Crushed

by Dawn Rae Miller

  “Hook-up?” she offers.

  “Get to know you. I want to be friends.”

  Her smile fades. “Well, that’s good, because I’m not interested in what you have to offer.”

  “So why’d you come over? If you knew I don’t need help,” I ask.

  A slight hint of pink colors her cheeks. Her fingers play with the bottom of her tank top. “I was curious.”

  “About?”

  She keeps her eyes trained down, her voice soft. “You.”

  I fight every urge flooding my body. It’s not easy. She arches her back, in a way I’m sure she knows is tempting, and shakes her hair so that it brushes the bed beneath her. Blood races to every part of my body, betraying the detached cool I’ve been trying so hard to maintain. Before she notices her effect on me, I lean slightly forward.

  She sighs and pulls her book into her lap. “Ready?”

  With that one small movement, I understand I know nothing about girls.

  9

  “You look like shit. Alex really got you good,” Brady says, leaning over his desk toward me.

  “Tell me he looks worse.”

  “His nose is fucked up, and he has a cut by his eyebrow, but other than that he’s fine.”

  I touch the tender purple area around my eye and cringe. How’d he get me so good, if I had him pinned?

  “So?” Brady asks. “How’d it go with Ellie? Did she freak out when she saw your face?”

  Normally, I’d lie. I’d tell him about how I made her scream my name and have the scratches to prove it. I’d make up something about her sucking my cock and spitting in my garbage can. We’d both laugh and bump fists.

  “We studied.”

  “That’s understandable. Who’d want to kiss someone with a busted lip?” Brady laughs and narrows his eyes. “No, really. What happened?”

  Mrs. Campos, our thousand-year old blind-as-a-bat teacher, tilts her head and gives us her famous “shut it now” look. She may not be able to see a thing, but she can hear whispering from two hundred yards easily. “Is that Fletcher Colson and Brady Pearson mumbling back there?”

  “I was just asking Fletch for his thoughts on the protagonist’s motives.” Brady is such a kiss-up. No wonder he has almost the entire student body, as well as the staff, under his spell. Helps that he’s wicked smart too.

  “Save it for discussion time, gentlemen. Right now, you’re supposed to be reading and analyzing.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Campos,” I say. Brady rolls his eyes and stifles a laugh.

  He thumps my desk. So, he mouths.

  Nothing.

  Brady throws his arms up like a ref making a call. I don’t believe you.

  Of course he doesn’t. Because when is the last time I’ve been alone with a girl for more than ten minutes where I haven’t at least tried to get some action? Maybe when I was eleven, but even that’s debatable.

  I flip the page of my book and focus on the text. Unlike Physics, I actually like Lit class. For the next thirty-five minutes, I ignore Brady’s increasingly annoying attempts to get my attention and lose myself in Kate Chopin’s The Awakening. It’s not something I’d select for myself, but it’s interesting. and I like the descriptions.

  Mrs. Campos rings the bell on her desk, and our heads snap to attention like well-trained dogs. “Since Brady and Fletcher were so interested in Edna, I’d like the two of you to lead the discussion on chapters one to three.”

  Brady gapes at me. The book lies closed on his desk and a paper with hand-drawn comics sits on top of it.

  I sigh. “How many questions should we prepare, Mrs. Campos?”

  “Ten. And I expect every one of them to be well-thought out.” She hobbles around her desk and leans against it. “For Monday.”

  The bell rings and she dismisses us. When we reach the hallway Brady says, “Fuck. Now I have to read that boring piece of crap.”

  “It’s not that bad. I mean, there’s sex in it and stuff.”

  “Like erotica?” Brady asks grinning.

  I adjust my backpack on my shoulder. “Nineteenth century erotica, I guess.”

  “Wonderful. I get to read about longing glances and exposed ankles. So freakin’ hot.”

  With my shoulder, I push him into the wall. “Don’t underestimate sexual tension, dude.”

  He rubs his shoulder in mock pain. “Like you know anything about that.”

  We laugh. Because, honestly, what do I know about that?

