Wannabe More

by Billie Dale

  Steam fills the air from her rapid flicks with the straightening iron releasing thick straight strands down my back. “Mazric fought tooth and nail about the move until you, Sammy. You became his reason for dragging himself out of bed, his savior in the middle of the night.”

  She hesitates to await my response. My eyes dart to hers as my lips fall open on a silent gasp. Her one brow arches and a tilted grin tips her lips. “Yes, I know about his nights in your room.”

  Lungs seized, my breath stutters as my mind conjures excuses. She waves a hand, shrugging, “Any-who back to the hair. I looked at you that day, with these springing wild twists haloing your head, half-assed dragged back into a ponytail, and I wanted to help you be a dolled-up little girl. But I realized you are perfect as is. If I tamed your mane, it’d kill a piece of your uniqueness. One of the many qualities my son loves.”

  “The sum of all parts equal the whole,” I mumble.

  “Precisely. Sam, whether you’re covered in horse shit or dressed as a debutante; Mazric will always see you the same way because he looks beyond the exterior to the great big heart in your chest. The more I thought about changing you, the more wrong I knew it’d be. I thought I wanted a baby girl to play dress-up with and buy dolls, but if she’d turned out anything like me, she would spend her days covered in dirt, riding horses, driving tractors, fighting baths, and being anything but girly. I imagine my daughter would be just like you, Samantha Lee. You strutted into our lives right when we needed you the most and opened all our hearts. Mazric spent days trying to discredit the science you taught him on shooting a ball, Joe needed a purpose after losing his son, and for me, you’re the daughter I thought God would never give me.”

  Tears puddle on my lids as the emotional onslaught of worthlessness melts from my soul. The heavy hurt inflicted by my mother bubbles to the surface, roiling until it turns to vapor and vanishes in the air replaced by loving adoration shining in Carrie Lynn’s eyes.

  “Oh, don’t ruin your makeup.” She sniffles, handing me a tissue. I blot away the wetness resolving to box up the emotion for later analysis. “I’m so glad you guys are going together. He didn’t even consider asking anyone else, only you.”

  “Right.” I sigh. “The best friend girl next door,” I deadpan.

  Her eyes narrow as her hands slick through the last few chunks of hair, “Honey child, if this were a buzzing bee on your nose it would’ve stung the shit out of you by now. Open those gorgeous ivy-tinted eyes of yours and see the apple of temptation waiting for your teeth.”

  My heart pounds against my breastbone. “What do you mean?”

  She doesn’t answer but a toothy smile lifts her cheekbones high and wrinkles fine lines around her eyes. After a quick glance at the time she tsks, complaining about waiting too long to come help me. We finish in a rush, without speaking another word about her comment.

  Twenty-One

  MAZRIC

  STAY COOL. STAY COOL.

  Aloof is the name of the game. Fuck, am I even a man if I use that word? I wouldn’t know what it means if Sammy hadn’t used it to describe me a few months ago, which, as with most of our conversations, sent me grabbing for a dictionary. It’s the best I have for the state of fake calm I’m using to hide my nerves from my mother.

  Another chunk of my masculinity farted off with my riotous cheer when she walked out the door to help the object of my current nervous breakdown get ready. Many times, I’ve kicked my leg backward trying in vain to reach my own ass for insisting this isn’t a date.

  Friends.

  I drilled my point home to stop the crazy train of wrongful lust clickity clacking through my brain. Each car battles the one before and after it. Not even the Little Engine That Could can I think I can its way out of this clusterfuck. I’ve spent hours weighing the scales of fate with pros and cons. She’s too young, and I refuse to lose her as a friend top my list of wrongs, while she’s all I see. I want to kiss her more than I want to breathe, sits like a luscious meatball on top the dear God please, yes, pile.

  At least with Mom out of the way, I can pace a hole in the floor without her hovering. Cliché as it may be, this is my one shot to show her how I feel. Tonight, this stupid tradition will be the best night of her life. Her very own cheesy 80s teen movie moment. If I don’t get my roiling stomach under control, the scene will be complete with the tragic puking by the dumb jock.

