by CJ Martín
Personal note: We live in a very small town, and up until that moment, I had never seen someone with a different skin color than my own which was white, not the beautiful porcelain white of China dolls, but more like the color of dried paste.
Jesse was different. Exotic. Beautiful.
Even at my young age, he sparked something inside me, not sexual attraction, of course, but something deeper, as if my spirit sensed a kindred soul, that caused me to want to be near him.
“Hi.” He extended his hand rather formally, but his voice was quite direct for a five year old. “I’m Jesse. Can I play with you?”
I’d barely said “Yes” before he sat down and was digging around the moat I’d created near the two lopsided spires of the castle.
He lifted my cracked, pink bucket. “This is broken.”
“My daddy stepped on it,” I answered, still combing my rake through the sand.
He didn’t say anything else, just lifted the bucket and began packing it full with damp dirt. I’m not sure how much time had passed, but before I knew it, we had constructed a complex structure of ten towers, including a fortress to protect against the flying dragons. I was entirely sure that there were no dragons in my kingdom, but Jesse insisted and I only acquiesced after he assured me it was for the princess’ safety.
“Jesse!” a woman’s voice called. “Jesse!” It was loud and deep, so unlike the thin, high voice of my mother.
He stood, dusted off his hands and turned back toward the small crack in the fence that divided our properties. A short, heavyset woman rounded the corner and walked into my family’s yard through the gate.
“Jesse Samuel!” the woman scolded. “What did I tell you about staying in our yard?”
“I’m sorry.” He bowed his head, but sneaked a quick glance my way.
She placed a hand over her heart. “You scared me half to death!” Then, if only just realizing I was there, her gaze shifted to me. She had the same striking blue eyes as Jesse and the same warm smile, but her skin was milky white. Like snow.
She turned her head back to Jesse, her voice softening. “You made a friend?”
“I’m Riley Ann,” I offered. “We built a sandcastle for the princess.”
“Wow.” She moved closer to the sandbox. “You two did a very good job.”
Jesse returned her easy smile, immediately setting me at ease.
“Jesse.” She ran her hand over his coarse hair, and my fingers itched to touch it, too. I imagined it would feel grainy, like the sand we’d just been playing in. “Supper is ready. You two can play after dinner if Riley’s parents say it’s okay.”
Jesse’s mom had already turned back toward their yard, but Jesse ran toward me and embraced me in a quick hug. “Bye.”
“Bye, Jesse,” I squeaked, as I watched him slip back through the fence.
That day Jesse Samuel Collins slipped into my yard, but he’s been slipping his way into my heart ever since.
“Not to sound like a dick, Ry, but did you lose weight?” Jesse asks me, as we eat our lunches at one of the long cafeteria tables. A slice of cheese pizza for him and a low-fat strawberry yogurt for myself.
My cheeks flame as his eyes continue to drag over me. “Maybe.” I shrug to downplay how hard I worked at losing those last ten pounds this summer. I was always a bit round. Baby weight my mother had called it. And she was right, for the most part. I had thinned as I grew but those last few pounds were a bitch to get off.
I’d gotten up at 7:00 a.m. every morning for the past three months to go for a two-mile run (I couldn’t manage more than that) before the sun became too hot, and I counted calories daily. Sometimes I questioned why I cared so much—a huge part of me screamed: just eat the damn cake— but then I’d look at girls like Rachel, Heather, Tori, and Melissa, the popular girls, and my willpower would quadruple. Because one of my goals this year? Find a damn boyfriend. I didn’t want to have to hold Jesse to our secret pact to take me to our senior prom because I couldn’t find a date. #Pathetic
“Why?” His brows draw together in confusion, as though he couldn’t quite possibly understand why a seventeen-year-old girl would be worried about her weight. Even though I knew he didn’t understand my plight, I loved that he liked me just as I was, that I could be myself with him and not worry about what I looked like or what I ate.
“Why what?” Heather sets her lunch tray down across from where I sit. She plants herself right alongside Jesse. He may not be my boyfriend, but he’s still mine, and the way she tries to stake her claim annoys me. Heather doesn’t seem to get the message. Or maybe she just doesn’t care.
