by Mariah Dietz
“What do you think, boy? Would you bite Marshall if he ever got a little too creepy?” Kyle teases, referring to a neighbor down the street.
“If?” Kendall cries, finally setting her phone down. “Have you not seen him lately? He’s surpassed the too creepy mark.”
“Kendall,” Mom chastises, “he’s just shy … and a bit awkward.” As she continues, it’s apparent she’s not buying her own words. “Y’all should probably stay away from him, but I’m sure he’s …” She drifts off and my dad gives a few dramatized nods making us all laugh.
“So, Max, you still like cars?” my dad asks casually as he begins salting his salad.
My eyes drift back to Max as I wait with anticipation for his response, as though his words are important. I realize as he confirms his interest with cars, and now motorcycles, that it’s not his words so much, but his voice. It’s warm and deep, masculine and rugged. I didn’t know a voice could be rugged.
“You’ll have to come check out my old Chevelle. She’s turning out beautifully.”
“She’s orange, Dad.” Kendall’s tone is sarcastic, reflective of her distaste for the authentic color choice he made.
“Which is why she’s named Clementine,” Dad responds. I love that old car. I’ve spent countless hours watching my dad create her from just the body, slowly adding parts and pieces until she became a car.
I look over at Abby as she knocks her knee against mine. She raises an eyebrow before nodding slightly toward the patio table to question my interest that’s apparently not as inconspicuous as I’d hoped. I quickly shake my head and work to move my focus to what she and Kyle are discussing. With some effort I engage in their conversation and avoid my curiosity as to what Max and my dad continue discussing.
Shortly after eating, Max stands up and clears his place. “We’ve got to get going or we’ll be late,” he says so quietly that if I wasn’t turned around listening to Kendall and Jameson bantering with one another, I would’ve missed it.
“I’m sorry to eat and run, but we’re supposed to be meeting some people,” Max says to our parents.
“That’s no problem. It was so good to see you and Jameson, and to meet you, Landon! Sharon’s been so anxious to have you boys home this summer. Please feel free to stop by anytime,” my mom says with an Oscar-worthy smile.
I feel relieved and strangely disappointed at their early departure.
My heavy eyelids blink reluctantly, feeling slightly dazed from the combination of my restless sleep and continued jet lag. I reach for my phone and see that it’s six. Somehow, even with the exhaustion, my mind seems to have reprogrammed my mental alarm clock.
Careful to not disturb Abby, I slip out of bed and pull on some running clothes. Zeus is on my heels as I enter the kitchen and find the scent of burnt toast and fresh coffee, traces that my dad’s been up. For as long as I can remember, my dad and I have shared this time to catch up with one another.
A sheet of paper on the kitchen bar catches my attention, and I wander over to find my dad’s familiar handwriting. It briefly explains he’s been called in early for an accident and promises me chocolate chip pancakes for tomorrow.
I head outside, not bothering to stop for coffee without him being there. The air is already a warm seventy-two, and I relish the sun’s rays on my bare arms as I stretch my calves and hamstrings, fighting the precarious desire to look over at the Millers’. The longing seems to intensify with each passing second leading me to hastily finish with my stretching and shove my earbuds in. I select a loud playlist that Kendall recently added and pat my thigh to get Zeus’s attention before setting off toward the park.
The following week I seem to be hyper aware of any activity coming in or out of the Millers’. I spend most of my time resigned to our backyard where I’m safe from my growing curiosity. From back here there isn’t much of the Millers’ I can see. Max’s bedroom is on the side of the house looking out over the front yard, and it’s directly across from mine.
I’d discovered this shortly after they’d moved in. It was one of the first times that I’d seen him since my mom dragged us over to meet the Millers the day that they moved in. Max had been decorating his room, hanging posters of random baseball players and bands that I’d never heard of. Thinking about this nine years later, the memory still makes me blush as I recall Max turning around and catching me standing frozen in my window staring at him. He stared back at me for a beat and then stalked to his window and closed the shade. Mortified, I’d closed my own as well, and it’s remained shut since.
