The Bright Effect

by Autumn Doughton

  “Amelia, I’ve told you already. Guys like me don’t go to college. We don’t become graphic designers or artists.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not from London or New York. I’m just a poor kid from the middle of nowhere South Carolina who’s trying his hardest to raise a little boy up to be something other than an asshole. I’ll be lucky if I can get a job as a mechanic or as the produce manager at the Piggly Wiggly when we graduate.”

  “You don’t see yourself clearly.”

  “And you do?”

  An inadvertently sexy smile twists at her lips. “I’m starting to.”

  “And?”

  She leans in closer—so close that I can feel her breath on my neck and the little tiny hairs that have fallen from her braid tickle my face. “I want to see more. I want to know more.”

  “More?”

  “Everything,” she says, softly kissing my jaw.

  “Everything?”

  “Mmhmm…” Her eyes search mine. “For starters—Coke or Pepsi?”

  I crack a smile. “Coke.”

  “Pancakes or waffles?”

  It takes me a second to choose this one. “Both are damn good but I’ll go with waffles.”

  “Tattoos or piercings?”

  “Piercings,” I say, eyeing the small gold studs in her earlobes.

  “Roller skates or rollerblades?”

  “Neither.”

  Laughing, Amelia tells me, “That’s not an acceptable answer.”

  “Well, can I say skateboard? Does that count?”

  “Okay, just this once, the judges will make an exception and take skateboard.”

  “Good. So is it my turn yet?”

  “Go for it.”

  “Okay…” Damn, coming up with these is harder than I thought it would be. “Day or night?”

  “Night.”

  “Sweet or sour?”

  She makes a face. “Sweet. Is that even a real choice?”

  I laugh, point taken. “Lake or beach?”

  “Are you going to be at this beach with me?”

  “If you want me to.” Even I hear the uncertainty in my voice—it’s still hard to believe that this girl is actually mine.

  “Then I’m definitely going with the beach,” she says, flicking her tongue into my mouth and driving me over the edge.

  Sliding my hands around her waist, I anchor her to my chest and kiss her back with all of the longing pent up inside of me. She meets me there, kissing me hard and running her hands down my back to my hips almost feverishly.

  This surprises me because up until now, aside from our teasing and a couple of PG-13 moments, Amelia and I have been taking things slow. And I’m good with slow. But I’m good with this too.

  Hell, with Amelia, anything and everything works for me.

  The kiss deepens as she climbs onto my lap and moves her hands up the nape of my neck into my hair. She’s not wearing her customary leggings and her skirt is bunched up, showing areas of her thighs that I’ve never seen before. I feel desperate, almost shaky as I touch her there, letting my fingers explore her warm skin until I can hardly breathe.

  There is one question I have to ask her. I think I know the answer and it’s hella awkward to put it out there, but I need to be positive. Her heart is beating so fast and hard that I can feel it beneath my fingers.

  “Amelia, have you ever—”

  “Look at me!”

  Shiiiiiit.

  Amelia’s muscles tense, her head snaps back, and she scrambles off of me as Carter runs at us from his room at full speed repeatedly yelling, Look at me! Look at me! from behind a red and gold plastic mask.

  Your timing could not be worse, bud,” I pant, adjusting my position on the couch and sucking in a tight breath for composure.

  “Bash, this outfit is so cool. I haven’t tried to fly but I might be able to!”

  “What are you?” Amelia asks, discreetly rearranging her skirt so that nothing is out of place.

  Carter puts one hand out and puffs his chest out in his best superhero impression. “I’m Iron Man.”

  “Carter, we’re not going trick or treating until after dinner. Not even if you start to fly.”

  “But why can’t we go now? I’m ready.”

  “It’s not even lunch yet and no one starts handing out candy until after dark. You’ve got hours until showtime.”

  He tugs the mask off, showing us his pink and sweaty face. “Amelia, are you coming trick or treating with us?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  He jumps up and down in excitement. “Yeah! What’s your costume?”

  “Umm… Do I need one?”

  His face changes and he wrinkles up his nose. “Of course you need a costume. They won’t give you any candy if you go out in your regular clothes.”

  “I guess I could wear my candy corn leggings.”

  I laugh.

  Her forehead creases. “What?”

  “Only you would have candy corn leggings,” I say, lifting my hand and touching the pink that blossoms on her face.

  Carter shakes his head. “Leggings aren’t going to get you the good candy.”

  “Well, what about you?” she questions me.

  “Bash is boring,” Carter tells her with superiority. “And he’s wearing the same thing as last year. It’s just a shirt that says ‘Nudist on strike.’ I don’t even know what that means. It’s so dumb, but I know you can do better, Amelia.”

  “Well…” She looks at me for help but I’m not going to get her out of this. I would pay good money to see what Amelia Bright comes up with for a Halloween costume at the last minute.

  “Yeah, Amelia,” I say, grinning in amusement. “What’s your costume?”

  “I don’t think I can tell you because it’s top secret.”

  “Top secret?” I ask, pretending to be impressed. “That sounds serious.”

  She arches an eyebrow at me. “Oh it is. Just you wait.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Amelia

  “What is this?”

