by Sarah Bumpus
Carver pulls back his hair with both hands and exhales, “This sucks, man. How much further is it?”
I tell him about five minutes until we reach Bobby Dawson’s house, the burly senior that invited us to the party during lunch this week.
“Maybe they’ll have a pool,” I joke.
“Yeah,” he agrees, “too bad I’m already soaking wet.”
We finally arrive and ring the doorbell to the large brick Colonial, then stand there like dorks, actually waiting for someone to answer. I turn around when the sound of giggling females pricks my attention. Two girls I don’t recognize are walking side by side, each holding a large plastic cup in their hands.
“Just go around back!” one of them calls. They continue to walk, and start to giggle again, though this time I’m pretty sure it’s directed at us.
“Oh, man! This just got a shit ton more awesome!” Carver says, already ripping off his shirt, as we round the side of the house and see that there actually is a pool. I blink hard to make sure it’s not a mirage. The water is lit up from underneath the surface, and offers enough light for me to see a girl’s bikini top float by. As I look around, sadly I don’t see the owner.
“Hey, guys. Glad you could make it.” Bobby comes up behind us and slaps me on the back. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge. There’s a keg over there,” he points. He quickly gets distracted when someone calls his name, and turns his attention elsewhere.
Despite my well-built frame, I’ve always felt a little self-conscious taking my shirt off in front of others. I think it has something to do with the fact that I was one of those completely awkward little kids. The type who’s appendages grow at an abnormally fast pace, and the rest of their body just can’t catch up. However, the only time I allow myself to be seen with pit stains is when I’m working out, or on the field, so I reach up and yank my polo over my head.
Carver and I are sitting on the edge of the pool with our feet dangling in the water, when the blond chick from lunch and a friend, lazily float over to us. Their hair fans out across the water’s surface, and they remind me of mermaids floating in a moonlit lagoon.
“They don’t look like freshmen to me,” the friend comments.
The blonde laughs, trying to stay afloat and eying Carver, she says, “I know! Aren’t they cute? I want one.”
“What are they, like…fourteen, fifteen? I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” the friend jokes. Blondie just shrugs and proceeds to pull Carver into the pool by his feet and he responds by playfully dunking her under the water. Blondie’s squeals and erratic splashing start to cause a scene, and I look around to see if Bobby is aware of this little incident. I really don’t want to cause any trouble between a teammate, especially this early into the season. Bobby’s nowhere to be found, and by the time my eyes pan back to the pool, neither is Carver.
“What the hell are you doing, man?” I whisper and grab Caver’s arm, yanking him away from the mass of teenagers crowded around the keg. Carver obtained a towel in his travels and it hangs loosely off his hips. I look away not wanting to find out what’s underneath if it decides to fall.
“What do you mean? I’m just having fun.” Carver gives me a dirty look.
“Are you forgetting the fact that the blonde is property of a 200 pound linebacker…that I have to play on a team with?”
Carver smiles, “You need to get laid, dude.”
I throw my hands up in defeat. “I’m not getting involved if he decides to kick your ass.”
“I’m not worried about it,” he shrugs, grabs two cups of beer, and hands one to me.
“I don’t drink,” I say, pushing the cup back towards him. And I don’t. I never have. When I picture Joy’s face, the way it contorted into a mixture of confusion and fear, the day her dad was killed. I can’t justify doing something like that, knowing the effects it can cause. I know that she’ll never be aware of it, but it’s just something I feel the need to do, for her.
“Of course you don’t,” Carver mocks, with an eye roll. He takes the cup and suddenly screams, “Hey, everyone…we got a keg stand virgin over here!”
