by A. K. Smith
I believe him. He will wait.
I’m lucky, when it comes to Jack.
And that brings me back to handsome college boy Tyler. Why does he affect me? I hate that he makes my body disagree with my brain. Today is his birthday. We both clock out of work, ready to walk out the doors of the courthouse at 5:30 p.m. when a few of the secretaries start singing Happy Birthday and present Tyler a round, carrot cake with thick icing and a big candy 20 on top.
“Oh, to only be twenty years old!” an older secretary says. “Your twenties will be the best years of your life.”
I watch them flirt without shame.
“Oh, I’m living my best life right now with you great ladies. I’m a pretty lucky guy, right? Surrounded all day by beauty. Now, is this Miss Julie’s special carrot cake? Can’t say I’ve ever tasted anything so delicious. Thank you.” Tyler actually winks, and their faces turn rosy.
Birthdays and celebrations make everyone laugh and smile. Yes, “being twenty” would be a wonderful life, I agree. At twenty, I’ll be far away, in college, doing something with purpose.
I stand there holding my piece of cake, lost in good thoughts.
Tyler’s breath tickles my ear as he whispers, “Sunday, come out to dinner with me.”
His scent and his hot breath give me a shiver. His blonde hair is an adorable mess from the secretary’s hugs, and he flashes his gorgeous sexy smile, waiting for my reply.
He is asking me, a sixteen-year-old with a crooked nose and eyes too big for my face, out to dinner.
He knows my name.
He is asking ME out.
Every inch of me wants to say yes.
“I can’t. My science project’s due, and I don’t think my boyfriend would be too happy.” I smile back at him, knowing my words rush out like an idiot, wishing I could say yes.
“Really? It’s my birthday. I’m going to eat dinner all alone. Just sayin’.” He bites his lip in such a way that warmth rises on my cheeks. “My roommates are away at a basketball game. Doesn’t that sound lonely? Poor, abandoned Tyler, all alone, eating ramen noodles… unless you come eat a birthday meal with me? Come on, it’s only dinner for my birthday, not a date.”
Okay, he said the words that push me.
It’s not a date. This is research.
Tyler came here from California, and UCLA is one of my top picks for schools out west.
“Okay.” The word spills out in front of me before I have any control to snatch it back.
“Great.”
Tyler doesn’t register surprise as he casts a winning grin. “I’m driving. I know where to go.”
I wish I hadn’t worn my blue dress, a wrap dress from H&M that ties in the front. It was an impulse buy, part of a shopping spree for my job at the courthouse. I would never wear the business dresses and suits to school, but putting them on and going to work seemed like dress-up. An adult costume. Now I wonder if the top reveals too much. My boobs fill out the blue lacey Victoria’s Secret bra underneath, which makes me worry about my secret tattoo: the words “live free” printed in a tiny circle, about the size of a dime. I can see the edge of the tattoo if I look straight down—a consequence of one of the ugly rampages with HE and SHE.
It happened a night SHE had passed out after drinking two bottles of wine, and HE had punched the fridge, smashed the plates, and thrown spaghetti sauce all over the kitchen. HE left to wherever it is HE goes and I had snuck out and drove to a tattoo shop near University Park. The brown-eyed tattoo artist, Max, blew me off as soon as I walked in the door because I didn’t have any ID. But when he saw my rendering, the size of the tattoo and the two simple words, he paused, studied my face, and said, “I’m sorry, can’t do it. Come back when you’re really 18.”
Pain is a childhood friend I loathe but sometimes need. A video and a home tattoo kit taught me how to ink my own skin. Jack is the only other witness to my hidden impulse. And now, after the slow healing, Jack likes the tiny tattoo, often tracing the circle with his finger. I think he likes it because he’s the only one who knows it exists.
Tyler’s eyes focus on the cleavage in my flushed chest. With confidence, he orders a dirty martini. The dark-haired, pretty waitress turns to me. “IDs, please.”
“The martini is for me. Young Sunday is helping a lonely twenty-one-year-old enjoy a decent dinner, before I hit the party with my buddies.” He holds out his bogus license. His eyelashes never flicker as his lips slide into a smooth smile.
