by Billie Dale
To dispel the angry fog, I relay my theory of school adhesive pollution being the reason for his buddy’s assholery. His plush lips curl against his teeth as he tries to hang on to his rage, but his shaking torso gives his laughter away. When the chuckle fades, he apologizes.
My finger moves to his mouth halting his words. “Don’t.” His eyes spark mischief a second before his tongue swipes up my finger and his teeth chomp at the tip. I squirm, but he grips my wrist and the dividing wall at my back prevents my escape. The fight to bite becomes a thumb war until we’re both laughing so hard my ribs ache. All the awkwardness dissipates and we are just Sam and Maz.
He keeps my hand in his, tracing a warming path with his thumb. “Pappy’s cabin hides in that cluster of trees.” He nods out the window to a dense patch of forest lining the opposite bank of the lake.
“Ah, the elusive fishing spot I never got to visit because it was a ‘He-Man Woman-Haters Club’ or something. You guys go out there and stay a couple times a year. I was always so jealous. A few times I thought about stowing away in the back of the truck, but I figured Paps would just bring me back home. I loved spending time with your mom, but she always wanted to go shopping and hovered over me in the garage when Daddy went with you. I missed you so much those few days.” Heat sweeps up to my hairline from my admission.
He cups my cheeks, running his thumb along the hottest spot on my skin. “I missed you too. Remember the times we came back early? Gramps tired of watching me sulk and beg for him to go get you.”
His hand slips to my neck. With each word he closes the distance while pulling me forward.
Oh my God, oh my God. Oh. My. God.
This is it. The kiss.
Yes, yes, yes.
I wet my lips. The moment I’ve been waiting forever for. Watching my tongue, his fingers tighten at my nape. We’re breathing each other’s minty air.
A. Few. More. Millimeters.
Clang, clank, ting.
The sound sends my lidded eyes wide as I fall against the back of my chair. Maz continues to hold position, craning his neck to kill his friend with a look. Wearing a smarmy grin, Joshua once again stands at our table and two shining silver domes sit in front of us. A woman snarls in French and Josh blanches, wiping the grin from his face. “Bon appétit,” he grumbles scurrying away.
My stomach gurgles and begs for a taste of whatever is steaming from under the hood-covered plates. A yawning groan rips from Maz’s abdomen too. “Let’s eat?” I say, hoping to revisit our almost kiss later.
He nods, wrapping his fingers around the handles; he removes the lids.
A commercial worthy burger topped with cheese, lettuce, tomato, and slicked with delicious condiments rests in a nest of golden greasy fries. A series of rapid confused blinks meets my dinner before fluttering up to peer at my date. This isn’t exquisite French cuisine. No, it’s a scene from a movie.
Wait. No. My brain scrambles putting the pieces together. Click. “Some Kind of Wonderful?” I ask, the words shaking from my lips.
His big hand cups mine. “Your ass is too precious for a regular diner.” He Cheshire grins, adding his own words to one of Eric Stoltz’s famous lines from the movie. “It’s getting cold and I for one want to know if it tastes as good as it looks,” he adds, but his poignant look makes me wonder if he’s talking about the food or me.
I gulp down the saliva pooled on my tongue. “Yeah,” I choke nodding. My lips hum with anticipatory electricity from the almost-kiss. Questions roller coaster through my brain, combined with the urge to beg for him to rewind time and pick up where we left off, but the moment’s gone. Killed by a dick-noodle and food.
A tidbit of hope rings my heart. The night has just begun, and all those years of wanting mirrored in his eyes has opened a door I thought was dead bolted shut.
Twenty-Three
SAMANTHA
DINNER WAS EXCELLENT. Who knew this haute Paris-themed restaurant could make a great hamburger? We reminisce over hijinks from our younger years, filling the air with laughter and wonder of evading punishment. At the end of the meal, Mazric turns down the offer of dessert from the lady who took over for Josh. With the heat of his palm searing my lower back, he escorts me to the car.
The four-lane roads turn to two, and the runway-style round globe streetlights of Seven Mile Forge illuminate the main strip. One stoplight and two yield signs later, he parks in the overfilled lot of the local banquet hall. Music pours from the open double doors and kids dressed in formal wear lumber toward the opening.