  “Son, how about you quit wearing a path in the carpet and get in the shower?” Pappy calls from my open bedroom door, hiding his cheesy grin behind his hand.

  My eyes search out the clock on my nightstand. “Shit,” I huff, tripping over my feet on the race to the bathroom, ignoring his barreling laughter at my expense. Shaving 101 warns against raking sharp objects across your skin with shaking, sweaty hands. The tiny toilet paper, blood-soaked dots spotting my face tell the story.

  Mom wanted me all done up in a tuxedo but after trying on the monkey suit, I decided black dress pants, a dark gray starched shirt, and a royal blue silk tie were more my style. I complete the look with basketball high-tops on my feet. Beats the hell out of those stiff black shiny shoes from the rental shop. A dollop of gel slicks back my longer strands. Now if I can keep my hand out of it, I might look presentable by the time I pick her up.

  I honestly had no intention of attending prom. Tonight would’ve been Sammy and I curled up in front of the television watching movies. School, dancing, and people aren’t her thing so I figured we’d celebrate not going together. Until I overheard Mom on the phone with Vivianne. Through the one side of the conversation I heard, they were scheming to get Hendrix and Sammy together for prom.

  There was no divine intervention moment where the heavens shine light on Sammy Lee’s head, showing me she’s the one. No a-ha revelation where I realized what a dumbass I’d been. Pure unfiltered raging jealousy opened my eyes. The thought of Hendrix with my Sam screwed up my world and sent me scrambling. I couldn’t sleep, even after I climbed in her window and assumed my spot curled against her body. Food tasted like ass, my game went to shit, and I blasted anger toward everyone who spoke to me.

  Three days. It took me seventy-two hours to formulate a proposal to make Sam my date. If Hendrix had been here I’d have flipped him off, instead I dressed up Sammy’s pet pig and in my mania realized she belongs to me, with me, and is mine.

  Caveman-ish? Definitely. Necessary for my sanity and the sake of my scholarship? Certainly.

  Then I botched it all by allowing my fear of the intensity I felt for her get in the way. I could tell her but I want her photographic mind to keep tonight forever. Showing is always better than telling.

  One last straightening of my tie, a spray of cologne, and I’m ready. “Son, I need to talk to you before you go.” Pappy blocks my exit.

  I check the time. “Make it quick, old man. Got a girl I can’t keep waiting.” My cocky smile dies a fiery death from the seriousness of his chagrin.

  The mattress sinks when I flop on its surface, waiting for him to drop whatever is plaguing his mind.

  “I knew the day you arrived that girl would worm her way into your heart,” he heaves a troubled sigh.

  “Now wait. no one said anything about hearts. Don’t go marrying us off yet, Gramps,” I struggle to laugh him off.

  “You’re about as transparent as your father. Neither of you can hide what you feel. How Sammy Lee hasn’t figured it out by now is an anomaly. You fell in love with her years ago, you’re just too thickheaded to admit it. Now before you go arguing, take the advice of a seasoned veteran. Your Granny was it for me. She was my sun in the morning and my moon at night. I found her when I was not much older than Samantha and made her mine. Times were different then. Getting married and serious at eighteen was normal. You and Sammy both have plans. A bright future lays in wait for both of you.”

  His brown eyes shine with pride but wary wrinkles dull their glimmer. He’s got a point to make and I’m not leaving this spot until he’s made it, even tho
ugh I’m certain I don’t want to hear it.

  “College will be eye-opening for you and her, but for different reasons. There’s gonna be women throwing themselves at your feet while Sammy’s struggling to find her footing.”

  “Get to the point, Paps,” I huff, not liking where he’s going.

  Anger narrows his glare. “Boy, don’t go giving that girl a reason to hang on. Do not make her promises you can’t keep. While you’re collecting phone numbers, she’s gonna be cursing at the universe for not having you at her side to make life manageable. Her brain might be light-years ahead of the rest of us, but she’ll still be a sixteen-year-old girl in a pool of sharks.”

