“Hi,” I say softly, not enjoying his silent reprimand.
“I shouldn’t even be sitting here the way you’ve blown me off the past week,” he scolds. I shrug and act like his anger isn’t affecting me. “Don’t do that; you have this bad girl attitude, but,” he says, his slight accent showing in his anger, as he leans in and whispers, “I see right through you” My eyes must be the size of saucers because his face softens a little, and he turns to the homework that is now laid out in front of him.
“You don’t know me,” I mumble, looking back at my earth science book. He doesn’t say anything else to me, but doesn’t leave either. I find myself glancing at him, at his tan skin, at fine light brown hairs on his arm, and his long, thin fingers as he holds his paper still and writes with his right hand. Finally, I give up trying to read and doodle on the fleshy part of my right hand just under my thumb. I draw a skull and cross bones.
“What’s that about?” he asks. I didn’t realize he had paused and is watching me now. I shrug. I don’t want to tell him because he’s new, and he doesn’t know my past, though he has probably heard the rumors.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask annoyed.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he responds.
“It’s probably in your best interests to stay clear of me,” I mumble looking down again.
“You’re my only friend,” he whispers, more to himself than me.
“I’m not your friend,” I declare, and the instructor looks up sternly from the front of the cafeteria. Tomas’ face darkens, and I try to recover. “I’m just saying that if you want to make more friends, then you should pursue other acquaintances.” I feel formal, or like I’m adult speaking to another grown up. I usually don’t talk like this, but for some reason I do now. I can’t look at his face; I don’t want to see any sign of concession that may be in his eyes because deep down, though I’m scared to admit it, I want someone to want to be my friend. Britt’s attention has made me realize that I crave interaction that’s not pity or obligatory friendship.
“I don’t want other friends. I want to be yours,” he says, resolved as he looks back at his work. His words sting me; he said, “I want to be yours.” Suddenly I have images of holding his hand, climbing trees, and staring into each other’s eyes longingly as the sun sets in the distance. Then the bell rings.
After school, Britt is leaning on the metal railing just outside the doors leading to student parking. I look for Lacey, but she’s nowhere to be found, so I go over to Britt. She looks like her standard chaotic self with layered, dirty, wrinkled, torn-looking clothes and hair wild. It’s her style, hipster grunge.
“Where were you at lunch?” I ask and lean on the railing to get out of the way of the herd of students stampeding out of the school.
“Field trip; did you miss me?” she says as she digs through her hobo bag. I know she’s lying because field trips are usually at the end of the school year.
“I ate lunch on the hall floor; what do you think?” As I scan the crowd, I see my sister still inside walking slowly, closely with Chase. I wonder when they’ll make it official; they dance around each other too much. Britt is rambling something about Jake, but my attention is locked on my sister as she approaches. Her eyebrows are knit together, and she’s looking at Britt, hard. Chase has no expression on his face, but I see his hand go to Lacey’s elbow.
“Lana, hi. Are you ready to go?” Lacey addresses me, but doesn’t take her eyes off Britt while Britt is oblivious or could care less because her focus is on Chase. She straightens up, squares her shoulders, and smirks at him. He looks uncomfortable suddenly.
“Actually, Mom said I could hang out with Britt for a while after school,” I say.
“Chase, do you have plans? You can hang with us; but sorry, Lacey, I don’t think I have room in my car for you,” Britt says as she takes a step toward him. He scowls at her but doesn’t answer; instead he turns to Lacey and softly says, “Let’s get out of here.”
“Lana, can I talk to you for a minute?” Lacey asks. Her mother hen persona is on now. I follow her to about two feet away.
“That girl is trouble. You should stay away from her.” She looks back at Britt and Chase. I follow her gaze. Chase still looks uncomfortable as he glares at Britt. She is stroking his arm and whispering so we can’t hear what she’s saying. I roll my eyes and turn back to Lacey.
“She’s OK, she’s just eccentric.” I laugh.
“She dates drug dealers, fights, steals, and has a bad reputation. You’ve already overcome so much. She’s bad news.” Lacey crosses her arms and looks down at me, which is a feat in itself because we’re the same height. “Come home with me. I start my new job tomorrow, and we won’t be able to hang as much anymore,” she pleads now. I’m automatically torn. On the one hand, I love being with my sister; on the other, I have a new friend that I don’t want to just blow off or let down. I know that I can hang out with Lacey when I get home, so I shrug like I didn’t just make a major decision.
“I’ll be home soon,” I smile weakly, and she returns the expression. We go back over to Britt and Chase.
“When is your band playing at The Watering Hole again?” Britt is all but pressed against Chase. His hands are in his front pockets, and he has a disconnected look on his face.
“A week from Friday,” he says bored. He moves to Lacey, and together they let out a deep breath.
“You’ll text me if you need me to pick you up?” Lacey asks as she fishes out her keys from her messenger bag. I nod. “OK,” she exhales. They turn and make their way to the parking lot together. Chase tilts his head toward her, and she chuckles at whatever he says. I turn my attention back to Britt. She’s watching them leave too.
