by A. M. Hudson
“He might? But, I don’t want him to like me because he feels sorry for me. Or hate me because of—” I left off the end.
“Ara, grow up. Who gives a flying monkey what your friendships are based on? Sometimes the strongest ones are formed out of tragedy.”
“Oh, shut up, Dalai Lama,” I joked, “When did you become the all-knowing.”
“Well, without you around here talking my ear off all the time, a guy gets a moment to think—and watch Speed.” He laughed.
“You…” I paused. “You don’t really mean that, do you?”
He went quiet for a second. “Of course not, Ara. I wouldn’t be talking to you if I did. Look, just stop being a big baby, and talk to someone. I don’t care who—your dad, Vicki, Sam even?”
“I’ve got you to talk to.”
“I’m not there, Ara.”
“You will be soon, right? My dad said you can stay here.”
“Yeah? Tell him thanks. Now, I’ll call you when I have a date for the interview, and we’ll book a date for me to come over. Then, if you haven’t told David or Emily or someone what happened, I’m going to do it for you,” he said. “Got it?”
“Okay, Zorro.” I laughed. “I’ll talk to someone. When do you think they’ll do your interview?”
“Two weeks or so.”
“So, Mike, why did you call?” I asked, realising that he woke me.
“I was just thinking ‘bout ya, that’s all. The Ice-cream-man came past, playing that stupid jingle, and I remembered the time he ran over your foot—when you chased him for your change.”
The toes on my left foot twitched. The doctors hadn’t been able to do much for me, since broken toes can’t be fixed. I had to take six weeks off ballet and still couldn’t stand on my toes for a long time afterward. “Well, I’m glad it brings you happiness to remember me in pain.” I shook my head, smiling.
“Aw, I really miss ya, kid,” Mike breathed the words out. “I’ll let you get back to sleep. I’ll call you when I get home tonight, okay?”
“Okay. I’ll be waiting by the phone.”
“Night, Ara,” Mike said softly.
Another morning reflected its gleaming brightness off my dresser mirror, and my hand shot up to cover my eyes as they instantly flooded with protective tears. Damn it. Every time. It does that to me every time. I rolled over in the cloud-like comfort of my bed and snuggled down into the warmth my own body left under me.
The pulsing vibration from Sam’s stereo resonated through the floorboards and the bass rattled my window on every beat. He’s such a pest. I mean, it’s not even morning yet, why is he up? I rolled my shoulder into the mattress and turned my head to see my alarm clock on the bedside. Six? Six! There’s no such thing as six in the morning. Why am I awake?
A thud, followed by a loud rock-scream, forced me, like a badger in a hole, to tunnel under my blankets and cover my head. I can just picture Sam bouncing around his room, playing his air guitar. He has no shame. None at all. I’ve even caught him performing an imaginary concert to the washing monster on his floor, but he just winked at me and kept thrashing about like he had a bee in his ear.
When the window rattled again after what I assume was another ‘stage dive’ from Sam, I folded my covers back and blew a puff of air upward to move my fringe out of my face. Going back to sleep is a delusional idea.
Right, I’ll show him. I leaped out of bed—of my own free will—then dug around in my pillows and blankets for my iPod. It’s time for a little battle of the bands. He hates my alternative music almost as much as I hate his head-banging, screech-worthy, suicide…music? Not that you can call it music.
Confusion twisted my lips as I stood up, planted my hands to my hips and looked down at my bed. Where’s my iPod? It’s usually buried under here somewhere. I turned my head and glared accusingly at the blue bird dancing in the condensation puddle outside my window. “You took it, didn’t you?”
He stopped chirping and stared at me. Great, even he thinks I’m insane. Shaking my head, I resumed the search and stood back in triumph when I found it under my pillow—right where I left it. That’s so weird. It’s never where I leave it. My incessant tossing and turning every night usually sends it across the room or at the very least, the bottom of my blankets. Guess I must’ve slept well.
