Ten Times Fast

by Mallory Lopez

  The girls are all huddled together outside on the football field near the bleachers. Coach Price says, “I’ve put you in random pairs today. Since it’s a short day, you and your partner will work on sit-ups and crunches for the rest of the class. When I blow my whistle you and your partner will change positions.” This gets a hoot and holler from the boys gym class that’s making their way to the bleachers. Coach rolls her eyes and continues, “Don’t forget to stretch after.”

  I table the usual groan I have saved for after every time Coach Price says something. But I can’t complain a lot about activities we do sitting down. Sure, the sitting up part is hard but at least your bottom half doesn’t have to move at the same time. She starts spewing out names of partners and my ears perk up when I hear my name.

  “And Scott with Kirivosky.”

  “Kurchovsky,” Veronica corrects automatically and then realizes what Coach just said. She darts her eyes at me.

  All the blood runs from my face and I slowly turn my head to Daphne.

  I look back over my shoulder to Veronica who shrugs her shoulders and looks away apologetically.

  I unwillingly make my way to where Daphne is sitting in the grass. “I’ll go first,” she smugly tells me. I say nothing and kneel on her feet, my face emotionless.

  After everything I’ve been through in the last four days, dealing with Daphne is nothing.

  In the road of life, Daphne is not even a speed bump.

  She’s a measly rock on the side of the road.

  A rock that’s as ugly as the one I was wearing on Friday.

  I have never been more ready to tackle the relationship between Daphne and I, than I am right now. Nobody has stood up to her since I last did in the sixth grade and it would be a shame for her to go to college without a good talking to. I hope she’s wearing her big girl panties today because Ramona the Demon Slayer is about to make an appearance.

  “You’re not very talkative today, are you?” she asks, mockingly. She starts her sit-ups effortlessly. I have to grind my teeth to keep from growling. I narrow my eyes at her.

  “Listen to me, Daphne Kurchovsky and listen good,” I snap at her just like a parent. “If you think you can go through this world treating people like crap, you’re wrong. I don’t know what your problem is but you’ve been acting like a soul sucking demon for seven years now and it’s time you get over it. If you think that people at college will be friends with the spawn of Satan that you are, you have another thing coming. So figure out what your problem is and fix it.” Her mouth is hanging open, her eyes are in disbelief and she’s stopped doing sit ups.

  I don’t give her time to respond.

  “Nobody here is going to deal with your crap anymore. If you need help on your path to becoming a decent human being, let me know.” I’m pretty sure she’s stopped breathing at this point. Her eyes are bulging and her eyebrows high.

  “I’m sure you’re not stupid Daphne but just in case, I’ll put this in rudimentary terms for you: If you don’t want everyone to think you’re a bitch then stop acting like one. And if you don’t care, I hope you enjoy spending the rest of your life alone in misery. And, just in case you don’t know, rudimentary means basic.”

  Once I purge everything, I take notice of her face. Her eyes are watering and her chin quivering.

  I made her cry.

  Tears start to pour gently down her dark cheeks.

  Oh crap.

  I did not mean to make her cry. I’ve never made anyone cry. I instantly feel guilty for unleashing my fury on her.

  But not before I roll my eyes.

  I can’t help it.

  Not my finest moment, I admit.

  I sigh.

  “Daphne...”

  “I’m so sorry, Ramona,” she mumbles out between tears. She’s full on crying now and I have no idea what to do or what to say. “I’m so sorry. You’re right. I know Brett dumped me for you and I was s–so mad,” she sobs. “And I made up that stupid rumor about him because I was so…mad, Ramona.”

  At this point her mascara is dribbling down making her tears look black against her deep brown skin. “I was so mad at you. You’ve always been this perfect Girl Next Door. And everyone thinks I’m a bitch and a huge slut.”

  Her confession hits me hard.

  She’s a mess and clearly needs to be comforted (at least a little) in some way but I’m not sure how to do that.

