I let out a peel of slightly hysterical laughter, and continued. “Man, I’d love to be behind the branding on those products. Talk about cornering the market. Am I right?” I wanted the ground to open up beneath my feet and swallow me, ending this torture, but I wasn’t so lucky. Instead, all I could do was stand there and fidget as an uncomfortable silence blanketed the three of us.
“Well,” Model Chick finally spoke up, “as riveting as this conversation’s been, I’m in the mood to dance.” The way she said it clued me in that she didn’t find it riveting at all. Not many people would, but my penchant for spewing useless facts was as uncontrollable as my stutter when my anxiety kicked in. Setting her glass on the bar, she slid her hand down Chance’s arm until her fingers laced with his. “Chance, baby?”
I watched as his head turned toward her. He smiled briefly before leaning in and nipping at her bottom lip with his teeth. It was so quick and easy, but for some reason, that image burned itself on my brain.
I wanted something like that. I wanted a man who wasn’t worried about public displays of affection, who didn’t care who was around when the mood to touch or taste me came over him. But mostly, I just wanted his easy nature.
“It was nice meeting you, Melany,” he spoke suddenly, pulling my head from the clouds and back to reality.
“Oh… yeah. Sure. Nice meeting you, too. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
After one last charming smile, Chance and Kat were swallowed up by the crowd and I was, once again, all alone in a dark corner, sipping sparkling wine—not champagne—by myself. I spent another half hour tracing Logan’s movements around the party with my eyes, fantasizing that he’d suddenly spot me in the crowd, smile at me like he’d missed me fiercely, and come ask me to dance.
None of that happened, of course, but a woman could dream, right?
Oh well, I thought as I glanced at my watch and decided it had been long enough for me to make a graceful exit. At least I remembered to set my DVR to record the marathon of Criminal Minds before I left.
Besides, who needed real-life interaction when I could be spending my time with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit?
Chapter 2
Melany
WHEN I WAS a little girl, I used to daydream about what life would be like when I grew up. I wanted it all; the wedding fit for a princess, the beautiful house with kids and a million pets—I was a little girl for heaven’s sake, pets ranked above most things—and a ton of friends who would come over every night for my fabulous dinners. Everyone would want to be around me. Life would be awesome.
Yeah, it was a little farfetched, but there was nothing wrong with hoping, right? However, the longer this went on, the more I lived inside my head and out of the real world—especially since the world I created in my head was a million times better than real life.
Especially when it came to men.
You see, I was unlucky in many aspects of my life, but the one place I was the unluckiest was where members of the opposite sex were concerned.
It all started with my dear old dad.
He bailed when I was only five years old. I could still remember him coming down the stairs, suitcase in hand as he leaned in to place a kiss on my forehead with a muttered, “Sorry, peanut.” Then he was out the door.
And the sad thing was, I couldn’t even blame him. If I had the opportunity to escape my mother, I’d have done it in a heartbeat. She nagged, she bitched, and if there was something to be complained about, Gail Fitzgerald found it, then dug her nails in and wouldn’t quit. She was an unhappy woman, determined to make everyone around her just as miserable as she was. Unfortunately for me, my father saw an opportunity to escape and took it, meaning I was stuck, seeing as my mother was not only a miserable, bitching nag, but she also excelled at laying out a good guilt trip. With Dad’s abandonment, she’d gone to work on me, making sure that, by the time I was an adult, I was so riddled with guilt at just the thought of leaving my mother alone, I could barely function. And as the years passed, it only grew worse and worse.
So I’d learned early in life to find the only escape I could, and that was the happy, shiny, beautiful world I’d created in my head. A woman couldn’t spend her life in her own head and not suffer repercussions.
And it was for that very reason that I was so socially awkward it was almost debilitating. Being raised around such unhappiness, coupled with living in my head didn’t lead to having very good people skills.
Another reason I’d kept myself so sheltered was because of my horrifying experiences with boys my age. I had learned the terrible lesson that teenagers were some of the cruelest people in existence when I was fourteen years old. It was also why I was determined to keep my love for Logan a secret, refusing to pursue it for fear of what could potentially happen if he were to ever find out.
The traumatic event that had transpired all those years ago still caused an acute twinge of pain in my chest every time I thought about it…
I closed my locker door, holding my books to my chest like a protective shield as I turned and started toward my English class, only to come to an abrupt halt at the sight of Gary Evans standing about ten feet away. He was leaning against his own locker, surrounded by his group of friends. Everyone was laughing at something he’d just said, and I ached with longing to be a part of that crowd as Gary soaked up their attention like a sponge.
He was the most popular guy in school, unbelievable cool, insanely cute, and the quarterback of the football team. He was the guy that every girl in school prayed would notice them… myself included.
“You should ask him out,” Constance whispered in my ear, scaring the hell out of me.
“Oh God!” I squeaked, spinning around and nearly dropping all my books. “When the hell did you show up? I didn’t hear you.”
She smiled prettily. “Maybe that’s because you were too busy making googly eyes at your secret crush over there.”
I crinkled my face into a glare. “I wasn’t making googly eyes.”