  “Huh?” I spin away from the bed and see Daphne peeking her head into my room. “What’s what?”

  She sucks her cheeks into the sides of her mouth and takes a tentative step across the threshold. “Is Nancy doing a charity clothing drive that I don’t know about?”

  “Oh.” I sigh and take in the mound of discarded clothes on the floor by my feet. It’s like my closet got sick and threw up. “Sebastian’s little brother invited me to go trick or treating with them so I’m raiding all my stuff to find something brilliant for a costume tonight.”

  She sits on the edge of my bed. “That sounds fun.”

  I shrug. “It will be if I can figure out what to wear.”

  Daphne laughs, but it’s a tired and distracted sound. “So you guys…?”

  “You mean Sebastian and me?”

  “Yeah? Seems like you’re pretty into him.”

  “I like him. A lot.” Truly, like doesn’t cover it. Every single moment I spend with Sebastian makes my heart crack open a little wider. Pretty soon I figure he’ll be able to move in and make a home for himself there. “He makes me feel—God, I don’t know how to describe it.”

  “Happy?” she supplies.

  “The happiest.”

  “That’s really good.”

  “I never thought I’d be one of those girls but it’s right with him. And even though it’s been less than a month it somehow seems like things have always been this way. I didn’t think that could ever happen to me.”

  “Amelia, your voice is gooey and you’re dangerously close to swooning.”

  “I might be.”

  “He gives you butterflies?”

  “More like a tornado.”

  “Sa-woon.” My sister smiles at me and it suddenly hits me that we’re having a real conversation.

  “Daphne, are we talking again?” I ask cautiously.

  “I want to be talking.”

  “I wan
t that too,” I say, sinking down beside her on the bed. “I’m sorry about the way things have been with us. I think about it all of the time, but I don’t know what to do to fix it.”

  “No, it’s me, Amelia. I’ve been such a brat.”

  “You’re not a brat.”

  Her voice becomes heavy, “No, I am. And I don’t know...it’s just...I think you might have been right about Spencer.”

  My ribcage compresses, squeezing my lungs. “Did he hurt you again?”

  She blinks and recoils. “Not physically.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I kinda, sorta, maybe hijacked his phone two nights ago while he was in the bathroom.”

  “So you snooped?”

  “I snooped,” she admits. “And I found out that he’s been texting this girl, Maggie. I think it’s the same Maggie who graduated a couple of years ahead of us.”

  “Maggie Fitzpatrick?”

  “That’s her. At least, I think that’s who it is.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way.”

  “Were the texts—you know—damning?”

  “It could’ve been nothing. I didn’t get a chance to read all of the messages before he got back, but there was enough there that I’ve got a really bad feeling about the whole thing.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” She takes a quick breath for courage. “I didn’t want to tell you this before but Spencer has gotten into some stuff that I don’t want to be a part of.”

  “Drugs?”

  “I think so. Steroids or pills or… something. I’m not sure.”

  “I kind of knew but I didn’t want to believe it was true,” I tell her. “So, what are you going to do now?”

  “I’m going to do the same thing I’ve been doing since Thursday night. I’m going to avoid his calls and all of his fake excuses.”

  “You two are done?”

  “We’re done.” She sounds so self-assured that I almost believe her.

  “You seem confident about it.”

  “I am,” she says. “I feel better than I have in a long time. I feel like me. Spencer can take his popularity and his adoring fan club with him. I won’t miss it one bit.”

  “Wow. That’s…. just wow. Good for you.”

  She laughs at my shock. “But enough about Spencer. He’s taken enough time and I don’t want him to suck up another second of my life,” she says, sitting up straighter. “And it sounds like you and I have super important things to discuss.”

  “Like what?”

  Daphne points an accusatory finger at the pile of clothes. “Like, what’s your costume going to be?”

  “Um, at this point I’m thinking nothing.”

  “Are you saying you want to be completely naked or just Lady Gaga naked? My guess is that Sebastian will be into it either way.”

  I laugh. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “You could wear my cheerleading outfit,” she suggests.

  “I’m not sure your cheer outfit is much better than being naked.”

  She rolls her eyes. “We’ll have to go shopping.”

  “But the only costumes left will be the sexy nurse or stripper fairy get-ups and neither of those sound remotely appealing. Not to mention that I’m taking a first grader trick or treating,” I point out. “I don’t want him to be faced with lacy garters and ridiculous cleavage the entire night.”

  “Then we have to get a little more creative.”

  “Um, what do you have in mind?”

  In answer, she just flashes me a mischievous smile.

  “Seriously, Daphne. What are you planning?”

  ***

  An hour later, I’m standing on a scratched-up wooden platform in the dressing room at the back of a local thrift store wearing a smelly wedding dress. It’s so frothy that it could put a cappuccino to shame.

  “Ugh, now I really do look like the Bride of Frankenstein. You can’t even deny it.”

  Daphne turns around and inspects my reflection in the mirror. “True, but that’s what we’re going for this time. See,” she says, lifting up the hem of the dress and fluffing it out even more, “we’ll pick up some fake blood and white stage makeup and voila! It’s your monster wedding day.”

