly above me, from a vent there, and it tickles my hot skin when it reaches me. I reach for the sandwich, but I’m not hungry anymore.

  My thoughts are on Wyatt and that makes me nervous, like I’m being rushed on an important life decision. I’m torn between wanting desperately to trust him, to know this sweet person he seems to be, and following my instinct to stay away from him. The feeling rips my innards to shreds.

  I put myself in his shoes. What if my boyfriend of five years suddenly didn’t remember all the time we’d spent together? What if he didn’t remember me? Would I be able to walk away and give him space? Probably not. I would do whatever it took to get him to fall in love with me all over again. Logically, I should give Wyatt a chance. The doctor said I should behave the way I norm
ally would—that I should jump back into my normal life. But diving into a relationship with Wyatt feels wrong, like I’d be accepting a ride home from a stranger in the middle of the night.

  I take a bite of room temperature tuna. I don’t know how long it’s been sitting out, but the thought of possible food poisoning with broken ribs deters me from eating anymore. I set it back on the plate and spit the bite out.

  Pushing myself from the bed, I walk over to my closet and stare at my clothes. My skin, my body, is itching to get dressed and do something. Maybe something outside. But my injuries tell me to get back into bed. I’m torn. Again.

  What time is it? I had lunch after the phone books, and my dinner had possibly been sitting out a while. Is it early evening or late at night?

  A noise outside the window diverts my attention. A scraping and a click. Scrape. Click. Silence. Scrape. Click.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Eighth Grade

  “Más guacamole!” I yelled and ran from the back porch into the kitchen, where Mom was slaving over plates and plates of appetizers: stuffed mushrooms, roasted bell peppers, guacamole and salsa with chips, hot wings and spinach artichoke dip with those homemade tortillas I loved. “The natives insist on more guac!” The natives being my aunt and uncle, my grandma, a few neighbors, Chloe—of course—and...Wyatt Rosen. And I was pretending he wasn’t there.

  “I only have so many hands,” Mom replied over her shoulder. “Could you help me, I’m missing out on all the fun out there! Have you guys lit those big sparklers yet?” She was wearing her I’ve Got Greece on My Apron apron, and the hair that she’d spent an hour on was pulled back into a sweaty ponytail.

  I hesitated. “But I’m the entertainment! I can’t help or the fireworks will all be gone by the time I get back out there. But I’ll take Natalie!” I reached into the playpen in the dining room where my baby sister lay sleeping.

  “Don’t do that, she’ll—”

  Natalie started wailing in my arms. “She can come outside with me! I’ll play with her.” When I was nearly out the door, I added, “I’ll send Dad in to help you.” Then I shuffled out of the house as fast as I could so Mom couldn’t argue.

  Outside, adults circled around the snacks table on the dimly lit porch, sipping their mixed drinks and talking old people stories. Money, politics, weather...ick. I rolled my eyes as I passed. Dad was nowhere out there that I could see, so I’d wait for him with Chloe and my neighbor Lydia, who were in the grass doing gymnastics. Chloe could do a front handspring and perfect splits and Lydia could do a backbend. All I had in my gymnastics arsenal was a cartwheel, and not a very good one.

  “Have you been practicing your front handspring, step out, front handspring yet?”

  “Yeah,” Chloe said, pushing up out of her splits. Then she showed me. Her shoulders were like boulders.

  “I wish I could move up a level,” I said, bouncing Natalie on my hip. She was all snotty now and smelled like warm poop, but she was sporting that almost-smile thing she did when I bounced her. Chloe, Lydia and I attended Anita Dance and Gymnastics Academy, but Chloe was two levels above me and Lydia. I kept practicing, but I never got any better. “I can’t pass the final test.”

  “What?” a male voice said from behind me. “The Great Olivia Christakos says she can’t do something? I don’t believe it.”

  I turned, and my eyes dragged up Wyatt’s length: Converse sneakers to plain black board shorts, white T-shirt to requisite messy brown hair. Megawatt smile. His plain outfit suited him.

  I, on the other hand, had planned my outfit a month in advance. Mom had allotted me fifty dollars, so I shopped every store in the mall to find just the right clothes—a red sequined top with a short, pleated, white skort. And Mom had spent twenty minutes French braiding my hair that morning.

  “Could you go find my dad?” I asked of Wyatt, hoping he’d take the hint. “My mom really needs his help.” Then I turned back to the girls.

  I could feel Wyatt still behind me while Chloe gave me a look of death. Like she saw me just kick a puppy or something. I pretended not to notice and lifted Natalie in the air, jostling her around gently.

  “He’s already in the kitchen with her,” he said. “I was just in there mashing up avocados. But if you don’t want me here, you should just say so.” And then I heard him amble away.

  * * *

  Later, after Chloe and I fought over who was going to light the last firework in the street and Lydia and some of the adults had left, she said, “I think my brother has some more fireworks at the house. Think your mom will let you stay over tonight?”