With eyes narrowed into vengeful slits, I scrolled through my playlists to find the most soulful compilation of what Sam calls ‘woe is me’ songs, then slipped my iPod into its dock and held my finger on the volume button. Sam’s thrashing instrumentals rose above my soft, elegant tunes, so I held my finger down until the tip turned white and the volume drowned out Sam’s music altogether.
“There.” I dusted off my hands in self-satisfaction.
Dad said if I don’t stop blaring my music in the mornings he’ll confiscate my dock, but he’s been saying that for a month now and not once has he come in to steal it. And he won’t, either. He knows it’s my one link to happiness. Without my music, I have nothing. That’s why he bought me the dock in the first place.
I brought my own one from home, but the power adaptors are different here. I would’ve been able to get a converter, but I was so worked up the day I tried to plug it in that I threw a massive tantrum and forced the plug—with my foot—into the wall. Dad rushed in and pulled the red-faced, tear-soaked me out of the way before I could get myself electrocuted, then, he raced down to the store and bought me a brand new dock.
I feel bad about that now, and still haven’t thanked him for the new one. But I will. I’m just not ready yet.
The hum of the taps on the other side of my wall stopped, and I slumped down on my bed. Dad’s finished in the shower—now it’s Vicki’s turn. The taps came on again. I flopped onto my back, sprawling my arms out to my sides. There are three showers in this house, yet they can’t all be used at the same time ‘cause Dad won’t upgrade the hot water system—says it’s better for the environment to use a smaller one.
That was the bright side of waking up after everyone else—well, being dragged up by Dad at seven-thirty—I could jump in the shower straight away. At this hour of the morning I have to wait for everyone else. Except Sam—he showers at night.
Dad will probably fall over backward when he comes in to wake me up, since I’m already up. I’m usually awake, but pretend I’m sleeping so he won’t know I’m crying. I don’t have to do that today. It’s kind of weird because, when I opened my eyes this morning, the reality of life didn’t hit so hard. The proverbial rock that’s usually on my chest feels more like a wooden chopping board—not so heavy—and for the first time since I moved here I haven’t felt the need to cry yet.
The pipes from Vicki’s shower stopped humming and I sat up on my elbows. Man, she has quick showers—unless she’s washing her hair. Clearly, today must not be a hair-wash day.
I stripped off my clothes and left them on my floor, turned the volume up on my dock a little more, then headed through my walk-in-robe to the shower.
The taps squealed with the pressure of the water for a second before settling in to a gentle hum. As the steam gathered in the base of the shower, I stepped back to hang a towel on the railing near the basin and lock the door that leads onto the hallway. It really is unfair that mine is the only bathroom in the house that’s shared with other people…well, it’s technically not my bathroom, but I have door off my wardrobe, so I should get more claim on it.
Sam doesn’t even have a bathroom, but he could just use the one in the spare bedroom. Last time I forgot to lock the hall door, Sam burst in here and grabbed the hairbrush off the sink while I screamed, covering my girl parts. He just shrugged, laughed at me and walked back out again—leaving the door open. Boy did he get busted by Vicki. It’s not like he looked at anything, but he just didn’t show any respect for a developing teenage girl. Well, that’s what Vicki called it anyway, never mind the fact that I’m already developed.
One of my favourite songs blared through the early mornin
g calm. I sung loudly, ignoring the verbal agreement my dad and I made about shower lengths when my next favourite song came on. He said I should stay in the shower for no longer than one song. But he doesn’t have a mass of twisted curls to wash.
The fourth song forced a flash of David’s face into my mind. I shouldn’t be thinking about him at this time of the morning—and especially not in the shower—I only met the guy yesterday. But, I placed my hand on the glass shower screen and watched the condensation collect under my palm then drip down in three long lines—all the while, fantasising about David. In only a few hours I’ll see him again, and that is more than enough reason to get out of the shower today.
However, deciding what to wear when I have so many clothes isn’t as easy. After I moved here, Vicki decided retail therapy was the best medicine and dragged me into every clothing store she could find. Secretly though, I think she either didn’t have any Barbie dolls when she was little, or she desperately wants a daughter.
