We both crawled into the back seat and continued a ravenous exploration of each other's bodies. I felt a small tinge of guilt that my first time with her would be in the backseat of my Mustang. She was special. I should have made this special for her. But at that moment I just wanted her so much, nothing would stop me. Nothing except …
"What the hell is this?" Reyna said suddenly while I was unbuttoning my khakis. I looked up and found her holding a pair of panties between two fingers. Panties that weren't hers.
"Um ... I ... I guess ... " I stuttered.
Reyna pushed me away. "I can't believe I was going to do this. I can't do this. What was I thinking?" She mumbled to herself while she scrambled around the car looking for her shirt.
"Reyna, wait, please. I -"
"I can't believe I was about to let myself become another one of Scott Kincaid's ‘trophies'," she said, pulling her shirt over her head.
"It's not like that, I swear. It's different with you. I love you," I pleaded. I felt like my world was crashing in on me. I had to have her.
"He has a girlfriend. What was I thinking? I can't be the other woman." Reyna spoke as though I wasn't even there anymore. Like she only had to convince herself. She didn't even hear that I had professed my love for her.
I knew I had no chance of convincing her to stay. How could she believe how much I loved her when she just found another woman's underwear in my car? And she was right. I did have a girlfriend. A girlfriend that meant nothing to me, but still a girlfriend. I closed my eyes and tried to control the urges raging inside of me. Reyna had every right to be upset. I knew I needed to give her time to cool off. So, I didn't protest when she hopped out of the car, slammed the door, and then stormed into her house.
***
Reyna ran upstairs to her room. After slamming her door shut, she leaned against it and slid down to the floor. She wouldn't cry. She refused to cry. She didn't want to be one of those girls that cried over boys. She was better than that. Stronger than that.
She was so disappointed in herself. She let herself fall for Scott's charms. Just like countless other girls at Charleston Prep and surrounding public and private schools. But was it really her fault. Scott didn't have the reputation of a ladies' man for nothing. He looked like a teenage Matthew McConaughey and he was such a good kisser she felt weak just thinking it.
She would never tell him this but he was perfect in every way, shape, and form. Just perfect, from his head full of golden shaggy hair to his sexy sculpted calf muscles. Sometimes when he smiled his debonair sly grin, Reyna just wanted to run her tongue along his beautifully pristine white teeth. But that was all physical. The best part about him was his personality. His colorful, sometimes plain silly, word combinations could have her laughing for days. She'd never forget the time when he told her Sam's feet were smellier than a skunk on ex-lax. He always made her happy. But he made everyone happy. That would be his downfall one day. He would never be able to please everyone.
Reyna got off the floor and threw herself onto her bed. Why was she so upset about this? So, she'd fallen for her best friend. Big deal. Well, it was kind of a big deal. This wasn't just any best friend. This was Scott Kincaid, the sports phenomenon that as a junior in high school had an article in Sports Illustrated. Now as a senior, he had nearly every scout in the country looking at him. He was destined to be a star. Where would she fit in to all of that?
She was reading too much into this. It was just a make-out session in the back of his Mustang. Judging from the dirty underwear in his backseat, he'd probably done the exact same thing with dozens of girls. She wasn't any different. And she couldn't really blame herself for falling for it. He was a pro.
Besides sports, sex was the other thing on his list of expertise. Girls literally lined up to be his next conquest. She remembered three girl fights that she had witnessed. And there were probably countless others. She could understand where they were coming from. His innate desire to please everyone obviously transferred to the bedroom as well.
Scott would probably give up sex forever, though, in exchange for sports, baseball, in particular. And if he was good at sex, he was at least ten times better at baseball. He could hit a bug on a wall with a baseball from thirty feet back. Literally. It had happened in seventh grade. A roach was crawling up the side of the wall during English class when suddenly, Scottie took a baseball out of his pocket (he always carried around two or three with him) and nailed it from across the room. Reyna still remembered the sound of the ball slicing through the air and the thud it made slamming into the wall.
