On Heartbreak Ridge: Movie Trilogy Prequel Novella (The Movie)

by Kimberly Adams

  “I know. I’m freaking out,” I whispered, turning to the mirror to check my hair.

  “Don’t freak out. You’ve already kissed him, like, a bazillion times.”

  “That’s different! On-stage kissing, no tongue! What in the hell am I supposed to do with my tongue again?”

  Theresa smirked, leaning against the wall behind me. Her strawberry blonde hair was cut in a cute little pageboy, and her blue-green eyes sparkled with laughter. “Okay, don’t get all crazy. Let him put his tongue in first. Then, no, like, lapping or anything. Just gentle, twirling… slowly, until you start to feel it in your skirt.”

  I laughed nervously, shaking my head and hurriedly applying more of my pink lemonade Lip Smackers. “You should write this shit down. Seriously.”

  “I will. When I’m a famous romance author, I’ll make sure I acknowledge your first make-out session as my inspiration.”

  We laughed again, and I squared my shoulders, taking a deep, calming breath.

  “Okay. Am I cute?” I checked, turning to her.

  She quirked an eyebrow. “You’re adorable, Sandra Dee.”

  I hugged her, doing another excited stand-still dance. “Thank you!”

  We made our way through the crowd. I noticed that not only was the drama club there, but also most of the football team. Since Trevor was the quarterback, he’d invited pretty much the entire school.

  The door to the lower level of the house was closed, and I twisted the handle, my heart thundering in my chest.

  Trevor was waiting for me.

  To make out.

  My boobs were too small, so I’d need to somehow direct him away from my chest. I had nice enough legs, I thought, and they were bare beneath my skirt.

  Legs. Legs only.

  Legs, legs, legs.

  “Hey Viv, over here,” Trevor called through the dim light. As my eyes began to focus in the almost-darkness, I realized that there were couples everywhere making the hell out to the music coming from the gigantic speakers.

  Chris Daughtry was rocking “Feels Like Tonight” and I was like, Chris, come on, I’m under enough pressure as it is.

  “My room’s down here. Come in, I’ll show you.”

  Trevor led me into the bedroom to the right, closing the door behind us.

  The music was still pouring through the speakers in his room.

  I glanced around appreciatively, twisting my ponytail into a knot. “Nice room. You have a lot of trophies.”

  “Thanks,” he replied, tugging on his comforter. “Sorry, I forgot to make my bed.”

  I shrugged, swallowing hard.

  “That’s okay.”

  Awkward.

  Awkward awkward awkward.

  My OCD was kicking in. I began repeating my thoughts in threes, and longed to tear the comforter from his hand and neatly align the striped pattern until the bed was Better Homes and Garden’s ready.

  “I didn’t expect to feel so disappointed after the show tonight.”

  “Why?” I managed, standing uncomfortably by his bed. “Why were you disappointed?”

  He ran his hand through his hair again, allowing the length to fall just at the sides of his eyes. “I only get to kiss you for one more show.”

  I bit my bottom lip, looking down.

  He wants to kiss me again!

  I yanked.

  And then my breath caught in my throat.

  My finger was stuck.

  In my hair.

  Oh, shit.

  The amount of hairspray in my hair, combined with it being shoved under the wig for so long, had turned the strands into a rat’s nest. I pulled, my adrenaline pumping.

  Just keep twirling. Your finger has to come out of your hair. It won’t stay there forever! Calm down!

  “I don’t mean to make you nervous. You’re getting all rashy again.”

  “No! No, I’m not nervous,” I protested, trying for one, hard yank.

  Nothing.

  “Are you… okay?” Trevor asked, taking a step closer.

  I nodded, gulping before lifting my watery eyes to his. “Trevor? My finger is kind of… stuck. In my hair.”

  He looked taken aback, and then reached for my hand.

  Sure as shit, my hand was wound tightly into my hair. I could feel the knot cutting off the circulation in my finger.

  “How did that even happen?” he asked with an incredulous laugh, turning for the door. “Hold up, there’re some scissors in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared through the door.