My face falls and I wonder why I was stupid enough to come here with this guy. I should have trusted my gut instinct and known he was a little off from our very first conversation. I don’t have time to react, nor can I even move, because I’m instantly surrounded by half of the North Tide football team. A few guys grab my arms and legs, and suddenly I’m propelled upside down with no choice but to grab onto the keg. A girl forces some sort of hose contraption to my lips and within an instant, the bitter, yeasty taste of lukewarm beer, burns my throat. I have no choice but to swallow until foam starts to makes its way up my nose. I start sputtering and coughing, then feel myself being set back upon my feet. I catch my balance and everyone starts whooping and cheering. When it’s all over, I’m ready to punch Carver in the face. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, ready to lay him out. Though after a few moments, the feeling quickly dissolves and I find myself wrapping my arm around his neck instead. “Thanks, dude. I’m so glad you’re here,” the warm and fuzzy words reflecting what’s taken over my insides.
Carver laughs and pushes me away. “OK, man. Enough with the bro love.”
“No, no. I’m…serious.” I sway to the side and Carver has to grab my bare shoulder so I don’t fall over. “You can be like, my new best friend. I had one. She’s amazing, but she hates me. I think I might marry her.”
Carver gives me a funny look. “Dude, you’re not making any sense.”
“Her name is Joy Anderson and I’m in love with her.” And that makes a whole lot of sense to me.
CHAPTER NINE
JOY
If I had known the way to get guys to talk to you, was simply agreeing to be a peer tutor, I would have done it much sooner. Well, maybe I should take that back. A certain guy, I should say. I can’t stop thinking about Carver and I chide myself for letting it break my focus during class all day. It’s consuming me, and I’ve never really been the type of girl who obsesses over a guy. It’s not like I’m a total failure with them, I’ve had boyfriends…OK, one boyfriend. We even had sex for Pete’s sake. His name was Ben Sweeney. We dated briefly my sophomore year and at the time we both had braces. Of course, everyone knows the urban legend about mouths getting locked together if you French kiss with orthodontic appliances, right? Well, I was absolutely mortified at the thought of that happening. So, we didn’t kiss a lot, and basically had sex to be able to admit we both had our firsts. Then we broke up. It was awkward and uncomfortable, and maybe in the future I’ll think it was a stupid thing to do. Right now, I feel like it was good to just get it over with, similar to taking the first step into a frigid pool on a hot summer day. Something you just have to do if you want to experience complete satisfaction. I’m not saying I intend on sleeping with a lot of guys, just that when I decide the time is finally right, I’m sure it will be much better.
After final bell I stop at my locker, grab what I books I need for tonight’s homework session, then reluctantly drag the two blocks of cement at my feet out to my car. On any given day it’s a race between the students who drive and the school busses, to exit the grounds first. However, today is my first tutoring session with Bryce, and I’m thankful to be stuck at the mercy of the slow moving buses.
“You should call Seth. You do have another best friend, you know.” Farah looks in the vanity mirror and wipes the caked up eyeliner from the corner of her eye while we idle in a line of cars. “He misses you and keeps saying I hog you all the time.”
“Oh, did he really say it that sweetly?”
“Nope, that’s the sugar coded version. I believe the word bitch made it in there somewhere, but I’m not saying if it was directed towards you or me.”
I laugh. “OK, I’ll call him.”
We eventually make it onto the road and gossip mindlessly the rest of the drive home. I don’t bring up Bryce, nor does Farah. Before stepping out of the car,
she leans over and gives me a quick hug. Farah says she’ll be around if I want to talk later, and I think about how lucky I am to have her.
Pulling into my driveway, I find Bryce’s glossy black Wrangler parked in my usual spot. The body of the Jeep is mounted upon large off-roading tires and a light bar is perched on the roof. A matching bull bar completes the look of this menacing behemoth. A sole white decal that reads, Virginia is for Lovers, is slapped on the rear bumper. It looks completely out of place and emphasizes the overall masculinity of the vehicle. I wonder if it’s meant to be a joke or not, and feel a quick stab inside, as this silly bumper sticker highlights the fact that I don’t know who Bryce is anymore.
I drive past his car and come to a grinding halt where my mom usually parks. Taking a deep breath I turn off the ignition and slowly open the driver’s side door. While I am collecting my things from the back seat, I hear his door shut and feel him approach.
