by T. Torrest
The guys were still laughing at the big, red stain that Rymer was unsuccessfully trying to wipe off his shirt, so Lisa and I were the only ones to absorb the full force of Trip’s lazy grin when he replied, “It’s good, Layla. How’s it going for you?”
I almost died at the way he said that, looking right at me with half-lidded eyes and those perfect, full lips smiling out my name. I felt Lisa kick me under the table, so I knew she caught it too. Oh my God. Was he flirting with me? As intrigued as I was, my survival instincts quickly won out. The guys would never stop busting my chops if they caught me flirting with the new guy. I smiled politely and offered evasively, “It’s good.”
Just making courteous small talk, right?
Soon after, the bell rang, so we all grabbed our garbage from the table and ditched it in the trash on our way out the door. My locker was right outside the cafeteria, so I pit-stopped there to get my English notebook. When I stood back up, I was surprised to see Trip standing right behind me.
“Oh! I didn’t see you there!” I said like a complete tool.
He looked a little taken aback. “I just thought...” and then he nodded his head in the direction of the hallway and I realized he was waiting to walk with me down to English class.
I laughed to save face and said, “Yeah, sure. Duh.”
He was teasing me when he asked, “You alright there, pal?” He threw an arm around my shoulders and gave me a quick squeeze against his side, which, had he added a noogie, would have made the platonic gesture complete. To this day, I have no idea what compelled him to do something like that. It’s not as though I’d never been treated as one of the boys before. In fact, it’s how I’d spent the first twelve years of my life, and hell, I could still hold my own with my guy friends. But Trip barely knew me and besides, I thought I’d shaken off that persona years before. Had he picked up my tomboy vibe even though I was sure I hadn’t been putting it out there? Dear God. Was it Brian Hollander all over again?
The thought made me so flustered, so determined, that I did something so completely out of character. Just as we were approaching the classroom, I noticed some random kid at his locker. I saw the mirror hanging on the open door and inspiration struck. I whipped my lipstick out of my purse, telling Trip, “Hey, hold on a sec, huh?”
I uncapped the lipstick, leaned into the mirror and applied a swipe of Bing Cherry across my slacked lips, making sure Trip could see my every move. Very Marilyn Monroe. Very not tomboy.
I tossed the weapon into my purse, smacked my lips together and asked Trip innocently, “You ready?”
I caught a glimpse of the poor, unsuspecting freshman staring at me like he had just won the lottery. I guessed it wasn’t every day that a senior girl dropped by his locker. I couldn’t get a read on Trip, but I hoped his blank look was a good thing. “Uh, yeah. Yes.”
Hmph. Take that, “pal”!
Chapter 4
GETTING LUCKY
After final bell, I ran into the girls’ room with my bag of clothes. I’d settled on a pair of flat-front black slacks and a pale pink silk blouse. I ditched my socks and slipped into a pair of black ballet slippers before taming my hair down a bit with a brush. I had to be careful not to overdo it, because too much brushing would cause that armor of Aqua Net to start flaking, making me look like I was The Dandruff Queen. I took a final look in the mirror and decided that I looked professional. At the very least, I looked respectable. And definitely a little older.
By the time I stepped outside, most of the kids had already cleared out, which was a good thing. It wasn’t a long walk over to the strip mall, but it really sucked to be a senior without a license and risk getting caught hoofing it around town. The first four weeks of school were turning into the longest of my life. I suppose Lisa could have driven me, but she already had a job working at the bakery right around the corner from where we lived and I didn’t want to make her late. She wouldn’t have had enough time to schlep me in the opposite direction, fight through the mosh of cars at the mall and still make it to her job by 3:00. No big deal. It was a nice day out and I didn’t mind the walk.
I got about ten steps away from the parking lot when a black Bronco pulled up beside me. The windows were tinted and only cracked an inch, enough to allow me to hear some creepy old dude ask, “Hey, little girl. You need a ride?”
I’d been in these situations before. The best thing to do when confronted with a pervert is to simply ignore them. Just pretend not to hear them. Which is exactly what I did as I kept walking, hoping the freak would just go on his merry way and find some other, more stupid girl to lock in his basement.
But this pervert wasn’t going to be shaken so easily. “Hey! Little girl! Do ya want some candy?” I started to slide my hand into my purse, fishing around for my mace keychain just in case. But then, something about the way he started laughing made me do a double-take and turn on my heel. When I did, the Bronco’s window slid down, revealing Trip in the midst of cracking himself up.
“You idiot!” I yelled, laughing and smacking the door of his truck. “I thought you were a creepy old man, you jerk!”
Trip could barely contain himself. “I know! I thought you were gonna start running. Holy shit that was funny.”
I gave him an “oh really” look.
“Running, huh? You should have been so lucky.” I pulled the keychain canister of mace out of my bag and held it up for him to see.
That sobered him up pretty quick. “What the? Is that mace?”
I gave him a smug smile and said, “Yes. And I would have used it, too.” When he looked impressed, I decided to lose the false bravado. “I’m really glad I didn’t have to, though. Jeez, you scared the hell out of me.”