The waitress turns her scrutiny off me and focuses on Tyler, eyeing him up and down like a delicious cupcake she wants to lick. Within minutes, she brings the staff over to the table to sing Happy Birthday. As their voices rise higher, my cheeks flush red. The attention adds a centralized energy in the room. Everyone is looking RIGHT AT US.
Us. Together. I still can’t wrap my head around what I am doing. What am I doing?
The first martini is on the house.
“Taste it.” Tyler slides the delicate martini glass across the white tablecloth.
“No thanks.”
“Oh, come on. Have you ever tasted a dirty martini?”
“No.”
“Try it.”
It tastes like earth mixed in with bitter olives, a man’s drink. When he ordered the second one, I smiled, but my gut constricted. HE’s blood-shot eyes flashed in my mind. I heard my father’s cruel words that came with sucking down alcohol. “You are stupid. If I didn’t have to take care of you, I could have a better life. You and your worthless mother.” Alcohol loves a cruel vocabulary.
“Have you been on the UCLA campus?” I ask, focusing on the task at hand.
“Of course, I’ve been to the Bruin Bash, it’s an annual festival that kicks ass. Maybe you come out when I’m home visiting, and I’ll give you a tour?”
“I would love to visit next year, though I’m not sure it will happen, but thanks for the offer.” He is handsome and kind.
“Well, let me know, because I have lots of frequent flyer miles, I can probably score you a free ticket.”
When the waitress brings him the third martini, Tyler continues to be electric, milking the twenty-first birthday story for the entire staff, and recounting stories of UCLA, sharing tips with me. His voice increasing in volume and charisma.
Biting my lip, I check my phone. Jack’s texted me twice. Sweat forms under my arms and on the back of my neck.
“Sunny California is a place where you can be whoever you dream of. You can create your own path, exactly the way you want it. I might have to start calling you Sunny. You’ll love UCLA, it’s like going to another country compared to here. Palm trees, new clubs, young people everywhere, free thinkers.” Tyler leans in close, our heads almost touching from across the table. “The beaches, the people and the weather, you’ll fit right in as a summer girl.” A slow sexy smile lit up his face. “You might never come back, just turn into a California Girl.”
Tyler paints a picture of a place I imagine in my dreams. As much as I was enjoying the dinner, my stomach feels queasy when I think of Jack. At 7:00 p.m., he texts. again. You on your way home?
ALMOST, I text back, adding a frustrated smiley face. What am I doing here? My throat feels thick with guilt.
The restaurant in Fells Point, a nostalgic waterfront area, has a vibe of a time-gone-by atmosphere, the streets lined with soft lights reflected on cobblestones and old warehouses turned into pubs and shops. It would be at least another twenty-five minutes to get home.
“I like your name.” Tyler squints his eyes and runs his hand through his wavy rock star hair, his square jaw jutting out. “Are you always so serious, Sunday?”
“Am I serious?”
He laughs and touches my hand. His long warm fingers linger on my clasped hands on the table. He lowers his chin and studies me.
Those eyes, maybe too pretty for a man, but mixed in with his other strong features paint an interesting portrait.
“Excuse me.” As I push my chair back, a loud scrapin
g screech echoes through the intimate dining area. My face is on fire, like the spot on my hand where he touched me. Tyler stands when I leave the table.
This is an innocent dinner. Why am I so nervous? I inhale deeply and let my breath out slowly as I study myself in the bathroom mirror. Flushed face, shiny eyes. I haven’t even been drinking.
He stood up when I left. His manners are classy. From the few conversations in the office, I know he came from the country club set. I heard the law clerk whisper a joke about old money and Tyler. Not that I’ve ever known someone else with old money before, but I get the idea—although I pictured a dusty, dark attic with boxes teeming full of cash, untouched and forgotten. It’s hard to imagine Tyler untouched and forgotten. His father, a judge in Berkeley, knew Judge Henderson in the Baltimore Superior Court, where we worked. By the time he started interning, his reputation had preceded him: the office gossip was that, besides his looks and his swagger, he had ultra-rich connections.
