by M. C. Cerny
“What’s that, honey?” Mrs. Bryant, Jolene, or Momma Number Two to me pulled sugar cookies out of the oven. She was wearing a polka dot apron and mitts that looked worn around the edges, like her dented cookie trays from years of love and use. Her honey-blond hair was piled up in a neat little bun with wisps escaping the sides just like Taylor’s did, while she set out to make more cookies, letting the air smell like heated sugar. Taylor was the spitting image of her mother, give it a few decades and I could see Taylor doing this same thing with kids of her own.
“I bet he picks his nose when no one is looking.” I was huffing and puffing in a full-on teenage snit. I’d had to walk through the side yard without my shoes. My shoes were in the house because Chase was busy sticking his tongue down some girl’s throat, probably on an expedition to her tonsils. I heard there were socks you put on doorknobs for that sort of stuff. Next time I would make sure his sweaty football socks were everywhere.
“Boys are disgusting,” I husked out, talking more to myself than Taylor’s mom, settling myself at the kitchen bar and twirling on the stool until I came to a full stop. A plate of cookies magically appeared in front of me. A deep breath and I was centered once again in the warm kitchen with my best friend’s mom, who actually gave me the time to listen to my complaints as if they were the most important problems in the world. She made me feel like world hunger came second to my feelings, and I loved her for it.
“Oh honey, I’m sure he doesn’t pick his nose. Does he?” She shook her head like the thought was one she’d rather not have while cooking, and continued talking. “Boys are a bit dense at this age. He’ll come around when you’re older, I promise. Sometimes they’re like dough—they need work and to cook for a bit.”
She smiled, placing a piping-hot cookie on my plate. I’d never understand how moms could do that—just grab burning-hot food and dish it out to us kids like it didn’t melt off their fingerprints like on CSI: Miami. Compared to my mother whose cookie sheets still had the stickers on them from Williams & Sonoma. My mom was a lawyer. Maternal instinct wasn’t in her DNA, unless you considered her ferociousness inside a courtroom working for her clients.
I was pretty sure my mother hadn’t used the stainless steel double oven since they redid our kitchen five years ago for a housewarming party, even though we’ve lived in the house over ten years now. Parents could be such a drag sometimes. But Taylor’s mom was the bomb. I could sit there in the kitchen all day with her, watching her cook and inject love into everything she did.
I picked up the cookie, eagerly taking a bite, and the sugar-sweet dough scalded my mouth. “Oww!” Not wanting to spit it out, I cupped my mouth, blowing air in and out and hoping I hadn’t done irreparable damage to the tissue inside my mouth.
“Kristen,” Mrs. Bryant chided me, sliding over a glass of milk before imparting more of her incredible mom wisdom I wished my mom had time for. It wasn’t that my mother didn’t love us; she just wasn’t biologically disposed to being motherly. It was entirely possible that instinctual gene bypassed her altogether.
“And just because they’ve cooked doesn’t mean they’re ready to eat, either.” Her hand covered mine with a gentle squeeze. “Most need to cool a bit.”
“Is that why they’re so complicated?” I asked, letting my lips tremble and wiping back tears.
“You are so young.” She brushed a messy layer of my hair back as a gentle smile creased her face that seemed to remain ageless, and I knew she cared. “You’re my impulsive one, Kristen. The two of you are as close to fire and ice as you can get.” She patted my hand again. “Give him time to cool his jets.” And just like that I was in awe of how much my best friend’s mom made sense. Time and space were exactly what we needed, even if it sucked.
“Mrs. Bryant, can I sleep over tonight?” The last place I wanted to be was home feeling lonely in a full house. Mom would be holed up in her office reviewing briefs while Dad would be parked on the couch with Chase and some of the other boys on the team, watching football highlights and analyzing plays.
She nodded. “Make sure you ask your parents. You know our door is always open.”
I’d tell them, but I doubted they would hear me as I slipped back over here for the night.