Jesse’s gaze lingers on mine and I implore him with my eyes not to share our conversation with her, Miss-I-Can-Eat-Whatever-I-Want-And-I’m-Still-A-Size-Zero.
Without missing a beat, he says, “Why does Prob and Stats suck ass?”
I smile, thankful he steered the attention away from me, even though I know math is his strongest subject.
“I have Miss Stocker, too.” Heather touches her fingertips to his arm, and even beneath the fabric of his blue polo, I can see his muscles tense. “Maybe we can study together some time.”
“Maybe.” He casually brushes her hand away. “Ry, are we riding home together? I have practice after school—”
“Already?” Heather cuts in. “But basketball doesn’t start for another…four months?”
Jesse gives me a What the fuck? look, but says, “Pre-season. Coach is riding us hard. Practice makes perfect and all that.” Jesse’s eyes cut to me again. “So, Ry, after school?”
Not giving me a second to answer, Heather continues. Again. “The Varsity Cheer Squad will be at all home basketball games this year. We’ve been practicing our new routine… I can’t wait to show you my new moves.”
He cuts his eyes to her, and I see it there, just for a moment, a look of uncontrolled lust as her words sink in, the innuendo clear. Then his voice takes on a harsher tone, a tone I recognize from the many times I’ve witnessed him giving a girl the brush-off. “Maybe some other time.”
Heather, bless her little heart, still doesn’t let her smile slip. “Okay.”
“So, Ry.” He turns back to me as he crumples his plate and gathers my trash. “See you around four?”
I try to convince myself that I’m not pathetic. I try to convince myself that there are plenty of teenagers who don’t have their own car to drive. Getting a ride with Jesse is a far better option than sitting on a cramped school bus for nearly forty minutes, when the drive to school barely takes ten from my house. I may not be popular, but even I have my standards; taking the school bus is so middle school.
But as I amble into the gym nearly an hour after the last bell, I can’t help but wonder if things are ever going to change for me. I was really convinced that if I lost those last few pounds, a whole new world of opportunity would open up for me. That I’d be more confident. More comfortable in my own skin. More like Heather “Hoe Bag” Plum.
Okay, okay, I know calling her a hoe bag isn’t nice. We women should stick together and all that jazz… But I know for a fact that she blew PB & J (not all at once, obviously) within a week of them winning the state championship last year. And really, was it truly an insult if I simply thought it in my head?
I’m pondering all this as she sidles up to Jesse, her short, pleated cheerleading skirt barely covering her Spanx-clad ass. I snort at my assessment. Heather Plum doesn’t need Spanx; her body is flawless.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Tod Daniels’ deep voice startles me, and I drop the three library books I’d been clutching at my chest in a death grip.
“Shit,” I mumble, as I bend to pick up the books. He bends, too, and our heads nearly collide, but at the last second I amble back, nearly falling on my butt. Real smooth, Riley.
He picks up the book nearest his feet. “Fahrenheit 51.” He taps the cover. “Good book.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “You’ve read it?”
“Yeah. Hancock’s c
lass. Last year.”
I nod because I don’t know what else to say. I had Mr. Toliver, so I can’t even commiserate over the teacher. “That’s good.”
He smirks at me in a way that makes my stomach tingle. “Can you keep a secret, Riley?”
I nod, dumbfounded as to why he’s even talking to me. We had PE together last year for an entire semester, and not once did he acknowledge me. I’m actually surprised he knows my name.
An easy smile stretches across his face, and he leans in close. So close that I think he may kiss me, which is ridiculous, but my heart starts beating loudly in my chest anyway. He angles his head slightly as his lips hover over my ear. “I didn’t read it. But SparkNotes count for something, right?”
A nervous giggle escapes my mouth, but I’m spared from responding when Jesse approaches. He’s drenched in sweat, so teenage boy, so familiar, that a huge, genuine smile lights up my face. “Tod.” Jesse pounds Tod’s fist. “What’s up?” Then to me, “You ready, Ry?”