Everyone in the class had sat perfectly still, too stunned to move. Reyna thought sure he would get into trouble. He could've hit someone in the head. But Mr. Myer looked excited instead of upset, even though Scottie had put a huge hole in the wall. That afternoon Mr. Myer put a football in Scottie's hand and passed the ball around with him for hours. The next day, he took him to the high school football practice. Reyna tagged along and watched as seventh grader Scott filled in as quarterback for the high school team.
Scottie threw pass after pass while the coaches stood on the sidelines and talked about his future.
"This kid's incredible," Coach Reed said.
"He's a machine. He can put it anywhere he wants. His junior league baseball coach says he has an 80 mph fastball and he’s barely thirteen," assistant coach Graham said.
"Screw baseball. This kid's a football player. Go tell him to run it and let's see how fast he is."
Coach Graham yelled out some numbers and instructions. Then, ten seconds later, Coach Reed tossed his clip board in the air and yelled," Holy Hell! I ain't never seen a white boy run that fast!"
That was the day Reyna knew she had lost part of her best friend and instead gained a high school Heisman. For the rest of middle school, Scott was still pretty normal. But as soon as he hit high school the change began. He was still the sweet happy-go-lucky kid he used to be when they were alone. But in public he had less and less time for Reyna. Often times she was pushed aside for the blonde of the month or some stupid stunt he wanted to do to please his friends. She got the feeling she was like his dirty little secret and she vowed she would never date him.
Reyna sat up in her bed and reaffirmed that vow. She was not going to play this game.
Chapter 10
Nov. 2
Sunday morning I awoke to find Stu sitting on my bed wearing his favorite black Ramones T-shirt. He would wear that shirt every day if he didn't have to wash it once in a while.
"What are you doing up so early?" I asked.
"Early? Scott, it's 12:30. You slept through breakfast and lunch." Stu looked worried for some reason.
"Wow, I've never done that before."
"Actually, you have. Three weeks ago you came home from football practice at six and crashed. You didn't wake up until eleven the next morning."
"Oh," I said with a shrug, not thinking anything of it. I tossed the sheets off and stood up. A fire erupted in my shoulders and knees forcing me to sit back down. I swallowed the pain and pretended that I just lost my balance so Stu wouldn't know. "I must be hung over or something," I said. Bracing myself for the pain, I stood up again without showing a hint of discomfort and slowly walked to the bathroom. Stu followed.
"Are you okay, Scottie?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," I said as I began to relieve myself. Stu stepped away from the door. I knew that would get rid of him.
"Sam went to the gym to take care of some clients.”
"She didn't wonder why I was still in bed?" I flushed, washed my hands, and then went back into my bedroom.
"I came in early to do a urine sample for you and I saw you were still asleep. I tried to wake you, but you were out cold. I could tell you needed to rest, so I told her you'd already left to run the bridge."
"Thanks, buddy."
"She wants you to meet her at the gym at one. She’s going to spend the rest of the day training for that stupid marathon in Italy.” Stu fol
ded his arms across his chest. “Don’t be surprised if once she’s over there, homeland security gets an anonymous tip that she’s a terrorist. Maybe I can get her ass sent to GITMO."
I kinda felt Stu was only half-kidding about getting our mother incarcerated in Guantanamo Bay detention center. In his mind, Sam really was a terrorist.
I looked at the clock. I didn't want to spend another day training and being treated like one of Sam's clients. It was even more embarrassing getting yelled at in public. I didn’t understand why people continued to hire her as their personal trainer.
I wanted to find Reyna. We had to talk. I sat back down on the bed and reached for my cell phone off the nightstand. No calls from Reyna, but six from Amber. I had to find a way to let Amber off easy. Reyna would never take my feelings for her seriously if I were still dating Amber. But if I dumped her coldly, Reyna would still reject me thinking I was some sort of coldhearted player.
