_____
Sunday. I wake up late. After eleven. I stagger into the bathroom that’s attached to my bedroom, and shower. I dress and, feeling more alive, I make my way into the kitchen. Luc, Connor and Jake are in there messing around. Wrestling and pushing each other and acting like idiots.
Careful not to get knocked down, I step around them and pull open the fridge. “Where are mom and dad?” My question makes them aware of my presence and brings that damn silence again. They all sorta stand there and stare at me.
“Well?” I ask.
“Gone,” Connor answers me.
“Where’d they go?”
“Come on guys,” Lucas says, “Let’s get out of here.” He leads the way out back and I’m left alone.
Okay, maybe I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, or something, but I just think it’s bullshit. All I did was ask a question.
I grab a bowl of cereal then, with the intent of annoying Luc further, I take it outside on the patio to eat.
They’re playing ball. Connor has the football tucked under his arm and he’s running, but Lucas takes him down and Jake swoops in and snatches up the ball. He runs with it to the far end of our very big yard and by then Luc has gotten to his feet and takes off in the opposite direction.
“Throw it,” Luc orders.
Jake cocks back his arm, then fires the ball as hard as he can. The ball shoots up in the air, higher than the house, I’m betting, and Lucas has to run with all his might to get under it before it hits the ground.
“Don’t throw so hard,” I say and they all look at me.
“Shut up, Ryan,” Luc tells me.
“He fell short by a mile. If you were playing on a team that would have dropped right in your opponents arms.”
“Well, we’re not playing on a team; we’re just messing around in the back yard.”
“Still, it wasn’t a very good throw.”
“No one asked you,” Luc informs me with attitude.
“Yeah, whatever,” I say and stand up. I gather my bowl and head for the house.
“Wait,” Jake calls out. “What do you mean, don’t throw so hard?”
I turn around and he’s walking toward the patio, toward me.
“I had to throw it that hard, this yard is long. I needed to cover the distance.”
“When you throw that hard it tends to go high, not far,” I tell him. “Just hold back a little. Show him what I mean, Luc.”
Lucas looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind, and, hey, I have. I get that look a lot and I can only assume it means I’m acting out of character from my former self. I don’t know what the old me would be doing or saying right now, but apparently it’s not this.
“Look,” I tell him. “I’d do it myself, but I can’t. My shoulder is completely screwed. I’ll probably never throw another ball as long as I live.” They all stare at me and I’ll be damned if there isn’t a little remorseful respect in all three sets of eyes.
“Throw the ball, Luc,” I say again. “Put it right through the center of the tire swing.”
The swing is at the far end of the yard, hanging from a thick limb of a tree and I can only imagine that it’s still around for this purpose.
Luc continues to hold the football, and when he bounces a glance off of his buddies, I get the distinct feeling that he thinks I’m setting him up for some type of epic ridicule. Damn, I really must have been an asshole to him in the past.
He looks back at me and his eyes narrow. He’s determined to make my evil plan backfire on me. He grips the ball with the perfect amount of pressure, draws back to the precise position and fires the ball. It travels at an incredible speed across the sky, loses height in a steady manner and reaches its destination with skill. It sails through the center of the tire without so much as even grazing the sides.
It’s beautiful! Absolutely beautiful! It sends chills through me from head to toe and fills me with an indescribable sense of pride.
Luc turns to give me his kiss my ass grin but it fades with confusion when I shout, “Perfect! Right on, Lucas! Nice.”
“That was awesome,” Connor laughs and runs to retrieve the ball.
“See, Jake?” I ask. “Did you notice where his hand was in comparison to his shoulder before he released?”
“No,” Jake shakes his head. “I was watching the target.”
I roll my eyes. “Pay attention. Do it again, Luc.” I glance at Connor and he knows his job. He throws the ball back to Lucas. He bumps the tire swing in the process and when he goes to steady it I say, “Leave it.”
Can Luc hit the hole in a moving target? I watch his eyes as they swing with the tire and I can almost see the calculating that is taking place inside his head. It doesn’t take him but a few seconds to figure the exact moment of needed release and as the ball leaves his hand I know he’s got it. He’s got it!
The ball goes right through and I grin at him. It’s all I can do. He rocks!
“Okay,” Jake nods. “I think I get it. Let me try.” The ball is handed over and then begins the competition to see who can hit the swing the most times. Both Connor and Jake are good, but they can’t seem to match what comes naturally for Lucas.
I watch for awhile, then get bored and go inside to draw.
TEN
I learned two things from my first day of school last Friday, which continue to hold true on Monday. One: no one penetrates my bubble unless they’re a friend. And, two: I don’t eat lunch in the cafeteria.
I’m hungry, but I guess that’s uncool, too, because I’m guided out to the football field by Scott and Zane and for lunch we hang out under the bleachers again. We’re joined, this time, by the ever beautiful Tasha and her pretty friend Chloe.
They all talk about stuff I don’t remember and we pass a joint around. I don’t say much. I just watch Tasha and the way she keeps looking at me. She’s flirting with me, but only at times when she doesn’t think anyone else will notice.
