First Loves: A Collection of Three YA Novels

by Jolene Perry

  Life could be worse.

  “Sounds good,” I tell him. I’m not sure if it sounds “good” but it sounds like something I know how to do. Right now, that’s all I care about.

  ***

  My apartment now smells like dust and Clorox and a bit like the garage I spent the afternoon in. I need to call Mom. I’m just not sure how to go about doing that. What to say.

  Maybe another one of those tacos will help—though I’m limited on funds. Maybe a taco would be stupid.

  I jerk open the fridge. I have milk and orange juice and Pepsi. There are a few pizzas and some tater tots in the freezer, but that’s it.

  Right. I can have cereal or snacks or frozen pizza.

  A taco sounds infinitely better.

  Sliding my new phone from hand to hand I head down the dusty hallway into the narrow stairs and out into the July heat.

  It’s stifling here. Like I’m trying to be baked by God or something—not like the breezes from the ocean that we get at home.

  I nearly dial Mom but stop. Maybe if I get my food first, I’ll know what to tell her.

  Taco Truck Mike gives me a nod of acknowledgement.

  “Surprise me,” I say.

  He chuckles. “Sounds good, kid.”

  I tense at the word, kid. I’m not a kid anymore. Or maybe I just don’t want to be.

  I sit under the tired umbrella, grateful for the small bit of shade.

  Sitting here, I feel a million miles away from home and Ronnie and Luke and juvie, and that’s exactly what I need.

  Before being pissed at myself for being a chicken, I dial Mom.

  She answers on ring one. “Hello?” Her voice is tired, strained, but hopeful. Mom is always hopeful.

  “It’s Shawn. I got a phone.”

  “Where’s this area code? Where are you? Are you okay? Why did you just leave?”

  “Breathe, Mom.” I rest my forehead on my palm.

  “I’ve been so worried.” Her voice is the quiet broken one. I hate that it’s because of me.

  “I’m okay. I had to get out. I found an apartment and a job and I got a phone.”

  “So this is your phone?”

  “Yep.” I glance around unsure how much more I want her to know, or how much I want Mike to maybe overhear.

  “I wish you’d come home.” Her voice is thin, almost breakable.

  “Mom, I know…” I let out a sigh.

  “But I understand.”

  I’m stunned for a moment. “Really?”

  “You’re such a good young man, Shawn. Never forget that. I love you.”

  My chest is swelling as much as my throat. “I love you too.”

  “You call me anytime, okay?” she says.

  “You too.”

  “Take care of yourself, son.”

  “I will.” I end the call and glance up to see Maci’s eyes on me.

  She’s giving me a quiet kind of smile that I return without thinking.

  The sleeves of her navy garage overalls are tied around her waist, and her arms are covered in grease. Her brow is tinged with sweat and her makeup is starting to smudge around her eyes a little.

  She hauls two plates my way. “Mind if I sit?” she asks.

  “No,” I say only because I don’t want to be rude. I’m still shocked Mom is okay with me taking off. Maybe she understands more than I think she does.

  “Nachos, huh?” She sets my plate down in front of me. “Brave on a hot day.”

  “I told Mike to surprise me.”

  She laughs the most perfectly, uninhibited laugh. It fills the air around us, and I’m watching her, wishing I had a little more of that.

  After Ronnie I'm afraid all the time I’m going to say or do the wrong thing and find myself in more trouble. But no one here knows I’ve been in trouble—at least not yet. They’re not looking at me like I might explode at any moment.

  “When you tell Mike to surprise you, he always does nachos.” She takes a too-big bite of taco, and now she’s shoving the bits of cheese and lettuce into her mouth that tried to escape.

  She doesn’t slow down or glance down or seem embarrassed at all that she has a little oil running down her chin or that her bright green bra straps are peeking out from underneath her tank.

  “So I’m going to be nosy and say that I overheard part of your conversation.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t ask anything, so I’m not feeling the need to give her anything.