“Yep.” I grab my bag off the bleachers and turn toward the exit. “Bye,” I call over my shoulder to Tod.
Tod’s voice washes over me. “Hey.” Jesse and I both stop walking as Tod jogs toward us. “You forgot this.” He hands me the book he picked up.
“Thanks,” I mumble, as I add it to my stack.
But before I can turn away, Tod says, “Phillip’s having a party this Saturday. You know, a little back-to-school celebration. There’s going to be a keg and music and…” His voice trails off. “You’re gonna be there, right?”
My mouth gapes open. Holy shit, is Tod Daniels inviting me to a party? “Umm…” I hesitate, stalling for time. I answer “Yes” just as Jesse says “No.” Jesse and I exchange a look, his eyebrows raised in incredulity, my own eyes round and wide and so fucking nervous.
“Come on, Ry.” Jesse loops his arm around my shoulders. “We gotta go.”
“Okay.” I let him lead me, but my eyes cast back over to where Tod still stands, smiling at us. At me. I can’t resist calling over my shoulder, “See you Saturday.”
3
Jesse
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Tod, there’s only one fucking D, with Riley. I still can’t believe she came to this party. With him. I’d known Riley since we were five and although she’s all grown up—fuck, is she grown up—she’s still the same. She’s still the same girl who’d rather stay in and watch reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond. Still the same girl who claimed she’d never date a jock because she—and I quote—“hates all sports with a passion” is here with none other than high school swim star, Tod Daniels.
And can we just take a moment to acknowledge the fact that this dude probably shaves his legs more frequently than Riley?
I rest my case.
He’s playing the game right, laughing at her jokes, touching her, but not too often so he doesn’t tip his hand. Because you and I both know the end goal: he wants to get fucking laid. Ignoring the pit in my stomach, I make my way over to the keg but don’t grab a beer, as usual. Because my goal tonight? Make sure Riley gets home safely.
Gets home safely. With. Me.
“Oh, My God! You still have it.” Her voice is loud as she continues, “I can’t believe…” She walks toward my dresser.
My eyes drift to the baseball-size beach rock she gave me nearly ten years ago. “The brain.” She whispers the nickname for the buff-colored, oblong stone with tiny holes. “Did you know—”
I cut her off, knowing exactly what she is going to say, because she’d told me at least a dozen times that summer. “Yes, Ry, I know. The little holes are created by sea creatures. Sea creatures, like burrowing clams.” My grin is somewhat sarcastic as I meet her eyes. “And yes, I find it rather fascinating.”
“Hey.” Her voice squeaks. “Are you mocking me?”
“Who, me?” I joke, but my voice turns serious when she stumbles—loudly—over the Nike duffle bag resting at the foot of my bed. “Quiet.” I close the door behind us. “My mom’s sleeping, and unless you want her to see you high off your ass, I’d keep your voice down.”
“I’m not high.” She stumbles again, her body lurches forward and I think she might fall, but she rights herself at the last minute.
I raise my eyebrows. “How many of those brownies did you have?”
She holds up three fingers, but says, “Two.”
I shake my head. “Fucking Tod,” I grumble as I flip the switch on my lamp. “He knew those brownies were laced with weed.”
She doesn’t respond, but begins to undress, slipping the tight sweater over her head.
My anxiety level ricochets about ten notches. She cannot undress in front of me. I won’t be able to handle it. I need to stop her before, before…that. “What are you doing?” I cast my eyes away, willing myself not to look at her firm, round tits wrapped in perfect pink lace.
She shrugs. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”
“We were six!” I practically shout, but she just shrugs.
“Besides, it’s like I’m wearing a bathing suit.”
This is not the same. This is everything I want from you. This is everything I’ve dreamt about.
“Here.” I shove a t-shirt at her with more force than I meant. “Put this on.”
I watch open-mouthed as she slips it over her head and shimmies off her jeans. Fuck, she looks good in my shirt.
She tucks her arms inside the material, and seconds later, the soft pink bra lands on the floor next to her jeans. Fuck me.
