Use Somebody

by Riley Jean

  “So you’d do it all over again? You’d risk sacrificing your sanity to chase the idea of love, knowing that the harder you fall, the worse it’ll hurt in the end?”

  “Without a second thought. Sometimes love sucks…”

  “I concur so far,” I interjected.

  “…But as bad as it can be, I think it could be just as amazing. And that makes all the hard parts worth it. So you can’t let it keep you down. People come and go. But you can always hold the good times in your heart, even if that person’s no longer with you. You have to look back at everything that’s made life good, instead of why it isn’t now. Life isn’t something to endure, Rosie. It’s something to experience.”

  His approach surprised me. He wasn’t trying to convince me of the existence of forever-love; he was acknowledging that sometimes it sucked but we shouldn’t be disheartened. To hold on to the good times of the past, and have hope for the future. Hope… I stared down at my lap, unable to understand how the good times could remain untainted once they’d crashed and burned.

  “Maybe I’d just rather bear it alone.”

  “No one can bear it alone. There must be some memory that makes your days a little brighter? Anyone? Heck. Anything?”

  I shook my head dismissively. “For now it’s just easier to do the independent thing. Rely on nobody, and nobody lets you down.”

  “That’s stupid,” he said plainly.

  I couldn’t help but laugh a little.

  “You don’t have to bear it alone, you know,” he said softly. “It’s a heavy burden, even for a strong girl like you.”

  “Life has made me strong,” I said, “Not hope.”

  “Well just so you know, if you’d ever like someone to share the load, I’m always here.”

  Even though I had no intention of taking him up on that, his offer made me smile. “You’re a good friend, Vance Holloway.”

  “You’re easy to talk to.”

  “Easy? It’s not like talking to a brick wall?”

  “You don’t agree with me on everything, but you listen. I kinda like that you challenge me.”

  I laughed. Challenging… that sounded about right. “It’s been a long time since I had a conversation like this.”

  “You and me both, Rosie. You and me both.”

  I frowned, wondering how that could have been true when he’d had a girlfriend a mere two days ago. Communication seemed to come so naturally to Vance. Surely he had that with his girlfriend?

  The more I learned about their relationship, the more I was convinced that he did the right thing in ending it. Someone as caring as Vance should not have been lonely or lacking in connection or intellectual stimulation. He deserved so much better than that.

  I liked talking to Vance. He was a good listener and—not that I’d ever admit it—he made me look at things differently. He made the impossible seem possible. He didn’t make me feel so alone.

  But instead of acknowledging it further, I dismissed it like I always did, and decided to ramble.

  “We have this home movie where I am, like, maybe two or three years old, sitting in one of those diaper swings at a park. I keep saying ‘push me mommy, push me!’ but she just stands there and holds the camera on me. I don’t get it, who would rather watch a video of me whining for five minutes, than just pushing me on the damn swing?”

  Vance smirked, accepting my conversation shift, and got off his swing to step behind mine. He gripped my chains and pulled back briefly, then released my seat into the air. I pumped my legs back and forth along with his gentle pushes on my back. And before long, I was flying high, wind in my face and laughter on my breath. Because even though Vance was the one going through a huge breakup, I was still the one who needed this.

  Swings are truly magical in a way that you can never outgrow. They can make you forget all of life’s complications and take you back to a time when life was simple and carefree. I’d spent so long hiding in Ricky’s bedroom, distracting myself from my problems, I’d forgotten how good it felt to just be free for a little while.

  In that moment, I was happy.

  Chapter 15

  Smudgepot

  “Time of your Life” by Green Day

  “It’ll be weird going back.”

  It was the day of the big varsity football game, where the San Dimas Saints competed against our rivals, the Bonita Bearcats, for bragging rights as well as the huge, awkward-looking Smudgepot trophy.

  Every year the whole town showed up to the Smudgepot game to root for their home team: students, graduates, parents and other locals. Even people like me who didn’t make a habit out of following sports or attending social events. It was the one time a year that the community banded together, sure to result in a mini reunion of sorts.

  Tonight would be my second Smudgepot since graduating high school, and Vance’s third.

  I sat on his kitchen’s granite countertop swinging my legs and eating the tater tots he just pulled out of the oven, while he opened a big brown box and assembled some kind of wicker chair. I liked his friends, honestly I did, but sometimes it felt like I had to tread lightly around them. So I cherished these moments where it was just me and him.

  “I know,” I groaned in accord. “I’m dreading this, Vance. I’ve been avoiding this kind of situation ever since I moved back here. And tonight I’m walking straight into the lion’s den! Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

  “Because this is your town, too. You can’t hide from them forever.”

  “I’m not hiding from anyone,” I grumbled, “I just don’t care to see people from my past, is all.”

  “I don’t mind seeing people I used to know,” he said, pensive. “It’s just that… I feel different. And all those people know me as someone I’m not anymore.”

  I nodded. I could so relate to that. It wasn’t so much running into old friends that kick-started my anxiety; it was people looking at me and seeing the old Scarlett. And it was the same for him. High school Scarlett was a little blond pushover. High school Vance was Evelyn’s tight-leashed boyfriend. Reputations like that were difficult to change in a small town.