“Sounds like you need new brake pads!” he calls, making his way towards me.
“Um, yeah…I guess,” I reply indifferently, slamming the rear door shut. The guy doesn’t talk to me for ten years, and the first thing he mentions is brake pads?
“I could do that for you. It’s the least I could do…in return for helping me and all.” He comes to a stop in front of me, one arm effortlessly holding a large hardcover history book and three ring binder, with the other casually stuck in the front pocket of his jeans. The light blue featherweight shirt he’s wearing accentuates the turquoise of his eyes even more. Bryce’s massive body makes me feel small and feminine, an uncomfortable feeling that I’m not used too.
“That’s alright. It won’t be necessary. Really…I get to add this to my college resume, anyway.” I use a tone that implies that the subject is closed.
“Suit yourself,” he shrugs. Before I can protest, Bryce grabs the backpack I was supporting on my forearm, throws it over his shoulder, then starts to walk towards my front porch. I sigh in defeat and speed up to catch his pace. We pause in an awkward silence while I unlock the door. I let him in first then shut it behind me.
“It’s so different now,” Bryce says, as he follows me through to the kitchen.
I pause with my back facing him, “What is?”
“Your house…It’s changed a lot.”
“Well, what do you expect? My mom’s an interior designer.” I gesture for him to sit on one of the dinning table’s mile long benches.
“I know that. It’s just strange to remember something a certain way and then find that it’s changed.”
“Yes, it is,” I acknowledge coolly, and slide into in my dad’s old seat at the head of our wooden plank table. I always wondered why my mom kept such a huge table after Dad died. I know they bought it with the intention of wanting a large family, but the three of us probably just look pathetic sitting at it now. Maybe that’s why we all have an unspoken understanding with the breakfast bar.
“Alright, let me see your binder so I can see what you’ve taken for notes.” I reach over and grab it. Setting it down in front of me, I’m about to open it when I hear the school bus stop in front of the house. Moments later, Devon comes through the front door. He heads right for the kitchen and looks slightly weirded out to see Bryce sitting there.
“Um…Hey guys,” he says, grabbing an apple from the fridge.
“Devon, what’s up? How’s the trumpeting going?” Bryce straddles the bench so he’s facing him.
I glance at him, surprised that he even knows Devon is in the marching band.
“Band’s good. We’re starting to work on More Than a Feeling. I think it’s gonna be pretty epic,” he replies, as if they have these chatty encounters all the time.
Itching to get started I cut in, “Um, Dev? There’s nothing I love more than an epic Boston song, but we really need to get going here.”
“Oh, right…sorry. Later, Bryce.” He raises his apple in the air and takes off into the depths of the house.
Bryce laughs and turns back around. I finally start to examine his notes on…I look down at the header, World War I. Really? I studied this sophomore year. I guess the AP classes do move fast.
Suddenly my mom comes bounding through the back door. Seriously, does everyone have to come see Bryce as if he’s an exotic zoo animal on display? She knows that he was coming over today, and I thought maybe she’d stay away after our little quarrel yesterday. Even though she knew he’d be here, my mom still acts surprised. She tosses her purse on the bar, and stops dead in her tracks. “Bryce Colton! Look at you all grown up! How are you?” She walks past the bar and approaches the table. Bryce stands up so she can give him a hug and quick pat on the back.
“I’m good, Mrs. A. Thanks,” he replies. First Ms. H, now Mrs. A? Well, at least I don’t have to teach him the damn alphabet.
Bryce continues, “I’ve seen you at some the games sitting with my dad, I’m sorry that I haven’t had a chance to say hello. You’re always gone by the time I can make my way over.”
“Oh, that’s alright. Devon is pretty impatient to get out of there as soon as the game ends. He’s not much for postgame celebration.” My mom smiles and heads over to the dishwasher, the little green light indicating it’s clean and ready to be emptied. She looks at the table with our spread of school materials and frowns. “Joy, you didn’t offer Bryce anything to eat or drink? Do you want a sandwich or something, kiddo?”
