Playing Cupid

by SC Alban

  How could someone do that? Just leave. Willingly.

  No matter how I felt about him as a person, how could I not feel empathy towards him for that? Not having a mom sucked. I mean, my mother had passed away nearly five years ago, but at least she’d wanted to stay…she had wanted me.

  As he talked on the phone, his expression shifted from mildly annoyed to concern. What could possibly shake his perfect existence? I furrowed my brow. I’d sometimes seen that same serious look shining through his typically playful eyes in class when he appeared to be lost in thought.

  I let my mind wander to those hazel eyes. They really were dreamy. Not quite green, definitely not brown, they seemed to change with the weather: light and playful in the spring, rich and warm in the winter. I looked up at the grey covered sky—probably a warm brown with green flecks. I looked back to where he was on the phone and scolded myself for letting my thoughts get away from me.

  He’s still a hottie, my inner voice chimed.

  I grunted, annoyed with myself. So what if he looked like he belonged on a movie set in LA, instead of the high school gym shooting hoops? I wasn’t the only one who thought so. There were many girls who felt the same. They all fell over him as if he were a god. I’d witnessed the spectacle of girls climbing over each other firsthand in the halls, in the cafeteria, after games…after school. Although surprisingly, he never showed much interest in any one of them.

  It wasn’t until after Cindy Carmichael couldn’t finagle a second date during freshman year that she declared he must be dating a college girl. No one dared disagree with her. I thought it funny no one mentioned perhaps it was because Cindy was the resident mean girl and a total witch…with a “B.”

  I was actually surprised that anyone, even Jay, would agree to a first date with her, until I remembered he was just like the rest of them—superficial and spoiled. Besides, it wasn’t my business anyway.

  Ugh, small towns. I knew way too much about everyone. It was a dissatisfying perk and another reason why I couldn’t wait to get the heck out of Dodge.

  I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear as Jay slipped the phone back into his pocket. A crow cawed in the distance, and he looked up. Spotting me from the gym steps, he caught my gaze. Even from that distance, his smile beamed. Why was he always smiling at me? It wasn’t like we were good friends or anything. Hell, we didn’t even like each other.

  “Hey, Megan.” His voiced echoed across the parking lot. “Your car all right?”

  “Yeah, fine. Just trying to find the right one,” I called back as I held up my keys.

  He dropped his bag on the steps and started jogging across the empty lot in my direction. Great, just what I needed: another awkward Jay Michaels moment. My heart picked up pace as I searched for the right key. Why did I have so many damn keychain ornaments?

  Come on, fingers. Come on, keys. Got it!

  I rushed to slide the key into the lock, only to drop the whole ring on the icy ground. Crap. I closed my eyes and bit my lip before bending down to collect them. Jay was already standing in front of me, my keys dangling from his finger.

  “Thanks,” I grumbled as I snatched them from him, careful to avoid physical contact. I didn’t want a repeat of sixth period. “Everything’s fine, really.”

  “You’re like the last one in the lot,” he observed casually. “I thought you’d want to be out of here as soon as possible, like everyone else.”

  “First of all, I am not like everyone else,” I said. “Second, I can’t wait to leave, believe me. I just do things my own way.”

  “Yeah, so I’ve noticed.” He stood quietly for a moment, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. “I just wanted to apologize if I offended you earlier in class today, you know, for saying you looked like—you know.”

  I opened my mouth to clapback and paused. An actual apology? Why was he being so nice to me? Narrowing my eyes in suspicion, I gave him a sharp look before hesitantly answering.

  “No problem.”

  He shuffled one foot against the rocky asphalt.

  “So I was wondering about something,” he said as I finally slid my car key into the lock. “Is it true you’re graduating early and attending the JC next semester?”

  “Um…yeah,” I stammered, confused about how he knew, let alone why it mattered to him.

  “I was wondering if you completed the online application or the paper one for the JC.”

  “Uh…the online one,” I responded. Like, what?

  “Oh, good. Well, do you know if you have to wait until your credits post before registering, or can you register before?”

  “Um…you have to wait until your credits post.”

  “But you registered, right?”

  “Provisionally, for a full load. I had to meet with a guidance counselor there. And it’s only because I’m graduating early, otherwise—why do you want to know?”

  He shrugged. “Just curious. There’s a class there I might want to take.”

  “Okay, um…well, then your grades need to post first.”

  “Cool, thanks,” he said shifting from one foot to the other. “So…you doing anything interesting over the holiday? It’s coming up.”

  “Huh? Me?” I replied.

  “Unless you see someone else here in the parking lot.” He lifted his eyebrows when I didn’t respond. “Yes, you.”

  “Well, I…um…” I stammered. “Actually, no. I have not one thing interesting happening over break.”

  “Really? I find that hard to believe. You seem like the type of person who always has a plan.”

  “Believe me, I’m not that intriguing. Nothing ever happens to me worth talking about—” well, not anymore “—and my life is as boring as it appears.”

