“You make a good point. I don’t think ‘Alan, I can’t save the world today, I have a parade’ will go over too well.” He smirked then proceeded to slurp the last of his drink, loudly. It was more than a little annoying, and she made sure to shoot him a glare. All he did was offer a goofy grin and stop. Most people wouldn’t think that to be in character. Orlando liked to be dark and mysterious, not fun. But the more time she spent with him, the more she noticed how average he actually was. Either that, or something about her brought that side of him out. Getting him to be normal had to be some kind of divine miracle or impossible task, so she felt pretty special for being able to do it.
Angela sipped her mocha, her fingers tapping on the tabletop. “My parents aren’t going to understand.”
“They don’t need to. They just have to respect your decision.”
“I’m not sure they’ll do that either. Don’t get me wrong, I love playing the piccolo and my flute. It’s why not being able to advance to the orchestra is so frustrating for me. Quitting is going to suck, but I can progress in my playing on my own. I’m tired of wasting my time in a class I hate so much. And I’m not going to be missing out on much by not doing marching band this year anyway. Sure, the trip is always fun. They’re going to Washington D.C. this year. At the same time, I can do without the bus fever and petty drama. You know?” She was rambling again. Embarrassing, but for whatever reason, she could open up to Orlando a lot better than she could anyone else.
Sitting back and raising both of his eyebrows, he laughed. “No, I don’t know. What is bus fever?”
Immediately, she felt her cheeks grow warm and she tried to hide behind her cup by taking another drink. “It’s like cabin fever, only on a bus. You start to see every member of the opposite sex like a supermodel and get dating rabies.”
“Dating what?”
“Rabies.” She squeaked out a nervous laugh. “It’s where you just absolutely have to have a boyfriend or girlfriend. Being enclosed in a small space for a long period of time with the same people kind of makes you start to go crazy.”
“Dating…rabies…” he repeated. “Is this how the cool kids talk these days?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s just my own secret lingo.”
“It’s definitely unique.”
Coming from him, Angela couldn’t tell if unique was a good thing or a bad one. He had the tiny hint of a smile, so she decided to not read too much into it. “Yeah, like I said, it’s a whole lot of drama. I’m glad JD never got into music like that, because if he went on those trips…hoo-boy, it would be nuts.”
“I don’t think he’d survive. Someone would get fed up with his hyperactivity and strap him to the roof of the bus eventually.”
She laughed. “I know, right?”
“So, you play the piccolo.”
“You got a thing against piccolo players?” She pursed her lips, setting her drink down on the table again. The goal was to come across as mildly intimidating, but he saw right through her. His blue eyes sparkled a little as they made eye contact and his smile widened. A smile that caused her heart to pound just a little harder.
As casual as ever, Orlando leaned back in his chair, like they hadn’t just shared some kind of magical moment. “Not when they’re played correctly. I’m just trying to figure out if it’s a suitable instrument for your personality. You can tell a lot about a person based on their musical talents. For example, I, personally, played the piano for a little while, but gave that up because I was too lazy and not any good at it so it felt like a waste of time. My brain hates being creative.”
“That’s too bad, but I guess not everyone can be an artistic genius,” she said.
“Nope, so I just enjoy what other people can do. You know, it doesn’t surprise me that JD doesn’t play one. Guy doesn’t have the patience for practice.”
“He dabbled in the trumpet for a little while, actually.” She shrugged. “It’s hard to practice at home because of the twins. When they were born, that hobby of his kind of got the ax since it’s loud and annoying.”
“How fitting,” he deadpanned. “And if JD does anything, he doesn’t do it halfway.”
“Right,” she said. “He does choir for his music credits. Bare minimum, but I think he enjoys it. You didn’t hear that from me ,though.”
Orlando stretched out his arms slowly. “Who am I going to tell?”
“Him?”
“Yeah…no. We’re not that close,” he mumbled, and she briefly wondered if that was a fact that bothered him. Did Orlando want to be better friends with her brother? Sometimes she wished she could read minds instead of start fires. Then there would be a lot fewer mysteries in her life.
After a moment of quiet, she shrugged. “So what does a piccolo say about a person?”
“There aren’t a lot of them, so you like to stand out from the crowd. It’s also not an easy instrument to play, so you’re ambitious. Flute players in general are all a little cocky.” He tossed his cup into the trash can from where he was sitting. The way his hand arched and ended in a perfect forty-five-degree angle suggested that he’d been athletically trained. When the cup fell into the hole with a quiet swoosh, she applauded. Orlando only rolled his eyes.
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Last time I ever try to pat your ego. You make a lot of interesting observations about people and the things they do. What if you’re wrong? What if I’m not those things?”
“Then I’m wrong. I observe because I don’t have anything better to do with my time. People watching is my hobby.” He stood.
Standing as well, Angela tilted her head to the side, curiously. “No other favorite ways to pass the time?”
“Favorite is a strong word. I don’t like to have a favorite anything. It makes me feel like I can’t change my mind.”
“Let me rephrase that: any other ways you enjoy passing the time.”