When I return to the table, Tyler smiles at me. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. This is just dinner. Rich lobster soup, grilled salmon, spinach, and truffle risotto, like nothing I’ve ever tasted. No wonder why I fumble over which fork to use.
Tyler picks up the closed leather folder with the check and slides a silver credit card in it. “You can take me out someday to lunch in California.”
The brunette waitress flashes her long fake eyelashes, bumping into Tyler as he stands to leave, and for a minute I was sure she slipped him a little white folded-up piece of paper. I wonder if I could ever be so bold. Was it that easy to snag a guy like Tyler?
Everyone in the dining room wishes him Happy Birthday when we leave, yelling things like, “You’re only twenty-one once! Live it up!”
Tyler slings his arm around my shoulders as we walk to his car. I shouldn’t allow his triceps to rest on my skin, with his hand dangling close to my beating heart—but I am not sure I exactly want him to move. Where he touches me, I pulsate. I glance around to see if anyone notices my intoxication, his special smell all consuming.
He comes around to open my door. “My lady.”
I laugh as he remote control starts his black Land Rover, and the rock bass vibrates the car. The music pulses louder as Tyler maneuvers through the side streets and jerks the vehicle onto the expressway, flying by other cars on the highway. He crosses two lanes and yanks the car to the next exit. I dig my nails into the armrest.
“Tyler, what are you doing?”
The empty exit is dark, a turnoff to an old county back street leading to a historical lookout point. Speeding, he flies down the tree-lined road.
“The martini’s going right through me. I need to pee. it’ll just take a minute.”
He makes a sharp turn and pulls over at the Civil War monument. The moon hides behind the clouds, making the large stone monument hard to see.
I wait in the car for what seems like an eternity. Glancing through the rear window, I see Tyler leaning against the back of the Land Rover. What’s he doing? Finally, I open the door and walk to the back.
He opens the tailgate.
“What are you doing? Are you okay?”
He pulls me into his arms and kisses me hard and long. I can’t help but kiss him back. I pull away, breathing fast. The tang of olives lingers in my mouth.
“Tyler, I have a boyfriend. I think you are great, really great, but I have a boyfriend.” My voice feels raspy, lacking conviction.
He grabs my shoulder and his other hand cups my face. He kisses me again, this time slow and gentle. It feels good. I know it’s wrong. Sexy. Almost grown-up. He’s a great kisser and his strong cologne smells mysterious and dreamy. He pauses, studying my face, smiles, and goes in for another kiss. He holds my face gently in both hands.
He kisses me with intensity. Lost in the moment, my heart races in a new rhythm. I want to forget everything about my life for a minute and focus on how this hot man is into me, Sunday Foster. Placing his hand on my chest, he kisses me again. I wonder if the vibration of my heart thumping is detectable to his hand. My phone dings. Jack. What am I doing? This is so wrong.
I attempt to nudge him away, but we are too close. He doesn’t budge. A new bitter body odor permeates the air, and I’m not sure if it is from him or me.
I push him back a second time with no result. His heat and weight crush against me.
I push harder, to no avail. I drive my elbow into his chest, my heart racing, this time in alarm. “Tyler.”
His fist pushes into my back, his biceps holding me in place.
“Are you kidding me, Sunday? You’re a tease? I know you want me. I can feel you.” His other hand slides under my dress and his fingers slip under my panties. I gasp.
Lightning fast, he strikes. One pull of the wraparound tie and my dress falls open, exposing my bra. He pushes me backwards into the rear of the Land Rover. I lose my balance as my hands try to tie my dress. He unzips his pants before grabbing my two hands with one of his, shoving me with force, my dress gaping open. He kisses my breasts.
“Tyler, stop! I can’t do this.”
The more I struggle, the tighter he holds both my hands to the side. Bent in an awkward position, half-lying in the Land Rover, I can’t stand up. The pain on my spine is excruciating. Panic knocks my breath away.
I whimper, gulping air. “Tyler, you’re hurting me. Stop, please. No, Tyler, no—please stop.” The tears spill down my face.