“You were totally making googly eyes.” She giggled.
I scoffed and turned back to the circle of popular kids with a mumbled, “Whatever,” under my breath.
“I’m being serious, Melly. You should totally ask him out.”
“You’re crazy!” I laughed, looking back at my best friend.
Her expression twisted in irritation. “It’s not crazy. The Sadie Hawkins dance is next weekend. It’s the perfect time! You’re smart and funny and pretty—”
I lifted my hand to quiet her. She was my biggest supporter, the one and only person in my life who thought I was more than I actually was. But sometimes her pep talks caused more harm than good because what she saw in me wasn’t reality.
“I can’t ask him. He’s dating Lacey Shillings.”
“Nuh-uh.” Constance shook her head. “They broke up like, two weeks ago!” she said, like it was the best news she’d ever heard.
I couldn’t deny that my heart gave a happy little skip at that nugget of information. Lacey Shillings was the worst! She was part of the Snob Squad, also known as the cheerleading squad, and was one of the meanest girls in school. But it didn’t matter. Trying a different tactic, I said, “It’s not like it matters anyway. There’s no way Mom would give me the money for a dress, and I don’t have anything I could wear to the dance. It would be pointless.”
A slow smile crept across her face. “You can borrow one of mine!” she cheered with a happy clap. “I’ve got tons, and we’re the same size!”
Well that backfired. I was about to issue another excuse when the first bell rang, signaling to the students that class was about to start.
“I have to get to class,” I muttered and began walking away.
“Just think about it!” she yelled after me. “It could end up being amazing!”
I didn’t bother turning around, just waved back at her over my shoulder. Unfortunately, she’d planted a seed in my brain that I couldn’t rip out.
All the freshman English classes were currently working on research projects, so instead of being stuck in our classrooms, we were all in the library for the entire period; the very same library where Gary Evans worked as an aide during second period. Instead of doing my research on The Lord of the Flies like I was supposed to, I spent the entire period gawking at him in all his hawt glory, Constance’s words ringing clear as a bell in my head.
What would it hurt to ask, I thought to myself. I mean, it wasn’t like we were strangers; we’d been going to the same schools since elementary.
And he was single now.
Steeling my spine and calling up a sense of courage I hadn’t even realized I possessed, I stood from my table and slowly made my way toward the circulation desk. Despite my entire body flushing bright red, I was determined.
I could do this. I would do this.
Keeping my gaze downcast, I spoke on a quiet whisper. “H-hi, Gary,” I stuttered, looking up at him with a nervous flutter of my eyelashes.
He gave me a curious look before responding, “Hi.”
It was now or never. “Uh… I was w-wondering… I mean, I thought… um… d-do you have a date? For the Sadie Hawkins dance, I mean? Because, I was th-thinking… if not, m-maybe we could go? Like, together?”
Oh God, this was mortifying… but at least I’d done it.
I’d done it! I’d asked a guy out! For the first time in my life, I was actually proud of myself. That was, until his curious expression morphed into something completely different. He regarded me like I was some weird freak of nature as he asked, “Uh, do I know you?”
That courageous bubble I’d surrounded myself with suddenly burst, leaving me deflated and embarrassed.
“I-I’m Melany,” I said on a whisper. “Melany Fitzgerald. We’ve gone to school together since elementary.” Ohgodohgodohgod. I needed to get the hell out of there. I was so humiliated. He didn’t even know who I was!
Dread began to creep into my bones as I took a step back from the desk. “S-sorry to bother you. I sh-should go.” I spun around to make a run for it and crashed right into a cart full of books, causing a ruckus so loud it drew the attention and laughs of my classmates. Standing back up, my legs unsteady beneath me, I somehow managed to escape the stifling confines of the library and locked myself in one of the stalls of the girls’ bathroom, where I spent the rest of the period.
My research project would just have to wait.
Later that day, I made my way into the loud, crowded cafeteria with my head hung low, using my hair as a shield between me and everybody else. By the time I made it to the table I always sat at, Constance was already there with her new boyfriend, Frank.
“So?” She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Did you ask him?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I grumbled before taking a bite of my apple. It was too humiliating to mention.
“What’s going on over there?” Frank asked, drawing Constance’s and my attention to the center of the cafeteria. There was a huge group of kids standing about five tables away, most of them I recognized as the popular crowd. Dead center was Lacey Shillings and her band of bimbos. It wasn’t an unusual sight, really; the popular kids always ate together, but what was strange about it this time was that most of them were huddled together, staring and pointing in my direction as they whispered and laughed. When Lacey finally sat back, I was able to see that Gary Evans was sitting right next to her… with his arm around the back of her chair.
Oh no. Ohnoohnoohno. “I thought you said they were broken up,” I hissed at Constance.
She looked back at me, her brow furrowed in worry. “I thought they were.”
“They got back together two days ago,” Frank added, causing my blood to run cold. But it was his next words that sent a spike a fear through my heart. “Why are they coming over here?”
Before I could get up and run away, Lacey and her entourage were there, blocking my escape route. When she spoke, she did it loud enough for everyone several tables away to hear.