  She licks the taco grease off her fingers. “I bet your back story is pretty damn interesting.”

  “Your now is pretty interesting.” I shove a huge chip into my mouth when I realize that I might have just stepped over a boundary that I don’t want to step over.

  No girls now.

  Not for a while.

  She tilts her head to the side, her taco still in hand. “So, are you gonna ask me out?”

  “Oh…um…” I stammer. I’ve never met anyone like her. “I’m not… I just can’t…”

  “Holy wow, man.” She laughs. “Chill. I was just curious.”

  “I don’t know,” I say. The straight-up truth, and it just came out.

  “Fair enough. I don’t know about you either.” She points at me with her taco before taking another smaller bite. “You’re so neat.”

  “My dad.” The word feels like bile in my throat.

  “Damn.” She taps her chin. “There’s a story there, too. You’re full of stories, aren’t you Shawn?”

  Just then I see Marie shoo Cee out of the shop. “Celia!” I wave and she runs toward us.

  “She’s almost four,” Maci says. “In case you were wondering.”

  “I was.”

  Celia plops in my lap, picks up a chip and slips it in her mouth.

  “Cee!” Maci scolds.

  “It’s fine.” I wave her down. “I don’t mind.”

  And I don’t. Her bony little bottom digs into my leg but she sits there wiggling back and forth humming a song I don’t know and eating chips off a stranger’s plate. There’s something to be said for someone with no inhibitions.

  “You have little brothers or sisters?” Maci asks. “She likes you.”

  I shake my head. “Never been around kids much.”

  “Huh.” Maci’s brows jump up before relaxing again.

  “You liking my chips?” I ask Cee.

  “Umm, hmm.” She slips another in her mouth.

  “Well, Shawn. You’re full of surprises.” Maci stands. “Drop Cee off in the store when you’re ready to. And I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

  “Guess you will.”

  She walks away, her navy overalls sagging and her boots scraping on the pavement. No, I have definitely not met anyone like her.

  * * *

  For two weeks I work in the garage—taking out the trash, hauling stuff up and down form the loft, doing all the crap jobs that I’d make the new guy do if I were Hector and Nico.

  Maci’s always around. And I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t notice her, but she’s not… She’s the opposite of everything I like. I know this about myself. At this point, anything like attraction probably has more to do with her being one of the only girls I’ve seen in over a year.

  My back aches from sweeping the whole parking lot today, and the dirt won’t come off my hands. I’m scrubbing with the rough side of a sponge like I'm trying to take my skin off, but there’s oil in the cracks in my fingers and hands, and dirt around my fingernails—probably held in by the oil.

  There’s no way my hands are going to come clean.

  I feel the familiar rough edges of anger pressing on my chest and shoulders as I scrub, but this is a stupid thing to be angry over. I did learn that much last year. Still. I’m using soap. I’m scrubbing. My damn hands should be getting clean.

  I throw the sponge into the shower with everything I have, and it sticks to the wall for a moment before falling to the bottom of the bathtub.

  Instead of getting pissed, I laug
h. What kind of idiot throws a sponge?

  * * *

  It’s nearly four in the afternoon, and I haven’t left the old, plaid couch. The TV is small, and nothing’s on, but I’m staring anyway. Because I can. Because today is my day off and I feel like doing nothing.

  I sent Mom a text this morning to tell her I’m good, and that my job is going well. She wrote back right away, but I’m not feeling like I need to call. There’s really nothing to talk about yet. I don’t want to hear about anyone from back home, and nothing big enough has happened here, which is exactly what I want.

  My eyes are drifting closed when I hear a small knock on my door.

  But I don’t feel like dealing with whatever that is either, so I slump lower in the couch.

  The same quiet knock.

  I pause for a moment. Do I get up? Do I just yell ‘go away’ or do I ignore it?

  Again. More knocking. Still quiet.

  With a sigh, I push to standing and pull open the door to see Celia.

  “Hey, there.”

  “I come in?” she asks. “Sesame Street?”

