The Firsts Series Box Set

by M. J. Fields

  Having blocked her out, I have no idea what she’s talking about when she demands, “And you’re going to buy me more.”

  “Lilyanne, I have no idea what the hell your problem is, but you can say, ‘Thank you, Mitch, for saving my ass,’ or you can get the hell out of my truck and walk your scrawny ass home.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, and you can take me to the Dollar Store and buy me some new hair.”

  “I haven’t got time for your shit. And the only reason I’m civil to you is because JT is my best friend.”

  She scowls. “I call bullshit.”

  “Call it all you want, but do it outside my truck.”

  “I’m not walking all the way to that house.”

  “If you don’t say thank you, you sure as fuck are.”

  She leans in, giving me those crazy eyes. “I dare you to make me walk.”

  I reach over to open the passenger door, but then I stop when her scent trickles inside my nose.

  “If you’re gonna kiss me, you better make it good.”

  Shocked, I look over at her. We’re nose to nose.

  I shake my head. “What makes you think I’m gonna kiss you?”

  Two hands land on the side of my face, holding it steady. Two lips press against mine, and then a wet tongue pushes between my lips that part. We kiss slowly.

  She tastes really fucking good and smells incredible.

  When I hear laughing, she pushes me away.

  I don’t move. I just look and see Megan and her friends walking by. Then I look back at Lilyanne, who gives me a menacing look.

  “Bet she won’t want to kiss you again.”

  “Not sure if I care.”

  Her eyes widen, and then she cocks her head to the side, completely and utterly confused.

  I sit back and watch her soften like the flowers outside that Mom left to die when Cara watered them and tended to them.

  “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Or what?” I can’t help smiling.

  “What is wrong with you?” she hisses then looks around.

  “Not a damn thing, Lilyanne.”

  “You know who I am.”

  “I know who you are, but I also know who you could be if you’d just let some of that sweetness come to the surface.”

  “What the hell are you talking about!”

  “You smell like flowers, and you taste like honey.”

  When she turns to open the door, I grab her arm and pull her back.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  A fist hits my window. “What the fuck are you doing with my sister?”

  “We’re going to Sound tonight, right?” Logan asks.

  “Nah, I promised Cara dinner,” I say, sitting up on my bed.

  “You’ve taken her out every night; don’t you think she may want one night with Carla?”

  He’s a fucking mess, but I don’t want to go within ten feet of her, so I use half a lie.

  “Thanksgiving at Carla’s tonight.”

  “Thanksgiving is next week.”

  I nod. “I think it’s a trial run for Cara.”

  He nods. “Could you make it later?”

  I look at him. He’s teetering on the edge of losing his mind. Maybe his will find mine, and they can jump back a few months and start over.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “Message me when you’re done at Carla’s?”

  I nod again.

  “Cool. Thanks, man.”

  I shoot Cara a message, telling her I’ll be there for dinner.

  Now my half-lie is erased.

  I walk into Carla’s with a fucking bouquet of fruit—more specifically, an edible arrangement.

  “What’s this?” Cara takes the basket.

  “It’s cut up …” I look at her. “You know what it is—it’s fruit.”

  “Shaped like flowers—ooo … and chocolates.” She smiles. “You brought us flowers.”

  “I didn’t bring you flowers; I brought you fruit arranged like …”

  I stop when she starts laughing.

  “Come on; dinner’s just about ready.”

  I follow her the ten feet it takes to get from the tiny living room to the even tinier kitchen.

  “Glad you could join us, Mitch,” Carla says as if she and I have it like that.

  “Thanks for the invitation,” I return, taking off my jacket and slinging it over one of the four chairs.

  “Family doesn’t ever need an invitation. Door’s always open to you, even if I’m not here. Code’s 0103.”

  “Your birth month and mine.” Cara smiles as she walks over to the makeshift island and starts uncovering way too much food for three people. “We peeled these like you and I used to do. The stuffing’s Grandma’s recipe, not out of a box.”