  I shove off the bed, no longer pacing from nerves but stomping a path in fury. “So what, I’m supposed to swallow what I feel? Maybe I want her waiting for me. We can do the long-distance thing. I can still be what she needs over the phone. Why are you trying to split us up before we begin?”

  He grips my arms, stopping my movement. “You’ll break her if you cheat on her.”

  My gut wrenches as if he sent his fist deep in the tissue. I gasp for air as he finishes. “She needs to learn to stand on her own, Maz. She’s strong because she’s had to be. Gave up everything to become what she thought her daddy wanted. Let her find herself before she twists to be what you need. If what you have is true, go sow your oats. Live wild and encourage her to as well. When the time is right, you’ll both know what’s meant to be.”

  The thought of Sam with anyone other than me rips at my soul, but what he’s saying is true. Thousands of miles will separate us. She’d stay faithful but not because she loves me. Sammy would stay true because it’s who she is. She needs to experience life and discover what it’s like to put herself above everyone else.

  “I got it,” I grumble, shoving past him.

  “Mazric,” he calls. I stop at the top of the stairs, refusing to meet his eyes. “She loves you. Give her the best prom and spend your remaining weeks showing her what she means to you. Don’t make promises or demands. Show Sammy what it’s like to be carefree for once.”

  My teeth tug at my lip to stop my retort as I continue down. A pit stop in the kitchen to grab the corsage I bought and I’m out the door, walking across the pasture.

  Her Mustang gleams in the fading light, but what stands on the porch stops my breath. Cloaked in shimmering indigo with gold glinting at her shoulders, she wrings her hands. I’m drawn to her like the pull of the planets to the sun. The second I’m in her orbit, the entire picture steals my breath. She’s a goddess with long ebony hair stretched to her backside, swooped up on the sides, with spiraling tendrils framing her face. Her eyes glow in their sockets like two tempting emeralds begging to be stolen. My hands itch to frame her face and taste her glossy lips.

  I bound up the steps, coming face to chest with her ample cleavage. Where the hell did that come from? Her entire body is different. Hells bells. With those breakneck curves, she’s turned into a sexy siren overnight. When I reach her face, her lips thin and worry crinkles her brow.

  I lean close breathing her in. “You’re gorgeous.” My lips hover next to her warm cheek. She smells so good. Fruity sweet but fresh like a summer breeze. I inhale deep, willing my body to calm but the overload of all things Sam compounds the situation growing against my zipper.

  “Thank you. You’re quite handsome too,” she responds, darting her eyes as pink sweeps up her cheekbones darkening her freckles. I want to play connect the dots with my tongue.

  Fuck me, this is gonna be a long night.

  I slip the flowered band on her wrist. “Ready?” My fingers slip down to entwine with hers.

  “Wait, I need pictures,” Mom calls. I didn’t even see her and Johnny standing in the door.

  After she snaps enough to break the shutter button, she dismisses us with orders to have fun as Sam’s dad gives me the evil eye, which says all he needs to convey—don’t fuck with my daughter—message received.

  Hand in hand I walk her to the car, holding open the door to help her in, swallowing my jittering nerves and secretly adjusting my crotch as I make my way around the hood and into the driver’s seat.

  Twenty-Two

  SAMANTHA

  I’M A GIANT MUSHY POOL of girly goo. My big vocabulary and I’m incapable of better adjectives to describe the warmth cascading through my veins as he approaches. Hands shoved in his pockets, he stares at the ground crossing the expanse of land with long purposeful strides. The struggle to keep my drool and tongue inside my mouth is a legit problem when he reaches toss-myself-into-his-arms distance.

  Friends...friends...friends.

  I chant, but my mind creates excuses. Surely, it’s okay to nibble on your best bud a little. Just a nip where his collar touches the tanned skin of his neck or fisting his tie and dragging him to my lips. These would still toe the line of friendship, right?

  My brain is more scrambled than a helping of morning eggs. I’ve seen this boy whine with the flu, covered in dirt, and scared. But the man standing before me is mouthwatering with the amber sunset haloing his form and brightening the whiskey color of his eyes. The scrawny little boy I met is gone. Broad shoulders stretch the fabric of his pristine shirt and strong thighs fill out his slacks. His eyes run the length of me and a gulp bobs his Adam’s apple.