  I sat gingerly on the bed

  Oh, my god, I’m a fucking moron.

  I can’t believe this is happening to me!

  I waited, ramrod straight, for almost five entire minutes. I knew it was five minutes because my eyes were trained on the clock near Trevor’s TV.

  What was taking him so long?

  Leona Lewis began to croon about it all getting better in time.

  Shit.

  The more I fought my finger, the more the tangle grew.

  “Sorry!” Trevor burst through the door, and I jerked at the sudden noise. “Everyone kept asking me questions.”

  “That’s okay,” I assured him. “I’m the idiot with a finger stuck in my hair.”

  He laughed, settling next to me with the scissors. “You’re not an idiot. Well… I don’t want to cut a giant chunk out of your hair. What should I do?”

  “Just cut the strands around my finger?” I suggested.

  “Okay, hold still.”

  I was free in no time, with minimal damage. He held the tiny lock of my hair in his hand, awkwardly handing it over to me.

  I giggled. “You can keep it. A souvenir.”

  He laughed, setting both the scissors and the hair on his dresser. “I love how funny you are.”

  I beamed.

  And then wham, he was kissing me.

  I landed with my back on his bed, and his arms locked around me. I opened my mouth, and then closed it, remembering Theresa’s words. Let him stick his tongue in first.

  Too late. The second my mouth opened, his tongue delved, and I just went with it.

  His hand was locked at my waist. He had two choices; north or south.

  Somehow, I had to get him south, but past my skirt. Legs.

  I lifted my knee to press against his side.

  Inevitably, my skirt slid down my thigh, giving him easy access to everything under my skirt.

  Before I could correct my failed maneuver, his hand slapped to my hip, his thumb pressing into my thigh.

  Shit. Shit!

  Fingers beneath the side of my panties.

  Gram had bought them for me, and they were cotton and white, nearly reaching my belly button.

  I tried to squirm away, but his eyes were already narrowed.

  Shit. Granny panties. In the most literal of senses.

  “These are hot,” he teased, tugging at the elastic band.

  “I needed something… that worked with my costumes…” I began to stutter and ramble, breathless, my mouth only a moment away from his.

  “Sexy,” he mumbled with a smirk.

  “But I didn’t mean to… invite you to them,” I tried, reaching to smooth my skirt. “I was just trying to move my leg against you.”

  “Oh,” he quickly removed his hand, eyebrows raised. “Am I going too fast?”

  “No,” I shook my head, mortified. “No! I mean, just… not under my skirt, okay?”

  He grinned.

  I balked.

  Fuck. What did that even mean?

  That meant all the fucking hills and dales between my forehead and my toes, except under my skirt.

  He slid his hand up my stomach, dropping his mouth to my chest.

  Ugh! My boobs are too small! My nipples look like mosquito bites!

  “Trevor-”

  Holy hell, his mouth was on my breast. He pulled the cup of my tiny bra down, and began sucking.

  Kiss him until I felt it in my
skirt? I couldn’t focus on one sensation. His hands were on my legs, his mouth on my breast, and…

  Beyonce instructed “to the left” and, on cue, Trevor moved to my left breast.

  I almost moaned.

  “Does this feel good?”

  What? He was on me, and I opened my eyes, nodding quickly.

  “Yes! But-”

  He was back at it again.

  Wait. Wait. Weren’t there… bases… or something? We had only kissed for about a minute, and now he was sucking on my boobs. Or, rather, trying to locate the area where my boobs would eventually grow.

  Was I going too fast? Being a whore?

  “Trevor, stop,” I finally exhaled, and he moved away. I shoved my shirt down, my eyes darting to him nervously.

  “Sorry. Too fast. I can’t help it, you’ve got amazing tits.”

  Okay, now I knew he was full of shit. There was nothing amazing about my non-existent cleavage. My chest looked like the pale dead people from long ago with two coins placed over their eyes.

  “Just kissing, okay?”

  He grinned. And we kissed.

  For about forty-five minutes, non-stop, until Theresa was pounding on the door, saying she was ready to leave.