I turn away from her, my dick already rock-hard. Glancing down, I check to see if my boner is visible through my joggers, already knowing the answer. Shit.
Her voice drifts over my shoulder, and her words hit me one at a time. Four jolts, heavy hits to my already flailing self-control. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
I swear, nothing could’ve prepared me for her question. “Do you watch porn?”
“Wh-what?” I stutter, nearly dropping my cell phone to the floor. I catch it and connect it to the charger.
She shrugs. “Do you?”
“Do you?” I counter, stalling for time, because I can’t tell her the truth: Yes, a shit ton.
“Occasionally.” She peels back the covers. “I don’t really see the appeal though.”
This conversation is a minefield. Riley and I never talk about sex. At least, not like this. She’s high, I remind myself, but still, I press on. My voice is deeper, more sensual. “Why’s that?”
“It’s all so… I don’t know. Fuck my pussy. Oh, baby. Yeah, that’s so good. You’re so big. It’s all so fake.”
Her words wash over me. I’m still stuck on pussy and fuck. I want to rewind time and hear her say those words again and again.
“Anyway.” She curls into bed. My bed. “Guys like it.” Her voice sounds forlorn.
I walk to my closet, grab my sleeping bag buried on the back shelf, and try to ignore the solid inch of dust lining the black fabric. I unroll it alongside the mattress. Clearing my throat, I finally say, “It’s fantasy. Guys know it’s not like that in real life.”
Her voice is whisper quiet. “Not all guys.”
My mind reels. I’m about to ask her what she means, but then she asks, “Do you have any fantasies?”
Holy shit. I suck in a breath, try to keep my voice casual as I respond, “Yeah, I guess.” All of them involve you.
“Like what?” she questions again, and I swear, I’m this close to cracking, ready to tell her every dirty thought that entertains my mind as I sit in boring class after boring class every damn day.
She rambles on. Riley is chatty on a good day, but tonight she’s a downright motor mouth. “I thought he might have been different.” She sighs and rolls onto her side.
“Who?” I question, my brain volleying back and forth like a ping-pong ball as we make our way through this fucked-up conversation.
“Tod.”
Anger cools the heat of my desire. “Did he try something, R
y?” I sit up and look at her through the light filtering in between the slats of the blinds. “I swear to God if he—”
Her sigh is loud in the quiet room. “He was really wasted, but…he asked me to blow him tonight.” The words are an ice-cold bucket of water dousing my heated skin. That son-of-a-bitch, piece of shit, motherfuck—
She interrupts my internal tirade. “I’m not that naïve. I know a lot of girls do it. What makes me so special? So different? It’s just... I freaked a little when he asked, ya know? I don’t even know him.”
What. The. Fuck. I don’t trust myself to speak, too afraid that I’ll scare her with the words, the anger flowing through my veins. Tod. Is. Fucking. Dead.
“Jesus.” My hands clench into tight fists, as I imagine her beautiful soft lips wrapped around… I choke. “Ry, you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. You know that, right?” Because the truth is: she is different. She is special. She is not like any of the other girls. “You are special. So special.”
“Thanks,” she says softly. “And I know I don’t have to…” She’s quick to agree, but then continues, “I wouldn’t… at least, not yet.”
“Ry.” My voice slices through the silence. I can’t hear any more of this. Not right now. “Please tell me you’re not actually considering”—my voice chokes on the words—“being with him.”
She pffts the air with her hand. “He said he always wanted to be with a redhead ever since he saw this one clip on…” Her voice turns pensive. “I don’t even think he’ll remember, but still. Fucking douchebag.” Her eyes find mine. “Thanks for having my back.”
I hold her gaze. “I will always have your back, Ry. You’re my heart.”
Her lips tip into a smile, repeating her line. “Forever?”
“Forever and for always,” I agree.
She quiets then, and if I didn’t know any different, I’d think she was asleep, but I do know different. I know everything about her, and she still hasn’t snuggled onto her right side and tucked the covers under her chin—the way she always does when she sleeps.