“Great.” I slid off the stool and bounced next door, yelling into my house before grabbing my emergency sleepover bag I kept ready to stay over at Taylor’s house. I should have probably had a drawer, or at least a dozen hangers, in her closet by then. Sharing clothes wasn’t a big deal for us anyway.
* * * * *
“I’m pretty sure this isn’t what I had in mind when you said ‘let’s go to the Burrito Barn.’”
Taylor pulled my shirt and I leaned back to hiss, “Tay-Tay, don’t be a boring boulder. Besides, the guys are going to be here.”
“Then why did we have to walk across town?” She yawned, elaborating. “We could have seen them tomorrow, no?”
“No, tomorrow would have been too late.” My bestie rolled her eyes so I explained, “Because our bicycles are locked in the garage and they make too much noise. Did you want sirens to announce us?”
“No, of course not, but I would have worn my gym sneakers instead of ballet flats to traipse around for miles.”
“I bet Hunter will be here.”
Hunter and his cousin were inseparable, and I could’ve bet the pretty soon he’d also be playing on the football team with Damien.
“You think so?”
I knew it: my best friend had a huge crush on the new kid, who also happened to be Damien’s cousin.
I had been standing in the locker room during our gym period, waiting to fix my makeup, when I’d overheard Becky say they were all meeting at the Burrito Barn for late-night enchiladas and ice cream from the stand next door. I didn’t want us to miss out—plus Taylor’s parents were so trusting they didn’t bother locking the house in our small town, even after 10 p.m., meaning I could sleepover and we could sneak out on a Friday night without having to worry about getting caught. It was a perfect plan, in my opinion.
“Hey look, everyone is here.” I pointed to the group sitting at the outdoor tables, chowing down. The boys had huge plates while the girls—some older and most of whom I knew from my cheer squad—picked at nachos, pretending to diet. Bitches.
“Kristen.” I looked up to see my brother release some girl from the clutches of his lips. It was gross; I was going to suggest a new brand of lip balm if he kept this up.
“You left Dad reviewing football clips at home?” I crossed my arms tapping my foot.
He laughed at me lifting his shoulders nonchalantly. “I told him I had a date.” Winking, he squeezed the girl whose name I didn’t know, even though she looked vaguely familiar. Maybe he met her playing a game somewhere, I didn’t know. She could have gone to another school in Gardener or Poughkeepsie, which was irrelevant.
I did, however, look down and notice she was wearing these open-toed flat shoes. It was still warm for early fall, but I realized her nail polish wasn’t purple. It was a sleek clear glitter that sparkled in the overhead streetlamp. So whoever she was, she wasn’t the girl my brother had been lip locked with at our house earlier today.
“Hmm, okay.” Musing, I wondered who was who. Glancing to the left, I watched Becky give the girl an evil stare down. Something was up, but it wasn’t my business. If Chase wanted to piss off Becky, that was his problem.
“Sleepover?” he asked and I nodded, linking arms with Taylor next to me.
“Yes.” Chase seemed to approve—not that I needed him to. He was still an asshole much of the time, but he did look out for me, which was better than our parents.
“Hey girls.” Hunter called us over and I pushed Taylor forward. Her hot hunk was looking her over discreetly, but I could tell. He was so obvious sometimes, looking like a kicked puppy when Taylor walked into a room. She stumbled and half turned to glare at me before righting herself and walking over to the table where Hunter and Damien were sittin
g, surrounded by other athletes and girls.
We nodded to them and Hunter got out of his seat, clearing his plate. He made room for Taylor to sit down and elbowed Damien to do the same for me. Damien rolled his eyes but a look passed between them and he got up.
“You want anything?” Hunter was speaking to Taylor, who mutely nodded no thank you as a blush crept up the back of her neck. Grunting, his let his hand linger toward her back but never touched her as he continued talking to Noah Banks and Evan Rooney from the football team. The boys sported their varsity jackets, and the girls who were there hung on them like they were the moon and stars.
“Who let you out of you cage tonight?” Damien nudged me, finally letting me take the seat next to Taylor, and I glowered back.