"Are you sure you don't want to go to a doctor or something?" Stu asked, dragging me out of my thoughts. He leaned on the wall across from my bed with his hands jammed in his black pants and just stared at me.
"Doctor? Why?"
"I don't know. You seem ... different lately. Maybe you should get a physical or something."
"Thanks for looking out for me, little buddy, but I'm fine."
I could feel him staring at me while I texted Amber. I told her we needed to talk and asked if she wanted to do dinner. Maybe by then I could figure out what I could say that wouldn’t break her heart.
"Okay," he said finally, walking to the door. Before leaving he said, "You don't have to be superman, you know. No matter what Sam expects of you."
"What are you talking about?"
"You're my hero either way."
Stu could be so sullen and sentimental sometimes. He always read more into situations than was really there. I think wearing black all the time made him subconsciously depressed.
"Stu, maybe you're the one that should see a doctor," I said while shuffling through my closet for a T-shirt and fresh khakis.
He shook his head and sighed. "I'm off to Oliver's house for band practice. Call me if you need anything."
I hopped in the shower and tried to think of a way to get out of training with Sam. I really needed to talk to Reyna. If I let too much time pass she would convince herself to never see me again. She'd stick to it too. She was that stubborn sometimes. All I could come up with for an excuse was to tell Sam I needed to finish my application to Cal State Fullerton. They were my first choice for a baseball school. Fortunately, Sam was okay with this. She would let nothing get in the way of me getting into the best school.
It wasn't too hard to find Reyna. She'd spent every Sunday for the past three months volunteering for the Obama campaign who'd set up headquarters in the Lewis' Remount Ave. Community center.
"What are you doing here?" she asked not taking her eyes off of the computer screen in front of her.
"I think we should talk." I pulled up a chair, sat down next to her and had to resist the urge to caress her mocha colored face.
"I'm kinda busy right now, Scottie. I'm answering email and debunking voting myths. Can you believe people actually think that you're allowed to vote on the fifth if you can't get off work on the fourth?"
"Reyna, don't do this," I whispered so the volunteer at the next terminal wouldn't hear me.
"Do what?" she said cheerily, continuing to focus on her computer screen.
"Don't avoid this. Something very special happened between us and we need to talk about it. I can't stop thinking about you."
She stopped typing and looked at me. "Scottie, we just got caught up in the moment. It was a mistake. I'm willing to let it go and forget about it so you can go back to your girlfriend," she said in a forced whisper.
"I don't want to go back to my girlfriend. She means nothing to me."
Reyna shook her head. "You have no idea who you're dealing with do you?" She typed a few buttons quickly then turned to look at me. "You're dating Amber Freaking Sullivan. That's exactly what everyone calls her. Amber Freaking Sullivan. I would say she was the most insane person in the world, but I've met your mother. Do you know how she stole you away from your last girlfriend?"
I shook my head. What was she talking about?
"Emily got drunk at a party, passed out and Amber Freaking Sullivan shaved her head. Emily was so embarrassed she transferred to Charleston Collegiate."
I closed my eyes and thought back to the beginning of the school year. I think I did remember something like that happening, but I couldn't be sure. I was probably drunk too.
"So what, are you saying you're afraid of Amber?"
Reyna rolled her eyes then went back to typing on the computer. "No I'm not afraid of Amber." She said this as if I had asked her to stand on her head and whistle Dixie. Nothing could be more ridiculous. "I'm just saying Amber's not going to let you go easily and I don't want a whole bunch of drama in my life when you're just going to forget about me in a month anyway."
"Reyna, that's not how it is with you. You're different."
She turned to me and said, "Look Scottie, you're an awesome best friend. I love joking around with you and talking to you on the phone all hours of the night. I love going to clubs with you and watching you do your pathetic white boy moves. But we will not work as boyfriend and girlfriend. I know your M.O. You've had fourteen different girlfriends since we've been in high school. Fourteen."
