by Lind, Valia
"Listen, Grayson, you need to—"
"Well, loo-ook what we have here." Grayson and I fall back into our corners as Tamela wiggles her way in between us. Here's the thing about Tamela and I. We met in art class in the beginning of our freshman year here. We were instantly drawn to each other because we both carried sketchbooks and liked experimenting with colors. Tamela may be outspoken and annoying, but she does have a way with acrylics. However, what she loves more than art is being number one. After Mrs. Carter chose to showcase my project over hers in the first two weeks of class, Tamela turned nasty. Ever since then, she’s hated me, trying to beat me in every art competition our school has. I've won more times than she has and she will never let it rest. She wants everything that's mine and she's not afraid to do whatever it takes to get it. It's been like that for three years. Tamela is not subtle about it either, she fights with everything in her arsenal. I guess in her eyes, Grayson is the latest battle in this never ending war.
Turning her back to me, she zeroes in on Grayson.
"You don't have to sit all the way back here," she says like we're sitting in Antarctica. "My friends saved us seats close to the front."
"It's alright. I'm good here." Grayson replies, throwing a wink my way. I know Tamela notices because her back goes rigid and I try to suppress a smile. I focus my attention on the desk in front of me as I wait for the whining to begin.
"But Graay-son," and there it is, "that seat has the bee-st view."
"I'm allergic to the sun." My jaw drops a little at his words and my eyes fly up from my desk, needing to see him. He actually says that with a straight face. Unable to restrain myself, I snort and the boy manages to throw me a look before smiling up at Tamela.
"It's fine, Tamela. I'm good here." Before she can say anything else, the teacher comes into the room calling for our attention. Well, that’s a grand dismissal and I know I’ll be telling Dakota all about it later. Tamela huffs a little, yet has no choice but to find her seat and leave Grayson be.
In front of the classroom, Mr. Blooms struts around like he’s on a runway show, waiting for everyone to focus. Today he has on bright blue trousers, a white button up shirt, paired with a black belt and black shoes. He's not a bad looking sort either, as Dakota likes to point out. I'm going to have to sketch out some of his clothing choices and add a few things. My hand is already dancing over the blank canvas of my notebook when I feel the air shift beside me.
"So is she always like that?" Grayson breaks through my concentration. Somehow he's moved his seat even closer to mine, so he can whisper while Mr. Blooms talks. I nod in response, not taking my eyes off my notebook. "That's fun."
My eyes find Grayson's as if they have a will of their own, and I let myself study him, if only for a second. Mr. Blooms turns his back to us to write something on the board. We're supposed to be taking notes on what to expect out of this class for the next two weeks, but my attention is so firmly attuned to Grayson I'm missing most of it. His lips curl up a bit, like they used to do when he was little, right before he yanked on my hair ribbons. I don’t want to let my mind wonder to that time and place, so I try to concentrate on the present, turning to face the classroom once more. However, Grayson’s not finished yet.
"She's wrong you know."
"Who is?" I can't help but ask.
"Tamela."
"She usually is." He snickers at that, the sound awaking parts of me in a flurry of feelings. I shake off the sudden breathlessness his voice evokes, opening my notebook back up. What the heck, hormones? It’s just a freaking half laugh, not a marriage proposal. I have no idea why I’m reacting to him in any way but contempt, but I need to get a grip on myself.
I think I'm done talking to him but apparently my brain has other ideas. My mouth opens before I can do anything to stop it. "Wrong about what?"
The smile splits into a grin "She's wrong about the view. I think this seat has the best one I've seen."
Before I can say anything, or find my ability to breathe, Grayson reclines, once again getting comfortable in his seat. I stare at him, my mouth gaping open and I see his lips twitch in response. Quickly, I rip my gaze away, snapping my attention to the front of the classroom. I am not allowed to feel anything for that plague of my childhood existence, but chastising myself is not helping any. He's affecting me in ways only Grayson ever could.
THREE
If there is something you must do and you cannot do it, you cannot do anything else. ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook, 1960
My parent's never ask me about school.
I don't even think they notice that my face doesn't radiate the same happiness I left with this morning.
Mom is of the quiet nature. She never speaks up, she's always in the background. When I'm around my family, I take after her. Except, of course, when it comes to my future. Dad and I have been arguing over where I'm going to college since I was ten. Sure, back then I had no idea, but I have an idea now and it does not involve business school.
When I walk into the kitchen, Mom is behind the counter, spreading out baking supplies. She loves to bake more than she loves to cook, so there are always muffins or cookies in the house. Dad sits at the dinner table, going over paperwork. As usual. He's a very tall man, lean and solid, with dark hair and dark eyes. Anytime he speaks, the room listens. I guess that happens when you're a deputy director of a bank branch. People kind of have to listen to you. Next to him, my mom is a delicate flower, barely coming up to his shoulders. Her hair is fine blonde, with brownish highlights.
"Hi honey," Mom calls out when she notices me in the room. My dad doesn't even glance up from his papers, just grunts a hello, as I make my way toward my mom and give her a kiss on the cheek. I know this drill well. Mom will cook and bake til dinnertime, while Dad works on his mergers or what not, and I'll be upstairs, working on homework or drawing in my journal until I have to leave for work. They don't question what I do if I stay quiet. It didn't used to be like this.