Tables circle a dance floor with a DJ manning the music station. The room is awash in streamers, balloons, and hanging chrome stars reflect multicolored lights. Couples clog the floor, bumping and grinding to the rap beat of a popular song.
I spot Preslee as she sees me. A toothy grin swallows her face as she drags Joey to greet us. The men do their manly hand thing while I’m wrapped in a crushing hug. She gushes about how great I look. I return her compliment admiring how breathtaking she is in her pink strapless gown as we move through the room to a table for four. The guys vanish in the crowd in search of beverages and Pres questions me about dinner.
An hour passes and my feet throb inside the torture devices Preslee insisted match my dress. We’ve danced so much sweat drips down my spine, and I worry about the heat frizzing my hair. After a series of upbeat chart-toppers, a slow song rumbles the speakers. Mazric jumps from his seat as though shot from a cannon and leads me to the dance floor. I’m lost in the honey chestnut of his eyes, questioning the validity of reality, as he places my hands behind his neck. His strong fingers skim down my arms, prickling my skin with goosebumps. At my waist he pulls me flush with his body. The heat of his hands sear through the thin material of my dress. We sway in that way high school kids do, rocking back and forth, spinning in a circle with his face buried in my hair and his lips ghosting my neck. Beyoncé sings about a halo but the tempo and words fade in the heavy static filling my ears. His fingers splay on my backside, pressing himself closer until the length of his arousal nudges my stomach.
My inner cheerleader sis-boom-bahs but my knees turn to jelly. A rush of wetness soaks the lace between my legs. Unbidden a whimper pushes past my lips and my hips grind wanting more. I’m not sure what I need, but my brain packed up and left the building. I’m flying blind, relying on my baser instincts to guide me and they advise me to hump his leg.
The song changes. The beat no longer slow but our swaying, locked bodies stay. I can’t tell you where I end and he begins. Hazy lusty fog surrounds us to the point I can’t tell you what two plus two is anymore.
No wonder teenagers are scatterbrained and distracted. Hormones cloud my brain cells, stamping each with a need for pleasure. I maintain just enough sense to stop from hiking up my dress and climbing him like a tree.
He pulls back, leaning his forehead on mine as his hands slide up my body. A single fingertip on each hand trails a fiery path over my ribs, along the sides of my breast, ghosting with the lightest of touch on the bare skin above the V of my dress and the ridge of my collarbone, until he’s wrapped all ten in the strands of my hair.
My eyes roll so far back I don’t think they’ll ever return. We’ve stopped moving. Everywhere he touches is a live wire. His hot breath dances across my lips. I swipe my tongue along my bottom lip to taste his air. His hips flex in response. “Sammy, open your eyes,” he whispers at the corner of my mouth for only me to hear.
My heart attempts to backflip out of my chest and I struggle to breathe. I fear if I open my Mazric-drunk lids the dream will pop like a balloon. Running his nose up my cheek, he repeats the request closer to my ear. Despite the hotter than the sun temperature of my skin, I shiver, forcing my lashes open. He’s right there. Close enough his features blur, inches from my lips.
“So who’s this mystery girl, Mazric?” Asia’s high grating voice calls from behind me.
Damn these interruptions. My spine straightens but I don’t turn. Maz gl
ares over my shoulder before stepping to block me from her view. Preslee approaches, offering me a holy shit that about happened smile before sneering at Asia.
“Everyone’s talking about your date, so I thought I’d come over and say hello. I mean, come on, Maz, why are you subjecting her to the rejects? You should both come over with us where you belong.” Her harem of followers chuckle. “I love your dress, I wanted the same one, but Daddy refused to pay that much for a one-timer. And look at all her hair, Brooklyn.”
Her fakeness shines through her compliments and the snark hiding under her words climbs to the surface the longer I ignore her. “Is she deaf, Mazric? Is that why she doesn’t mind hanging with the cast-offs?”
Preslee and Dallas edge closer. Joey locks an arm around Preslee’s waist to keep her from lunging forward. Asia DeMarco’s been a pain in my ass for far too long. “Well, since she can’t hear me, then how about you and me hookup later, Maz?”