  Especially without lying (too much).

  “But you know what the funny thing is?” she sniffles again and looks at me but I don’t know if I’m supposed to answer, so I just shake my head no. “I’m tired of being a bitch. I don’t like it. And I’m not even really a slut, Ramona...” She sucks in a few jagged breaths, “I’m a virgin. I only say that stuff so boys will like me.”

  I gasp and my eyes widen.

  I’m confident that I’ve never felt like a worse human than I do right now for making her cry.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to act so surprised you being a–it’s just–”

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything or apologize. It’s all so stupid. I’m so stupid.”

  “Don’t say that. You’re not stupid nor are you a slut. You have some flaws.”

  To put it nicely.

  “So what? We all do. I’m sorry too.”

  Sort of.

  “I always judged you and assumed you hated me–”

  “I do hate you. I did hate you,” she corrects herself and shakes her head. “But I don’t want to hate you anymore. I think.”

  At least she’s being honest.

  “Oh–okay–well...still, I should’ve talked to you about it. Maybe we could’ve worked things out or something.”

  Maybe––but probably not.

  “It’s partly my fault too. I’ve been carrying a grudge since sixth grade when you treated Brett like shit. And…” I add reluctantly but honestly, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m jealous of you, too. You’re gorgeous. You have this perfect body and immaculate dark skin.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  I look to the heavens. Lord, give me strength. I’m trying really hard here to make things right.

  “But I want to be more than that,” she reveals, trying to slow down her breathing.

  Redemption! A little bit.

  “You don’t have to be just a body. And you don’t have to be mean either if you don’t want to be. If you don’t want to be that way then change.”

  “Thanks, Ramona.” She rolls onto her knees and hugs me.

  Oh boy.

  After a moment of stiff hesitancy I awkwardly pat her back.

  “Brett really likes you. I can tell. I could always tell.” This conversation has me surprised (to say the least) and replying with a “thank you” seems somewhat tasteless. I’m thankful when she continues, “So, are we okay?”

  I take a deep breath.

  I’m not mad at Daphne. Sure, I don’t like her very much and I certainly don’t want to be hanging out with her on the weekends.

  But, I am impressed that she apologized to me. It takes a lot of guts to do what she just did. It’s hard to not admire someone for doing the right thing. Especially when doing the right thing is difficult.

  Which is what I’m about to do.

  “Yeah, Daphne. We’re okay. Thanks for apologizing.”

  She nods her head while swiping her fingers under eyes to swoop up her mascara tears. I take a deep breath and despite my desire to just sit in silence, we go back to doing sit-ups.

  Things officially cannot get any weirder.

  CHAPTER 33

  THE SEVERE RAIN LITERALLY starts the second I walk out of the school doors. It’s coming down in gray, hard sheets and I have nothing to protect me as I dart out to my car. Once I’m safely in my car, I wipe down my clothes that sucked up an impressive amount of water in the short run. I pull down my visor to look in the vanity mirror to check out my hair’s damage.

  Yup, just as I suspected. It’s
just wet enough that the waves and frizz start puffing out sporadically. I run my fingers through it in attempt to loosen out the tangles.

  The blanketing rain is tough competition for my windshield wipers and I have to inch my car home at thirty miles per hour to avoid hydroplaning. I’m about a mile from the colorful streets of Forest Meadows when I hear a loud–

  BOOM

  And a distinct hissing, spraying sound–

  “FFFSSSHHHFFFSSS.”

  Suddenly, with a resounding THUNK–

  The car dramatically slumps down on the driver side and my heart immediately attempts to burst out of my chest as I let out a familiar high-pitched–

  “Eeeeeeee!”

  I turn my wheel to the right, gripping it so tight that the white of my knuckles appears.

  Despite my attempt, I lose control of the car and battle every instinct that’s telling me to close my eyes and cover my face for protection.

  Instead, my shoulders scrunch up toward my ears, my lungs refuse to work as my car spins around 360 degrees.