“He is so fine,” she breathes. “What does he see in her? No offense. Gawd, the things I could do to him.”
“You have a boyfriend; leave him alone. Let’s go,” I say, rolling my eyes, grabbing her arm, and leading her away from their direction, though I don’t know where she’s parked.
We hit up the quicky mart, and end up hanging out on the sidewalk until our big gulps are gone. Britt likes making fun of the people as they fill up their cars.
“Hello, 1985 called; they want their perm back,” she says as a woman with fried, frizzy hair goes in to pay. I smile wryly as she lights a cigarette. I want one too, but unlike Britt I look fifteen. Dredhead comes out, sits beside me on the sidewalk, and also lights up. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches us out of the corner of his eye. “Maybe you should invest in a muffler!” Britt calls to a truck that starts up and immediately backfires. Todd chuckles and takes a long drag.
“What are your plans this Friday?” he asks once he’s done and snuffs his cigarette out on the pavement. I look at Britt as she surveys us.
“Who knows, but whatever it is, it’s going to be cosmic,” I smile, knowing she’s probably not exaggerating.
I sneak into the house. Dinner finished hours ago. I didn’t think Britt would keep me out so long. We stopped by McDonalds where Jade was working drive-thru. She gave us some free happy meals and large teas. I hear my dad in the family room watching his favorite show, American Choppers. As I climb the stairs, low music drifts from under Lacey’s door. My parents’ bedroom door is shut and probably locked. I’m not sure what my mom does in there so long every day, but when she gets home from work, she usually goes straight to their room. I notice my dad’s dress pants lying across the bottom of the bed in the guest bedroom. That’s odd. I go to my pale pink and green bedroom and shut the door. It still looks the same with white shabby chic furniture a soft floral duvet covering my fluffy down comforter, and refinished hardwood floors like the rest of the entire house. It’s the room of a popular princess girl. I need a remodel; this is not how I feel anymore. I don’t have a lock on my door or my bathroom anymore. Mom removed all the razors, sharp scissors, and other dama
ging sharp objects before I came home from rehab. We go monthly to her salon to get waxed, and Dad uses an electric shaver now. I drag my desk chair over to the door and hook it under the knob. Then I go to my window seat and raise my window. My bedroom windows face the street. I climb out onto the roof over the porch and sit in front of my window. From behind the eaves, I pull out my makeshift ashtray of a red plastic Solo cup with water in it. Every few days, I flush all the evidence down my toilet and refill my cup. I pull out my pack and light up. I inhale deeply and blow it toward the clouds in the purple sky as the sun sets in front of me.
“Those things will kill you.” I hear the snarky voice of my neighbor, Macy Emmits, Henry’s little sister. I close my eyes to keep them from rolling at her. This is my sanctuary that she is defiling. Finally, I look over at her and see her sitting on her porch with a composition book in one hand and a pen in the other. Beside her sits a plate with a half-eaten sandwich. Macy used to be cool. Following in her brother’s footsteps, she skateboards, surfs, any extreme sport. I guess she’s still OK, but ever since I fell from my pedestal, everyone has shunned me. Her pitying looks always follow me down the halls. I have heard the whispering that she and her friends make and can only imagine what they say. I look at her, like, really look at her. She has sandy brown hair like her brother, but it’s cut in a pixie cut shorter than his. She’s wearing faded jeans with holes in them and a spaghetti-strapped, white tank top that makes her tan skin golden. Her Doc Martins are scuffed up. She has blue eyes that are taking me in, assessing me. I roll my eyes at her, and she smirks.
“I’m quitting after this pack,” I say as I put my makeshift ashtray back in its hiding spot.
“That’s what they all say,” she yawns. “My uncle has lung cancer, but then, he didn’t just smoke cigarettes.” She raises her eyebrows at me.
“Well, as nice as your concern is, it’s none of your business,” I say with venom in my voice, and I stare at her hard for a long moment; she meets my look, but begins to smile. Finally, I raise my window and move to climb back inside.
“I like your hair by the way,” she calls after me. I wave her off and climb in my window.
“Freak,” I say under my breath, but then I wonder if I’m talking about her or me.
Lacey
I’m really nervous to go to my first day of work. I change my outfit twice, settling for a black pencil skirt and a yellow sleeveless, ruffled blouse that I stole from my mom’s closet. I figure she already stays mad at me most of the time, so what is one more thing on the list; that is, of course, if I get caught, and I have no intention of getting caught. (insert evil villain laugh here) Besides she won’t be home for another few hours, and then she’ll go straight to her room. I drive my cherry-red-love-of-my-life Chevelle to the video store and park on the last row. I take a deep breath and text Chase tell him to wish me luck. He does, and that calms me. I grab my purse containing all the documentation that Jessica asked me to bring. I go inside where there are two people working the registers, one I recognize as Vanessa from the other day. There is a line of customers waiting to check out, so I stand there quietly. I begin watching a little girl as she plays a game of trying to slip a jumbo box of Mike and Ikes into her mom’s hand. Her mom keeps putting it back in the display only to have the little girl take it again and give it to her mom. Her face is round and her eyes are large baby blue. I smile, and she’s distracted by me only a moment before she returns to the game.