  “Who knew? The ridiculously organized, motivated to blow out of high school as soon as possible, starting college early, no-nonsense Megan Cooper has zero plans this winter break. If anything amazingly superior was going to happen around here, I would’ve for sure thought it was going to happen to you.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

  “First, that is the most absurd thing I’ve heard all day, and that includes being subjected to Cindy Carmichael’s debate during art about whether tan should be a color since it’s just brown and white, or whether it should be called light brown,” I replied. “And second, I don’t know where you’re getting your information from, but the words amazing and superior are never in the same sentence with my name. Trust me, I’m expecting a completely dull holiday.”

  He tilted his head and looked at me with sad eyes.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, there’s still a week left until break, so you never know. Things could change.”

  “Right. Doubtful.” I paused, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. What was the point of this conversation anyway? To make sure I knew how boring my life was? Great. Got it. “Yeah, well, I should get going.”

  Leaning forward, he turned the key still dangling in the lock and opened the door for me. My heart raced as his body inched closer. I awkwardly squeaked my thanks as I tossed my bags across the driver’s seat into the passenger side and got in. He handed me the keys, his fingers brushing against mine, and my heart stopped.

  “Drive safe, Megan,” he said. “I heard the roads are starting to get icy heading up your way.”

  He closed the door and within seconds was back up the gym steps, grabbing his bag, and opening the glass doors leading to the basketball courts.

  “Holy crap,” I whispered to myself, stunned, as he disappeared into the building.

  Shock from the strange encounter rippled through me; there was no way I’d be wrapping my head around it anytime soon. However, as the inside of my vehicle was just a few degrees warmer than my refrigerator, it didn’t take long before I turned the key in the ignition and immediately blasted the heater. I sat for a good five minutes waiting for it to warm up while I thought about the possible motives for his
friendliness. Could this be some elaborate joke? What did he have to gain from it?

  I’d never seen him be deliberately mean, but who knew? It wasn’t like I had a strong grip on what the cool kids did for pranks these days. I turned on the radio and thought. Two overplayed pop songs and a freeze alert later, my car was ready to go and I was none the wiser. What could’ve prompted him to approach me? Was he just being nice? We were partners, after all. I shook my head. No, it had to be a prank. Something he and his jock buddies could laugh about over winter break.

  Now that I had some space from him—why did he always seem to stand so close to me? —the idea didn’t surprise me. He was probably put up to it by his friends. Or maybe he even came up with it himself. Maybe he was bored. Maybe it was a dare…the jocks tended to live for embarrassing others. Whatever the reason, I knew it couldn’t be because he was interested in me or anything I had to say.

  The more I thought about it, the more my anger grew. It was this type of crap that confirmed I was making the right choice by getting out early. Forget sentiment. It was all a joke. I was doing the right thing for me, and that was all that mattered. My die had been cast the moment my mother drifted away from life. There was no turning back now.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  I seethed at his words. Yeah, right.

  He may have caught me off-guard this time, but he wasn’t going to get under my skin so easily next time. I counted backwards from ten, taking a deep breath between each number. I pushed the anger deep down inside, far away from the surface until I no longer felt its effects.

  “Catch ya on the flip-side,” I said as I pulled out of the lot in a flash, tires screeching, for the fifteen-minute drive to my house.

  Chapter Three

  I clenched the wheel tight and fell into the rhythm of the road’s curves. Mid-December was always a hit or miss month with the snow, and this year, there hadn’t been a true fall. Thank you, global warming. Not that I minded the snow, but you can’t hug a hairpin curve at forty when there’s slush. Pushing down on the accelerator and taking each round as close as I could, joy seared through my body. I let out a loud whoop as I neared a particularly tight corner.

  I’ve never been a risk taker. However, I discovered early on that driving fast gave me the rush I needed to help me forget about whatever was stuck in my head. And since the road to our property was practically deserted, I figured my need for the fast lane could be considered a safe danger. Better than getting wasted at parties with my peers.

  Lifting my foot off the gas just a bit as I reached the next curve, I let the car’s momentum pull me around. Gotta love gravity. My stomach nearly floated off the edge. The car straightened out, and I hit the gas again as I released the wheel long enough to flick the switch on the radio.

  Some people say the road to my house is treacherous, but I’ve been driving it long before I ever thought about a license. That’s how things worked in the middle of nowhere California. Kids are driving on their daddy’s laps before they’re even out of diapers. Who’s gonna stop them? The sheriff? Hell, his kid was just twelve when I saw him backing the squad car down their dirt driveway. The squad car! But when ten cars are considered traffic and when the high school releases at three, causing a straight-up traffic jam, road rules aren’t as strictly adhered to, and underage drivers are practically a rite of passage.

  Of course, being the only child of a single father who wasn’t inclined to pay much attention to anything I did, I learned to drive just before I turned thirteen. The narrow, winding roads up to our property could leave the most skilled driver a little wary. But not me. Nope. Here, I was in my element. And, for a brief moment every day, there were zero expectations. It was just me and the road. I was absolutely free.