  10

  I’m sitting at my desk with a pile of homework looming before me, wondering what I’m going to do this weekend other than serve a three-hour detention Saturday morning, when a paper plane skids to a perfect landing on my desk. I jerk my head toward the door, but no one’s there.

  ‘Hi’ is written in a back slanting script across a wing.

  “What do you want?” I yell toward the door, assuming it’s either Brady or Reid messing with me.

  Ellie peeks around the corner and holds out two bottles of soda. “Is that any way to speak to a lady? Especially one bearing gifts?”

  My mouth falls open, and I don’t bother to shut it. I hadn’t expected her to ever come over again. Not after last night’s rocky start and subsequent boring-as-hell review of Government. “Sorry. What’s up?”

  She fidgets with her short school skirt. I notice she’s wearing knee socks, something few girls can pull off without looking like a total Catholic school whore. But Ellie, she looks innocent and hot.

  “Did you happen to find my pen? I lost it when I threw it at you.”

  She came over here to find a pen? That’s hard to believe, but I play along. “Didn’t see it, but we can look.”

  I peer under my desk. Nothing. When I move past her to search under the bed, I’m careful not to touch her. I pull the bed away from the wall, only to reveal a lonely sock.

  As I push the bed back into place, I say, “Did you really come over for a pen?”

  She offers me a bottle.

  “Thanks.”

  “Yes, I really lost my pen. And it was my favorite one.”

  “If I see it, I’ll call you. Or give it to Sarah.”

  I sit in my desk chair and stare blankly at the notes I’ve made for chapter one of The Awakening. Brady promised to do chapter two, and we’re splitting the questions for chapter three.

  “What are you working on?” She snuck up on me and stands next to my shoulder.

  “Lit questions. Brady and I have to lead the discussion Monday.”

  “Oh. Maybe I should go?” She hesitates, like she’s unsure what to do.

  “You can stay. If you want. It’s visiting hours.”

  Ellie walks across the room as I turn around. When she drops onto the vinyl mattress, her short skirt flips up giving a glimpse of her pale blue panties. I wonder if her bra matches. I bet it does, she seems like the matching undergarment type.

  “It is indeed. And look.”

  “What?” I say with a hint of panic.

  “It’s visiting hours. What did you think I said?”

  “Uhhh…” She can’t read your thoughts, dumbass. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  Ellie adjusts her skirt and places both her feet firmly on the floor, points at mine and gives me this slightly insane half-smile. “Four feet on the floor, with the door open. We are in complete compliance of Harker’s visiting hours rules. At least for the next three minutes.”

  I force my eyes to focus on her face. Not on her exposed thighs, which she crosses slowly, clearly enjoying my appreciative gaze, or the way her eyes taunt me. “Good to know.”

  Homework can wait.

  “So, friend.” She rolls the word around on her tongue like she’s testing it. “What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

  “Orange sherbet.”

  Her warm brown eyes feign horror. “That is not ice cream. Not even close. We must get you a favorite ice cream.”

  “That’s what Cal says. She—” I stop myself. I shouldn’t be talk
ing about Calista to Ellie.

  “What about me?”

  Calista stands in the hallway. My mouth goes dry, and I swallow hard, trying to untangle my tongue.

  She’s changed into jeans and has her hands shoved into her pockets. With the way her curls hang across her eyes, she looks like a naughty little kid and I’m pretty sure she was eavesdropping.

  “Hey, Cal.” I stutter. “Ellie and I were just talking about ice cream, and how you make fun of me for liking orange sherbet.”

  She peeks around the corner, sees Ellie sitting on the bed in a short ass skirt that barely covers her thighs, and shakes her head. “I wanted to talk to you, but I can come back when you don’t have company.”

  This is the Cal I know at school: indifferent to my girls. Calm. Distant. My pulse slows a little.

  Ellie stands up. “I was just leaving. I promised Libby and Sarah I’d meet them for dinner. They’re probably wondering where I am.”

  She moves toward the door. “If you find my pen, just give it to Sarah, okay?”

