First, Last, and Always

by Lehman, Kim

  “Loch Ness,” she growls.

  Taped to my locker is a picture of a pig with the words “FAT BITCH” in bold letters.

  “She’s more upset than I thought,” I mumble, more to myself than to Lani. Nevertheless, Lani picks up on it.

  Ripping the picture off my locker, she circles around, looking for signs of Vanessa. “Okay,” she says, gritting her teeth. “First you’re going to tell me what happened. Then I’m going to plan our next move.” Lani narrows her eyes. “This is war.”

  Miles

  Her face appears, lighting up my phone, “Hi,” I answer, smiling for the first time in twenty-four hours.

  “Tell me you’re okay?” She sounds nervous.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Grayson said you got hurt yesterday.”

  Of course she would find out from him. “It’s not a big deal. My ego hurts more than anything.”

  “I was worried.” The words are spoken with friendly concern, but I’m still lifted by a surge of hopefulness.

  “The bus ride to school sucked today without you there,” she adds.

  “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “Good.”

  There’s a long silence. I wonder if she’s still upset. “Charlotte,” I start, “about the other day...not telling you about tryouts and—”

  She stops me. “Don’t do that.”

  I knew it. She’s still upset.

  “I’m not mad,” she says. “You don’t have to apologize.”

  “Really?”

  A heavy sigh flows though the line. “And you don’t have to tell me everything.”

  “I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “And anyway, I can never be mad at you.”

  There’s tightness in my chest. A response gets caught in my throat.

  “So,” she says after a few seconds, “what are you doing?”

  “Actually, I was sitting here staring at the phone waiting for my dad to call. He’s supposed to be flying in late tonight.”

  “Seriously?” she exclaims. “That’s great.”

  “Yeah. I forgot to tell you. He called over a week ago. I haven’t heard from him since, but he confirmed with my mom that he’s coming. It’ll be weird to see him. It’s been over six months. I sent him a text to call me. I thought maybe he would call before he left.”

  “Do you have his flight information?”

  “Yeah. He should be boarding any second.”

  There’s a long pause on the line. “Is Lani over?” she finally asks.

  Lani? “No.”

  “You want some company?” she asks. “While you’re waiting?”

  She should know that she never has to ask that. “Sure.”

  “I’m leaving now.”

  Charlotte

  “Kill him!” I yell.

  “I’m trying.” Miles is pressing so hard on the controller that his thumbs are white. “Die, evil Minkar!”

  Renaissance Fighter is a video game that we’ve played for years. The graphics are a little dated compared to some of the newer stuff, but the premise never gets old—

  “No! Use the flamethrower,” I say.

  Miles shakes his head. “I want to use the nunchucks.”

  “You get more points with the flame thrower, plus the effects are way cooler.”

  Another shake of the head. “I like the nunchucks. Better kill coverage.” Miles leans to the left as his avatar jumps to the left, ducking behind a barrier in an attempt to prevent from being hit by an arsenal of flealings (killer insects shaped like missiles who attack in swarms).

  “Duck!” I scream.

  “I got it.”

  “They hit you!” The avatar’s life decreases by half. “Run to the cave.”

  “No. I got it.”

  “You should listen to me,” I tell him. “I already beat this level.” We’re on a level that is virtually impossible to beat, but I beat it. Once. It was not easy.

  “You got lucky,” Miles says.

  I gasp. “No I didn’t.”

  “You did. You freaked out and pushed all the buttons. That’s how you won.”

  “I won fair and square.”

  “You got lucky,” he says again. I can tell he’s teasing.

  Leaning back, I cross my arms over my chest and pretend to be upset. “Let me play. I’ll show you that I can beat the level again.”

  “Wait. I’m almost there.”

  “You’re losing.”

  “No I—”

  I grab the controller out of his hand.

  “Hey!”

  The wildebeest Miles had started fighting after the flealings were all shot pounces on his avatar.

  “See, you’re dead,” I say.

  “That’s because you killed me.”

