by Wilde, Ora
“Tick tock tick tock... the clock is ticking...” she said, before walking away at a gingerly pace.
I looked up and saw who she was.
That slut Kyla.
What’s the point of her cryptic statements? Was she messing with my head? Was that her new hobby? Has she moved on from dropping her panties for every guy she met, to mocking me every opportunity she got?
I should confront her. I should tell her that if she has something to say to me, she might as well deliver the message straight and clear. I should inform her that she should stop with her mind games, or else, she’d have a real fight in her hands.
I should’ve.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
I wasn’t that bold, and neither was I that brave.
The fact that I was new in the squad and I was struggling with my efforts to fit in didn’t help any.
I walked out of the lockers into the gym, my body slouched as a feeling of helplessness consumed me. The girls were all there... elated and excited and giggling. I wished I could be as happy as them.
Then the basketball team entered the court. At the tail end of the line, behind his taller teammates, was Finn. He was masterfully dribbling a ball, a crossover here, a feint to his right there, a behind the back move afterwards... he was so skillful with his chosen sport. It was his life. It was his calling.
He saw me and waved, and much of my anxiety disappeared in a flash. I waved back and blew him a kiss. He clutched his chest, acting as if an arrow struck his heart. I laughed.
I performed better at cheerleading practice that afternoon. I was finally able to remember the beats and to follow the corresponding steps. I nailed two routines, though I faltered a bit with the third one.
“Excellent progress, Andrea,” Jaynie commended me. “See? You’ve got what it takes to be one of us!” she excitedly added.
Some of the girls smiled. Kyla, on the other hand, gave me a scornful look. I didn’t pay much attention to her. She won’t be able to steal my man away from me, no matter how hard she’d try.
Once practice was done, the girls went back to the locker room. I was left there, on the court, all alone on our side of the gymnasium. The basketball team was still playing a five-on-five full court practice game. I sat and observed them. Finn was moving well without the ball, passing through screens his teammates set up so that he’d be free for a clear view of the ring. He made most of the shots he took. I clapped vigorously with every successful attempt.
They kept running from one side of the court to the other, playing offense and defense, running their plays to seeming perfection, unmindful of everything and everyone outside of their game... just as how they were trained to do.
Loneliness started to sink in.
The gym was virtually empty and barely lit. The rafters were swallowed by the shadows.
I looked up, towards the corner of the uppermost row in the stands.
He wasn’t there.
A terrible feeling suddenly engulfed my soul... a feeling I wasn’t used to... a feeling I knew I shouldn’t be experiencing...
It was a feeling of emptiness. Of sadness. Of longing.
I was missing him.
And I hated myself for it.
5
The Writing On The Wall
Basketball practice was extended, so I decided to leave early. I approached Finn and told him that I had to go home, least my dad would get worried sick about me. He understood, as he always did, and asked me to take care on my short walk towards our house.
Our residence was just five blocks away from school, which... considering how small my steps were... would be around a ten minute stroll.
I spent those ten minutes thinking about things...
About Finn and how much I love him...
About Kyla and her infuriating riddles...
About Nash and what almost happened between us...
About Nash and why I can’t get him out of my head...
On the fifth bend along Sunbeam Drive, I turned right. That was our street... the only street I have come to know in my eighteen years of existence. Placerville has always been our home. We never relocated. The house that my dad bought for my mom the day after they got married was the same old house I came home to every single afternoon. When mom passed away, dad contemplated on moving north to Redding or south to Bakersville. Anywhere but here, he said, let’s have a fresh start to everything. I talked him out of it. I told him that regardless where we lived, memories of mom will always be with us. It was just a matter of honoring her, remembering her, and celebrating the wonderful moments we shared as a family. He listened, and we stayed.
When I was a few houses away from ours, I saw my dad and Aunt Susan outside our home. They were visibly agitated, nervous even, as they were looking at the wall of our place, right beside the porch.
I ran towards them, my heart palpitating with worry.
“Dad!” I screamed. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
He looked at me, his eyes filled with relief.
“Thank God you’re safe, Andrea,” he said as he met me halfway and gave me a tight hug.
“What happened?” I asked as I struggled to breathe underneath his massive arms.
“Someone vandalized our house,” he answered.
I broke free from his hold and went straight to our driveway. Aunt Susan was there, startled to speechlessness as she looked at me with visible unease.