  “We like it out of a box.”

  “Because our recipe sucked.” She laughs loudly and from deep inside her, not worried at all that she’ll wake Dad. So damn carefree.

  Grinning, she continues, “Green bean casserole, gravy, cranberry sauce—we even made real dinner rolls, and a pumpkin pie.”

  The oven timer goes off.

  “Twenty-pound bird in the oven. You wanna grab that out for us, Mitchell?”

  “Sure.”

  She smiles at me. “You know how to carve a bird?”

  Cara grins. “He’s the best.”

  “I can do that,” I say, smiling back at Carla.

  Jamie

  Sunday, I spent the entire day in bed. The past three days, when not in class, I’m in my room. I’m hurt, confused, and have done things I’m not proud of, like internet stalk the heck out of Mitch Moore, whose Facebook and IG are private, and the only thing he does on Twitter is retweet SU football posts. And … and I’m now internet stalking José Cox, assistant coach of the Giants, who is apparently being wooed by the 49ers, the first NFL team he played for. He’s some kind of wonderful and possibly a dead-beat dad to boot.

  My roommates probably think I’m a coat-collecting hoe, but I would rather them think that than find out I am secretly trying to find out who my daddy is, and am heartbroken because Mitch, who may not have been a player, with me anyway, has turned out to be one.

  Add to that, the half reviews I can read on Jersey Chasers, because I refuse to subscribe to read the entirety of what the @BobberTwins, two “besties living their best lives,” have to say about their night with SU’s newest hero quarterback.

  I didn’t want to come to Sound tonight. I’m certainly not dressed for it. I went to lab right after hip-hop class, so I’m in a pair of loose-fitting dance pants with a zip-up hoodie over a tank top that says, I Can’t. I Have Dance, and my face and hair are au naturel. But here I am, drinking my third, fifteen-dollar Long Island Iced Tea, which makes me feel even worse while watching the door and praying to God that he doesn’t come in.

  And now, Elle is bowing out of squad night at Sound, because she “has cramps,” so I have to put on the façade that everything’s chill and stay here and sing with my friends, who have literally been tiptoeing around me and making me feel even worse about who I am so far on my quest to “become” on my own.

  After we say goodbye to Elle and Fletcher, Christy smiles hopefully at me. “One song?”

  I shrug. “Sure.”

  Drink in hand, I follow Lisa and Christy to the stage.

  “We’re gonna do “Umbrella” so we can practice that dance we learned today,” Lisa says with a smile.

  I nod, lean over toward the DJ, and pull his hat off his head. “Gonna need this.”

  He smirks.

  “If you weren’t gay, you’d be perfect for me.”

  “Oh my God, Jamie!” Christy calls after me as I put the hat on, pull it down, and finish my drink before heading up the stairs to take the stage.

  Lisa and Christy follow behind, laughing at me.

  Lisa claps. “He’s going to do the beginning after he grabs us pool sticks.”

  “Why do we need pool sticks?�
� I ask.

  “Umbrellas,” Lisa and Christy say at the same time.

  “You get center and first vocal.” Christy nods.

  “Why me?” I ask.

  “Gonna be straight-up and tell you I’m not sure you’ll still be standing by the end.”

  “Oh, I can dance,” I assure her.

  “We know you can, girl.” Lisa laughs. “Let’s do this shit!”

  As Christy grabs the pool sticks from some guy, the DJ starts doing Jay-Z’s thing.

  I pull the hat down and close my eyes, allowing myself to feel the music.

  “I’m gonna Tom Holland this bitch,” I tell the girls as I turn and face the back of the stage.

  They both laugh and yell, “Hell yes!”

  Then, I dance.

  Lost in drink, in movement, in music, my soul finally smiles for the first time in days. I feel its warmth resonating around me, taking away the cold confusion that I’ve allowed to consume me in moments I chose to lie in darkness and shame.