I hear her date raging, “What the fuck,” as Preslee growls “What a bitch,” before irrational possession and fury consume me. I throw a wink at Pres before spinning on one heel. As my greens meet her blues, I see the second recognition repulses and hatred takes over.
“Jesus, I should’ve known it was her. Garnered the pity date, huh, Spammy? You two are pathetic.” Disgust twists her face into an ugly mask.
“Asia, let it go,” her date, who I see is Jackson, grips her hand giving a tug, but she jerks away.
“No. She doesn’t belong here or anywhere. We got rid of her, yet here she is fucking everything up like always. Taking what she doesn’t deserve.” He edges away from her crazy, which she refocuses on me. “So you get all dressed up and think you belong? Polish a turd; it’s still a turd, Samantha. I mean your whore of a mother couldn’t land one yet here you are trying to sink your claws into a Vortex, just like she did.”
“Enough, Asia!” Mazric thunders, trying to pit himself between us as Preslee flanks my other side, but I’m over feeling less than the Asia’s of the world.
Years of backing down and blending rocket to the surface. Days of wanting just one person to talk to me instead of tease, with this girl leading the pack. “Get over it, Asia. You’re right, my momma was awful but I’m not her. Besides, that’s not what pisses you off. No, what yanks your chain is Mazric choosing me. Every. Damn. Time. Even when you were together, he picked me. Why? Because you’re vapid and phony. I mean, look at this.”
I wave around the room. “At eighteen, and weeks from graduation, you’re standing here throwing a tantrum because I got the guy. Newsflash, honey, I’ve always had him. I have a bachelor’s degree in mathematics at fifteen years old and in three years, I’ll be a Doctor of Biomedical Engineering. Where will you be, Asia? Still here, in this one-horse town, spending Daddy’s money and worrying about what body part to have fixed next. I was never beneath you; I was just a smart little girl who wanted a friend. Now I’m a genius woman who’s telling you to fuck off.”
I turn my back to her, grab Mazric’s hand, and move to leave. Wrong decision. A hand rips at the back of my head, pulling the beaded clip holding up my sides and yanking out strands of my hair. The shimmering pearls splatter all over the floor. Preslee and Dallas rush but I block with an arm, whipping around to face my attacker.
Jackson holds Asia around the waist but she’s thrashing and scratching. Numbers pop up all around. Equation after equation on possible paths she’ll take when she gets free. I could run but I don’t. Instead, I fist one hand and cup the other at my side. All plausible scenarios solved; I count down.
3...2...1
She breaks his hold. Her hands curled into talons she lunges for my chest. I pause, seeing the angles. Staggering on her heels she swipes. The second before her nails dig into my flesh, I swing my fisted right hand, clocking her in the jaw. As her head flies to the side my left slams into her head, cupping at her ear. The force of the punch sends her back, where the remnants of my clip send her arms flailing like a cartoon character before her ass hits the floor.
“Well this shindig just became a ‘ho down,’” Preslee announces and the room erupts in laughter.
“I can’t hear. What did you do?” Asia sobs. Thick black streams down her cheeks, highlighting the nice lump near her eye.
The crowd splits, leaving her sitting in her own tears. Mazric grabs my hand, dragging me toward the door. He shoves me into a bathroom, judging by the urinals, I’m guessing it’s the men’s room. Under the harsh fluorescents he examines my other hand. Still caught in the throes of the adrenaline rush, I don’t notice the throbbing knuckle pain until he presses the skin between my middle and third finger.
Pres and Joey burst through the door. “Daaaaamn, that was E-P-I-C! Remind me to never piss you off. Where did you learn to swing like that? Even her Townie crew left her.” Her vigor fades when she sees my swollen hand, “Shit. You okay?”
“I just need ice,” I hiss from Mazric rolling my bones around. He arches a disagreeing brow at my diagnosis. A huff of air deflates my lungs as frustration replaces the anger and endorphins.
Preslee wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a side hug. “What’s with the sour face? You leveled Asia DeMarco. We’ve wanted to do that for years, but were too afraid of her gossiping wrath.”
“I’m not ready for the night to end,” I pout, fighting the urge to stomp back out and kick more of Asia’s ass for ruining my night and my kiss.