He winked at me, calling a truce. “Sorry. Hey, where you going? I’ll drive you.”
Truth was, I really wanted to get in Trip’s truck. But I also really didn’t want him to think that I really wanted to.
“Um. Actually, I’m just headed over to the mall.”
“Doing some shopping?”
“Nope. Looking for a job.”
Trip nodded his head in approval. “Good for you. Hey, c’mon. After scaring the hell out of you, the least I can do is give you a ride. C’mon. Hop in.”
Well, when you put it that way...
I rolled my eyes then stepped up into the passenger seat.
“Where to, Miss Daisy?”
Cute.
“I figured I’d start at Totally Videos and work my way down. I guess you can just drop me there.”
He put the car in gear. “As you wish.”
I don’t even know what I wish, I thought.
I mean, I probably should have just been content to ride out my good fortune.
Sometimes, when you’re part of the popular crowd, there’s a ton of pressure on you. Everyone is always aware of what you wear, or do, or say. Sometimes, it feels like you’re being scrutinized with a fine-tooth comb, any flaws magnified tenfold. You’re always expected to be “on”. You’re always expected to act a certain way. It can be draining in a way I never felt when I was just plain old Layla Warren, blending in with the wallpaper.
But sometimes, there were perks.
Here was this great-looking guy, fresh from the farm and plunked right into my very own high school. Out of some instinctual, unspoken law of the universe, it was just assumed that he would be part of our group. I was sure most of the girls in school were drooling at Trip from afar. And yet, lucky me, I was afforded actual access.
Yet somehow, it felt a little vapid. I wondered if he would have bothered offering me a ride if I was just some random classmate as opposed to a girl who was part his new circle. I supposed I’d never figure it out, but what I really wanted was for Trip to want to be around me, not just hang with me out of default.
Not that I was complaining. At that moment, I was just happy to be where I was.
Bolstered by that, I asked him, “How did you do that with your voice?”
&
nbsp; He asked, “Do what? Trick you into thinking I was someone else?”
“Yeah. You were pretty convincing back there. If I wasn’t so freaked out, I might have actually been impressed.”
This earned a laugh from him. “You’re pretty funny, you know that?” Then, in answer to my question, “I was just goofing around with you. There was this guy who used to work at the hardware store back in Indy. He was actually a decent old guy, but he had the creepiest voice, like Lurch from The Addams family. I guess inspiration struck when I saw you. I didn’t even realize I knew how to impersonate him until I did it!”
He laughed again and then, out of the blue, added, “You look nice, by the way.”
I started to get fidgety and OCD, like I sometimes do when I’m feeling a little nervous. And sitting next to Trip in his truck- idly making small talk and then hearing him toss a compliment my way- was making me very nervous. I made myself stop playing with the zipper on my purse and stowed it away at my feet before diverting his comment with, “Thanks. Do you have a job?”
He took his hand off the wheel to scratch the back of his neck. “Yeah. I do some work for my father down at his office every now and then. This one’s over in the industrial park, off Main? Just phone calls and filing and stuff.”
“Oh, so you’re a secretary,” I teased.
That made him smile. “Yeah, good one, I guess I am.”
“Do you like it?”
He gave me a stock answer. “Uh... I guess so. I mean, it’s a decent job and all and I like making my own money, even if my father is the one who’s signing my paychecks.”
He took a sharp right, causing me to grab the holy shit bar over the window as he continued, “Actually, you know what? It kinda sucks, actually. I absolutely hate it. I really, absolutely, freakin’ hate working there.”
That made me laugh. “Wow. Why don’t you tell me how you really feel! But hey, I guess acknowledging your problem is the first step toward recovery, right?”
“The problem,” he snickered out, “isn’t mine.” His laugh had an edge to it, but I didn’t know him well enough to discern what that meant.
Had I known him better, I probably would have asked him what was wrong. But I thought it would be rude to go playing pop-psychologist with a person I’d only known for one day, so I let it go.
By then, we were already at the mall anyway. Trip pulled up to the side entrance and threw the car in park. His bitter tone was gone, replaced with a playful voice as he said, “That’ll be eight-fifty.”
I made a big, phony show of digging through my purse. “Damn. I left my wallet in my other bag. I’ll have to owe it to you.”
He smiled as I got out of the truck, and because I knew he was watching me, I made extra sure not to slip and wind up face-down on the sidewalk.
I was feeling a little elated from the time I’d just spent alone with him, while simultaneously feeling let down at the thought of it coming to an end. I knew I was stalling, hoping to drag a few more seconds out of our time together, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Hey, thanks for the ride.”
He leaned over toward the passenger side to talk to me out the open window. “No problem.”
I tapped my toe against the tire as I asked, “See you tomorrow?”
He winked and repeated, “See you tomorrow.”
Short of throwing myself across the hood of his truck, there was really nothing else to do at that point but say goodbye. I had just turned and was starting to walk inside when I heard him yell, “Hey Layla!” which made my stomach do a little flip.
I looked back at Trip, still leaning out the passenger window with a wide grin playing at his lips and answered, “Yes?”
His grin turned into the full-force smile, the one that stopped me dead in my tracks at lunch.