I looked at our home and I saw what caused their perturbation.
A word. Spray-painted on the facade of our residence, in bright red that looked like the color of blood. All caps. The paint was still dripping from the outlines of the letters.
LEVA.
“What does it mean?” I asked them, confused by what I was witnessing.
“I don’t know,” my dad answered. “I just heard a car screech outside, some ten minutes ago or so. When I went out, I saw this.”
“Did the neighbors see anything?” I asked. “Maybe they can identify who did this.”
“I’ll ask around,” he said. “I’m more concerned about the reason behind this, though. Why would these punks vandalize our house?”
It was probably because of something that Nash was involved with. I didn’t bring up that possibility, however. There was already too much heat on him. They haven’t seen him for more than a week. He was the likeliest reason for this transgression... but I didn’t want to get him into more trouble.
“Well, you girls go inside,” my dad ordered. I’ll gather the neighbors and see what we can make out of this.”
Aunt Susan and I followed his instruction.
Once there, I had to assist my stepmom to the couch. She was having a panic attack, it seemed. Aunt Susan has always been a kindly woman. She never handled stress and anxiety well.
“Thank you, Andrea,” she said as she rested on the sofa.
I sat beside her.
“Do you...” she started to say while catching her breath. “Do you think Nash has something to do with this?”
Again, Nash being Nash... he’ll always be the most convenient suspect.
I just shrugged in response to her question.
She shook her head in obvious despair.
“He wasn’t always like how he is right now, you know,” she began to share. “He used to be a sweet, sweet kid... much like yourself.”
“What happened?” I was interested to know.
“I guess his change started when his father went to jail,” she answered. “He didn’t take it well. He was just a child back then... ten years old! He wasn’t supposed to endure the humiliation of having a convicted felon as a father. I could only imagine what he went through... with his friends... in school... with the kids in our old neighborhood.”
“What crime did his dad commit?” I asked, wondering what grave act could stigmatize Nash as a criminal’s offspring.
“Murder,” she answered.
I was frozen on my seat
in shock.
“But he pleaded guilty and it was downgraded to homicide,” she continued sullenly. “He’s on the ninth year of his twenty-two years to life sentence.”
“W-Who did he kill?”
“My ex-husband... he has always been a street smart man, just like Nash. He had a lot of... questionable dealings with shady people. Eventually, he crossed the wrong guy... someone who ran a drug syndicate in our town. That guy threatened to hurt him and his loved ones. So my ex-husband, well, he killed that man before any harm would come to us.”
We fell silent for a few seconds. It wasn’t easy for her to share that story, and it wasn’t easy for me to process it as quickly as I should have.
“He could’ve claimed self-defense, or defense of relatives,” I finally said, something I learned from watching Ally McBeal on Netflix. “That would’ve gotten him off the hook.”
“Presumptive self-defense against a grave and imminent threat, yes, that’s what our lawyer suggested,” Aunt Susan answered. “But my ex-husband didn’t want to use that as a defense. He said he would rather go to jail and give the people he has wronged a sense of justice... a sense of closure... so they wouldn’t ever bother me and Nash... so that we would both be safe.”
Silence followed once again. I wanted to comfort her, but I didn’t know what to say.
“Do you think this vandalism and whatever story is behind it...” I finally started to speak, “has something to do with Nash following his father’s footsteps?”
“He’s a good kid,” she quickly defended him. “He’s really a sweet, sweet child... but sometimes, I can’t help but be afraid. The fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree, so they say.”
“There’s only one way to know if he, by some chance, has something to do with the graffiti outside,” I began to suggest. “Let’s try to contact him.”
“I don’t know if that will help,” she responded. “He never answers my calls. He never replies to my messages.”
“It’s worth the try,” I told her. “This counts as an emergency.”
Aunt Susan picked up her phone that was lying on the lamp table beside the couch. She started to compose a text, blurting - consciously or otherwise - the words she was typing: “Nash, where are you? There’s been an incident at home. I need to talk to you ASAP.”
After the message was sent, we waited for a reply.
Around ten minutes may have passed, yet, her phone didn’t receive a single text. So she decided to call his number instead.
“It’s ringing,” she told me as she gripped her mobile near her ear, hoping that Nash would pick it up.
He didn’t.
I borrowed Aunt Susan’s phone and started to type.
Nash, it’s Andrea. Where are you? Something’s
happened at home. We need you here.