  “Um…”

  “I can be super good. I can fix your hair,” she offers.

  I laugh. ‘That’s okay. Your mom know where you are?”

  “Umm hmm.” Celia nods with a serious face.

  I stand back and gesture to my living room. “Come on then.”

  She moves straight for the remote, and Sesame Street is on in seconds—one of my two channels is PBS.

  “Come sit!” She points to the couch.

  Her small feet don’t touch the floor.

  I sit next to her just as she starts to sing some song about counting that I don’t really understand.

  I sit back on the couch and she giggles at something Big Bird says.

  “I used to watch this show,” I tell her. “All the time. I like The Count.”

  “Me too!”

  A few shouts from outside carry through my window. Weird.

  And then again. Those brothers really are so loud.

  I cross the room and put my face against the newly cleaned class.

  Maci’s got her hands shading her eyes and is scanning the parking lot. I press my ear against the glass to hear her yell again. “Celia!”

  I knock on my window, and Maci’s gaze snaps my direction.

  “She’s in here.” I point in my apartment.

  Maci’s brows twitch, and then she realizes what I said. She sprints for the side of the building and the stairs. I unlock my door and take a seat next to Celia again.

  “The Count!” She giggles.

  “There he is.”

  Maci shoves open the door of my apartment with wide eyes.

  “Holy…” She’s wiping her eyes as she crosses the room and grabs Celia in a tight hug as she sits on the couch. “Don’t do that to Mami, okay?”

  “The Count! With Shawn!” Celia points.

  “Sorry,” I say. “She said she told you where she was.”

  Maci’s hands start to shake and Celia wiggles out of her mom’s grip to sit on the floor.

  Maci leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

  I rub my hand across her back. “She’s fine,” I whisper.

  “I swear…” Maci lets out a slow breath. “There is nothing scarier, and she’s getting so fast, and she’s so damn independent.”

  “I’m guessing I know where she gets that from.” I lean forward, and our shoulders touch.

  Maci turns her head to face me. “Yeah. I deserve every bit of hell she’ll put me through.”

  I have this crazy urge to kiss her full lips. We both lean forward until I remember I’m shit at this. That I threw a sponge hoping to be the cause of its demise. Girls are a bad idea.

  Though, I'm pretty sure if I ever lost my temper around her, she’d put me in my place.

  “I think I should show you Reno,” she says quietly.

  “Yeah?” I’m still too close to her. We’re crossing lines here, or something. At least I’m pretty sure we are.

  “Yeah. I’m sure all you’ve eaten is frozen meals and my Papi’s food, yeah?”

  I nod, still breathing her in while she’s close enough.

  “You smell like cookies and cinnamon or something.”

  Maci laughs quietly. “Breakfast. I can’t believe anyone could smell anything past BO and oil.”

  “I’m close enough.” Our foreheads rest together.

  No. No. No.

  I’m not doing this. Not yet.

  I jerk away. “We’re good. Celia can hang with me for a bit if you need to get back to work.”

  Maci shakes her head and stands up. Then frowns. She starts to talk but stops. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen her uncertain.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled away. Maybe she’ll think it’s her instead of me, which I really don’t want.

  “How about you show me around Sunday?” I say. “When the gambling crowd isn’t so big and we have a day off?”

  Her big, brown eyes are on me and her lips sort of press together like she’s going to smile, but doesn't want to smile. “Sunday’s good.”

  “Five?” I hear myself say. My brain is screaming to tell Maci never mind. That it’s not good timing for me.

  “Five is good.”

  “Okay.” So much for listening to my brain.

  She starts to turn away but pauses. “Just bring her down whenever. Or holler out the window, and I’ll come pick her up.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  The air between us is stilted now. I almost forgot what it was like when you first meet someone and think maybe you could have something together. It’s awesomely terrifying—especially now. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to mess up.

  Four episodes of Sesame Street later (they’re running some kind of marathon), Celia’s sacked out on my couch, her small head resting in my lap.