“Har-har, real funny, Demon. I see Satan let you out of hell. Good behavior?”
He shook his head at me. I knew he had detention after school that day and he laughed it off. Our principal was a tough guy, and Damien got in trouble just enough to be on probation with the football team and my dad the coach—but not enough to get kicked off because was actually a good player. I don’t know how he managed it.
“I wrote my essay and apologized profusely. I will never again use my hall pass to skip class and have a second lunch.”
“Your mom packs you guys extra food.” And she did. Mrs. Hart fed those boys like she was housing an army in their house.
“I’m not there for food. I’m there for the science club.”
“Eww. You’re getting the girls to do your homework, aren’t you?” He would too.
“What?” He held his hands out like he was completely innocent, but I knew different. “Would you have done it?” he asked and I didn’t think he meant just his homework right then. He’d bribe and cajole anyone into doing his homework if he could. There was a time when I would have fallen for it too.
“You’re disgusting, Damien Hart.” I picked at my cuticle, trying to ignore him.
“That’s not what you said—”
I held up my hand, cutting him off. “Shut up.”
He stopped talking and gave me a wink, getting up from the table to stand with his teammates. I refused to think of my past lapse in judgment where he was concerned.
From a distance, Evan Rooney waved at me and I waved back weakly before superficially participating in the conversation at the table with Taylor and some other acquaintances from school. Damien had been reminding me of a stolen kiss we’d shared under the bleachers. I curled my toes in my shoes under the table thinking about it. I licked my top lip, remembering the fruit-flavored lip gloss I was wearing and how shivery he’d made me feel trailing his hands up and down my arms that day in the shade under the stands before he ran off to football practice. We hadn’t discussed it, what it meant or anything, but I thought about it often and wondered. I still wondered, but now was not the time for that discussion. I glanced over at my best friend. I hadn’t even told her. I was hoarding the moment all to myself. Sometimes I felt like a big jerk keeping such a huge secret from her, but I wasn’t ready to tell the world—well, tell them what exactly, I didn’t know.
Becky interrupted my thoughts, sitting down hard enough to jar the table. “So I see your brother picked up some Ball Bunny from Gardener.” Her voice had a nasal quality to it that reminded me of nails on a chalkboard.
“It looks that way,” I told her.
We were and we weren’t friends, strictly speaking. Becky harbored some weird dislike of me because I was on the cheer squad and lived with my brother, the unspoken town football god. As if that was somehow my fault.
“Is he serious about her?”
“Who?” I looked back to the girl hanging all over him like a tree sloth, wondering if she would grow mossing staying on him like that all night.
“Her name is Melody.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I wasn’t privy to all of the details of my brother’s life. We weren’t each other’s keepers, that was for sure.
“I hope he’s not asking her to homecoming.” She tapped her fingers on the wooden picnic table and I looked at her hands, willing them to stop. That’s when I saw the same chipped purple nail polish from earlier, only now it was on hands and not feet. Ugh. So she was the girl Chase had been making out with, and now he had some Melody chick here. This was going to be a teenage Breakfast Club clusterfuck once the gossip got out.
“You know, I’m not sure except that he’s playing in the game.” I fake smiled when Hunter joined us again, interrupting the awkward silence. Thank God for Hunter Hart.
“Are you girls walking back?” Hunter leaned in, interrupting us. He had his hands on Taylor’s shoulders, kneading them gently, and my bestie looked like she was going to fall asleep, leaning back and yawning. She snuggled her head on my shoulder and I knew I taking Cinderella out past her bedtime was a risk. She wasn’t faking it, which made it humorous because she was practically a narcoleptic going to bed early every night. Looking at my watch, I saw the time. It was late and Hunter was being Mr. Over-Protective as usual. I didn’t understand why they weren’t a couple.
“Yes,” I said, helping to right Taylor in her seat.
“Well, let’s go Damien.” Hunter helped Taylor, who looked like she was drunk when we weren’t old enough for alcohol. I watched the girls with our group give her evil looks which I matched them with my own. Nobody gave my best friend the stink eye.