  “Sure thing.”

  As soon as Ellie’s gone, Calista steps in and shuts the door. She doesn’t say anything as she walks toward me with her hips swaying rhythmically. She brushes my hair back from my face and lightly touches my injuries. They cease hurting.

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  “For what? Alex was being an ass, he deserved it.”

  She sinks onto my lap, and I cradle her to my chest. It feels good, like before. Familiar. Like putting on my favorite Converse. I breathe deeply, inhaling the scent of her coconut shampoo. Enjoying the weight of her.

  “He did.” She whispers the words in my ear. I tilt my head up and lock onto her blue eyes. There’s something raw and fragile below the surface, something I’ve never seen before. “But that’s not why I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what’s happening between us.”

  I know I should tell her to leave. But I can’t. Because the truth is, Calista is the one who doesn’t want a relationship. She’s the one who pushed me away when I told her how I felt a few days before we left for school.

  “Did Alex ask you out?” I ask.

  “Yes, and I said ‘no’.” Her warm breath tickles my cheek.

  With a shaking hand, I touch her arm. Her skin is soft and smooth and cool, just like I knew it would be. “Why?”

  She nuzzles my neck. “It didn’t seem right.”

  I slide my fingers further up her arm, toward the crook of her elbow, expecting her to pull away.

  She doesn’t.

  Instead, she reaches for me. Her fingers graze the side of my face and then hover just above the surface. The tiny gap between her fingertips and my jaw fills with pure electricity. I shudder.

  Her lips part slightly and she brings her face down toward mine.

  I stretch up, my heart accelerating in anticipation, and I close my eyes, waiting for the soft press of her lips against mine.

  But there’s only air.

  Calista slides off my lap and backs away from me. Her fingers toy with the neck of her shirt. I say a silent prayer, hoping she takes it off and reveals the lacy bra I know she has on.

  But I hesitate, unable to get an accurate read on whether I should close the small distance between us and do what I want so badly to do, or stay put.

  Someone gallops down the hallway, yelling unintelligible words. Calista bites her lip, and the tops of her breasts move up and down in rhythm with each of my deepening breaths.

  “Maybe I should go?”

  Before I can beg her to stay, she sprints from the room.

  11

  “Where are you going?”

  “No where.” I rolled over onto my stomach and rubbed the side of my cheek into the pillow.

  Through the window, harsh afternoon light beat down on us. We both smelled like chlorine, and Calista’s dark hair tickled my skin. We lay there in the pool house, listening to music and not talking. We breathed in rhythm, my chest falling when hers rose. My eyes closed, and I started to drift off but fought it. Even though our parents wouldn’t care, I didn’t want to risk them finding us like this.

  My eyes flicked open. Calista’s bathing suit lay thrown across the back of a chair. “You should probably put that back on.”

  She rested her chin on my shoulder, her face centimeters from mine. “Not yet.”

  “Cal, please. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

  She gave me a lazy smile and sucked on the tips of my fingers. “I like trouble.”

  I closed my eyes again, enjoying the feel of her body against mine. Calista moved her lips lower to my stomach. And even lower.

  “I don’t want to go back to school. I want to stay like this forever,” she murmured between kisses.

  I moaned and pulled her up toward me. My fingers traced the outline of her nipple, and I tried touching my lips to hers.

  She laughed.

  “I love you,” I said, completely, one-hundred percent convinced.

  She froze and pulled away. “Don’t ever say that again. I’m not your girlfriend, and I don’t want to be.”

  ***

  The knots in my stomach steal the air from my lungs. How could I let it happen again? I slump against my bedroom door, my mind a mess of confusion, blending now with then.

  I need to run. That always clears my mind.

  My t-shirt and shorts are in the dresser, and I force myself up. I dress quickly and find my running shoes at the back of my closet. I yank on the laces, pulling them tighter than normal.

  Cool, night air washes over me, beckoning me. I don’t care where I go; I just can’t stay here, alone.