My voice fails me. In disbelief, I don’t scream. I don’t yell for help at the top of my lungs. I push weakly with my two hands caught in his left hand, trying to lift my head up. “Stop, stop, please stop.” Is this really happening?
It’s over in minutes. Tyler kisses the side of my face. He lets go of my wrists. Still in an awkward, slanted position, gasping, shaking, and in shock, I try to stand up and fall, hitting the ground, losing control of my legs.
Something wet trickles down my legs. He helps me up and then tries to kiss my lips. I turn away, sobbing. Speechless.
“Jesus, Sunday. Don’t cry now that you changed your mind. I did you a favor—you had to get it over with sometime. Get yourself together.”
Chapter 3
Rain, Poker, and The Plan
Sour milk. Why do the fumes of rain at a bus stop smell like spoiled milk? My shoes are sopping wet, and I don’t care. I know I have to get up and walk to Jack’s house. A futuristic looking homeless man wrapped in plastic bags watches me. I’m sure he’s puzzled why I don’t move. Half of me is covered, half getting soaked. He has a dirty tarp tied to three tree branches above him, the tree about 100 ft away. I wonder is my sadness as noticeable, as the pain on his face?
I sit, not even flinching but blinking the rain away. Can I face Jack? Could he possibly know I’m no longer a virgin when he sees me? I feel different inside, violated, angry, and mad. The last two days, I skipped school, work, and spent the day hidden in my room sleeping. SHE never even noticed, I didn’t go to school. I told Jack I didn’t feel well. Bad cramps. Which is funny because I should be getting cramps today. I have painful periods. Not that I’m not in pain now.
I want to erase Tyler from my memory.
The rain is like spittle, just misty spits in the air as I force myself to walk to Jack’s house.
I need to pretend like this never happened. Move on and focus on THE PLAN.
THE PLAN has evolved over the years, and with thoughtful strategizing, I will escape. I’m at the top of the list to receive a full ride college scholarship. Far, far away I’ll go. I’ll never have to think about HE or SHE again, and now I can add Tyler to the list.
Money is a big part of THE PLAN. It has to be. I have to get out and survive. I’ve been saving for the last four years, babysitting, tutoring, and selling items online. I’ve sold just about everything—outdated electronics, smart devices, and even vintage clothing I pick up at garage sales and trash bins. Basically, any way I can make cold hard cash, I pounce on it. Before HE and SHE were so overextended, I us
ed to charge clothes, take them back, and get the cash. Those days are over. My nest egg is up to $3,235.00. I wanted to double that, but I can’t go back to work at the courthouse. Not with Tyler there.
I have back-ups. I’ve researched every student loan, grant and partial scholarship out there. If I have to, I will get emancipated. Whatever it takes, I am escaping.
Jack knows about THE PLAN and somewhat supports me. He understands that I want to get away, but he doesn’t understand that I need to get away. Jack knows most of the ugly truth about HE and SHE, because I can’t keep anything from him, UNTIL NOW.
God, I don’t know how to tell Jack about Tyler.
Over the years, I minimized the viciousness of HE and SHE, and Jack knows the less time I spend at home, the better it is. He knows how much it upsets me to talk about them, so he doesn’t press me on the subject. I can’t imagine trying to tell him about Tyler. I’m focused on the goal ahead.
Jack is the closest thing to family that I’ve got. I’ve kept naïve classmates and wannabe friends at a distance.
I shuffle on the sidewalk, the rain is falling heavier now, as I see Jack’s house up the street. Warm light radiates from inside. Jack is inside with his mom and dad. I’m sure it smells like heaven in there. We’ve been friends since sixth grade, the day I stuck up for him when the bullies in the lunchroom were making fun of the fresh pink scar on his cheek.
I stand in the rain, remembering that day like yesterday. That day changed everything for me. Plopping myself beside him in the empty seat at his table, I noticed a repulsive, pink, jagged line of healing skin and bruises on his cheek. “What happened to your face?” I believed if you couldn’t stop looking at something, you should acknowledge it instead of pretending it doesn’t exist. The pus-filled scab was hard to ignore. I wondered for a moment if he had a home life like mine.