Friday night I stand in one of our upstairs bathrooms beside Kendall, who’s artfully shading her eyelids with a smoky charcoal, as we primp in preparation to attend a party at Karli Lincoln’s house.
This party is not something I’m willingly attending. Although I’ve been anxious to get out of the house and distract myself, I have no desire to go to a party thrown by Karli. Kendall had begged and pleaded for me to go, and Kendall is nothing if not insistent, refusing to be ignored. However, I’ve had nearly twenty years of practice and am fairly fluent. Eventually, when she realized that groveling wasn’t leading to her desired outcome, she pulled the ‘I kissed Kevin Murphy for you’ card.
She had … in a game of truth or dare that had occurred seven years ago.
Seven.
Years.
Yet she pulled it and I silently submitted because to this day the thought of having to kiss Kevin Murphy when that bottle landed on me during that game of spin the bottle still causes my stomach to lurch.
So here I am, pinning my hair into an impromptu updo that I’ve mastered with years of experience.
Glancing at my reflection, my gaze settles on my brown eyes staring back at me as I pry open another bobby pin with my teeth. I work to see the resemblance to my dad in them as I insert the hair pin. Where his are distinguishable and a warm molten brown, mine appear too big for my face and are such a dark shade of brown that it’s nearly indiscernible to see where my irises end and pupils begin. Before I have the chance to further scrutinize myself, I feel Kendall’s eyes on me and shift my focus to her light blues staring at me with a look that tells me she’s about to ask me what I’m thinking. To avoid her question I turn my attention to the eye-catching short denim skirt that she’s paired with a black sleeveless top and high black heels. She’s obviously dressed to catch attention tonight, and I briefly wonder what I’m in for.
“Why are you dressed for winter?”
“Winter?” I ask, raising an eyebrow as I look down at my yellow skinny jeans and sheer white blouse covering a white tank top.
“A nun?” She reaches forward and tugs on my shirt in an attempt to reveal some cleavage. I bat her hand away in protest.
“We both know the crowd attracted to Karli’s parties,” I reply, fastening a final bobby pin into my hair.
“I know, that’s why we’re going. We both need to have some fun! You finally admitted you’re thinking of ending things with Eric. Let’s find you a hot rebound.”
I look at her and roll my eyes before flipping off the bathroom light and heading downstairs, leaving her to follow me. I had confided in Kendall after hearing for the ten thousandth time how much she loathes Eric that I’m starting to consider taking a break from him. Kendall’s used to this; she often calls me a serial dater. According to her I have commitment issues. All because prior to dating Eric, I dated a decent number of guys. She never could understand that just because I went on a date with someone, it didn’t mean I was in a relationship with them. You’d think that someone as high maintenance as my sister can be, she’d understand, but under Kendall’s high fashion and couldn’t-care-less attitude she often exudes is the most undeniably loyal person I know. She doesn’t bother dating people if she isn’t interested in a relationship, whereas I date people to see if I’m interested in being in a relationship.
I’ve been dating Eric for the past nine months and have silently considered ending things with him for the l
ast seven. It isn’t that I’m necessarily bored with our relationship—okay, I’m sort of bored, but that hasn’t been the primary reason for my past relationships not lasting—I just have never felt that toe-curling, sweaty palms, all thoughts consuming kind of love that movies and books portray. It always makes me second guess my relationships until I eventually have myself thoroughly convinced that I’m not with the right person.
My relationship with Eric is really convenient. I take heavy class loads and require independence, and he never seems to protest like other guys that I dated at the beginning of the school year. When I need to study, or want to spend time with my family or friends, he never objects, largely because he’s often busy himself, so I think in a way he appreciates that I require so little of his time. During school we generally make an effort to hang out once a week, sometimes even less, and both of us seem completely satisfied with the commitment.
