He stood in front of her, sexy as hell. His dirty blonde hair was a total mess, his dark jeans clinging perfectly to all his lower-body parts, a plain grey t-shirt, rolled up at the sleeves showing off his subtle tan. He was holding a bucket of chicken under one of his so sexy arms and a brown paper grocery bag in the other.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she said.
“Are you going to let me in?” he asked.
“Oh, sorry, yes.” She shook her head and opened the door wide enough for him to walk through, brushing past her and making her feel about sixteen different emotions at once.
“Where do you want this?” he asked, gesturing to the bucket and Peggy showed him to the kitchen. He put the chicken down on the small wooden table and started pulling fries, corns and coleslaw from the bag. “I brought a couple 7UPs, I didn’t know if you had any.”
“It’s pretty much the only thing we do have apart from frozen pizza,” she said, watching him unpack, totally unable to work out what to do.
“Eat out of the bucket or off plates?” he asked.
“Plates,” she said. She was way too nervous to eat out of a bucket in front of him. She wondered if she’d manage to eat anything, even though it smelt so good. She set a plate and a glass down for each of them and threw some cutlery in the middle. Were they even going to need cutlery? How was she even going to eat a chicken leg in front of him? Eating chicken off the bone was so not sexy.
“Music?” he asked.
She nodded and headed into the lounge and began rummaging through Janet’s records. She was thankful for the few moments it gave her to compose herself.
“What do you feel like listening to?” she called out.
“Anything,” he said.
The coolest thing she could find was a Foreigner album.
“This is good,” he called out over the music.
She walked back into the kitchen and without thinking found herself doing a stupid impromptu dance. It was terrible. Her arms were flapping around, and her hips were swaying in a way which was definitely nowhere near Rochelle-level-sex-appeal. She stopped herself and sat down at the table looking down at her empty plate her face burning.
“Why did you stop?” he asked, grabbing a piece of chicken and grinning.
“That’s so embarrassing,” she said, staring into the bucket.
“I like the way you dance,” he said.
“Thanks.” She took a small bite of a chicken leg. It was so tasty and her mouth instantly watered. She wanted to tear the skin off and eat it like she would if she was alone, devouring it in seconds, but she didn’t want him to see her do that, so she continued taking tiny little birdy bites.
“You dance like you don’t care what anyone thinks.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Definitely.”
“Then, thanks.” She took another slightly bigger bite.
If she had died right then, listening to Foreigner, chowing down on a crispy leg of fried chicken that Sammy Ruthven had brought to her house, she would've been happy.
“Did you hear about what happened at the diner today?” she asked trying to make conversation.
“No, I was out of town today.”
“It was pretty crazy,” Peggy said.
“Yeah?”
“June-Belle and Horace were there, on some kind of date.”
“Really?” He didn’t seem that interested in the story. He grabbed another chicken piece and ripped the skin off with his teeth.
“Tricia lost it and shouted at everyone. She told us we were all liars and fakers.”
“She’s got a point. Present company excluded.”
Peggy looked down at the chicken bone in her hand. “I’m gossiping, sorry. I’m just… nervous and I can’t think of anything to say.” She felt herself flush as she put the clean bone down on her plate.
“Why are you nervous?” he asked putting a cob of corn on each of their plates with a small square of wrapped butter.
She shook her head, “I’ve read this all wrong, haven’t I?”
“Read what all wrong?”
“I thought this was like… a date or something.” She looked into the bucket of chicken. “And now I don't even know why I'm telling you that I thought that. I’m such an idiot.”
All she wanted to do was run away. Go hide in her room. She should’ve ignored the doorbell. She should never have answered the phone.
“Do you want it to be a date?” he asked, putting down his corn and looking at her intensely.
She held her own cob to her lips and shrugged, trying her best to look like 'whatever'. She took a bite and corn spat out in all directions. She dropped the corn and put her hand over her face not sure whether to laugh or cry, but he just smiled at her, that half-smile smirk that made her melt like the butter on her corn.
They continued eating silently, lost in their own thoughts. Peggy wondering if this was what sexual tension felt like, until half the bucket of chicken was gone and most of the corn and fries.
“What do you want to do now?” he asked her as he wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back in his chair.
“I don't know, what do you want to do now?” she asked.
He gave her a smoldering look. She tried to hold it for a moment, but it was too intense for her, she broke away by throwing her chicken bones into the paper bag.
“We should clear up,” she said. Why, why did she say that? Why didn't she say something flirtatious or sexy or at least witty?
“Yeah,” he said, standing up taking the plates to the sink. “Miss Bates won’t let me come over again if she sees this mess.”
Come over again?
Peggy stood up and grabbed the bucket of left-over chicken in both hands. She was about to turn towards the counter when she felt him move around behind her. She stood, frozen to the spot as she felt his hand gently move her hair away from the back of her neck. She turned to marshmallow as he breathed softly against her goose pimply skin, sending her into all sorts of a panic. She gripped the bucket of chicken as he gently kissed her neck. His lips were on her neck. She was now toasted marshmallow, nothing but a thin crispy coating protecting her gooey center.