Not when Paige still lived at home.
The phone rings as I search for a cup, and my mom is the first to reach it.
"Brooklynn," Dad calls as I pour myself a glass of water, "have you looked up the information for the college fair we discussed a few days ago?" That's my dad for you. The only conversations we seem to have these days involves college.
"Yes, I'll email you the page so you can take a look."
He nods in response and I take a small breath, preparing for what I know comes next.
"Good. You know how important it is to have as many options as possible. It's a show of a sturdy mind to be prepared." Sometimes I feel like I can quote the words he’ll say before they make it out of his mouth. They’ve been the same for years.
"Your sister started her preparations when she was just a freshman in high school." This is Dad's special way of making me feel insignificant in this house. I know he means well, but the constant comparison to my sister is more than annoying. "She set a good example and I think you'd be wise to follow it."
Paige is everything I'm not. She's beautiful, smart, and most importantly, she's following the career choice Dad approves of for us. She's the weapon Dad uses to make me rethink everything that I want. I don't hate her, but often, I really can't stand her.
When we were little, our house was full of laughter. Sure, we used to fight just like any sisters would, but we also spent time together. Paige would braid my hair, or take me shopping with her. She wasn't ashamed of having a little sister. We used to talk about everything, and she would actually listen to my wants and wishes. She never judged my desire for design, or my need to express myself on paper. Paige and I are six years apart but she loves me to pieces. Or she did. Until two years ago, when everything changed. Now, the only time we talk is when Dad is around to make sure I know how amazing Paige is and how un-amazing I am. I don't think he does it on purpose. He wants the best for me. He just doesn't understand.
Before I can respond, Mom calls my na
me. "Evelyn is on the phone for you." I almost sigh in relief, give Dad a quick smile, and take the phone.
"Aunt Evie?"
"Hello, Brooklynn," my aunt always sounds so serious and official. It makes me smile. "Would you be willing to come in about an hour earlier today? I have to finish up this jewelry inventory before the big audit next week."
"Sure, that's not a problem." With a small thanks, she disconnects. She's peculiar, serious, and very matter of fact. She’s so unlike the rest of my family, and I love her for it.
"Aunt Evie wants me to come in an hour early," I state turning back to my parents. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I can almost feel the air shift around me.
"Of course she does," Dad grumbles and I see Mom shoot him a scolding look, before she clears her face of emotion.
"That's my sister you're talking about," Mom comments the same moment I whine, "Da-ad." If Dad is notoriously outspoken about anything other than discussing my future, it’s Aunt Evie. She owns her own store in the middle of downtown Glendale, back where the streets are small and old fashioned, and my father hates it. He's constantly reminding me not to end up like her.
"What?" He shrugs, as if he hasn't said anything wrong. "You know it's true. She's so needy. Especially when it comes to Brooklynn. You," he continues, pointing in my direction, "don't forget to concentrate on school work and final college preparations. I don't want you to distract yourself in that hole in the wall."
"It is not a hole in the wall," I reply through clenched teeth. It's not the first time we're having this argument either. I'm so tired of the way things are. Why can't they just see what makes me happy and be happy for me?
"We're not discussing this right now," Dad states, turning back to his paperwork. I glance at Mom, but she's back to baking. So I grab a glass of water and head upstairs, wanting one of my parents to say something, anything, as I leave the room. But they don't.
FOUR
"An old friend will help you move. A good friend will help you move a dead body."
- Author Unknown
"I have to say that today has been quite entertaining," Dakota announces strutting into the store as if she owns the place. She's like a cat on the prowl. All flash and confidence.
"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," I reply turning my attention back to the journal in front of me. As there are no paying customers in the store right now, I get to do a bit of doodling. I love the fact that my aunt pretty much allows me to run the place while she's in the back doing all the paperwork and such.
"Hey!" I shout as Dakota sweeps the journal from under my hands.
"Never do anything that you wouldn't want to explain to the paramedics, author unknown," she reads aloud. "You know, that sounds like great advice." I purse my lips, leveling her with grimace and she carefully replaces the book on the counter. She knows how particular I am about anyone reading it.
"Fine, you can have it back," she grumbles making herself a bit more comfortable in her seat. That's another thing about this place. It's so off the wall it would be funny if it wasn't so fun. For example, we installed these old bar stools in front of the register counter. Aunt Evie says shopping is therapy and therefore, she should have seating available in case anyone needs to vent. This is why we also have beanbag chairs and a small couch placed strategically around the room.
"I have to give you props though, Brooklynn." Dakota continues, reaching for one of the bracelets on the counter, "You find the funniest quotes. Even after all this time."
"Thank you. Thank you very much."
A few years back I got this obsession with quotes and I've been collecting them ever since. However, I don't just write them down, I put them in my mixed media arts journal. My pages are filled with color, random pictures and magazine clippings. I don't know how many of these journals I've finished over the years. Dakota is one of the few people I've shown them too.