I leaned so close to her I could smell a cherry cough drop on her breath and said, "But none of them have been you." I gave her a peck on the cheek then stormed out of the community center. I had to prove to her that I was serious. And the first step in that meant getting rid of Amber Freaking Sullivan.
I'd spent hours going over what I wanted to say to Amber. Nothing I came up with sounded right. I needed space, I needed to concentrate on my sports, and I needed time to think about our future. None of those was even remotely true. But I couldn't tell her the truth that I thought she was a psycho and I had in fallen in love with someone else.
I tried to think back to how I had ended my previous relationships. Either I used one of the previously mentioned trite lines or the relationship kind of died a peaceful death all its own.
This was different. I had to do this right if I wanted Reyna. But when Amber opened the door that evening when I went to pick her up, I knew this was going to be the hardest break of all time.
Chapter 11
"Do you like it?" she asked, patting her newly dyed hair. "I did it for you. I know you prefer blondes."
"You dyed your hair for me?"
"Oh, it wasn't that big of a deal. My hair wasn't that dark. It only took three hours."
"You spent three hours dyeing your hair for me?"
"Well, I want to make you happy. I want you to know that this is more than just some high school romance for me. I'm in love with you, Scottie. This is for keeps."
"Whoa."
Amber grabbed my hand and pulled me into her house.
"And I know you're serious about me, too. We've been dating for sixty three days. That's five days longer than any of your previous girlfriends."
"Whoa. You've counted?"
"Of course. Every girl wants to get past the two month mark with you." She pulled me into the dining room where a veritable feast had been spread out.
"What's this?"
"Well, I thought about what you said on Friday night and I finally realized that you weren't trying to break up with me. You were trying to take our relationship to the next level. You wanted to meet my family. So tonight we're having dinner with my parents."
"Parents?"
Amber's house was located just around the corner from the celebrated Rainbow Row in Charleston, South Carolina. From their living room you could see Fort Sumter where the initiating shots of the Civil War were blasted. I would've given anything to be able to jump into the frigid Atlantic and swim out to that island instead of sitting at
the table across from Amber's stiff parents and her bratty little sister. I wasn't intimidated by the fact that her father was a judge or that the plates on the table were probably worth more than my car. What made my throat tighten and hands shake was the fact that Mr. Sullivan had asked me five different ways in about three minutes what my intentions were with his daughter. Meanwhile, Amber smiled at me like a lovesick mute who offered no assistance in the form of diverting her father's attention from me.
"So who are you voting for in the election?" was his first question that didn't directly pertain to his daughter. Instead of being relieved at the Amber reprieve, I was once again panic stricken as I realized I hadn't made a final decision. But judging from the McCain-Palin sign in his front yard, I was pretty sure he didn't want to hear that. Or else he'd spend the rest of the evening trying to sway me to his side.
"Peter, not at the dinner table." Mrs. Sullivan’s words were like a life preserver. I would have kissed her if I didn't think Amber would jump across the table and beat down her own mother in a jealous rage.
"What?" Mr. Sullivan asked innocently of his wife as he looked up from his soup appetizer. "I can't ask the boy his opinion? He sure better have an opinion by now. The election is in two days. You are eighteen aren't you?" he asked me.
"Yes, sir," I said, reaching for water to quench my suddenly parched throat.
"You registered?" he continued, dabbing his Yosemite Sam moustache with a napkin.
"Yes, sir."
"Peter, really? Can't you ask him a question that's a little less volatile?" said Mrs. Sullivan who was a dead ringer for Vanna White.
Meanwhile, six-year-old Crystal kicked me under the table then whispered, "You better vote for McCain. Obama is a Sofa list."
"Socialist, honey. Obama is a socialist," Vanna, I mean, Mrs. Sullivan corrected her daughter.
"That's my girl," Mr. Sullivan said before hi-fiving Crystal.
"Why don't you ask him where's he's going to college? He has so many schools after him, he can go anywhere he wants," Amber said, gushing so much I half expected her soup to explode out of the top of her head.
Nothing Else Matters Page 5