As soon as I pressed the send icon, the main door opened and my dad returned home.
“We have a witness,” he exclaimed.
“Who?” Aunt Susan and I simultaneously asked.
“Billy Bob, from next door,” my dad answered. “Well, not him. His son, Billy Junior did. He saw a jeep that was parked just a few feet away from our doorway. He said that it’s been there for like an hour. There were two people inside... late teens or in their early twenties. He didn’t see their faces clearly, but he said that one of them was wearing a baseball cap and the other was wearing a bandana. Both of them wore really loose clothes. After an hour, they went out of their vehicle with some canisters. Then they began desecrating our front wall. It took them like ten to fifteen seconds, according to Billy Junior, before they ran back to their jeep and hurriedly drove off.”
“So, kids were responsible for this?” Aunt Susan tried to clarify.
“Basically, yeah,” he replied. “They probably targeted the wrong house. I mean... Leva? That sounds like a girl’s name to me. All of this may just very well be an immature way to get a young lady’s attention.”
My dad turned to face me.
“You don’t introduce yourself as Leva in school, right?” he asked suspiciously.
“What? Me? No! Of course not!” I couldn’t believe that my dad actually entertained that thought.
“Just making sure,” my dad tried to explain. “Anyway, we should be alright. But we must be doubly alert. Let’s not take the basic things for granted - locking the door, sealing the windows... you know the drill.”
An hour passed and the tension inside the house subsided. Soon enough, we were laughing at my father’s stories during dinner. The fear caused by the trespassers still lingered in our minds, but we were somewhat comforted by my father’s prognosis of the situation... that it was probably not as bad as we thought it was.
I retired to my room early. It was a very tiring day. Cheerleading practice was far more physically demanding than how I expected it to be. The chaos that greeted me at home didn’t help my cause. I was exhausted. Every ounce of energy has been sapped.
I lied in bed and closed my eyes. I didn’t even bother removing my uniform.
Unlike the previous night, I fell asleep quickly and easily. I didn’t have to count sheep. I didn’t have to think about happy things until I got drowsy. I didn’t have to will myself to slumber. I just closed my eyes and sleep embraced me almost instantly.
I don’t know if it has been mere minutes or a couple of hours... but I woke up to the sound of a nickel tapping on my window.
I got up from bed, my heart was beating rapidly as a feeling of dread hastily overwhelmed me.
Was it a burglar? A real burglar that time around?
Did the kids who vandalized our house come back?
Was it a ghost?
I looked towards the window and saw the silhouette of a man in dark clothes, his face hidden by the darkness and the shadow cast by his cowl.
That hood gave him away.
I rushed towards the window and pulled up the glass pane.
“Nash! What’re you doing sneaking up like this?” I asked him. He was precariously holding on to the sill for balance, his body resting on the bricks around the frame outside.
“I got your text,” he replied. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I told him. “Come inside, quick. You might fall off.”
I helped him up the opening and he entered my room. He looked around the surroundings for a bit, checking if something was amiss.
“What happened?” he finally asked with a tone of grave concern.
“Some kids vandalized our house,” I answered. “They spray painted the wall outside.”
His face turned furious all of a sudden.
“What did they write?” he questioned angrily.
“A word that probably doesn’t mean anything,” I told him.
“What word?” He was so enraged that it was almost scary.
“Leva,” I replied.
“Fuck!” he responded. I didn’t expect that kind of a reaction from him. I thought he would be as perplexed as I was. But judging from his tone, he knew what that word meant, and he wasn’t happy about it.
“What does it mean, Nash?” I asked him, hoping for a straightforward reply to appease the anxiety that was threatening to devour me.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he said dismissively. He looked out the window, surveying the area outside as if he was expecting something menacing that threatened to endanger us all.
“Try me,” I challenged him.
“No,” he firmly said. “I have to go.”
“Nash, wait...” I tried to stop him, but he didn’t listen.
He leaped out of the window from where he entered, held on to the branch touching the wall for support, and deftly climbed down the rows of narrow bricks that unintentionally formed a makeshift ladder.
Once he was on the ground, he looked up at me.
“Always keep the doors locked,” he uttered, almost like an order.
Then he darted off, towards the back alley along the fence of Mr. Jamison’s garden. Darkness
immediately claimed him and he disappeared from my sight.
And I was left wondering...
What kind of trouble has he gotten himself into?