“Lacey, right?” Vanessa asks. She has dull red hair, brown eyes, and a spray of freckles across her cheeks and nose, but her skin is very pale.
“Yes, I’m looking for Jessica,” I say, suddenly a little nervous. She offers a smile and points to the back. I weave my way through the stacks of videos. I take a deep breath before I enter the back room. Jessica is entering her office with two ID’S and social security cards fanned between her fingers, but she turns around suddenly when she sees me.
“Hi,” she says cheerfully.
“Hi, I have my ID’s if you want them too.” I begin fishing in my purse for my wallet.
“That would be great.” She waits for me to produce them and then motions for me to follow her as she goes to her desk and moves her mouse to bring her computer to life. She places each set of ID’s on the scanner and scans. When she’s done, I follow her to the break room and gasp. As we approach, I hear a boy’s voice say, “And then Stacey said she’d never eat there again. Can you see it, heaving in a dumpster?” Henry catches my eye while he’s in the middle of taking a drink and spews it across the table; his face instantly reddens as he jumps up and rushes to the counter to grab a stack of napkins. Byron’s laughter fades, and his smile turns into a frown when he notices me. With all the commotion, it takes me a moment to realize Henry has cut his hair. I mean, the top is still sort of long from the side part to the tip of his ears, but the rest is faded up to it. He looks a little bit like a church boy, and I can’t help but stare at him. He looks at me one more time, almost as if not believing that I’m there. He whips his head to the side out of habit from having long bangs.
“Lacey, you can sit there,” Jessica, says not noticing anything as she points to the seat across from the boys. I take it and avoid both of their eyes. “If you all can fill this paperwork out, we can get started.” She continues as she passes out to us a packet of papers. More paperwork? We each take them, and I dig out three pens from my purse.
“Do you guys need a pen?” I ask testing the water, mainly to see if I need to continue my search for a new job.
“Sure,” Byron says, but he doesn’t look at me as he snatches it from my fist.
Henry just stares at me hard before he nods. I pass his to him across the table, avoiding any contact, and we work in silence. The only sound is the scribbling of our pens. I steal glances at Henry, but he’s focused on his work, furrowing his brows in concentration. Byron and I finish at the same time. We stand together, and he looks annoyed at me. I follow him to Jessica’s office where we hand her our papers.
“Go on out to the floor and get acquainted with the layout while we wait for Henry. I’m just working on next week’s schedule,” she says, waving us off.
“My friend’s band is playing a gig next Friday. If it works out, I’d like to go to it?” I ask shyly. I don’t want to seem difficult before I even start because then I might be looking for a new job for a reason other than Henry.
“That shouldn’t be a problem; thanks for letting me know,” Jessica says, again dismissing us. We go, and I’m in the middle of the store before I remember that I didn’t put my purse in the bin she showed me when I interviewed and she gave me the tour. As I move toward the break room, I hear Henry in Jessica’s office.
“It’s not that I’m trying to be difficult; I’d just prefer not to work with her, and we have . . . history.” I pause, feeling blindsided even though in the back of my mind I expected this.
“Henry, I’ll do my best, but I can’t guarantee anything. You will have to work with her through training and after that probably some shifts.”
“I understand. I really want to work here, so whatever you can work out would be appreciated.” He comes out of the office and almost slams into me.
“Sorry,” I say, though I’m not sure if it’s for being in his way now, or for last spring when he fell for me as Farrah and also as me.
He shoves past me and mumbles, “Whatever,” as he pushes through the door. I quickly put my purse up and return to the floor to learn the lay of the land.
At the end of the shift Henry and Byron leave so fast it makes my head spin. I take my time making sure to give them space in the parking lot. When I arrive home, Henry is sitting on his porch. I take a deep breath as I get out of the car. I’m not sure why he still makes me nervous; maybe it’s because I know, really know, how he still feels about me. I don’t like the way it feels knowing someone who was so important to me just
a few months ago detests me. It surprises me when he stands and walks toward me. I brace myself.
“You need to get another job,” he says as he approaches me. His still beautiful green eyes are narrowed. His statement takes me off guard. I mean, sure I was thinking the same thing all night, especially every time I caught him looking at me. In fact, tonight is the first night that he’s given me this much attention since he thought I was Farrah. A part of me is over being treated like an outcast by him. I’m a freakin’ butterfly; mature now; I grew up from my stupid mistake. I get it I guess, but the way he treats me make him ugly.
Mia Castile - [The Butterfly Chronicles 02] Page 4