  “You had one line of your life left. You weren’t going to make it past the wildebeest.”

  “We’ll never know, will we?”

  “Ok.” I hit the button to reset the level and I turn my body so that it is fully facing the front of the television, “Let me show you how this is done.” There’s a fire that comes out when Miles and I play video games. The two of us are ultra competitive, in a friendly, ultra competitive way.

  Reaching across my body, Miles attempts to regain a hold on the controller. Reflexively, my arms pull back out of my reach. “Hey!” I laugh. “You had your chance. You failed.”

  “Don’t mind me. I’m just adding another challenge to your game, since you so impressively beat this level before,” Miles smirks with an underlying tone of sarcasm. “Go ahead. See if you can beat it while I try to take the controller away from you. Then, and only then, will I say that you didn’t get lucky the first time.”

  “Now you’re just being a sore loser.”

  “Whatever. That’s the challenge. Take it or leave it.”

  Standing up, I hold the controller over my head. “I’m going to hold this controller ransom until you let me prove that I did not get lucky. I can beat this level.”

  “Your arm is going to get tired. You’re not going to be able to hold it over your head forever.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Smiling, Miles leans back and crosses his arms over his chest.

  I realize this may end badly for me. He’s always right. I hate that he’s always right. A few minutes later, I’m pacing around the room, a tingling runs down my arm from the lack of circulation. “You will never be getting this back, Miles Fiester.”

  Miles is watching television. He seems unfazed by my protest. “You are going to go home eventually and I know you won’t actually take the controller with you.” He says.

  “Yes, I will. Just try and take it out of my hand. I dare you.”

  He sits up, narrows his eyes and tilts his head. “Are you challenging me?”

  “I double dare you,” I reply.

  “Challenge accepted.” Leaping up, he lunges straight for me.

  I’m not expecting him to physically react. With a scream I jump and run to the other side of the room where I stupidly corner myself. Seeing a half-second opportunity, I bolt to the left. Miles grabs me from the side, wrapping his arms around me so that I can’t lift my arms, and then quickly gets one hand on the controller. I squirm as each of us wrestles for control of the controller. There must be some kind of irony in that. “No! I won’t let you have it!” I yell, yanking my arm, just enough so that his fingers slip and I, once again, have sole power.

  “Come on, give it up,” Miles chuckles. We’re both laughing now.

  “No!” We crash onto our knees, then end up on our sides. The controller shifts from my head to my sides in an effort to keep it away from him. “Miles, no!” I spout between laughs. Somehow Miles manages to twist me around and pin one of my arms. “No!” I laugh again. He pins my other arm—the one still holding the controller—over my head. He’s rendered me completely helpless. I freeze underneath him and smile up. “Fine. You win.” I wheeze out between
breaths. “I give up.”

  Miles shoulders relax. Still holding my hands, and pinning me to the ground, his face becomes serious, but his eyes become soft. A second later his head tilts forward.

  “Miles!” I scream.

  Startled, Miles snaps back, releases my hands, roll off of me and jumps to his feet. I stand too. “Sorry,” I say. “It’s just...that was weird.”

  “What happened?” he asks.

  My reaction seems so ridiculous now that we’re both on our feet, staring at each other both of us appearing more confused than the other. The fact that our expressions are so similar makes me giggle. “I know this is going to sounds crazy, but for a second I thought...” I snort. “I thought you were going to kiss me.” The uncontrollable laughter returns.

  Appearing stunned, Miles shakes his head. “Oh.” The spots begin to form on the base of his neck. I’ve totally embarrassed him.

  Miles

  “God, can you imagine? The two of us kissing?” she says.

  “Nuts,” I say, shaking my head.

  Her eyes soften. Her shoulders relax and she chuckles. “Whew. Okay. Sorry, it was just...I don’t know.” She seems relieved. “Not sure why I would think you’d ever do something like that.” She laughs again. “Anyway, here.” She extends her arm to hand me the controller.

  “Nah,” I say, waving my hand. “You play. You were right...what you said before. I messed up my chance.”