When Orlando didn’t respond right away, she’d worried if perhaps she’d offended him. He had a tendency to get worked up over small things. What might not be rude to the average person could have been to him. But what was so bad about wondering what he liked to do? If he got upset over such a stupid question, the guy had a lot more issues than he let on.
Frowning, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket. “Reading, video games, I don’t know. I haven’t stopped to think about it for a while. Going out to do something fun hasn’t exactly been high on my priorities for the past couple of years.”
“Because you were punishing yourself,” she said softly. Dallas.
She knew the story. It took a little work, but she finally earned enough of his trust to make him comfortable to the point where he could tell her. Back in the day when Orlando had been one of the popular kids, he’d gone out to a party and in turn blew off his best friend. That night, while Orlando partied, Dallas had taken a razor blade to his wrists and killed himself. Ever since then, Orlando placed a lot of blame on himself.
No one around him seemed to understand his reaction, but Angela got it. He needed a way to cope with the pain, to make some kind of an amends for his mistake. No, he didn’t have to be so hard on himself, but only he could decide when he felt forgiven. Regardless of what anyone said, even Dallas, who was now as alive as ever, only Orlando got to decide when he was done feeling guilty. She understood, and she respected it, no matter how painful it could be to watch at times. Forcing him to snap out of his funk wouldn’t help, and neither would making a big deal over the issue.
For a long time, Orlando gazed at her, his attention never leaving her face. “Punishment is a strong word and only half-accurate. Yes, part of me did with hold myself from certain things because I didn’t feel like I should be allowed to have them, but I also just lost a lot of interest. In the grand scheme of things, football, sports in general, life in general…started coming across as really petty. I couldn’t figure out the point of it all. It wasn’t as important as people made it out to be, so I stopped
.”
“Makes sense,” she said quietly. Words escaped her. How was she supposed to respond to that? Tell him he was wrong? Because he wasn’t. Logically speaking, he made a good point. And yet, he was the furthest thing from right.
The smile returned to his face. “But I still found things I liked to do on occasion anyway. Mostly reading, video games. It took some time, but I’m starting to see that petty things might be more important than they seem. I’m blaming it on you.”
“Me? I didn’t do anything!”
“Don’t get so defensive. It’s not like you pushed me into doing heroin, relax. You just have a way of making the smallest of things seem…big.”
“Gee, thanks.” Her jaw tightened and she stood up as well so she could throw away her cup.
Orlando sighed and averted his gaze to the floor. “I was giving you a compliment.” Before she could reply, he walked to the service counter and ordered another drink, along with something from the bakery case.
She hated seeing him so bummed out. “Fine, then the ‘thanks’ is still applicable. Just pretend I said it without the sarcasm.”
“I’m not sure my imagination is that awesome, but I’ll give it a shot.” He pouted—he was actually pouting at her.
Groaning, Angela nudged him in the side. “Now you need to relax. Don’t make me tickle you happy, because I seem to remember you’re pretty susceptible to that sort of thing.”
“I’ve lost my touch.” He sighed dramatically, taking another large, blended, coffee drink from the barista before putting a five-dollar bill into the tip cup. “It used to be, when I pouted and got all sad, I got all kinds of ego-patting attention. Not tickle threats.”
Angela poured herself a glass of water from a nearby plastic container. “You do remember I live with JD, right? He’s the king of pouting. I’m sort of immune.”
“Good point.” He led the way out of the coffee shop, holding the door for her. “For the record, if you want an excuse to put your hands all over me, I could give you a lot better suggestions than tickling. Not to mention, they’d be a lot more pleasurable.”
The statement caught her off-guard, and she choked on the water she’d been drinking while he spoke. Coughing, she glanced up at him. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t like to be tickled,” he stated, like that was supposed to explain everything. It didn’t, and she was left more confused than ever.
Okay…She decided to just get in his luxury sports car and ignore his comment for the time being. “You never answered my question. What kinds of things you enjoy doing, I mean.”
“I like drinking these.” He shook his coffee drink as he climbed into the car as well. “Concerts are fun, the zoo, museums, the park, the pool. Just getting out of the house sounds like a little slice of heaven right now.”
“Because you don’t want to be at home,” she pointed out. “That was the whole point of hanging out now. You said you didn’t want to be by your parents, and we had, like, five hours to kill before our meeting tonight.”
Orlando started up the car. “And we only managed to kill about two. I don’t suppose you want to go see a movie?” He paused. “Wait, you said you had to be home for dinner and then you and JD were going to carpool or whatever.”
“Yeah, and my mom is making her fettuccine alfredo. Don’t want to miss that.”
“Even if I offered to pay, buy you endless amounts of snacks at the counter, and sit through two hours of a chick flick starring some guy who only got the part because he looks good with his shirt off?”
She shook her head. “Tempting, but not even a six-pack of gorgeous man could keep me away from my mom’s fettuccine. You know…you should come over for dinner!”
“I’m not sure your parents would like that…”
“Why not?”
“They don’t know me, and you didn’t exactly ask them if it was fine.”