So, this is news to me. Not the fact that Bryce might like ‘a sandwich or something’, but that my mom was an avid spectator of the Sea Hounds alongside Mr. Colton. I was under the impression that she went to the games more to support Devon and the school’s mediocre band performances. Why did she never mention it to me before? My mood easily sinks deeper into a puddle of annoyance. I’m mad that my mom is being so candid with him, and that Bryce is following suit. I cross my arms, “No, Mom. Sorry, I’m not here to be a personal chef-”
Bryce cuts in, “It’s cool, Mrs. A. Thanks, though.”
“Um, Bryce? Can I talk to you for a minute, in private?” I ask, or should say, demand. I stomp back to the living room and Bryce follows me out of my mom’s ear shot. “Look,” I say angrily, “This tutoring thing? I’m doing it for Ms. Higgins, the school…the whole damn community! But I’m not doing it for you.” I glare up at him, “Keep that in mind when you come here. Don’t try to chum it up with my family, and don’t try to act like we are friends!”
Bryce sucks in a breath and looks at his feet. “Sorry, Joy. I understand. I didn’t mean to impose. I was just trying to make things easier-”
“Make things easier?” I interrupt, “Is that your reasoning for things? Is that what you did when you ditched me after my dad died? Was it easier for you? Because it certainly wasn’t for me!” I’m practically yelling now. I had no intention of bringing up the past at all. Let alone during our first tutoring session.
Bryce sticks his hands in his pockets and looks down at me, “Look, Joy. I can see this really wasn’t a good idea. I’m sure Ms. H. could find another tutor me.”
I walk to the front door, grab the handle and yank it open. “I’m sure she could,” I say coldly.
He silently walks back to the kitchen and grabs his books. When he meets me back at the still open front door, he pauses as if trying to find something else to say, but just ends up nodding at me as he crosses the threshold. I let the door slam with a finalized thud, as if closing an exhaustingly long novel you’ve finished for a class assignment. Not one read for pleasure, and simply glad to be done with it.
I don’t care if I’ve hurt his feelings and I don’t care about his precious scholarship, or the town’s stupid obsession with football. If these things are so important, I’m sure Bryce will figure out something easier. The only thing I do care about is how much better I feel now that he’s gone.
“I think my mom might be having an affair with a married man!” I whine into my cell phone, sprawled out on my bed later that evening.
“What? You’r
e crazy, really? You spent all afternoon with Bryce Colton and that’s the first thing you say to me?” Farah asks in response.
“We didn’t spend all afternoon together.” I reply defensively. “Seriously, he was here for maybe twenty minutes. I kind of told him off.” I quickly fill her in on what happened.
“Don’t be ridiculous, I really doubt your mom is seeing his dad. And, I would have loved to see you scold Bryce Colton, the pride and joy of North Tide!” she giggles. “So, are you going to tell Ms. Higgins that you can’t do it?”
“Honestly, if it wasn’t for Carver, I totally would have said no to begin with. But, yeah, I guess…and maybe after I tell her, I could still offer my services to him anyway.”
Farah laughs, “You want to offer your services to Caver Halsey?”
I roll my eyes and smile even though I know she can’t see me. “Can we get back on subject here?”
“Sorry,” she says, without any hint of an actual apology in her tone.
“I guess I’m just shocked that they still keep in touch with each other.” I tell her, meaning my mom’s association with the Colton’s.
Suddenly my laptop chimes from my desk, implying that I have a new email. I get up and click on the in-box. My pulse starts to speed up when I see it’s from Bryce’s girlfriend, Missy. Could this day get anymore awesome?
“Hey, Farah, I gotta go. I’ll pick you up in the morning, OK?”
We say our goodbyes then I toss my cell on the night table beside my bed. I sit down and open the email. It’s in regards to Thursday’s student government meeting and the planning of the upcoming Harvest Dance. I shake my head, annoyed with myself for thinking the email would be about Bryce. Why would he even mention me to her anyway? We are what we have been for the last ten years, absolutely nothing to each other.