Watching Kendall act giddy and anxious all week in anticipation of running into Jameson causes my relationship of convenience to wear on me.
Eric has traits that had originally drawn me to him. He’s nice, smart, and incredibly ambitious. However, I quickly found that I can determine his reaction or words to nearly any scenario. I found this to be another convenient attribute initially and even considered that maybe it was a sign that we share a deeper relationship; after all, isn’t love all about knowing someone so deeply and completely that you’re able to know their thoughts and reactions? It didn’t take long before I found it to be boring, lacking both excitement and passion, each time I waited for him to do or say what I already knew he would. I’d begun to forget how mundane our relationship felt while I was in France, but Sunday had brought that dam of emotions back. His predictability nearly drowned me when he came into the bathroom to say he was leaving early.
“Let’s go find you a rebound,” she cries, shooting me a playful grin.
I lead the way to my car without responding. I don’t need to. We both know I’m only attending this party out of obligation. After nine months I still haven’t cashed in my V-card with Eric; there’s no chance I’ll do it tonight.
It’s not that I believe people should wait for marriage or find the love of their life to have sex, if that’s even a reality. It’s just that I’ve heard all my sisters and many of my friends discuss losing their virginity. Inevitably they all seemed to regret their decision—some within mere hours of completing the deed. I’m beginning to consider that perhaps this is just a side effect of having sex for the first time because although you understand anatomically what happens, you don’t really know what to expect, and it’s supposed to be painful, so really, how can it be anything other than awkward and result in some degree of regret.
Before leaving for France I’d decided that when I returned home I would cash it in with Eric. I half expect a convent to begin contacting me if I hit twenty, still a virgin. Now with cringing each time I analyze mine and Eric’s relationship, and continuing to conclude things are just convenient between us, I’m feeling more reluctant to lose my virginity status; it’s one thing that I hold complete control over.
I certainly haven’t always played by the rules. I can drink any of my sisters under the table, and I’ve done my share of sneaking out and partying, but I realized at a very young age from growing up in a house with five kids that you have no control over most things in life, being the youngest this was especially true at times.
When we arrive at Karli’s I’m not surprised to see a large number of people from high school. Most of them are from Kendall’s class, even though Karli’s a year between Kendall and me.
“Oh my god! Great shoes!” I look over to see Britney Ballard with her round face and short blond hair that’s been subjected to a straightening iron so many times it now resembles the coarse ends of an old, used broom. She smiles at me excitedly and I instantly regret my mental comparison. I don’t want to be judgmental and catty. That’s one of the many reasons I despise being at these parties; they’re filled with lies and fake exchanges. I wipe away my fleeting thoughts and plaster a smile to my face, glancing down at the cobalt blue heels I’m wearing.
“Thanks! I love your dress,” I add before fully taking in the low cut silver dress she has on.
“I’m so glad you guys made it! I heard someone say they thought they saw you guys were home for the summer!”
“Hey, Britney.” Kendall smiles warmly at her and I look on in amazement. She has the uncanny ability to recall people’s names at the drop of a hat. I’m certain it can be attributed to the many social events my mother’s hosted since we were young, but it’s still impressive since I doubt these two have seen each other in years.
“This is like a high school reunion!” Jeanie Ebbs squeals, throwing her arms around my neck. Her dark brown hair falls across my face in a curtain as I hug her, cringing at the reality of her evaluation. She pulls back, smiling widely at me. I’ve always liked Jeanie and wish I kept in touch with her better. Her smile and happy personality has always been contagious and fun.
“Nathan Hudson is here and dear lord he’s gotten even hotter!” I look at her grinning face and notice her glassy expression; she’s already had too much to drink.
Nathan, who I like to call Nate—solely because he hates it—is a stereotypical pretty boy. He’s undeniably good looking: clean cut, perfect white smile, deep tan from hours of being outside shirtless, always adorned with Abercrombie styled clothing. My mom used to tell us it was boys like Nathan Hudson we should seek to date because they were “good boys.”