  The Sunday matinee show was weirdly uncomfortable. Trevor was tongue-tied and kept messing up his lines, and I felt absolutely nothing in our kissing scenes except his sweaty palms on my face.

  We didn’t talk much that day… or that week… and by his graduation, I wondered what the fuck had happened. Had I let him do too much, too fast? Was I not a good kisser? Did he like someone else?

  “Let it go, Viv. He’s eighteen. Too old for you anyway.”

  Theresa; always my rock.

  I finally shrugged it off. Who knew what he was thinking? Boys made absolutely no sense.

  I decided, from that point on, I wanted a boy who wasn’t afraid to tell me what he was thinking. One that wasn’t afraid to lay it on the line, the good and the bad.

  I didn’t want a boy, I wanted a man.

  A man who would want me as much as I wanted him.

  Inherit the Wind

  K

  “Keaton! Wait up.”

  Robin jogged over to me just outside our high school, and my best friend, Drew, flashed her a lewd look.

  “Hey Robbie,” Drew whined, and Robin flipped him the finger.

  I gave Drew a warning glare before turning back to my sister. “Robin, I’m going to be late.”

  “You’re gonna be late for what, screwing Amy Raleigh behind the bleachers? Just give me five fucking minutes.”

  I paused just outside the school, rolling my eyes.

  “Fine. What?”

  “It’s Mom.” She lowered her voice, shifting her backpack on her shoulder. I narrowed my eyes, leading her away from Drew and my other friends.

  “What’s wrong now?”

  “Luke has some kind of science fair tonight at school. Mom was already half in the bag when I went home to check on her at lunch.”

  My irritation prickled. Narrowing my eyes, I glanced back at the school.

  “Can’t he skip it?”

  “It’s important to him,” she argued, glaring. “And I already committed to babysitting.”

  “I have to work too-”

  “But Old Man Jarrod will understand. If I cancel on Mrs. Carson tonight, she can’t take her shift at the hospital.”

  She looked up at me expectantly, and I knew that she was right.

  “Fuuuck.” I exhaled slowly, rolling my eyes. “Fine. When and where?”

  “The junior high. At six.”

  “What about Grandpa?”

  She tightened her grip on her backpack. “You know he won’t leave Mom alone, not like that.”

  “Fine,” I repeated, not even trying to mask my irritation. “Tell him I’ll be there.”

  “Keat, you have to promise-”

  “I promise,” I snapped. When her expression sobered, I softened my voice. “I promise. Robin, thank you for telling me. I don’t want Luke to be disappointed.”

  She brightened immediately, which was a lot to say for Robin. She gave me a tiny wave, turning for the road.

  I walked to Jarrod’s Hardware, shifting my backpack over my shoulder as the door chime signaled Mr. Jarrod. He came out from the back room, glancing down at this watch.

  “You’re late, kid.”

  “Sorry. And I have to leave early,” I rushed, moving quickly toward the back room.

  The man’s weathered skin pulled tight around his mouth as he frowned my way. “Why’s that?”

  “My little brother has a school thing. No one can take him but me.”

  He gave a low whistle behind his false teeth, shaking his head. “You know I care for you Thorne kids. But I have to draw the line somewhere, Keaton.”

  “Can you please just draw the line another day?” I couldn’t help my sarcasm as I haphazardly tied the Jarrod’s Hardware apron on over my clothes. Mr. Jarrod turned back toward the stockroom.

  “You had yer last chance already. And then four more after that. Sorry, kid.”

  My fingers paused at the tie. “Sorry? What, you’re firing me?”

  “Can’t rely on you. Half the time yer with your kid brother, and the other half yer out with the girls. In all fairness, I’m firin’ you for that second half.”

  I fought to control the outburst that was brewing with my damaged pride.

  “Sir, I need this job. Please.”

  “Then make other arrangements for yer brother.”

  “With all due respect, you need me,” I snapped, wrenching the dirty apron over my neck. “Who else is going to lift all those boxes?”

  “Got a town full of local boys lined up to take yer paycheck.”