  It stops diagonally to the side of the small two-lane road.

  The second I’m certain the car won’t move any more, I release my hands and gasp deeply for air. I take a few deep breaths to slow my heart rate in order to figure out what just happened.

  Karma! This is karma for making Daphne cry.

  I look up to the heavens and cry, “I’m sorry! I swear I wont ever make anyone cry ever again! I tried to do the right thing!”

  I take in a shaky breath, my heart rate lowers but my body is frantically trembling.

  Finally, a quick pep talk: Suck it up, Ramona. If you can make amends and hug Daphne, you can do anything.

  I gather my strength and open the door only to instantly get pelted with massive raindrops.

  “Ah–ow!”

  The uncomfortable pattering against my head makes me realize that it has started hailing along with the rain.

  I lean out to check the car and see the deflated front tire. I take a step forward and my left saddle shoe sinks and slides out from under me just like that fateful day on my driveway. I land and sink into a soft mound of light, creamy brown mud in the midst of tall weeds and grass. I struggle to lift myself out of the suctioning from the sludge that has captured my entire left side like quicksand. With a thick, “pop,” I’m set free from the grasp.

  I stand with my clean hand on my car to balance myself as I use the relentless rain to wipe off the mud. A shiver runs through me. I feel stinging in the back of my eyes when I realize I can’t call anyone because they’re all gone or have practice and have no way to help me. I have no idea how to change a tire or get my car out of a mud pile.

  Panic starts to set in.

  So much for the pep talk.

  I’m too busy blubbering and shaking to notice a black car pull up in front of me.

  For the last three years, every single time that I’ve seen Ryan Applebaum my heart has puttered, my palms turned clammy and I fall into a trance. Through the downpour, I see him get out of his mustang with his baseball track jacket over his head.

  I have never been so thankful and relieved to see him standing in front of me, in all of his still-swollen nose and black-eyed glory.

  I want to hug him and punch him in the nuts.

  The two end up balancing each other out and I just stare at him.

  I realize he’s staring back at me waiting for me to say something. The complicated thing is that I have a million things I want to say to him but I should probably start with my car.

  “I hate you,” is all I can manage to yank out of my mouth.

  “I know,” he admits guiltily, glancing down to his toes. “Are you okay? Can I help you?” he asks, talking loud enough so I can hear him over the sound of the rain aggressively splattering against my car, the asphalt, and the shaking trees that surround us.

  No words decide to fall out of my mouth this time so I just nod and go with the (rain) flow.

  He’s given up holding his jacket over his head and his face is streaming with water. His hair is painted darker than usual from the water soaking it, creating a color that’s close to a dull brown. He pushes his soaking hair to the side and it makes his crystal eyes stand out. His gray eyes match the dark clouds that loom over us but somehow still haven’t lost their shine. As my eyes graze down his chest and I can see his shirt clinging to his muscles.

  This is what he must look like in the shower.

  I can’t help but appreciate how sexy he looks wet. I can feel my face blush a deep shade of red and I feel betrayed by my body. His beauty is nauseatingly distracting.

  Even so, I would give anything to have Brett here instead.

  He grabs my hand and leads me in a jog to his mustang. I’m irritated that he makes me jog, considering we’re already soaking wet. He pops open the trunk to grab something then faces me. I’m shivering in my black knit uniform sweater and plaid skirt. My arms are clinging to my side, my hands in fists. He opens a white monogrammed sports towel and starts wiping the brown goo off of my arm. He lifts my arm to wipe my side, down my leg and butt, stopping only to wring the mud and water out. It’s an innocent gesture but I know I shouldn’t be letting him do it. Once he sticks the towel up my skirt, I snap out of it.

  “O–kay, I’m good, thanks,” I say, pulling away.

  “Sorry,” he says, sheepishly grinning. “Here, sit in my car.” He opens his backseat door for me and I sit on the black leather. “I’m going to change your tire. It’s muddy but you’ll be able to get out.”