“Going home?” Chase called out to me and I turned, watching my brother extricate himself from the girl with octopus arms and sparkly nail polish.
“Yeah.” I waved him off. He would stay out because no one at home would miss us.
“We got this, Chase.” Damien walked with us and the four us made our way back along the uneven sidewalk and looming trees whose leaves were turning the first shades of red and gold.
Damian and Hunter walked us to the backdoor of Taylor’s house. Hunter’s instructions were to lock the door behind them when they left. I didn’t ask if they were going back to the Burrito Barn, I would know soon enough on Monday morning when we returned to school.
6
Damien
High School
“Why the hell are we going to the diner when we could have gone bowling tonight?” I nudged Hunter, who looked more distracted than usual. The bowling alley in Poughkeepsie was having two lanes for one that night, with music and free food. I already had my shoes, and I’d given Hunter my dad’s so we could go, but five minutes into the drive he turned the truck around and headed back to town.
“Because I want to go to the diner, that’s why.” His eyes were focused on the road when I heard the nagging voice of Pebbles from the backseat.
“Oooh, I want cheese fries,” Kristen says from the back of the truck as Hunter drives.
“You’ll get whatever I order, wench.”
“Oh please, I have my own money, Demon.” She pushed my shoulder and I faked leaning forward. She couldn’t budge me if she tried, but I let her have a small win. Kristen hadn’t called me by my given name in years. The hate was strong with this one.
“She’s on a date,” Hunter growled.
“Who?” Kristen and I glanced at each other confused before we looked at Hunter.
“Taylor Jane.”
“Wait, so I’m missing bowling so you can check up on the girl you swear you don’t like?” I asked.
“I don’t like her like that.” For some reason I didn’t believe my cousin. He didn’t lie, ever, but it felt like some massive bullshit to me when he continued to mumble. “Fucking ginger-haired soccer player.”
“Ooookay. Well are we going to eat then?” My stomach grumbled. I wasn’t picky either way but I would get a meal out of this somewhere.
“If that’s what you want,” he said noncommittally, pulling into the diner’s parking lot and taking up a spot in the back by the stinky dumpsters.
We got out of the truck and followed Hunter inside, who seemed hell-bent on some mission he refused to elaborate o
n. He stopped short and turned right back around, going outside and almost knocking me over.
“Dude, what the hell?” I called out to him but he brushed me off and shouted he would be inside in a minute—some excuse about re-parking the truck. Now that I knew was bullshit but I wasn’t about to argue with him right then. Kristen and I shrugged his weirdness off and went inside. I saw the obvious culprit: Jeremy Dolan stuffing his face with food.
“Hey buddy.” I sat down next to him, giving him a bro-hug that pretty much said the date was over with a squeeze of my arms around his skinny shoulders. Hunter could grumble from afar but I’d put the physical action behind my words. I wasn’t sure if we were on a rescue Taylor mission or a keep Hunter from killing mission.
“What are you doing here?” Taylor whispered, glaring. She and Kristen picked up the conversation while I chatted with Jeremy over sports in general. The waitress, Joyce, brought over some soup of some kind and I waited for Hunter to materialize since it was his brilliant idea to drive there and interrupt what looked like a completely innocent date between Jeremy and Taylor. This kid wasn’t going to be making the moves on TJ if he knew what was good for him.
“Hey, where’s Hunter?” I asked, looking around.
“I don’t know. He’s your cousin,” Kristen snapped back, aiming her fork at me with a threat to emasculate me if I let her. Sometimes she was a real man-eater.
“Yeah, and he drove us here, wench. Wasn’t he parking the truck?”
Kristen shook her head and Taylor shifted in the crowded booth, pushing Becky out, a panicky look in her eyes.
“Be right back,” she said.
Jeremy watched her get up, looking a little too starry-eyed even for my liking. Kristen glared at me and I nodded, knowing we should probably discuss this strangeness before Hunter, Taylor, or both of them came back to the table.