I scanned the tightly stuffed collection of clothes, brushing straight past my blue dress. I want to wear it, but after the comments those girls made yesterday about my yellow dress being ‘easy access’, it might just be drawing too much attention.
At least it’s not so hard to choose underwear. I hung my towel over the rail in the bathroom and came back to the wardrobe to make a final decision. I think I’ll go for my light denim shorts and a pink singlet top. Casual enough, and it goes with my Skechers…I just have find the damn shoes first.
Staring down at my clothing rug, lined with shoes and towels and other various things that shouldn’t be on my floor, I dropped my hands onto my hips and huffed loudly. They could be anywhere. I can see my ballet flats, but they won’t go with these shorts.
As I lifted a sweater and a pair of jeans and threw them into the empty washing basket near my dresser, my stomach growled loudly.
I might have to go to school bare-foot if I don’t hurry up. I certainly can’t go without breakfast—somebody could get hurt, or at the very least…eaten alive!
Ah-ha! There’s one. I leaped over my clothes pile and landed on my knees to grab my shoe out from under the bed. I’m so glad none of my new friends asked to come over my house yesterday. I don’t know what I would’ve said; “Um, gee, sorry, you can’t because my room looks like my wardrobe caught gastro and threw up all over it.”
I flopped onto the floor and slipped the lone shoe on, then smiled when the other one came into sight beside my dresser.
“Okay.” I stood up and dusted off my hands. “Watch out world…Ara-Rose is out of bed, today!”
After breakfast, I grabbed my schoolbag and headed out the front door—the same journey I made yesterday, with the exception being, today, I’m doing it because I want to. “Bye, Vicki.”
“Have a great day, Ara-Rose,” she called from the kitchen.
“It’s just Ara,” I called back in the same tone. Dad smiled as I passed him in the entranceway. “See ya, Dad.”
“Want a ride to school, honey?” he asked, then sipped from his travel mug.
“Dad?” With one brow arched, I pointed to the oval. “It’s right there.”
“Yeah, but I have to go ‘round the front, so I drive sometimes. Well, most of the time, actually.”
“Wow, that’s so lazy. You should walk, it’s better for you.”
“I’ve got better things to do with my time,” Dad joked.
“Oh, really? Like what? Working on that heart attack you’re trying to have?” I nodded toward his cup, which we both know is full of coffee with way too much cream and sugar.
He saluted me with the mug and took another sip out of it, then shut the front door. I guess that means ‘discussion closed’. I’m right, though—he knows that.
My conceited smirk washed away when a low growl sounded from the end of the porch. Skittles, with his fluffy grey tail thrashing about, sat curled into a small, porcupine-like ball, hissing and snarling at something across the road; I followed his evil-kitty stare.
Is that…David? “Psst!” The cat startled to silence when I stomped my foot on the floorboards. “Shut up, Skitz. I need to concentrate.” I’ve never seen a guy standing there like that before. It could be David, I mean, he is tall and dark-haired, but the morning sun is too bright to see his face properly. My eyes squinted against the glare. I’m sure that’s him.
The chill in the pathetic version of the summer air encased me as I leaped off the porch and onto the grass, then walked closer to the edge of the street with my eyes narrowed into pin-sized curiosity. There’s no way that boy could be anyone else. I’ve never seen a guy so—so, beautiful I suppose is a good word.
He smiled at me, and I looked away, feeling butterflies jumping, like frogs, into my chest. Yup. It’s David, all right. And look at that, I don’t even need to move my feet—I think I’m floating toward him. Oh boy, he looks so sexy in that shirt—it’s similar to yesterday’s, but dark-grey, and suits him almost too much. If you combine that with the fact that he has a black and silver guitar case by his feet, you’ve got yourself one hell of a top ten most eligible bachelor contender.
Okay, Ara, hormone control—two steps to go, don’t freak the poor guy out. “Hi David.” Too chirpy? That was too chirpy.
“Hello Ara.” He took my backpack and tossed it over his free shoulder. “You look beautiful today.”