I let her play with the bracelets on the table, arranging them by color and size while I set my journal down and make my rounds. I have this habit of walking the floor to make sure everything is where I left it, even though we haven't had a customer since the last time I did this. I duck behind the closest rack, hoping the real reason Dakota is here will not come up. This, of course, is in vain.
"So Grayson is back," she states popping up on the other side of the rack and I stifle a yell. She grins, her beautiful face shining with excitement.
"I feel like we had this conversation already," I reply, sidestepping her.
"Brooklynn, Grayson is back."
"I know Dakota. He body slammed me with his car door. " I pull hangers off the rack, studying the clothes, before picking out a new favorite and placing it back in front of the display. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”
"Oh, I know you're fine." Dakota waves her arms in the air. "You told me a few times since I've asked. But you know who else is fine? Grayson."
"Dakota," I turn to her exasperated, "where exactly is this going?"
"Nowhere," she smiles innocently, running her hands over the sheer bathing suit cover up in front of her.
"Dakota." My voice carries a tad of warning.
"Oh fine," she replies turning her full attention to me. "I just find it interesting how much he's flirting with you."
"He's not flirting."
"Is too."
"Is not. And stop that, we're not seven," I say, grabbing fabric out of her hands and placing it back on the rack.
"Brooklynn, I'm serious here. Do you not notice my serious face?" She points at herself with mock determination. "The boy has been watching you all day."
I sigh. "I guess he just hasn't grown out of his childhood yet."
"Oh please, this has nothing to do with how he treated you in grade school." I keep moving through the store, Dakota hot on my heels.
"It doesn't really matter now does it? I'm not about to be buddy-buddy with a guy who made my life a living hell for years."
"I’m not asking you to be buddy-buddy. What kind of a friend do you take me for? But I do see some positive changes in him that are worth unearthing. Really, I think there's more to Grayson that meets the eye." she says, as we come back to the counter. She settles on the stool again and I make my way to the other side of the table. "I think he has a plan."
"A plan? To do what? Conquer the western hemisphere?" I'm all sarcasm but truly, my best friend is nuts. She stays quiet for a moment too long and I glance up to see her staring out of the window.
"Why don't we just ask him?" she says.
"Sure Dakota, why don't we just go up to him tomorrow in school and say, hey you, yeah you with the eyes, Grayson is it? Are you trying to take over the world?" I take on my full-blown persona, dropping my voice low and puffing my chest out. Stepping out from behind the counter, I strut over to Dakota and say in my man voice, "Yes, you lowly humans. My reign of terror will spread through the whole world and no one will be safe. Ha ha ha. I am Grayson, bow down to me and my awesomeness."
"Now," a voice comes from behind me and I freeze. Without turning around I know exactly who it is. "I don't sound that creepy now do I?" I'd like the floor to swallow me whole now, please.
I twist around finding Grayson a few feet away from the door.
He heard every word.
FIVE
Lost a planet Master Obi-Wan has. How embarrassing. - Yoda
I try not to cringe as I put on my best sales person smile.
"Grayson, what brings you here?"
"Well, I was coming down here to buy some, umm, super expensive lace lingerie," he replies running his hand over the first thing he can grab. He looks a bit uncomfortable after touching that particular garment and I can't help but smile. "But you know," he continues hastily, dropping the garment. "I think I'll stay for the show."
He grins.
I roll my eyes.
Dakota is having trouble staying in her seat.
I move away, heading to the opposite side of the store and away from Grayson
. I know leaving him in the vicinity of Dakota may be dangerous, but I really don't have a choice now. I'll probably embarrass myself more if I stay. I'm picking up one of the clothing boxes when I feel him behind me.
"You know," he says, his body inches from mine, making me way too aware of him. "We should have dinner sometime and catch up."
"You do remember that we're not actually friends, right?" I move away and he follows. I step left, he steps left. I step right, he steps right. I’m about to kick him out of the way.
"Maybe we can remedy that?" he whispers. I can almost taste his breath on my lips and I jerk back.
"Maybe not." I head toward the front of the store, hoping he leaves me alone, but no such luck. Placing the box on the counter I turn, bumping right into his solid chest. My hands flatten out over his shirt and I can feel his heartbeat through my fingertips. The counter is at my back. There’s nowhere to go. "Have you heard of this thing called personal space?" I ask and I hate my voice for sounding breathy.
"I've heard of it." I swear this guy can give Cheshire cat a run for his money. His smiles are pure mischief. We're standing way too close for comfort, yet I can't seem to find the will to move. I raise my chin a bit, determined not to show how much he’s affecting me. We’re at a stand off, neither one of us wanting to give in first. I don't know how long we would've stood there if Aunt Evie hadn't come out of the office.
"Brooklynn," she calls out. I jump, banging my back against the counter. Grayson studies me as I try to escape his body cage without actually touching him and I try not to groan out loud. Finally, having no other choice, I push past him, my body brushing against his briefly, shooting sparks across my skin. I grit my teeth against the sensation and march toward my boss. I can feel Grayson's eyes on me.
"Yes, Aunt Evie?" I say stopping in front of her.
"Can you watch the store for me? I have to step out for a few." She asks me this every time she needs to go anywhere even though I’m watching the store anyway.