“I heard you asked my boyfriend to the Sadie Hawkins dance.” She laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. The students nearby did the same, enjoying the show Lacey was putting on. “You didn’t think he’d actually say yes, did you?” She paused for a few seconds before adopting a sympathetic voice. “Oh, you did… that’s so sad!” She and her friends burst into laughter at my expense. Meanwhile, I was trying my hardest not to cry. Constance looked like she wanted to say something to put Lacey in her place, but I shot her a pleading look, effectively silencing her. She would have just made it worse.
“Let me give you a little lesson, sweetie,” Lacey sneered. “You’re a loser. There’s no way Gary would ever want to go out with you. He couldn’t believe a freak like you would even have the guts to ask. You should be embarrassed of yourself.”
Before they walked back to the rest of the cool kids, Lacey took the time to pick up my lunch tray and dump the entirety of its contents over my head.
I shot up with a frightened gasp as mashed potatoes, gravy, and frozen yogurt slid into my eyes and down my shirt.
I was a mess. I was horrified. The entire cafeteria was now cracking up, pointing and shouting insults at me as I ran through the maze of tables. The laughter was so loud I could barely make out Constance yelling after me. But before I turned the corner, I made one last mistake. I looked back at Gary to find he was hunched over, holding his stomach as tears of hilarity tracked down his face. He thought my humiliation was funny.
My heart cracked open as I locked myself in the girls’ room once again. Only, this time, I allowed myself to cry.
I was ripped from unhappy memories by the sound of my mother’s voice. “Melany Elaine Fitzgerald!” Mom shouted—no doubt from her place camped out on the couch in front of the TV, where she spent all her days and most nights.
Oh, I forgot to mention… not only was my mom a miserable human being, she was also a lazy one, using every excuse in the world not to be a functioning member of society.
With a heavy sigh, I finished tying my pale, flat hair in a low ponytail at the base of my neck and started out of my bedroom. It was 7:00 on Monday morning and she was already starting in. Brilliant.
“Coming,” I called back, as I headed down the creaky stairs of our little brownstone. I’d grown up in this very house in Brooklyn and, when I was little, when my father was still around, I remembered that it used to actually be kind of nice.
Now, thanks to my mother’s neglect, smoking, and inherent ability to do absolutely nothing, it had started to fall apart. And I just didn’t have the time, money, or energy to try and deal with everything that was going wrong with the old place.
“You didn’t get me my smokes when you went to the store yesterday,” she said by way of good morning once I hit the landing at the bottom of the stairs.
Shit. I hadn’t. I’d been so busy trying to do the laundry, clean our ramshackle house the best I could, and get enough groceries to last us the week that her cigarettes had completely slipped my mind. “Sorry, Mom. I’ll be sure to stop and pick some up on the way home from work.”
“You and that damn pea brain of yours,” she grumbled, starting in on an all-too-familiar rant. “Always so thoughtless. Never thinking about anyone but yourself… You’re a spoiled little brat, that’s what you are.”
That last part was almost laughable. I never even came close to being spoiled. Over the years, I’d managed to grow a thick skin when it came to my mother and her insults. When I was younger, they used to get to me, but when you have years upon years of being subjected to a certain behavior, it kind of becomes second nature.
It was pure hypocrisy on her part, considering the only reason I still lived with her at thirty-one years old was so I could take care of her, but I’d learned a long time ago that making my mother see that what she said about me was wrong was akin to beating my head against a brick wall. So I just let it roll off my back an
d went about my business.
It wasn’t like it would do any good to argue with her. She somehow managed to find the energy to hit up the dive bar down the block to get drunk and pick up the occasional gross one-night stand, but when it came to buying her own cigarettes, she played the “disability” card. That was my life.
Ignoring her hard words, I repeated, “Like I said, I’ll pick some up on my way home. I need to get to work.”
Mom’s head finally turned away from whatever godawful early morning, daytime TV show she was watching and her glassy, bloodshot eyes landed on me, her top lip curling in a sneer. “That’s what you’re wearing to work?”
“Yeah,” I answered, looking down at myself, taking in the loose, boxy tan skirt and equally shapeless button-up blouse I tucked into it. On my feet were a pair of plain brown, square-toe flats that I wore with practically everything. I was as far from a fashionista as a woman could get. I knew nothing about the latest styles and trends, and dressed more for comfort than anything else.
She let out a little harrumph and returned her attention to the TV, muttering something that sounded an awful lot like “slut” under her breath.
That was my mother for you. Always so loving and positive.
Having had my fill of her insults, I grabbed my purse from the hook by the front door, offered a mumbled goodbye, and headed out. I made my usual stop at the little bodega a few blocks away to grab a coffee before heading to the train station.
“Morning, Ms. Melany. Looking just as beautiful as always,” Stanley called from behind the counter. On mornings when my mom was particularly harsh, it always helped to stop in here. Stanley had been working the register for as long as I could remember, and the kind old man always had the nicest things to say to help brighten my morning.
Chance Encounters Page 2