My mom’s wrong.
Nathan Hudson is none of the amazing things she assumes he is. Rather, he’s conceited, manipulative, and conniving, expecting every girl to want him. Unfortunately most of them did all throughout high school, and it sounds like they still do. Even after sleeping with nearly everyone I know, including Kendall, he somehow has never been labeled a player.
“Who cares about him?” Kendall says brazenly, in true fashion of any scorned woman. I want to remind her again that I didn’t want to come because people like Nate always attend Karli’s parties, but based on the anxious look on her face, I don’t.
“Come on, Ace, take a shot with me for old times’ sake!” Jeanie pleads, tugging on my fingers she’s entwined with hers. I shake my head gently as I give her a small smile.
“Oh, come on, we used to have so much fun! Don’t you remember?” She drops my fingers and sticks her bottom lip out. Five-year-olds are pretty difficult to refuse with this face, twenty-year-olds aren’t.
“Maybe later.” My words don’t need to appease her; she’s already distracted thankfully. I link arms with Kendall and follow her through a web of people.
We stop to talk with several familiar faces about surface topics. Kendall loves this stuff; she’d make a great politician one day if she was willing to wear longer skirts, much longer skirts.
My smile to an old soccer teammate turns into a wince as Kendall’s nails dig into the tender flesh on the underside of my forearm.
“Jameson’s here.” She works to maintain her grip on my arm.
“Ow! You’re like a python with claws!” I use my other hand to physically pull her fingers loose as I glance up in the direction she’s staring and catch a glimpse of Jameson before turning my attention back to freeing my arm.
“Is that why you wanted to come so much?” I ask, eyeing the way her shoulders square and her chest pushes out a bit further as I finally wrench my arm free.
“No! Of course not!” Kendall answers defiantly, but her actions sell her out as she tucks her blond hair behind her ear—a clear indication that my sister isn’t being truthful, at least not entirely. Most people wouldn’t know she’s lying; she can lie with immense conviction and not bat an eye, but years of experience has taught me that she, like all of my sisters, has a nearly indiscernible giveaway.
“How are you going to know if you like the guy if we’re going to avoid him all night?” I ask after we dodge J
ameson once again. We’ve been here for two hours, and still she’s refusing to talk to him.
“I’m waiting for him to come over.” Kendall whines impatiently.
“How can he when we keep moving? Are you sure he’s actually seen you?”
“Are you kidding me? Of course he’s seen us. Your pants pretty much glow in the dark!”
I stare at her for a long moment so she can see my growing frustration then close my eyes and count to ten to keep from strangling her when she doesn’t seem to care.
“I’m going to the restroom,” I yell over the music pouring from the speaker we’re standing too close to. I need a breather. She nods without breaking her intense eye stalking and I set off.
The bathroom has a line eleven people long, and I really don’t need to go, so instead I turn back to head to where I’d seen my friend, Maria, and feel a hand clasp over my shoulder.
I look at the large hand that’s holding my shoulder and turn to see Nathan Hudson. My eyes go past him for a second and focus on Brock Walker and Max a couple of feet from us. Max’s eyes flash to mine, and his head turns as though he’s as surprised to see me as I am him.
“What’s up, baby Bosse? How are you doing, Ace?” Nate asks, making it apparent that he’s checking me out as his eyes slowly travel up and down my body. The simple act coming from Nate makes me feel violated, and I frown in response, repositioning my body so I’m leaning on my back leg to attempt a little more space.
“How’s your summer been?” He gives me a wicked grin like it’s an invitation.
The last thing I want to do is make small talk with him. I glance around, grasping for a distraction, and come up empty. “It’s good,” I reluctantly reply, not bothering to ask how his is, hoping he’ll lose interest.
“How are things going with Eric? Where’s he tonight?” I keep my attention on Nate but notice Max sag a bit as Javier Torres approaches him and wraps an arm around his shoulder in a man-hug.