He kissed her jaw, her cheek and her cheek again. And then his lips found her lips. The bucket of chicken dropped to the floor as he took her in his arms. Running her chicken greased fingers through his messy dirty hair as they pressed into each other frantically, limbs moving all over the place, chicken legs and wings sliding across the floor in all directions.
They came apart breathless.
“Sorry,” he began, “I really shouldn't have done that.” But his arms remained around her.
“I’m glad you did,” she said, trying to catch her breath.
He released his grip and pushed her hair back from her face. Not the way Jack had always done it. Jack had a tender look in his eye, like he was going to protect her against the baddies or Big Mick, or Mindy. Whichever she was crying over at that moment. Jack was soft and lovely and wore sneakers to school instead of brown leather shoes and that was about as rebellious as he got, apart from the occasional underage drinking antics at The Stables.
Sammy touched her differently. There was a kindness in his touch but there was something more, there was an eagerness, a roughness, a rawness to everything he did that drove Peggy crazy. Jack was the kind of guy you wanted to marry and sit on the couch with. Sammy was the kind of guy you wanted to have take you in the back of his blue Firebird even though you knew you’d spend days and nights sitting by the phone waiting to hear from him. You knew he wouldn't call, you'd never see him again, until one night, months later after you finally felt free of his grasp and began moving on with your life, after days and nights of tears and bad movies, he would call. Just casually inviting you out for a drink at The Fire Station or to ask if you wanted to take a drive up Salt Mountain. Or if he could bring you a chicken dinner. Despite everything you would go, and you'd pray to God he was going to
take your head in his hands and kiss you hard like that, even if it meant another few months of complete agony, he was the kind of guy it was worth it for.
“I don’t usually do this,” he said.
“Do what?” she asked, “seduce women with chicken?” She grimaced, of course he was not the kind of guy to need to use anything to seduce anyone. She’d seen him at the bar, he could just walk in and seduce seven girls. He could burp and someone would fall head over heels for him.
“Get involved with friends.”
“OK,” she said cautiously. They had never exactly been friends, and they were hardly involved.
“I’m not like, a relationship guy,” he said.
She nodded, that much was obvious.
“All this stuff with Ro…” he ran his hands down his face, stopping to rub a patch of stubble on his cheek.
“Yeah…” Peggy said, stomach dropping to the floor. He was breaking up with her already and they had only had one kiss. The best kiss of her life, but still. It hardly seemed fair.
“I don’t make a great boyfriend, and you seem like the kind of girl that deserves a great boyfriend.”
Peggy nodded awkwardly as she tried to get her head around the fact that he had come into her house, brought chicken and kissed her like that and was now giving her the ‘I don’t make a great boyfriend’ line.
“But you know what,” he said, putting his hands gently on her shoulders and running them up through her hair to the sides of her face, “fuck it.” And he held her face in his hands and he kissed her, softly at first, then harder, then softly again, then he kissed her again and again until both their faces hurt.
“Can you do me a favor?” he asked as they hurriedly picked chicken legs off the floor before Janet got home. “Let’s not be too obvious at school.”
Memories of conversations she’d had with Big Mick came back to haunt her. Big Mick had said they couldn’t talk to each other at school but would still be able to see her after. He had been embarrassed to be seen with her, and so was Sammy. Of course he would be, he had girls like Rochelle and Leigh hanging all over him, what would it look like if he was with Peggy? Her face fell.
“No,” he said grabbing her hand and entwining his fingers with hers. “Only because of Rochelle. She’s crazy. You don’t even know how crazy. She’ll make your life a living hell, and mine. Just give me time to talk to her before we go… public.”
Peggy nodded. Maybe it was a lie, maybe it was true. As long as she got to kiss him again, she didn’t even care right now.
“I’ll see you at school,” he said.
“I’m going away this week. Damn, I totally forgot.”
“Canada?” he asked giving her a look.
“Home,” she said not wanting to lie again. “I have to tie up some loose ends.”
“Give me your number and I’ll call you.”
“I don’t really know where I’m going to be,” she said.
“I thought you said you'd be home?”
“I don't know where I'll be staying. It's kind of complicated.”
“So, call me,” he leaned in close and ran his hand down her hair.
“I might not be able to, it’s pretty far out near where I'm from, we don’t really have good connections.”
“So, send me a postcard.” He put the bucket of chicken into the trash and walked himself to the door.
“I’ll try.” She smiled as she opened the door for him. He grabbed her hand and quickly kissed it before walking towards the Firebird, getting in and speeding off down the street. She wished he’d drive a bit more carefully, but apart from that there was nothing she would change about him.
And when she walked back into the house, she knew nothing would ever be the same again.
Twenty-Nine
The Stables
Magz handed Jack the retro looking box of Twinkies with the December '83 expiration date marked on the side as they sat in the sun filled quadrangle during their free period. She was holding her copy of The Nuns of Santolsa.