Snorting, Angela gazed out the window. “I have friends over all the time to eat and never ask. This isn’t any different. My mom cooks enough food for an army. JD eats for five all by himself. If anything, she’ll be happy for another teenage boy who can make sure we aren’t stuck with a week of leftovers.”
“Let me tell my parents,” he grumbled. “Can’t believe they’re making me check in with them every time I want to do something. What’s going to happen when they leave? I have to send an email to ask them to go out and play? This is stupid. Lyssa trusts me. Why can’t they?”
Gently, Angela touched his arm. “You were missing for almost a week. I’m sure they just want to make sure they don’t lose you again.”
“Doubt it.” He growled a little. “Lexington, call home.”
She was about to ask who Lexington was when she heard the phone start to ring from the speakers of the stereo system.
The line picked up, and a female voice responded. “Hello?”
“Lyssa, just letting you know I’m going to a friend’s house for dinner tonight. I’ll probably be home sometime between seven or eight. Don’t expect me to make a statement when I walk in the house, though. I kind of want to go hide in my room, so I can avoid having to deal with people if you know what I mean.” He spoke so smoothly, and like his sister was there with them in the car. Technology could be mind-boggling.
There was no reply for a while. “I’ll be sure to let your sister know when she gets home from her date.”
“Oh, hi, Mom.” He grimaced.
“Hi.”
For the first time, Angela saw Orlando at a loss for words. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he cleared his throat. “Is all of that okay with you?”
“Yeah, that should be fine. Your father is already asleep. He’s still having a hard time adjusting to the jet lag. I was going to order a pizza and thought we could watch a movie together, but we can save that for tomorrow, or whenever you’re free next.” The sadness in her tone was obvious. While Angela understood why Orlando had so much disdain for his parents, she could tell how much love his mother had for him as well.
He tapped his hands on the steering wheel. “If you want me to come home, you can just say so.”
“Of course I want you to come home. I want to see you, but the fact that you want to go out and spend time with a friend is…”
“Not a big deal,” he said flatly. “I’m tired of everyone acting like me spending time outside of the house is some kind of miracle.”
“I won’t mention it again. The point is, I don’t want to stop you from doing whatever it is you’d normally be doing. I can wait, and I have to respect that you’re still not ready to bond with me.”
Orlando rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath that resembled “passive aggressive,” but Angela couldn’t be certain. “No, Mom, I’m ready to bond with you whenever you are. I’m not the one who keeps canceling.”
“Oh, so you’re giving me a taste of my own medicine. Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, because we never made plans for me to cancel on,” he snapped. “I was just calling in because you told me you would appreciate the gesture. Maybe I’ll just not do that, and leave you to wonder where I am next time if this is the kind of treatment I’m going to get for being courteous.”
His mother let out a deep breath. There was some shifting on the other end, and then a male voice came on the line. “You need to come back here now and apologize to your mother for making her cry.”
Angela winced, knowing full well how Orlando was going to respond to such a demand. Telling him he had to do something never seemed to go over well. If anything, he seemed to start rebelling out of spite. At least, that’s what happened anytime Alan tried to force any of them into doing something.
“I’ll think about it.”
“If you don’t—” His father stopped and responded to something being said off the line. There was a quiet, muffled conversation that Angela couldn’t understand, and then his father returned to the phone. “Fine, stay out. We’ll talk about this tomorr
ow. I, personally, don’t want to see you right now, either.”
“Glad the feeling is mutual,” Orlando snapped.
“Tomorrow.” And then the line went dead.
Scowling, Orlando clicked a button on his steering wheel. “Yeah, goodbye to you too. Ten bucks says something will come up, and it’ll never happen.”
“If you want, I could go over to your place with you for dinner with your parents and act as a safety blanket,” Angela offered, softly. Fighting with her parents was always the worst thing in the world for her. Disappointing them and having them upset with her nearly killed her every time it happened. It was why she kept so much of how she really felt, and what she actually did, away from them. If they knew how imperfect she was, they would never look at her the same way again.
Orlando was quiet, and she hoped that meant he was actually thinking the proposal over. Letting out a heavy sigh, he shook his head. “I’d hate to make you miss your mom’s amazing cooking.”
“It’d be worth it.”
“Seriously? Because I bribed you with hot-guy abs and everything.”
You bribed me with the wrong hot guy. “And the offer is still on the table. I’m not taking it back. Tomorrow, you can help me eat the leftovers. How’s that? Come on, what’s it going to be?” She shrugged, trying to keep things light, and not give off even an inkling of just how much she was willing to do for him. When it came to Orlando, she found herself wanting to give above and beyond his expectations just to see him smile.
He sighed. “Lexington, call home.” The phone rang again.
“Hello?” his mother answered again.
“Go ahead and order the pizza. My friend and I will be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Oh, okay! What kind should I get?”
“I’ll take a large, stuffed crust supreme pizza. I like anchovies, olives, the works. If they can put a kitchen sink on there, make it happen.”
“You want a large pizza all for yourself?”
“I’m seventeen, Mom. Not five.”
She scoffed quietly. “I’m well aware of how old you are. You’re just so skinny.”
Opheliac Page 5