  I shifted into fourth, classic rock blasting as I hit the straightaway, the dense woodland creeping along either side of the road. I cracked the window and inhaled. The fragrant spruce scent wafted in and instantly, my mood lifted. School was a joke—but at least I could tick today off the countdown. And I didn’t have to think about it for the next fifteen hours. Not that I had anywhere special to be.

  I pushed the gas down further and reverently nodded to the trees that rose majestically to the sky, their branches waving as I passed, and smiled. Our property sat on about fifty acres of wooded mountaintop that I’d lived on my whole life. Despite everything that’d happened, I loved it. It was probably the only thing I loved in this nightmare of a town. There was nothing more magical than nature. At least, that’s what Mom used to say. As a child, I spent hours searching for fairies and gnomes, among the many other imaginary creatures I’d invented. Though fairies and gnomes were a thing of the past, I could still appreciate the sentiment. Same feeling, different playground. Even after the cancer and Dad had stopped caring about being a parent, I could always find that bit of magic that Mom believed in.

  See, Mom? I didn’t forget about the magic. I just happen to enjoy it while speeding along the road in a matte black 1972 Ranchero, blasting old school rock.

  Running my hand through my hair, a thrill of electricity ignited in my blood as the eclectic mixture of white alder, spruce, and pine flew past the closer I got to home. Before long, the road to our drive would appear, and then I’d be off to the barn to care for my quarter horse, Cosmo, a bit of homework, and then back online to find on-campus work at the junior college. Finding a job before I started next semester was imperative.

  “Ugh.” I groaned out loud, thinking about my unreliable Internet connection. “Please don’t screw me over tonight.”

  The thing that sucked the most about living up there—well, minus the obvious—was the crappy Wi-Fi. It was spotty at best. For anything decent, I had to drive halfway down the mountain, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, except that my second-hand laptop could barely handle the signal without dropping it. Uploading a resume was a near impossible feat, forget surfing the web for fun. A tingle itched the back of my neck, and my fingers reached under my hair to scratch it.

  Not for much longer. Soon, you’ll be on your way, and everything will be changing for the better.

  As I rounded the final turn before reaching our property, a streak of red shot across the road like a ribbon on the wind.

  What the heck?

  I slammed on the brakes.

  No. No. Why did I do that?

  It was a rookie maneuver. After nearly a bajillion years of living through freezing winters, I should’ve known not to slam on the brakes, even on days without snow.

  My old Ranchero, who’d never failed me before, was no match for the small patch of black ice. The car skidded as my heart pounded in my chest like a drum. I gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles white, and turned into the skid. Too late. Cringing, I closed my eyes as my car barreled toward a deep embankment.

  Oh, no. Oh God, no!

  Now, I’d heard about those life-changing moments when everything slows down, when each second turns to minutes, when one envisions their whole life as it flashes before their eyes and finally everything makes sense. Well, as I swerved toward that streaking flash of red—what animal runs on two legs?—I became aware it was all just a bunch of crap; stories to make people feel good. Because in the time it took for me to slam on the brakes and swerve out of control, the only thing I knew was that I was going to hit the very object that ran across the road in the first place.

  My eyes widened as my car raced toward the figure. Closer and closer, until the red blur had an outline. No longer a formless streak, I sucked in a breath as two arms and two legs became defined. And in less than a fraction of a second, I knew the object I was going to hit was a kid.

  And then, there was darkness.

  I opened my eyes. Everything was silent. My ears tickled in the cold afternoon and strained to hear something. Anything. One moment, classic rock blasted around me, and the next...the screeching tires, the wild screaming—was that me?—and then…nothing.

  In those first few moments of consciousness,
my body felt light and floaty, detached from reality. I was simply a girl sitting in a car. So calm. So peaceful. It could’ve been any day of any year. Then, two seconds later, reality came crashing in.

  The kid.

  Oh. My. God. I had hit him.

  What the hell was a kid doing so far up the mountain, anyway? Unaccompanied. Running across the road, no less. At least I thought it was a him; everything had happened so fast. It could’ve very well been a her, for all I knew.

  I slowly brought my hands to my face and rubbed my eyes. No apparent problems there. I stretched my arms out to the side. Still okay. I twisted and tweaked my body around, waiting for a bolt of pain to indicate serious injury. Nothing. Releasing a long sigh of relief, I exited the car. It took two hard shoves to get the door ajar, but adrenaline is a crazy thing. On the second push, the door popped open so fast I nearly tumbled onto the ground.

  Although I appeared to be physically okay—it was a miracle nothing was broken—my car was not. It had taken a nosedive into a shallow ditch off the side of the road. Geez Louise, talk about luck. It was a freaking miracle I wasn’t clobbered in the crash. A thin stream of steam rose silently from the hood, my mind swimming as it registered the side of the tree that had smashed the passenger door.

  I stood next to my trusty ride, mouth agape. The driver side door was completely dented in. How in the hell was I not hurt? I looked up to the sky.

  Mom?

  Shaking my head at such a silly notion, I turned back to the road. My heart raced and my arms burned as I climbed awkwardly out of the ditch, my body shaking. After several deep breaths, I collected myself. There was no use going into shock when there were larger issues at hand.