  “How’s it going?” I inquired. “With the breakup?”

  He sighed. “She still calls. She told me all her friends took her out to a party last weekend and she met some lifeguard.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Ooh, a rebound!” I clasped my hands together in fun. “And was Mr. Baywatch enough to help her get over you?”

  “I hope so,” he shuttered. Then his nose scrunched in annoyance. “She’s also telling everyone that our breakup was mutual.”

  “And it wasn’t?”

  “Not even close,” he shook his head, frustrated. “It’s just typical Evelyn. She always has to be in control. It’s ridiculous.”

  “Well, she’s no longer your problem. Just ignore her calls, talking to her will only frustrate you more.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s habit.”

  “Well then, friend, we’ll have to get you a patch.”

  He stood, eyeing me. “At least people can tell by looking at you that you’ve changed. I wonder how many times tonight people are going to come up and ask me where she is.”

  I pondered that. “You can do something different, too, you know.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well… when I felt different, I found a way to express it.” I said, twirling my finger around a shiny black ringlet. Vance was right—I looked like a totally new person from the last time I had stepped foot on our alma mater. Thanks to all the ice cream and pancakes, I was pretty much back to my normal weight. But everything else had changed. My hair was darker, my skin more pale, and life had irrevocably aged my eyes.

  Vance eyed the ebony strand warily. “That might be a bit much for me.”

  I flicked the curl behind my shoulder. “So find what works for you. You don’t have to dye your hair. You can change your shoes or get a tattoo or anything in between.”

  “What’s wr
ong with my shoes?” He looked down at his checkered Vans, mildly offended.

  “Nothing’s wrong with any of it, Vance. That’s not what I mean. You’re at a turning point in your life where you have to be true to yourself. Not to Princess Evelyn, not to anyone else. All that matters is—what would make you feel better?”

  “This chair would make me feel better.” He took a step back and grinned widely, tossing his tools aside. “And it’s ready.”

  I eyed the round chair with a thick, forest green cushion. It looked about as cozy as a futon. “It doesn’t look revolutionary to me.”

  “Then you’ve never sat in a papasan before.”

  “Papa-wha?”

  He chuckled. “Come here. You can have the honors.”

  I jumped off the counter and walked over to the chair, shooting Vance a skeptical look before sitting down.

  “Oh… good… gracious.” I murmured, closing my eyes and melting into the seat.

  “It’s like sitting on a cloud, right?” he said, proud.

  “This is the most comfortable piece of furniture in the history of my ass!”

  He barked out a loud laugh at that.

  “Seriously, Vance. I am in love with your papaya.”

  “Whatever it takes to make you a believer again. And it’s a papasan.”

  “Whatever. Now leave us be.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re excused. Have fun at the game tonight. Go get ’em, Saints!”

  He stood over me with amusement. “Did you just jack my revolution?”

  I opened my eyes and looked up at him, for once trying to see past the surface. Underneath his smile, I recognized something in his expression that looked as familiar as my own reflection: searching. It was the face of a young man caught somewhere between his past and present.

  “I have an idea,” I said, nervous. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yeah,” he answered immediately.

  “Follow me.”

  I made him sit on the edge of the tub so I could reach. He usually let his hair go untamed, thick brown waves framing his face and curling up over his ears. I wetted my hands and ran my fingers through his hair to loosen it up until every strand was damp.

  “So what does one have to do to become an Eagle Scout?” I asked, filling the silence.

  “You have to… uh… earn merit badges for demonstrating leadership skills. First aid, fitness, wilderness, and other personal management stuff. Then you have to do a community project…”

  I scooped out a bit of gel and spread it over Vance’s hair, massaging it in. When it was thoroughly slicked, I used my hands to part it twice, separating his hair into three sections. The middle was easiest. Using both hands, I lightly pressed his hair between both palms and molded it up and forward, coming together at the top and creating a line straight back. I moved directly in front of him to make sure it looked good, and corrected a few stray pieces. The sides were a little trickier. I tousled my fingers through the soft waves to get them sticking up and curled slightly inward.

  I had given him a fohawk.

  It was fun, edgy, and perfect if he wanted to try something different for one night. He was boyishly attractive with his hair curling over his ears. But with it sticking up and out of his face, he certainly looked… different… good, different.

  Not such a Boy Scout anymore.

  “There.” I stepped aside when it was finally finished and turned to look at him in the mirror, hoping he wouldn’t hate what he saw.

  But when I found his face in the mirror, he wasn’t looking at his reflection… he was looking at me.

  And I couldn’t read his expression.

  I turned to face him—the real him sitting beside me—and met his deep, inquisitive eyes. They were green. Olive green, to be precise. I’d never paid much attention to the exact shade before. They were intriguing. And so open, so steady, it was almost alarming. It twisted something inside of me, though I couldn’t identify what. Part of me wanted to decipher the thoughts behind those eyes. Something was brewing behind them. Something indistinguishable.

  The longer he sat without saying anything, the more my anxiety spiked.

  “If you hate it, I’ll change it back,” I said softly. “I’ll wash it out. We can think of something else.”