  I let my feet guide me. First, over the paved sidewalks leading between the upper campus dorms and then into the towering redwoods which surround Harker.

  I run farther, until I’ve been consumed by the forest and darkness. The trees block the moonlight, and I’m running blind, relying solely on my sense of memory. I focus on the course, my feet striking the dirt path, one foot in front of the other. The steady beat clears my mind.

  Run, Fletch. Don’t think. Don’t think about how you love her. Don’t think about how she messes with your mind. Just run.

  The lace of my shoe raps against my shin, but I don’t stop to tie it. I let it lash me, and welcome the sting of hard plastic on my bare skin.

  Breathe, Fletch. Breathe.

  But the air is thin, and my lungs can’t hold it. I gasp and double over.

  Why is this so hard? Why do I care so much?

  I’m not supposed to care. Not about Calista. Not about feelings.

  I’m Fletch Colson, star student, man-whore, and occasional pothead.

  That’s how my friends see me.

  Senior year is supposed to be fun, the culmination of four years of careful planning and nurturing my reputation.

  Instead, I’m standing alone in a forest, trying to breathe, and my senior year hinges on a bet to be friends with a girl.

  All because I told Cal I loved her, and she wasn’t interested.

  She pushed me away and refused to talk to me for days. And when we finally saw each other, the first day of school, she pretended like everything was normal. It wasn’t.

  It isn’t.

  The lonely hoot of an owl startles me. I lean against the rough bark of the nearest tree and listen to the forest moan. There are a thousand sounds here, but the loudest — the one I care about most — is the cry echoing around my brain, struggling to break free.

  She’s messing with me. Coming to my room, sitting on my lap. Pretending she cares. Well you know what, Calista? There are plenty of girls in the world. Girls who would love to spend a day or two with me. Nice girls. Hot girls. Maybe even Ellie Jacobs.

  I can’t do this. Whatever Calista wants, I need to stop it. I’m Fletch Colson. Not some lovesick idiot.

  In my mind, Brady’s telling me to take deep, cleansing breaths. Repeating the New Age crap he picked up from his mom’s yogi.

  I listen, brea
thing in deeply and forcing air in and out of my lungs. Again. And again.

  It doesn’t help.

  Night presses in on all sides, and now that I’ve stopped running, a chill runs over my skin.

  I don't want to go back to my room, not yet. But I can’t stay here, either. So I jog back up the path to the deserted Beach and down the lower campus stairs. It must be after curfew, but I don’t care if anyone sees me. It’s only a demerit, nothing I can get expelled for, not even with my current detention schedule.

  Brady and Reid’s dorm is the only one-story building in this dorm cluster. I run around the outside looking for a clue as to which is theirs. I’ve been over a bunch of times, but always through the hallway.

  Since the windows are identical, I peek in a few, skipping the ones with curtains. On the fifth try, I find it, and as luck would have it, one of them left the window cracked open — probably to sneak someone in. I shove it wider and wiggle through.

  Brady’s stretched diagonally across his twin bed with his leg bent over the side, foot on the floor. Classic pass out pose. Wonder what he was doing tonight.

  Reid’s not here. Must be with Paige.

  “Brady.” I kick his leg. “Wake up.”

  He startles. “What you doing?”

  “I’m bored. Let’s do something.”

  “Did you bring the keys to my new car?”

  “No. And you won’t be getting them anytime soon.”

  He squints at the clock. “Jesus, Fletch. It’s one in the morning. Go back to bed.”

  It’s only ten-thirty, and he’s completely wasted.

  Brady’s snore fills the room before his head hits the pillow. When he’s like this, he’ll sleep through anything. Reid once told me how he and Paige screwed while Brady slept. I know, for a fact, Brady didn’t hear them because he would have given me a play-by-play complete with sound effects.

  Bored, I search the room for the bottles of liquor I know he has hidden.

  I find the stashed vodka behind the dresser and liberate it. Since there aren’t any cups, I drink straight from the bottle as I flip through the video games scattered across the floor. I select the most violent one, and sink into Reid’s gaming chair.