My chin nearly touched my chest as I studied my ordinary outfit. Not nearly as beautiful as he is. I looked back up at David—at the golden tones in his hair, highlighted by the bright morning sun. “Thanks,” I said, “you too.” Oh, man. I didn’t mean to say that.
“What, this old thing?” He grinned mischievously, holding out the collar of his shirt.
“Uh, yeah, sorry—forgot to put my brain-to-mouth filter on this morning.”
“That’s okay.” He winked at me. “I like it when a girl speaks her mind.”
He dropped his shirt back onto his chest, and my eyes stayed there. I want to reach out and touch it, just to feel if he really is as perfectly toned as he looks through that shirt.
“Ara?” David said.
“Hm?”
“Stop biting your nails.” He pushed my hand down from my mouth.
“Oh.” I stuffed both hands tightly into my pockets. “Didn’t realise I was.”
After a soft smile, he started walking. “I know. You do that a lot.”
“I know.” I grinned sheepishly, then pointed to his guitar case. “What kind of guitar is it?”
“Oh, uh—” He looked down at the case. “It’s a Maton. Twelve string.”
“Nice.” I nodded as a long yawn crept into my mouth and forced it open as wide as a snake eating a cat.
“Did you sleep last night?” David asked.
“Actually? I did. For the first time in months.” I smiled, but dropped it instantly, realising my response could be bait for more questions. Please don’t bite.
“You don’t normally sleep?” he bit.
“Uh. Well. I um, I stay up late,” I answered quickly. I need a subject change. “I have a friend in Australia.” This is good. This is normal. I can talk about normal. “He’s coming to visit in a few weeks.”
“He?”
“Yes. He. I grew up with him. He’s my best friend. I think you’d like him.” Assuming we’re still friends in a few weeks.
“Did you go to school with him?” David kept his eyes forward.
“Not really. I mean, he was a few years ahead of me in primary school, and then I went to an all girls’ high school.”
“How many years ahead?”
“A little over three.”
“So…he’s twenty?” David asked.
“Yup. Twenty one, in May, actually.”
David nodded. I wonder if he’s jealous. If he does like me, maybe he would be. I would—if it were the other way around. It feels kind of creepy to be thinking like that, though.
“What about you?” he asked. “When’s your birthda
y?”
“What, you can’t guess that by studying some random feature of mine?” I said sarcastically. I still haven’t forgiven him for leading me blindly into music class yesterday.
“Well, I could find out for myself—if I wanted to. But I’d rather ask you.”
“Well, when you put it that way…March seventeen.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Pisces, huh?”
“Yup.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “That explains a lot.”
“Hu! What do you mean by that?”
“Hey-you-two.” Emily, in her light denim jeans and pale-blue cardigan, waved before we reached the top of the stairs.
“Hey Emily.” I waved back, swallowing my infuriation at David’s comment.
“Good morning, Emily.” David nodded in that cool, charismatic way he does when he greets people, but when Ryan and Alana came out from inside the school, David frowned.
“What’s wrong, Ryan?” I asked, noticing the solemn twist masking Ryan’s usually wide grin.
Emily turned around to look at them and her smile faded, too.
“It’s Nathan, guys,” Ryan said.
“Who’s Nathan?” I asked.
“Oh, right. Sorry, Ara, you wouldn’t know about this, but, he’s our star quarterback—he took ill last week and hasn’t been able to get out of bed,” Ryan said.
“Oh, that’s awful. What’s wrong with him?” I asked.
“Well, at first they said it was a really bad flu or something, but my mum just spoke to his mum in the supermarket.” Ryan looked at David. “He’s had to go to hospital, man. They couldn’t keep him at home any longer.”
“What? No?” Emily covered her mouth. “Is he going to be okay?”
“They’re not sure. He’s on machines and stuff to keep him alive, but the worst part? Mrs. Rossi? She doesn’t have insurance. She doesn’t know how she’s gonna pay the hospital bills.”
“Are you all good friends with Nathan?” I asked.
“Everyone is—he’s just one of those guys, y’know?” Ryan added.
David’s fist clenched slightly and he closed his eyes for a second.