Jack looked at her, looked at the box and her book and frowned.
“Try one,” she suggested.
He opened the box and pulled one out. He inspected it carefully.
Magz grabbed one of the yellow cakes out of the box, opened the wrapper and took a bite. “Mmmmm, Twinkie delicious!”
Jack lowered his eyes at her and watched her eat the whole thing. He opened the packet and sniffed it. He licked it with his tongue and squeezed it a little with his fingers.
Magz gave him a smug look.
“Come on Magz,” he said through a mouthful of Twinkie, “you know these things have a serious shelf life.”
“Thirty-three years serious?”
Jack kept eating, and when he was done, he ate another one.
“So, do you believe me now?” she asked.
Jack shrugged.
“It’s all in this book,” she said, pressing the small book into his warm popcorn scented chest. “It’s about this group of nuns who kept turning up all over the place in different periods of history. They didn’t know whether they were Saints or witches, but I think they were time travelers!”
“Sure Magz, I’ll uh, give it a read,” he said, noncommittally taking the small book from her.
* * *
“A night at The Stables. Come on Magz, you owe me. I’ll even pay for my own drinks. Some of my own drinks.”
“I really just want to get back,” she said as they walked through the quad together later that day. The tall trees were casting some shade that wasn’t readily available in the quad in 1983.
“Are you really going to do that?” he asked, folding his arms.
“Do what?” Magz had no idea what his problem was. She’d proven time travel was real, she’d told him that she was in love with someone in back in 1983, what more did he want from her?
“Just screw me over and say you have to get back?” Jack made air quotes around the word “back”.
“I don’t want to be here Jack.”
“You can be such a jerk,” he said.
“Why are you being so mean?” she asked, feeling her eyes well up. She didn’t want it to be like this. But it was like this. Her life was in the eighties now, and what did that have to do with Jack? Nothing. Best just to say goodbye and move on.
“Because you’re leaving me here, alone in this hell hole. I’ve still gotta get through to graduation, do you know how hard that’s going to be without you? I mean, god Magz, imagine if it was you. If you were staying and I was off on some magical adventure. Would you want to deal with Mindy and Jim all alone?”
“No,” she said. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like if Jack had left her here all alone.
“You don't even know what's been going on,” he said.
“What's been going on?” she asked, pissed at herself for not even asking him before this. She really was a jerk sometimes.
“Jim's off the team.”
“What? How did that happen?”
“Mrs. Willis saw him throw me against the lockers. He's in deep. He's lying low, for now. But God knows how long that'll be for.”
“Wow. Sorry.”
“Just spare a thought for those you leave behind. Stop being a jerk and come to The Stables with me.”
She nodded. A night out with her best friend, a few drinks and a bit of dancing was hardly going to kill her.
* * *
The taxi pulled up to the curb. “It’s an extra five bucks for making me drive so far out of town,” the taxi driver said.
“No way,” said Magz.
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Magz, are you actually being feisty?”
“No, I’m just not paying for something so stupid. We always get a taxi here and we never have to pay an extra five bucks.”
“You are seriously being feisty.”
“Jack, I’m not being feisty, I’m just not paying!” Her skin-tight acid wash denim jeans slid across the leather se
at and she slammed the door behind her.
“Sorry man,” Jack said as he handed over five bucks, “you did us a favor, so thanks.”
The driver yanked the note out of Jack’s hand. “Call me for a ride home,” he said, replacing the note with his card. Jack made a gun with his thumb and index finger and clicked at the guy with a smile.
“Come on,” Magz said, ignoring the exchange.
“It’s still really early, what’s the hurry? Are you so keen to get our last drink over with?”
“No,” she said grumpily, and then looking him up and down her tone changed. “You look nice tonight, different.”
Jack laughed. “Why, thank you so much Margaret,” he said as he twirled around showing off his new vintage black button up shirt and old faded black jeans. All black was a good choice in a biker bar. “You look good too,” he said.
Magz was looking older than usual dressed in a Whitesnake tank top, jeans and her black velvet heels. Her hair was out and big, and she looked like a total rock chic.
The Stables bar was not fancy. It was quite literally a bunch of old stables converted into a bar, and not all that much converted.
“Why are all the best bars always converted from something else?” Magz asked as they sat down with their bottles of Bud at an old wooden table covered with drink rings and other stains Magz didn’t care to know too much about. At least one was blood. Or sauce. Probably blood.
“Dunno,” Jack said, taking a swig and instantly feeling better. “What would the coolest bar converted from something else be?”
“A church?” shrugged Magz.
“Boring, what about a cave?”
“Boring, what about a library? There could be books everywhere, you could drink and read trashy novels all night!”
“No one wants to do that Magz.”
“I do!”
“No, you don’t, you have like two drinks then you just get stupid and want to dance.”
“You think I’m stupid?” she asked pouting.
“Yes. Absolutely. But not yet, you need another few drinks.”
Class of 1983: A Young Adult Time Travel Romance Page 19