  “Fine.”

  I scooped my backpack over my arm and pushed through the door without another word.

  The walk home was hot, the sun beating down on me with every miserable step. I was dreading the end of school. I knew that most of my friends would be headed off to college, or to travel, or to take my job at Jacob’s Hardware, while I’d be stuck taking care of the bullshit at home.

  Grandpa was getting too weak to make it up and down the stairs, and he’d given up driving almost a year ago. I knew that it was difficult for him; he’d always been independent and was proud of it. He’d saved every penny possible over the years, and he’d spent a lot of that savings on my family. He even let my parents take over his big, Victorian house, moving himself into the small garage apartment. When my mom had protested and insisted that he stay in the main house, he refused.

  “A young family needs their privacy. I like the garage. Prefer it there.”

  I knew that Grandpa had some land in Westmoreland County that was rich in natural gas, but that was about all that I knew. He let my dad provide for us as much as possible, which I knew was about pride, but when shit hit the fan (as it often did in our family) Grandpa was there to bail us out.

  I was grateful when he handed over the keys to his old Chevy pickup, but really wished he’d let me pull that beautiful Ferrari out of the garage and take it for a spin. He kept the car under a tight, beige cover, only unveiling it once in a while to let me admire the refurbished interior or the cherry red paint job.

  I thought about our conversation in the garage last week.

  “It’ll be yours when I pass away, Keaton. But not until then. You gotta have something to look forward to, son.”

  “I’d rather have you than a stupid car,” I’d argued at his side.

  “Eh, I’m old and full of piss n’ vinegar, Keaton.”

  “You’re the best,” I replied, so sincerely that I watched his hand tremble as he brushed a wayward tear out of his eye.

  “Eighteen.” He reached out to squeeze my shoulder. “Eighteen, an’ takin’ care of your mama, your sister and brother, and trying to hold down that job while makin’ high marks at school. I’m so proud of you.”

  “School’s easy.”


  “‘Cause you’re smart. Know what I was doin’ at eighteen? Girls. All o’ them.”

  I laughed, shrugging as I pulled the cover back over the Ferrari. “Oh, I’m doing them too, Grandpa.”

  “So I hear,” he grinned, winking my way.

  An emergency vehicle wailed from behind, startling as it flew past me on the road.

  I dropped my book bag.

  The ambulance swung into our driveway at the crest of the hill.

  I was still almost a quarter of a mile away from my house.

  Breaking into a run, I prayed, for the first time in years. Please don’t let it be Luke. Please.

  I knew, between Mom and Grandpa, the likelihood of Luke needing an ambulance was slim.

  I knew, deep down, what was happening.

  Soaked with sweat, I threw the front door open, nearly screaming his name. “Luke!”

  “I’m okay.” My twelve-year-old brother appeared from the kitchen, hurrying to my side.

  I crushed him to my chest, trying to focus. “Mom or Grandpa?”

  “Grandpa,” Luke sobbed, not fighting my hold at all. “He wasn’t breathing. When I got home from school.”

  “Listen to me,” I ordered calmly, turning him away from the living room where the paramedics worked to revive our grandfather. “Is Mom in bed?”

  “Yeah, I tried to wake her up, but she won’t-”

  “Go up to your room, Luke. Wait there until I come get you.”

  “Keaton-”

  “Go. Now,” I said firmly. He’d come to learn my we’re-not-fucking-around voice and nodded, running for the stairs.

  A female paramedic left the group surrounding Grandpa, coming out into the kitchen with me. “What’s your name?”

  “Keaton,” I replied quickly. “That’s my Grandpa.”

  “Keaton, I’m Linda. Are there any adults in the house? Mom, Dad?”

  “No dad. My mom is sleeping upstairs.”

  “Can you wake her up?”

  “No, because she’s not sleeping, she’s drunk and passed out.” I decided that now was no time to save face for our family.

  The sympathy that passed over Linda the Paramedic’s face set my temper on fire.

  “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Keaton,” she repeated. “I’m very sorry. When we arrived, your grandfather had already passed. Do you understand?”