  “Of course she will!” I said, and that was the plan.

  Wyatt had spent the last few hours avoiding us, lurking around in the shadows, talking to the neighbors, and bringing out food from the kitchen. Not lighting fireworks or do anything kid-like.

  When I asked Mom permission to sleep over, she said, “Sure. Maybe Wyatt would like to go too? His mom won’t be here for another hour or so.” She was cleaning up the dishes, washing them and handing them to Wyatt to dry. “What do you say, Wyatt?”

  I waited for Wyatt to object but he didn’t. So I did. “Mom. We’ll be at Chloe’s house, I don’t think she’s even allowed—”

  “It’s fine,” Chloe said, emerging from the hallway, probably from the bathroom. “Maybe he can hang with my brother.”

  My mom gave Chloe one of her rare sincere smiles.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Chloe’s brother wasn’t there. Neither were any fireworks. It was just her parents sitting by the pool. They were also drinking.

  “Why don’t you take a dip?” her mother said to us, gesturing to the rectangular six-foot pool in front of them. “We’ll probably end up going inside in a few anyway.” Chloe’s parents were much older than mine. They had gray hair and wrinkles. Sometimes when they were being rough on Chloe, I called them her grandparents behind their backs. They had always been nice to me and I felt shitty about it, but still.

  “I don’t have a suit,” I said, almost grateful. I totally didn’t want to be half-naked around Wyatt.

  “I’ll get one of Chloe’s for you, dear,” she said, retreating into the house. Her husband followed after her.

  An awkward forty-five minutes later—after much cajoling on Chloe’s part—I slipped into the pool in a tight, pink one-piece while Wyatt chatted to Chloe’s parents inside. Chloe was already in the water, doing laps in her sexy, red polka-dot bikini. The water was lukewarm and felt wonderful on my sunbaked skin.

  “Why are you acting so weird tonight?” Chloe asked, swimming over to me.

  “I’m not acting weird,” I said, frog-kicking away from her. I submerged myself underwater and opened my eyes. If I could stay down here forever, I would. To hide from Wyatt’s ogling eyes. The last time I was in a bathing suit, his eyes had gone straight for my boobs and then he blushed so deeply I’d thought he’d stroke out. It wasn’t dark under there, despite the moonless sky, because the Smiths’ pool lights kept the bottom lit.

  Chloe pulled me by the hair to the surface. I floated up. “What the hell?” I said, using the one cuss word Chloe and I allowed when our parents weren’t around. Some of our friends used others, but we once read in Sixteen Magazine that boys don’t really like girls who cuss that much, just a little. There was a whole survey on it and everything. I bet James wouldn’t mind me using the word hell. Not that he paid much attention to me anyway. Since I’d walked out on him at the dance, we’d gone back to not speaking.

  Chloe said, “You’re acting weird. Is this because of Wyatt?”

  I put my nose into the air. “I don’t do anything ‘because of Wyatt’.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. Not really. It’s just that I didn’t want him to—”

  An
d then Wyatt came out of the house so I closed my mouth.

  “How’s the water, ladies?” he said, dipping a toe in. Then, without waiting for us to answer, he pulled his T-shirt over his head and dove in.

  An intense heat filled my cheeks as he torpedoed over to us. He grabbed my leg underwater and I shrieked, kicking and trying to swim away from his grasp. When he broke water, he smiled cockily. “Tag,” he said, “you’re It.”

  I couldn’t respond, couldn’t move, since Wyatt Rosen’s half-naked body was in front of me. I mean, I’d seen it before, like last year at the beach, but now he looked different. He had begun to fill out, I noticed, in all the right places and I didn’t like noticing him like that. He was still Tartar Sauce, even though the soup kitchen had begun serving better food and Wyatt no longer smelled like fish. He usually smelled like the ground after a hard rain.

  Not that I tried to notice how he smelled or anything. He was just, like, around. All the time. In my house. And I couldn’t help but notice.

  Something about being in the water with Wyatt, in his new body, suddenly felt too intimate. I had to get out. “I don’t want to play,” I said, swimming over the edge and pushing myself out. I didn’t look over to Wyatt to see if he was watching me exit the pool.

  Chloe’s mom had stacked towels nearby, so I grabbed one and wrapped myself in it. Then I sat heavily in one of the plastic chairs.

  “Olivia doesn’t like playing pool games,” she said to Wyatt, whose face had grown hard. I didn’t feel bad. It wasn’t as if I’d led him on by being friendly or anything. I was never friendly to him. “One time I had Ben McFarlane and Rick Lawrence over here and they wanted to play chicken,” Chloe added. “I climbed on Rick’s shoulders and Olivia was supposed to get on Ben’s shoulders, but she chickened out. So we won by default.”

  “That doesn’t mean she had to get out of the pool,” Wyatt pointed out to Chloe, like I wasn’t even there. “I’ll be nice,” he promised me with a smile. “I won’t grab you again.”

  I shook my head. “I’m just done.”