  She’s this tiny little person who will grow up and suffer through middle school and high school and will hopefully not get knocked up at fifteen like her mom.

  Her small lips twitch a bit as she dreams, and her long lashes flutter as she shifts on the couch. This fierce need to protect takes over, and part of me wants to hold this little child and make her safe.

  The whole idea of it is so foreign, but… At the same time, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before—at least not like this.

  “You’re going to be amazing one day,” I say. I think about how much harder her mom will have to work, and how maybe they’ll work together. I hope she’s tough like her mama. I really should back off going out with her on Sunday. I really should.

  My blinks slow down, and I’m sort of trapped anyway, so I let my eyes fall closed.

  * * *

  Warmth on my shoulder. Grabbing on my shoulder. Light shaking.

  “What?” I mumble.

  “My heart is melting,” Maci says. “You’re playing dirty.”

  “What?” I blink and realize the sun’s starting to go down and Celia is full on my lap with her small head resting on my chest. Still asleep. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “It’s just that I’m pretty sure my ovaries exploded.”

  “What does that mean?” I laugh quietly.

  Maci’s cheeks pink. “Just that after seeing you two together, you’d be really really easy for me to fall into.”

  “I’m not worth falling into,” I whisper.

  She leans over the back of the couch, and we’re now looking one another in the eye. “Why not?”

  “Because my heart is still broken from the last round.”

  “That makes you very safe,” Maci says as she moves around the couch and starts to pull the sleeping child from my arms.

  The loss of warmth is staggering.

  “That makes me the opposite of safe.”

  “Hmm.” Maci stands, holding Celia easily. “I’ll see you at work, but really, I’ll see you Sunday.”

  I need to tell her Sunday isn’t good. No day will be goo
d until I can figure out… I don’t even know what I’m trying to figure out. “Sunday.”

  And then she’s gone, and my apartment doesn’t feel like half the place it did only a few minutes ago.

  * * *

  Friday and Saturday, I find myself watching Maci more than I should. And more often than not, she’s watching me.

  I keep waiting for Hector or Nico to call one of us out, but the most I’ve seen is a head-shake. Maybe guys are a thing with Maci, and they’re used to it. Maybe I’m an ass for assuming this about her because she likes me and had a kid at fifteen.

  Celia’s been spending the days with Marie in the shop or at the house, so I haven’t seen her. I think losing her for a few minutes the other day was enough for Maci to be extra careful. That says a lot about her.

  Sunday afternoon I’m showered and ready by three because I don’t have anything else to do. My workouts aren’t really needed with all the grunt work I do in the garage, so after a few sit-ups and pushups that morning, I was sort of done.

  As much as I loved just owning my own place a while ago, now I'm… I’m bored with it. I’m sure I should be cruising the town or whatever, but…

  The sucky truth is that I feel fragile. I’m not used to running around with people when I’m not forced, and my apartment feels like a safer place to be.

  Since I’m out of things to do, and don’t want to pay for cable, I head down to the garage to see if my bike needs wiping off or anything.

  I step in the back door to hear Maci on the phone. “Seriously. Breathe. He’s just a guy, Liz.”

  There’s a pause and a long sigh. “Yeah. Fine. But you owe me. I had a sort of date tonight.”

  Had?

  The familiar stab of hurt is followed by frustration. She pushed this. She did. Now now…

  I wish there was something to kick across the floor, but the floor’s clean enough to eat off of. I should know.

  Dammit.

  “Hey, Romeo,” Maci calls.

  Screw that name. That stupid play is what killed my relationship with Ronnie.

  “Don’t call me that,” I snap.

  Her brows go up, she takes a step closer, and folds her arms.

  I feel my hands and shoulders tense before I step back and let out a slow breath.

  “What’s with you?” she asks.

  “You gonna break our date now?” I ask.

  “A friend needs me, so yeah, if you want to take me out, we need to reschedule.” She frowns a bit, but I’m sure it’s just to appease me, and the last thing I want is to be treated like a child.