“Meet us at the plantation. I got this,” Preslee states with a big grin. Grabbing Joey’s hand she skips out of the bathroom. The two make the perfect opposites attract couple. Joey Holmes is the Adderall to my friends ADHD.
“Come on, slugger, let’s take care of that hand.” Maz leads me with his fingers pressing on my lower back.
“Miss Gentry, Mr. Vortex?” The principal’s voice stops our escape in the hall.
“Mr. Penrod.” Mazric nods.
“Quite the right hook you have there, Miss Gentry. You two are leaving, yes?” He offers Sam an ice pack.
Mazric takes it, securing it to my hand with his tie. “Yes, sir,” we answer.
“Miss Gentry, I’ve been trying to get in contact with you. First, I’d like to apologize on behalf of Seven Mile High. You see if I’d been here, your school experience would’ve been a whole different ball game. Us genius types should stick together.” He winks.
Mr. Penrod became principal a year after I began homeschooling. He’s young, and rumor is he graduated college at eighteen.
“I realize you finished a few years back, but would you attend the ceremony with the rest of your class? If you were still a student, you would be the valedictorian but since this school system had its head up its ass, I’d like to offer you an honorary diploma with a celebratory presentation of your accomplishments.”
“I’ll think about it,” I respond.
“Very well. Enjoy the rest of your night.” He claps Mazric on the shoulder. “See you Monday.” His dress shoes tap on the floor until he disappears beyond the heavy doors of the ballroom.
Twenty-Four
MAZRIC
STRANGER THINGS HAVE happened, but Mr. Penrod not dishing out punishment for our little altercation ranks about as high as my shy Sammy Lee knocking the Queen Bee off her pedestal. He almost seemed proud.
I’ve had Sam’s back since the very first day when I saw how rotten her peers treated her, but tonight, she proved she doesn’t need my white knight routine anymore. My heart swells with pride and melancholy at the same time.
The second Samantha turned and Asia grabbed her hair, I watched my girl. She gets this look when she’s calculating. I’ve seen it many times over the years when she kicks my ass playing basketball. Her world lights up with numbers, inclines, algorithms, and theorems. With a quickness, she solves it all and enacts her solutions. I noticed the flex of her bicep, her widened stance, and the squint of her eyes. Never in a million years would I have said she’d punch Asia, but something was cooking in her brain.
She had the exact trajectory of Asia’s head after the punch locked in and she used the force of the motion to slam into the other side.
Fucking. Brilliant.
On the way to the car her heels stomp a bit too harsh on the paved surface. Her breaths come faster until she’s almost panting. At the passenger door she waits. “Is there a problem, Splinter?”
“Open the door or get out of the way so I can.” Her voice holds a whiny twang I’m not sure I’ve ever heard come from Sam.
“Talk to me,” I mumble, and she shivers from my breath skating on her shoulder.
She spins on her heel, gasping when she realizes we’re nose to nose. Teetering, she recoils adding a fraction of space between us and plastering herself against the door. Her green eyes narrow, focusing on my lips. My tongue sweeps out in response and to her this movement is offensive.
Her uninjured hand rises and falls slapping on the satin of her dress. Those emerald orbs squint tighter before she huffs a fruit punch-scented exhale against my nose. “This!” She shuffles on her feet wanting to move, but I’ve caged her within my arms. “What? What is it?”
“Uh. A dance,” I respond and boy is it wrong.
“Mazric,” she groans, hiding within a curtain of hair created by Asia releasing the sides, “You insist we’re here as friends then you teen movie me with dinner, fry my synapsis treating me like I’m the only person in the room, and two times.” She ticks off fingers for emphasis. “You’ve been close enough to kiss me. I’ve never experienced a kiss but I’ve read about enough to recognize the signs. Then WrestleMania took over the teen movie and now I’m confused. Years, I’ve waited for you to look at me like I’m more than the pesky girl-friend next door who’s annoying but who you tolerate and covet. And I was good, great actually, to stay in my little box where you stuck me, but I’ve dreamed of being the center of your world, of having those bourbon eyes look at me the way they have been all night. Was this a pity date? A ‘let’s give pathetic Sammy one night to remember’ thing, then tomorrow you’ll return to hooking up with the greater majority of the young female populous?”