She talks all around me, but never directly to me, and I don’t understand this. Not after being kissed by her the way I was on Friday.
To add to my confusion, after the bell sounds to call us back to class, she blocks the way just long enough that I’m forced to leave last. She falls in line right in front of me and reaches behind herself and makes contact with my family jewels.
I’m surprised, but she’s gentle so I can’t exactly say I don’t like it. I do move her hand, though. I push at it and she intertwines her fingers with mine then turns to smile at me. As she does this, another image flashes in my head. Same one as last time she was touching me. Her, with her eyes closed tightly, and mouth open. But this time I see her neck too. It appears long and sexy because her head is thrown back. I see her shoulders. They’re golden brown with no tan lines. And then her bare breasts. They’re incredible and I want to keep staring at them, but the memory, if it actually is one, fades.
I think I might’ve slept with her.
We hold hands until we’ve worked our way out from under the bleachers and through the gate that’s designed to keep kids like us from sneaking in and getting high. And when we’re in the open, she releases her grip on me.
“See you guys later,” she says with a smile, then she and Chloe go one way while we guys go the other.
I look back at her before we enter the school and wonder what the hell.
I don’t dress for PE, again, and Coach Regan yells at me. My toe nails aren’t blue any more, but you can’t scrub away the scars on my body with a cotton pad and funny smelling liquid, and I’m not about to let everyone stare at them.
Coach Regan tells me to go call my “mommy” and have her bring me some clothing suitable for PE. I refrain from flipping him off and leave his class. I don’t call my mom. I go to the counselor’s office, instead, and trade PE for Art.
I hand my transfer papers to Mr. Gale as he walks the back row of the very quiet room looking over student’s shoulders as they work. He studies my paper then looks up at me wi
th shock. I raise my eyebrows and nod, telling him I’m just as surprised as the next guy. He grins and nods to an empty seat. I don’t take it, though. I work my way up to the second row, tap some kid on the shoulder and when he looks back at me I toss a thumb over my shoulder.
Sometimes being King Shit around a place has its benefits.
He picks up his things and gives me what I want – his seat next to Paige.
She’s lost in her own little world, drawing feverishly and I actually have to knock the leg of her stool before she looks over. It takes her a second to realize I’m not her usual neighbor, but when she does she lets out a beautiful laugh. It interrupts the quiet class and, for once, there’s not silence when people see me.
Football practice after school. This year’s team sucks. It’s comprised of thirty percent freshmen – who are all over the place. Forty percent sophomores and juniors – who try too hard. And thirty percent seniors – who do more show boating than actual playing. Oh, and one Zane, who yells at everyone until his head looks like it’s going to explode.
He’s still screaming when he drops me off at home.
I enter my room, toss my back pack onto my bed and pull my junior year book off of the shelf. I flip through the pages until I find thirteen counts of photographic proof, and four written counts, that Tasha Holmes is my girlfriend.
I stare at a picture of us kissing in the hall for the entire world to see, wonder why she was so secretive about any PDA at lunch today and then slam the book closed.
_____
“Paige,” I call her name in the hall right after school on Tuesday, and she turns to find me in the flow of people. I catch up to her as quickly as my leg will let me. “How do you get home?” I’m a little winded as I ask this.
“Walk,” she says.
“How far is it?”
She shrugs, “Half mile, maybe.”
Half mile? Shit. I focus on the pain in my leg, back, and shoulders for a moment then blow it off and say, “Can I walk with you?”
“Sure,” she smiles.
Something else I’ve blown off is football practice.
I’d rather be with Paige.
I have to walk slowly, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She keeps my pace and we talk and laugh.
She found a white pop bottle lid in the gutter in front of the school and she’s kicked it for three blocks. It crosses into my path and I stop, trade my weight to my right leg and kick it with my left foot.
“Yay,” she cheers.
“Yeah, yay, I’m not as retarded as I thought.”
“Retarded?” She looks over at me with those incredible eyes. “You’re not retarded. Just a little . . . umm . . . disabled.”
“Same thing.”
“Hardly,” she giggles. “But I’ll be glad to call you my retarded friend, if you‘d like.” She kicks the lid past another break in the sidewalk.
“Why would I like that?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one saying you’re retarded.”
“No. I said I wasn’t.”
She laughs and I roll my eyes and give her a playful push. She uses the extra step to kick the lid again and then she turns around and walks backward.
Facing me she says, “I have a class with your brother. Wood shop.”
“You take shop?”
“It’s not just for guys.”
“Are there any other girls in there?”
“Yeah, there’s some magazine cut outs of some really cute chicks taped to the inside doors of the goggle closet,” she says with a teasing smile.
“Let me rephrase, are there any other living, breathing girls in the class?”
“Well . . . no, but . . .”
“Point made. So how do you know I have a brother?”
“He has the same last name as you.”
“And that automatically means he’s my brother? He could be a cousin, or it could just be coincidence.” I just want to mess with her.
“It could be, but I saw him in your house that first night I took you home.”
“Oh.”