  I pull at one of the enormous white satin bows attached to a bell-shaped sleeve. “I don’t know about this.”

  “Okay, I get that it might be too much,” she says as she backs away. “Just give me another minute. I haven’t even browsed the sleepwear section yet.”

  “Oh God, sleepwear? What could there possibly be for me to try on in sleepwear?”

  As it turns out, Daphne thinks there’s a lot. First she dresses me in a pair of flannel footie pajamas thinking that she’ll send me out tonight as one of Santa’s elves or Outdoorsy Barbie. When that doesn’t pan out, she forces me into a sheer nightie that she’s matched with lime green pleather leggings.

  “And what’s this look supposed to be?”

  “Maybe an eighties rocker?”

  I guffaw. “It’s more prostitute than rocker.”

  “Well, what about—ohmigod, I have an idea!” She drops the canary yellow bathrobe and insane cat slippers she’s carrying and dashes from the fitting room.

  “Daphne?” I’d chase after her, but I’m still wearing the nightie and I am not about to show the other shoppers what my bra looks like.

  Crap.

  Daphne lets out a loud and gleeful whoop when she resurfaces from the racks of junk and musty coats.

  “Check it out!” She’s holding up some old hunk of black metal that upon closer inspection I realize is a Polaroid camera. An ancient one.

  “Is that for my costume?”

  “No, it’s for me. This is for you,” she says, handing me an ugly black and white patterned dress.

  “Are those cats?” I ask, eyeing the dress with suspicion.

  “Yes! I spotted it earlier but I couldn’t think of how to use it in a costume. Then when I saw the yellow bathrobe and those perfect cat slippers, I just knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “Crazy. Cat. Lady.”

  “You're joking.”

  “Why would I joke? This idea is both appropriate and hilariously hideous.”

  “Couldn’t I just be a hobo?”

  “Nope. Cat Lady all the way. You’re doing this, Amelia.”

  “Well, I do have cat leggings. They’re rainbow colored.”

  “See? I can’t even handle it.” Daphne drapes the bathrobe over my shoulders and pretends to snap my picture with the old camera. “Also, I think I need to buy this thing.”

  “It’s so old you could probably donate it to the Smithsonian.”

  “A camera like this doesn’t belong in a stuffy museum. It belongs with me, taking pictures of the world like it was meant to. It’s special.”

  “How do you know it works?”

  “I don’t, but it’s fun regardless. And since it’s only like four dollars, the upside completely outweighs the downside.”

  “Even if it does work, you’ll never be able to find film for it,” I predict.

  “Just watch me. It’ll be perfect for our road trip,” she says, putting the strap over her neck and pulling her phone from her purse. “Hey, do you want me to text Audra to see if she can meet us at Annie May’s for coffee?”

  “And a pumpkin cream cheese muffin?”

  “Now you’re talking. I’m going to get two of those muffins.”

  “Two?”

  “They’re seasonal and I’m recovering from the demise of a bad relationship,” she reasons with a shrug as she sends the text.

  Audra’s lightning fast response makes Daphne laugh.

  “What did she say?”

  She shakes her head and passes the phone to me. “See for yourself.”

  Audra: Wooohoo! The band is back together. You bitches are not allowed to break up again. GET IT?

  And a second text sent right after the first.

/>   Audra: And YES to Annie May’s. Order me one of those whipped cream deals and tell them I want extra whipped cream. Actually, just get me a huge cup of nothing but whipped cream. And I want a chocolate muffin. I srsly deserve it after dealing with you 2 fools. SEE YA in 10!

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Bash

  My aunt and uncle live on the northern end of the Charleston peninsula where the rambling historic mansions that you would see in the touristy carriage rides below Broad Street give way to smaller craftsman style houses and carriage homes hidden from the street by azalea bushes and flourishing Crepe Myrtles.

  Real estate in this part of town has to be expensive, but Mike and Denise are both software designers and from what I can tell, they do well for themselves. A few years ago they discovered a boarding house that had been converted into trendy, high-end townhomes and they unloaded Mike’s fishing boat so that they could put a downpayment on the three-story unit right there on the end.

  These days Mike bikes to work and my aunt stays home and works from an office she set up on the third floor. Last fall they adopted a golden retriever from a shelter and named him Dakota and Mike decided to add a fence and paint the boards white. Now all they need is two point five kids and they’ll be living out the American Dream.

  “Bash, you’re here.” Denise has the forest green front door open before I can step from my truck to the curb. “I’ll tell Mike to put on the hamburgers.”

  Her head disappears for a moment and when she comes back, I ask her, “How’s Carter? Did he have fun?”

  “Yes!” It’s the little man himself, barrelling out the front door and flying down the uneven brick walkway.

  I catch him with my arms and swing him around. “I missed you, bud.”

  “I was only here for two days.”

  “I can still miss you,” I say, releasing him. “It’s lonely at the house when you’re gone.”

  “Wasn’t Amelia with you?”

  “Nope. She had to go with her student government group to Columbia for a symposium on school voting,” I remind him as I stoop down to kiss Aunt Denise on the cheek. She’s dark-haired and petite just like my mother was.