  He looked at me for another long moment before he finally turned toward the mirror. Upon seeing his reflection, his lips curled up on one side. “It rocks,” he said, twisting to see it from different angles.

  I let out a breath of air and grinned.

  “Will you do the honors?” he asked, handing me the hairspray.

  * * *

  Trumpets blared and drums thundered through the air as we entered the crowded stadium. Blue and gold were everywhere—t-shirts and flags, painted faces and colored hair. The ground was peppered with popcorn and confetti. Everyone had come to the infamous Smudgepot game to root for their home team.

  The stands were so packed, there was no hope to find open seating for our group of six. So we stood in front of the chain linked fence by the scoreboard. Cole watched the game intently. Summer and Kiki cheered for the players and took selfies, simultaneously. Gwen chattered away on her cell, ignoring the game and everyone around her. Vance stood a few feet away, talking to two giggly girls with pigtails and blue glitter on their cheeks. I smiled knowingly. Freshly single and rockin’ a new ‘do. He was going to get swarmed.

  Sure, Summer was still acting strange, and I was a little on edge thinking about who I might run into tonight, but for the moment I was… fine.

  “Hey kiddo.”

  I turned around and smiled up at Ricky. Seeing him in public was becoming less weird, although it was still quite a shock to see him at the Smudgepot game. School spirit didn’t seem like his thing, especially for a high school that had expelled him during his senior year.

  “Hey,” I nudged him with my shoulder. “I’m surprised you’re here!”

  He shrugged. “I wanted to see a few people.”

  That’s funny. I was trying to avoid a few people. I guess it didn’t make any sense why I was here, either.

  I smiled up at him. “You find who you were looking for?”

  And there it was. That tiny ghost of a smile on his lips, the fondness in his gray eyes. The look reserved for only me.

  “Come with me,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

  I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask where we were going. Didn’t even stop to tell Vance or his friends. Everyone was preoccupied; they probably wouldn’t even notice. Besides, if Ricky led me far enough away, the chances of anyone approaching me were significantly slimmer. So I simply followed.

  We made our way through the hordes of people. Every now and then, girls would call out his name. Whether it was a seductive purr or a bubbly squeal, it was never just Ricky, it was always Ricky Storm. He shot his signature smirk in their direction, but never stopped to respond.

  A few of them noticed him towing me along and shot me dirty looks. Aware that I couldn’t show any weakness in front of girls like that, I lifted my chin and looked straight ahead. I knew Ricky was a bit of a player, but it was one of those things we never discussed. When we hung out together, we existed in our own little bubble. Relationships and other personal topics were of the “don’t ask, don’t tell” variety.

  Once we crossed into Bearcat territory, he slipped his jacket around my shoulders to hide the Saints’ telltale blue layered under my black sweater. Their bleachers were equally filled with green and just as cramped and loud as ours. It felt good to disappear in a sea of unfamiliar faces. And I was comfortable walking next to Ricky. He didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with chatter, and neither did I.

  After a few minutes of walking, we ended up in front of the chain linked fence—an area not unlike the spot we’d just left—and it made me realize something. Ricky didn’t actually have a destination in mind to take me to, he just saw that I needed an escape from my current situation and removed me. Like
he had so many times before.

  We stood quietly and observed the game and its fans from this side of the field, until two boys approached and greeted Ricky with fist bumps.

  “Hey! It’s Texas!” one of them shouted. I would recognize those dreadlocks anywhere.

  “Hi Farrell,” I returned his greeting.

  “You here to bluff me out of all my money again?”

  His teasing was friendly. “I wasn’t the one who ended up with your money.” I bumped my hip into Ricky’s. “And no, just tagging along for a bit.”

  “And who’s this,” the second guy asked, eyeing me, “the little protégé?”

  I didn’t know this new person, but I could see how he thought that, especially sporting Ricky’s jacket and my dyed black hair. I knew who Ricky was to me, but who was I to him? A quick glance at Ricky’s distant, stoic expression proved to be no help. I forced a small smile and shrugged.

  “A quiet one, huh? I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Farrell chuckled at his friend then looked to us. “You guys got plans after the game?”

  “We’re headin’ to Xavier’s to celebrate,” the stranger said. “You in?”

  Celebrate? The scoreboard was most definitely not in their favor right now. I raised an eyebrow. “Wishful thinking?”

  “Maybe,” he winked at me. And encroached on my personal space a bit.

  My eyes narrowed, seeing right through his games. It wasn’t going to work on me. I straightened, fighting to hide my discomfort lest I show any weakness.

  “You’re not winning,” I reiterated.

  He lifted a shoulder. “Only technically.”

  Pedantic jerkoff.

  “Not going to Xavier’s,” Ricky finally said. “Got other plans tonight.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet you do,” the guy muttered. “What about you, girl? Up for a good time?”

  “I go where he goes,” I said, gesturing towards Ricky. I didn’t mean to sound so presumptuous. I wasn’t planning to follow him around, of course, but I wasn’t going to leave him for random creeps, either.

  “Aw come on. He won’t stick around all night. Come party with us and we’ll have something to celebrate about.”