  “Oh, come on, Miles.” She smiles. “I was kidding. We were just having fun.”

  “Seriously. It’s cool. You play.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m positive. I can’t win.”

  Just before midnight I knock on my mom’s door. “Come in,” she yells out. When I peek in, I notice she’s propped up against a pillow, reading under the covers. As soon as I take a step, she sets her book in her lap and sighs. She doesn’t wait for me to say anything. She knows. “Nothing yet,” she tells me. I stop. “He hasn’t called,” she confirms. We look at each other for a moment, both of us knowing the outcome: He’s not going to call. He’s not even going to show up. This is the point where it usually feels like I’ve been kicked in the gut. I give myself a moment to digest it and somehow try to temper the crushing blow, but I can’t. It hits me like a sledgehammer, more painful than all of the times before.

  “Maybe tomorrow?” Mom says.

  Nodding, I step backward out of my mom’s room, close the door, and slink back into my bed.

  Thursday I leave my dad four text messages, two voice messages, and I call his hotel.

  Every single one of my messages goes unanswered.

  12

  Charlotte

  The rest of the week is uneventful. Except for a couple of nasty looks on Friday, Vanessa ignores me, and, to my chagrin, Grayson goes back to just saying “Hi” and “Bye.” Saturday I wake up thinking, This should be a day I enjoy, because it’s my birthday, but then I remember that I’m grocery shopping with my mother today, which is not exactly my idea of fun. I only agreed to tag along ’cause Miles and Lani were busy this afternoon, likely with each other, and I didn’t want to sit at home by myself. Plus, when Mom asked me last night I was half asleep and not thinking clearly.

  Five aisles and twenty-two items later, we’re finally making it to the end of Mom’s grocery list. “The only items we have left,” Mom says, “is milk and those little cocktail wieners you like with the puff pastry.”

  “Mom, don’t call them that. They’re called mini hot dogs.”

  She ignores me. “Why don’t you grab the milk and I’ll get the wieners and we’ll meet back up front.”

  “Dee?”

  Mom and I turn our heads at the same time. Mom takes a breath and does an overly overdramatic, “Oh, my goodness” greeting, while beside her I make an “Oh, shit!” face.

  “Rhonda? Is that you? Oh, my gosh! I haven’t see you in ages.” My mom squeals. “How’ve you been?”

  I’m not sure who Rhonda is, but my mind is freaking out, because Grayson is standing right next to her. He gives me a slight wave. I manage a half-catatonic nod.

  “Good,” the Rhonda woman says. “God, you look the same, Dee. You haven’t aged at all since high school.”

  Not true. I’ve seen high school pictures of my mom. She’s definitely aged.

  “You are so sweet,” Mom responds, pretending to be modest, before glancing at Grayson. “Is this your son?”

  Rhonda nods, looking proudly at Grayson. “Yes, this is Grayson.”

  He holds his hand out to my mom. “Hi.”

  My mom seems impressed with his manners. She shakes his hand. “Well, hello. Nice to meet you, I’m Dee. Your mom and I go way back to grade school.”

  “Cool.” Grayson smiles and looks at me. “How ya doin’, Charlotte?”

  Mom is surprised. “You know each other?”

  “We go to school together,” I tell her.

  “We sit next to each other in algebra,” Grayson adds.

  Rhonda and my mom find this unusually interesting.

  “Oh, my gosh! That’s so great,” Mom says. “Charlotte, that’s your favorite class, isn’t it?”

  My face feels hot.

  “Grayson’s the opposite. He can’t stand algebra,” Rhonda says, smiling at her son.

  Grayson and I look at each other awkwardly.

  Mom and Rhonda continue to talk, discussing what they’ve been up to over the past twenty-five years. Rhonda explains how she moved away for a while, met her husband in Virginia, had Grayson, and moved back to town. I zone out when they start sharing baby pictures.