  The breeze floods me with his woodsy scent sparking fire to every fuse in my body.

  Yeah, puddle of goo works.

  Daddy watches from the stoop as Maz folds his large body in the bucket seat. He is stoic as usual, but his hard stare stays on my date. When I first came downstairs, I thought I saw mist cloud his eyes but he was quick to shove it away. He told me how pretty I looked after a nudge from Carrie, but his words were a grumbled growl.

  Mazric pets the leather steering wheel before twisting the key. The car purrs to life, thundering with roaring pipes under our feet as he accelerates down the drive. One wrist on the wheel, while the other twitches on the shifter. An uncomfortable silence hugs every corner of the interior. As I watch the trees pass and country roads become highway, I realize we are not heading toward Seven Mile Forge.

  Thirty minutes later we slip through the streets of Middleton. Mazric pulls under a long blue canopy, where a valet opens my door.

  As my car speeds away, an impeccably dressed man opens a frosted glass door, bidding us bonjour as we enter. With his palm warming my lower back, Mazric leads me to the hostess stand. He gives his name and she leads us toward the back of the restaurant and a wall of windows. The aroma of sweet bread and salty butter hangs in the air.

  Once seated we face the calm waters of Lake Manitou. She places paper lined menus on the table. Holding mine in a shaking hand, I look around the space. A sepia painting of the Eiffel Tower climbs the wall leading to the windows. White linen tops each hidden table, set with pristine crystal goblets and shining cutlery. Low seductive music adds to the ambience of dim romantic lighting. Plush velvet red chairs sit side by side separated from the next table by a partition offering the illusion of privacy. Posh and pretentious, the restaurant is nice but for a small-town farm girl, it’s ostentatious and intimidating.

  “What are you ordering?” Mazric nudges my shoulder and his smile prevents me from telling him I’m uncomfortable. Instead I force a grin and study the selections.

  It’s written in swirling French with no prices. While I can read a little, I’m more fluent in Italian and Latin. Certain dishes such as caviar and escargot jump off the parchment printed page flipping my previous hunger to revulsion. “Uh.” I stall, drawing out the word. “I’m not sure. How about you order for me?”

  I’ve tutored this man in all subjects since he was ten years old. There’s no way he’s able to read the entrée list.

  “Sure, not a problem.” He rings a tiny bell positioned at the edge of the table.

  Before the ting fades, a young waiter dressed in starched white appears in our section. “Hey, man, I thought that was you.” Some sort of male bonding
handshake occurs as Mazric returns his greeting. When they’re done, the boy’s blue eyes survey my hair then face before settling on the bare tops of my breasts. “Pas mal, Maz!” He reaches out to fist bump my date, yet never removing his stare from my chest.

  “Joshua, you remember Samantha Gentry, right?” Mazric’s introduction growls from his chest; a warning veiled in his words.

  “Whoa, no shit? Spammy sure came a long way, huh?” His use of my old nickname shudders through my ears, stabbing my heart, bringing all the trauma forward from the years I spent in bullying hell. A quick trip through my memory tells me ole Joshy is the short boy who used to sit in the corner of the classroom eating glue. Yes, he was that kid. Now he’s sprouted into a boyband reject pretty boy, but the Elmer’s must've done a fair amount of brain damage because he’s a rude ass.

  Red climbs Mazric’s neck, speckling his face. His fists clench atop the table and he’s seconds from exploding. I lay my palm over his trembling knuckles, urging with a squeeze for his eyes to meet mine. With robotic stiffness he turns. Molten liquid honey swirls in his brown eyes. The world drifts away. I hold, with soft eyes and tiny smile I tell him with a look how much this guy doesn’t matter. Soon the lava cools and his whiskey color returns.

  “Bring us our dinner now,” he snaps and Josh, too ignorant to the error of his ways, offers a cheery nod and bustles off to the kitchen.