  Fuck that.

  I look at Lisa and sing, “You have my heart”—I look at Christy—“and we’ll never be worlds apart.” I close my eyes to find my light in the darkness, and I continue until the very end.

  My back to the crowd, I raise my hands and fall back, eyes wide shut.

  “How much did she drink?” I hear a stern voice that seems far, far away, yet it’s contradicted by the warm hand pulling my head back as my body lurches forward, and I throw up.

  Lisa sniffs. “Three, maybe four?”

  “Okay, that’s good, Jamie, real good.” The voice is closer now, but the room is spinning. “Open the back door.”

  “But—”

  “Open the fucking door, Little Red. She gets busted, you’re all fucking done here.”

  The cold air bursts across my chest and I try to form the words to tell them, but my mouth is full of saliva, and my head is tipped back too far to spit it out.

  “Grab my phone out of my pocket.”

  I feel my head being pushed forward, and I throw up.

  “Hold her head back.”

  A few moments go by, and my teeth begin chattering.

  “She’s cold.”

  “She bring a jacket?”

  “No, she—”

  “Has fucking two!” he snaps.

  “If you’re going to be a dick, we’ll—”

  “You’ll what? Call an Uber? Have him bring you to the fucking dorm?” He laughs angrily.

  “Hey, Tank, you wanna bring your truck to Sound and pick me up? Got a shit-faced freshman who may throw up in the back.”

  Lights. Out.

  “Should we take her to the hospital?”

  “No, Jesus, go take a couch. When she wakes up, the three of you can Uber it back.”

  I hear the door close and open my eyes. “I don’t want you here.”

  “Tough shit. I live here. And newsflash: I don’t want you here, either. Only reason you are is Logan would be pissed if I let you go to the drunk tank.”

  “I’m gonna get sick.”

  I feel him lift my head. “Do it here.”

  “Don’t want you to watch.”

  “You think I wanna watch? You think I wanna be within ten feet of you?”

  My mouth fills with saliva, and I heave. Nothing comes out.

  I heave again and again and again. Then I cry.

  “Gonna have to drink some water, so you have something to throw up, or your throat will be fucked.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Probably should, since music’s kind of your thing. Now open your damn mouth.”

  I open my eyes and my mouth at the same time and try to sit up. “I can …”

  His eyes widen as he looks between mine. He’s angry, so angry. Well, so am … was I.

  As soon as the cold water hits my stomach, it comes right back up.

  Leaning over the toilet, I puke.

  “You need to get rehydrated. You think you can sit up alone without falling back and cracking your head open?”

  “Mmhmm …” I moan.

  I watch him walk out of the bathroom in only navy ball shorts.

  I look down at myself. I’m in a hoodie and my underwear.

  I wake to Mitch, sitting behind me, pulling me back.

  “Where are my clothes?”

  “In a trash bag outside, covered in vomit.”

  “Where’s my phone?”

  “Dead and on a charger. Now drink.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Why? You have a date?” he jokes angrily.

  “Not that I have to explain myself, but—”

  “Then don’t. Drink.” He wraps his arm around me and hands me some sports drink. “Sip it; don’t chug. Maybe it’ll stay down.”

  “Highly doubt it,” I say, trying to open the cap.

  “The top’s off.”

  I take a sip, lean forward, close the toilet lid, and rest my head on it.

  “Don’t pass out again. Take a few more sips. And here.”

  “What—”

  “Motrin.”

  “I don’t think I can swallow it.”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure you can.”

  I look over my shoulder at him, and he cocks an eyebrow.

  “What?”

  I shake my head and turn away.

  “I’m doing this for Logan. Because you and I were done the minute you doubted my word. You nailed that fucking door shut when you walked in wearing some other fool’s coat.”

  “Just shut up. I—”

  “No, you sh—”

  “José Cox gave me his coat when he refused to let me walk alone when I was up by Crouse wal—”

  “Yeah, whatever,” he huffs.