  Feeling Grayson’s eyes on me, I shrink away and grab a magazine across the aisle. My stomach clenches when he follows. I flip a page, then another without reading the words or looking at the pictures. “Hey, I wanted to thank you,” he says over my shoulder. I look at him. “You surprised me when you told me about Vanessa the other day, and then I didn’t know she was going to come up to me in class. I feel bad, ’cause I reacted without thinking. I hope she isn’t mad at you.” He scratches his head. “It’s just...I knew Vanessa in junior high.”

  I’m confused. “She said she didn’t go to junior high with you.”

  “We didn’t, but in sixth grade we were in an after-school program at the YMCA.”

  “So she does know you? She said she didn’t.”

  He nods emphatically. “She should. That girl teased me that entire year.”

  I’m floored. “Really? How does she not remember you?”

  “I’ve changed a lot since then. I had glasses, shorter hair. I had a stutter too when I moved here in fifth grade.” He shakes his head. “The fact that she doesn’t remember doesn’t really surprise me. That’s how self-centered she is.”

  “You had a stutter?”

  He suddenly looks embarrassed. “Yeah. I was in speech therapy until seventh grade.”

  You’d never know.

  Our moms walk over.

  “Ready to go?” Grayson’s mom asks him. He nods. He’s staring right into me...I mean, at me. Either way, it feels the same.

  “You okay?” Mom puts her hand on my shoulder.

  I realize I’m still staring at him with my mouth open. I seal it as quickly as I can.

  “Nice meeting you, Charlotte,” Grayson’s mom says.

  “You too.” I smile politely. “Bye,” I say to Grayson, feeling a dozen lines scrunching in my forehead.

  “See ya,” he says back.

  When they walk away, Mom looks at me and smiles. “Grayson,” she sings. “Seems like a nice boy.”

  I blush. She laughs. “Don’t worry—I’m not going to say anything to embarrass you.”

  Thank God.

  “Come on,” she says, chuckling. “Let’s go get you some wieners.”

  Miles

  “Can I help you with something?” The store clerk asks. I must look out of place standing in the cosmetics aisle staring at a selection of fragrances and lotions.

>   “I’m looking for a birthday gift for a friend of mine. I have no idea what to get.”

  The woman is older, my mom’s age, and as soon as I say anything I instantly regret it. “Aww,” she says. “How sweet.” She looks at me like I’m five. “What does your friend like?”

  I disregard the fact that she finds my request adorable. “Well, last year I got her a journal, ’cause she likes to write and read, but this year I think she likes makeup and stuff, so I thought maybe she’d want something like that.”

  The clerk grabs a bottle off the shelf. “How about this? It’s a new fragrance we just got in.”

  I take a whiff. It smells like rubbing alcohol and candy canes. “Nah.” I shake my head. “I don’t think she’d like that.” I’m starting to second-guess whether it was a good idea to run out and buy Charlotte a gift last minute. She specifically told Lani and I not to buy her anything. But when I got up this morning it didn’t feel right. She should get something she wants; something that will make her happy. “Maybe perfume isn’t a good idea,” I say.

  The clerk nods. “Okay. How about a nice candle or body lotion?”

  Buying body lotion for Charlotte feels weird; too personal. And I’ve never known Charlotte to use candles. “Huh, I dunno. I’m not sure those are the right gifts for her either. I guess I have to think about it some more,” I tell the clerk.

  She pats me on the shoulder. “I understand. Take your time, dear. I’ll be up front if you have any other questions.”

  I thank the woman and continue to walk around. There’s a stuffed bear on a shelf...too junior high, a box of chocolates...not thoughtful enough, a book by her favorite author...I’m pretty sure she already has that. A few minutes later, I make up my mind. None of them. I can’t find anything that I would consider the right gift, and I don’t want to give Charlotte just anything.

  Walking up to the register, I lay my only purchase on the counter.

  The clerk looks at me with disappointment. “A card?” she balks.

  I shrug. “I just kept it simple.”

  She opens it and reads the middle where it just says: HAPPY BIRTHDAY.