“Good luck.”
At that, he threw the truck in gear and took off.
Chapter 5
BRAIN DEAD
The rest of the week went by in a blur. I did remember to start waking up about ten minutes earlier than usual so that I could catch Trip during his morning jog. Sitting off to the side of my window in the dark and peeking through the blinds was risky, but even feeling like a stalker and losing a few minutes of sleep was worth the payoff. I mean, there were worse ways to start a day, am I right?
Trip and I still walked from the cafeteria down to English every day, and sometimes, we even managed to carve out a few moments of conversation during class. Riveting commentary such as, “What page are we on?” or “Do you have an extra pencil?”
But even still, it was the part of day that I most looked forward to, those few stolen moments when he’d be sitting just inches away from me. It was unnerving and exciting... and totally self-destructive. I spent the entire day preoccupied with waiting to see Trip, then spent the class so distracted by the mere proximity of him that I was starting to turn into quite the space cadet. At the very least, I consoled myself with the knowledge that English was my best subject, so it’s not like my studies were suffering from any daydreams during that class. But still. I didn’t know how much longer that would be the case and I already seemed to be slipping everywhere else.
By Friday, I’d fallen behind on my silk-screening project, so I opted to cut lunch and head down to the art room instead. It was slightly devastating, knowing I was skipping out on some major social time with him, but I had to take control of my life. I couldn’t spend every waking moment thinking about Trip Wilmington.
By the time I beat the bell to Mason’s class, Trip was already at his desk and a note was waiting for me at mine. I slid into my seat and unfolded it.
Where were you?
My stomach did an involuntary flip, appreciating that he’d noticed my absence from our lunch table. I gave a “Hi” over my shoulder and started to say, “I went down-” but before I could finish, Mason called attention to the front of the room and I was forced to shut up. Trip mimed writing in the air with an imaginary pencil, so I scribbled
I went down to the art room
and passed it low behind me for him to grab.
A few seconds later, as Mason was explaining our Shakespeare outline or something, a folded wad of paper was tossed over my shoulder.
What for?
I decided to bust his chops:
To do art, dummy.
I heard him snicker behind me. A minute later, I felt his hand tuck the paper into the waistband at the small of my back. I turned just long enough to shoot him a look and catch him raising his eyebrows at me.
I kind of figured that out already on my own. And who are you calling dummy, dummy.
I made sure Mason wasn’t looking before tossing back my response.
YOU!
Then I threw a second piece of paper over my shoulder, where I had written:
...Dummy.
I heard Trip stifle a guffaw, choking back the laughter as he spent an exorbitant amount of time writing a reply.
At that point, we were asked to work on our “Mind Ramble” exercises, a little task that Mason utilized to get our creative juices flowing. She'd give us a subject- in this case, Romeo and Juliet- and ask us to keep it in the edges of our thoughts as we scribbled whatever the hell our minds told our hands to put on the paper. I really tried to let my brain wander and produce an effective Mind Ramble, but I couldn’t get past the idea that Trip was apparently “mind rambling” right then about me.
I made a mental note to rip out a new sheet of loose-leaf for my reply to his manifesto, once he finally finished and handed it over. I was going to make damned sure I’d be the last one of us to get possession of his note, because there was no way I was ever letting that paper out of my hands at the end of this. Hell, I’d probably frame the stupid thing when all was said and done.
Near the end of class, Mason told us to put our pens down- Trip never stopped writing- and she did a quick review of the work we’d done on Romeo and Juliet to prepare us for the project we were going to be working on.
&n
bsp; Then she passed out little stapled booklets that she had run off on the copier and collated, saying, “Rather than bore you by going over what I’ve already compiled here, I’ll ask you just to follow the directions in the booklets. I’m expecting great things from each and every one of you.”
The bell rang and she added loudly over the noise of a dispersing classroom, “Have your partners picked out by Monday! Enjoy your weekend!”
I got up and turned to give Trip his booklet and saw that he was still writing. “Hey Dummy,” I prodded. “The bell rang.”
I tried to peek over his hands to catch a glimpse of anything he’d written down just as he swiped the pages off his desk and folded them out of my sight.
“That for me?” I asked.
He grabbed his books and tucked the note in his shirt pocket. I couldn’t interpret the look on his amused face; kind of embarrassed, but still lighthearted. “Maybe. Someday. Just not today.”
I was just dying inside. Somehow, some way, I was going to get my hands on that thing. I didn’t even care if it wasn’t the love letter I was delusionally hoping it was, even though he’d started writing it long before our teacher asked us to Mind Ramble. I figured maybe he’d just gotten caught up on a tangent and rambled on endlessly about it. But the thoughts flying around the head of Trip Wilmington, whatever they were, were just too enticing a mystery not to be explored. What I wouldn’t have given for just the slightest glean into that brain of his. The key to unlock that particular treasure chest was folded right there in his pocket, yet he wasn’t handing it over. It was like offering a starving person a cookie, but holding it just out of their reach.
Of course, I couldn’t ever convey my overwhelming obsessions to him. So, I gave a casual shrug and said, “Whatever floats your boat, pal.”