  “You didn’t believe me then fucked two Jersey Chasers. You have no—”

  “Stay the hell off my site! And you never told me I was wrong about the coat.”

  I start to stand and stumble, but I catch myself. “You were too busy smelling it and calling me out,” I snap.

  “Jamie …” he says softly as he grips my hips to help or whatever the hell this fool is trying to do.

  “Don’t touch me. Don’t you touch me ever again.”

  My stomach lurches again, and I turn around just in time to throw up.

  “I wanna go home.” I sniff.

  He hands me toilet paper.

  “I think you and I should talk this—”

  “I’m done with your game, player.” I wipe my nose. “I’m done.”

  He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t leave me alone, either.

  When I wake up to the sound of a vibrating phone, I’m in his bed, under the covers, finally warm, and he’s wrapped around me.

  He slides out of bed, but I’m afraid that, if I move, I’ll throw up again.

  He walks into the bathroom and answers his call quietly.

  “Hey, JT, you okay?” There is a pause. “Yeah, bought a car. Finally spent some money.” Another pause. “Truck was for Cara to get back and forth from school.” He chuckles. “I’m not ballin’. I’m smart with my money, you know that. No worries.” Pause.

  “On IG?” Another pause. “A boomerang video of what, man?” Pause again as JT apparently talks. “Yeah, went out and apparently decided to crowd surf. Just happened to catch her.” A pause. “Nah, it’s not like that.” A pause. “Fuck, no, I’m not hooking you up.” Another pause. “Yeah, once, so she’s off-limits.” Pause again.

  “You know I don’t read that shit.” A pause. “Got fucked up and woke up to Links pulling me out of their place. No idea, man. None.” A pause. “Didn’t smell like pussy, so I’m gonna go with no.” Pause again. “Been a fucked-up semester, brother.” Another pause.

  “Yeah, I’ll be home for that. Always am.” A pause.

  “Got company so—” Pause again. “Yeah, but not like that. She’s sick as fuck.” A pause, and he chuckles. “Not talking about her body; she’s been here throwing up all night.” Another pause. “No, you
aren’t gonna meet her. Jesus, JT, we have a deal, brother.” Pause again. “No other way to be.”

  I hear him use the bathroom, and then the water begins to run.

  I sit up, and the room spins. Placing my hands over my belly, I hope it stops me from throwing up again. My body aches and my head is pounding.

  The room is pitch dark, except for the light beneath the bathroom door and the one from my phone.

  When the door is opened, and he walks out, looking down at his phone, he sighs, “Thank fuck.”

  Smiling, he looks up and sees me. He cocks his head to the side. “You feeling better?”

  “I need to go.”

  He holds up his phone. “I didn’t fuck them. Apparently, I didn’t even go down.”

  “I really don’t need to know—”

  “When you passed out, I looked up José. He was here; I believe you. It was a misunderstanding, just like you thinking Cara was some …” He smirks and shakes his head. “She looks like me, Jamie. What were you thinking?”

  When I don’t reply, his smile fades.

  “Look, we obviously have something.”

  “Had.”

  He shakes his head. “We can talk about this when you’ve sobered up a bit.”

  “I wanna go home.”

  “Logan took the girls home.” He climbs back on the bed. “You sleep, and when your clothes are dry—”

  “I thought they were in a trash bag.”

  He nods. “They were when I thought …” He shakes his head. “After you cleared things up, I washed them.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Kinda did, though. I was being a dick and wanted you to do the walk of shame up in Lawrinson. But, like I said, after we cleared the air—”

  “I’m glad that you feel better about it all, but I’m here for an education and to make friends.”

  He peers up at me, hazel eyes completely and totally sincere. “And experiences, right?”

  I look away from him, because I know how easily I could get sucked back in, and shrug. “I’m learning what I do and don’t like.”

  “Where do I fall in?”

  “Somewhere in-between.”