  He turns to close the door but I grab his arm.

  “I hate you,” I say again, peering up at him innocently.

  He doesn’t seem to mind the rain falling on us.

  Between us.

  And into his leather interior car.

  His eyes are squinting from the rain. He nods his head, comprehending and looks me in the eyes sadly and says, “I know.” Then, he shuts the door leaving me alone in his warm back seat that smells of fresh leather and mint. A scent that I find to be oddly intoxicating.

  Twenty minutes later, the car door opens and he pushes me to the passenger side and shuts the door, letting out a sigh.

  We sit in awkward silence for a moment.

  He opens his mouth to say something then shuts it.

  “Why are you helping me?” I finally ask.

  His eyes dart between my eyes and my mouth. He stares into my eyes and sincerely, through a heavy breath, says, “Because I owe you.” We share another moment of awkward silence.

  “You’re filthy,” I tell him. He chuckles and looks me over.

  “So are you.” I look down at myself. The small pieces of remaining mud have dried a bit and crusted in some places but it still consumes most of my entire body. We both look at each other and softly laugh. I wring the now brown towel in my hand.

  “R.A.S.? What’s your middle name?” I still find it funny how you can convince yourself that you love someone when you know nothing about them.

  “Stephen,” he answers, grinning.

  “Ryan Stephen Applebaum,” I pronounce.

  He looks at me and softly says, “Ramona Bean Scott.” I grin at the sound of my name on his lips. “I’m sorry, Ramona. I’m a jerk.”

  I look down and nod my head. I would verbally agree but assholes don’t stop and save people like he just did.

  He’s doing his penance, I decide.

  Regaining some of his karma.

  “It’s not that I don’t like you, Ramona.”

  I bite the corner of my lip.

  “I am attracted you. I’m sure you know that by now.”

  Blood rushes to my face…and other aeas…thinking back to our intimate moments.

  “But I just...don’t date. Not just you, but anybody. It seemed like you’d been into me for awhile so I just figured you knew that about me.” I nod my head somberly for finding out the hard way. “Besides––and trust me when I say this––Brett Dixon loves the hell out
of you.”

  I smile wide and my heart skips a few beats. It feels ecstatic to hear someone say that out loud.

  He grins. “I deserved to get my ass kicked but to avoid it happening again, I think I need to get a different math tutor.”

  I nod vigorously and we both start laughing.

  Maybe it’s selfish or maybe it’s because I’ve wanted to hear it for so long, but it feels outrageously good that Ryan admitted––out loud, to my face––that he’s attracted me. It means nothing but at the same time it means everything. I’m sitting across from him and even though he’s gorgeous, I feel no real sparks between us.

  He walks me back to my car and thankfully the rain has slowed to a pitter-patter. “I’m sorry, Ramona Bean Scott,” he says honestly.

  “Well, thank you, Ryan Stephen Applebaum.”

  We smile at each other and shake hands.

  He waits for me to pull out my car and follows me to make sure I get home safe. Even though my feelings for Ryan have subsided, I know that there will always be a tiny place in my heart with his name etched on it.

  CHAPTER 34

  AFTER I TAKE A LONG hot shower and rinse out my clothes to wash, I clean my entire house and put fresh sheets on my bed. I put on my red panties even though, by default, Brett’s already seen them. I put on my favorite black bra, jeans and v-neck shirt. I thought about wearing dress or something nicer but I don’t want to make it seem like I’m trying too hard.

  The sooner the time gets to him coming over the more nervous I get.

  Maybe I put too much pressure on myself thinking that it had to be tonight.

  Maybe we can fool around a little and watch a movie or something instead.

  Like clockwork, my palms start collecting sweat.

  Go with the flow, Ramona. He’s not going to care if we have sex tonight or not. He loves you. Just go with the flow. You got this.

  I jump around like a boxer about to get in the ring in anticipation of the front door bell ringing.