“Besides, even being new here, it’s kind of one of those, duh, things. His relation to you is common knowledge around that place, Ryan.” She passes the lid, backtracks, turns the same direction I’m traveling, and kicks it again.
“He hates me.”
“Why?” she asks.
“Want all the reasons I know of, or just the latest?”
“Is it justifiable hate?”
“Unfortunately, I think it is. I mean, I haven’t done anything to justify it since I got home, not that I can think of anyway, but I don’t think I was all that nice to him in the past.”
“I like him. What I know of him, at least. He seems cool.”
“I haven’t seen that side of him yet.”
She frowns, then grabs the strap of my back pack and pulls on it until it starts to fall off my shoulder.
“Hey, what are you doing?” I stop walking. She does, too. And I tug back on the strap.
“Let me have it.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re getting tired, I can tell.”
I smile. “I am, but I can carry my own books.”
Laughing, she says, “And only guys belong in shop. Male chauvinist. Give me the pack.”
“Male chauvinist? What the hell?” I push her again and her eyes light up. I think she likes when I touch her.
“Come on, hand it over.” She continues to apply pressure until I’m forced to release it or stumble forward with it. Can’t do that with my leg as weak as it feels right now. I’ll fall. I let her have it and it really is a relief to have the extra weight gone. Still, I feel like a jerk because she’s carrying two packs now.
“Look,” she points. “An oasis.”
My eyes follow her finger to a small playground on the far end of the city park.
“Can you make it?” she wants to know.
“Half block? Yeah.” I kick the lid and we start walking again.
“So, you’re going to keep trying, right?” she asks. “To see the cool side of Lucas?”
“Yeah. I mean . . . Yeah, I’m going to keep trying. He’s my brother.”
“Brothers are awesome.” She cuts across the grass and I pause at the edge of the sidewalk.
Grass requires more energy to limp through and I don’t have a whole lot of that left, not after a full day at school. I watch how effortlessly she makes it look, close my eyes for a moment and wish I’d never messed myself up. I’d be giving her a running piggyback ride, if I hadn’t.
I reopen my eyes, pick up the pop lid, stick it in my front pocket and follow after her.
We hang out on the swings. She twists around until she says she’s gonna throw-up, then she makes me laugh until I think I’m going to.
We exchange phone numbers and she sends me a trial text. It’s fun hanging out with U. I respond with: ditto.
Wednesday, I walk with Paige to her first hour class and then continue down the hall to mine. Scott “De Great” is leaned against the wall outside the English room watching. He smacks me in the chest and grins when I’m close enough. “Hope you got your shots, Man.”
“What?” I say.
“A trailer bitch ain’t worth the itch.”
I want to hit him. I mean, I really, really, want to hit him! But my dad’s words to Lucas play in my head; he (meaning me) is in no condition to be scrapping with you, (which in this case refers to Scott.) So I say, “She’s not a trailer bitch,” instead.
“Few months ago you’d have thought so.”
“A few months ago I was in the F–ing hospital and you weren’t around to know what the hell I thought,” I jump down his throat.
“Okay, end of school last year, then.” Scott is perturbed by the technicality. “F–, Ryan, you leave Hunter’s party one guy and come back someone totally different.”
“So what? What you said about the trailer bitch itch was a real asshole thing to say.”
He
scoffs out a loud laugh, “You were the one that made that up, Asshole.” He pushes off the wall, making sure to knock me with his shoulder, then enters the classroom.
I really wish he’d quit making me realize who I used to be.
Thursday a text comes in from Paige. Did U leave school early? UR not in art. U ok?
I text back: Home icing my leg. Had PT this morning.
PT?
A form of torture that is somehow legal & that the medical profession claims is good 4 me.
Oh! I’m sorry.
ELEVEN
Friday, mid-morning, I’m instructed to go to the school library and take the test I missed on Thursday. Tasha’s class is in there doing research.
I see her. She sees me. I sit down at an empty table in the back of the room and she watches me from her’s, where she’s sitting with two other girls. I try to focus on my paper, but I swear she’s probably the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Hard to keep from looking at her.
For the next ten minutes she flashes smiles and uses her eyes to flirt with me. Then, she rises from her chair, moves down an aisle of books, and discreetly motions for me to come too.
I glance around the room. The librarian is at her desk using the computer. Tasha’s teacher is helping a group of students at the front of the room and the rest of the students are quietly working at their tables.
I look back at my test, tell myself that I should just finish, but then leave it on the table and follow after her.
I expect that I’ll see her when I round the corner, but she isn’t there. All I see are shelves of books. I work my way down the row and at the end look both directions. She’s to my right, in the farthest corner of the library. I go to her.
“Hi,” she whispers and bites at her lower lip as she smiles.
“Hi.”
Her eyes scan my body and then she steps into it. Full frontal contact. She slides her arms around my neck. “I’ve missed you, Ry.”
“You have?”
“A lot.” Her mouth is so close to mine that I can feel her warm breath on my lips. “You should come over tonight. My dad and Rhonda will be gone, and you know what that means.”
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