by Mj Fields
“Autumn,” she scolds.
“What?” she tries to suppress a smirk.
“You know what,” she snaps at her.
Autumn snatches Mom’s book. “Let’s see what Sister Angela desires.”
She immediately begins reading, “Character, dependability. Kindness, faithfulness.” Autumn attempts to stifle a laugh, “Moral Integrity and fatherliness?”
Mom defends, “All very important character traits.”
“Well, Father O’Dell is a perfect match.” She laughs.
Moms eyes narrow. “All things you’d want for your daughter.”
I sit back watching them exchange words and take a drink.
“Sure, fine, but what about sex?”
Choking, the mouthful of water flies all over the blanket in front of me.
Autumn erupts in laughter, and then Mom does too.
After I’ve recovered, and changed my pajama top, I resume my position between them, shaking my head as I sit.
“So, what is it you want?” Autumn asks.
“To not worry about sex, when I haven’t even kissed anyone yet.” I shrug.
“Perfect, let’s start there and work our way from Eskimo, to Australian,” Autumn giggles.
“Huh?” I try to act like I’m unaware of what that means when I do.
“Kissing,” Mom tries to remain calm as she shoots Autumn daggers.
“Lady and the Tramp spaghetti style, alley kiss would be a great place to start.” I smile sweetly at my mom.
She and Autumn let out a collaborative, “Aww.”
I continue, “Not planned, not even really a kiss, just a moment where it becomes clear they mutually want it to happen.”
“Perfect,” Mom sighs.
“That’s not a real kiss, for God’s sake. Don’t you want something like this?”
Autumn points at the TV. The movie is playing, but we aren’t paying attention anymore. “He’s a player, so no.”
“Keep watching,” she winks.
So I do.
When I see Hannah yell at Jacob, I smile because he deserves it. When I see her kiss him, I gasp. When I see her and him leave the bar, I shake my head back and forth. “No way.”
“Keep watching.” Autumn wags her eyebrows.
“I’d never fall for it. He’s a jerk. He was so mean to poor Cal.”
“He was honest. Keep. Watching.”
And I do. I get wrapped up in it and then… the big move.
“Oh my goodness,” I whisper.
I feel my journal being ripped from my hand and pay it no mind, because I kind of like this movie. It’s sweet, and she’s asking for what she wants. And, even though he’s a jerk, he’s giving it to her.
When the movie ends, I look down at my journal and see Autumn has written in it.
The Kissing List
5
Natasha
Monday after classes, I received my schedule. Before I even had the chance to look at it, Stella snatched it out of my hand.
She sighs. “Saliva isn’t first? Oh hell, and right before Aaron.”
“She’s that bad, huh?” I ask finally looking over the schedule.
“Worse.”
With three sessions down, all in English Lit, and luckily all three freshmen are reading the same book, I look down at my phone. Five thirty-nine, nearly ten minutes late, on the first day.
Great.
When she walks into the library, she isn’t alone. Behind her, three other girls who look almost like her. Perfect beach waves, flawless skin, and I’d dare guess they all had implants giving them perfect C cups.
All are wearing six-inch stilettos, crop tops, miniskirts, and way more accessories than necessary. In other words, clearly overdressed and obviously seeking attention.
I stand and extend my hand. “Silvia, I’m Nata-”
Her icy cold tone cuts me off. “Nat.”
“Natasha,” I correct.
“Whatevs. Anyway,” she reaches in her bag and pulls out a folder. “My class login information is in here and the syllabus.”
“Okay?” Yes, it’s a question.
The three near clones laugh, and so does she. “If you think I’m actually going to spend time here,” she pauses and makes a nasty face, “With you, you’re nuts. All my tutors just do the work, that’s what they're paid for. Follow suit, scholarship kid. Little Nat.”
She thrusts the folder at me and I don’t move. I also don’t tell her I’m not a scholarship kid even though, one, I’m not and two, because so freaking what if I was.
“Take. It. Nat.” She speaks slowly and deliberately, as if I may not understand her.
Taking in a deep breath, I pull out the chair beside me and sit back in mine. “Helping you with calculus doesn’t require-.”
“Did you not fucking hear me?” she spats in a whisper.
“I heard you just fine,” I whisper back. “But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here so you can get some extra help with your studies. Isn’t that what you’re here for, extra help?”
I have no idea where I came up with the guts to say what I just did, but when her face passes by the fiery red shade I expect, and hits purple, it feels… empowering. I can’t help continue, and not just for me, but for all of those I am sure she’s made feel small, insignificant, like a ‘gnat.’
“I might have misjudged, but by the looks of you, you appear to like everything, extra. So please have a seat, we have a little over fifteen minutes left of our time.”
She tosses the folder and I catch it before it hits my face, then she turns around with all the dramatic flair of an actual runway model, and I swear the theme music for the Wicked Witch of the West begins.
I use every bit of strength to hold back the growing bubble of laughter inside of me as the other three… her monkeys, mimic her move and follow her out of the student study center.
Once they’ve left, I quickly cover my mouth as the bubble bursts and the laughter falls out.
It’s quickly quelled when I hear clapping from behind. I jump up and turn around in time to see Aaron Esposito walking around one of the floor to ceiling bookshelves, in all his perfection, clapping his hands, and smiling a perfectly white… and spinach free… smile at me.
“You're early,” I say in shock.
“No, Natasha Petrov, I think it was perfect timing,” he winks.
Dear. God.
He turns the chair across from me so the back is to the table and straddles it. His smile is perfect, teeth absolutely perfect, and I don’t realize how hard I must be staring until he closes his mouth and rubs his tongue over them.
I look away quickly, down of course, as I sit.
“Something in my teeth, Fancy Face?”
My immediate reaction is to bite my upper lip to hide it. He looks at me curiously, then he looks away at his phone.
He holds it up and smirks, “Nothing in my teeth. Nothing on my face. So, tell me, Fancy Face, what–.”
“Why are you calling me that?” As soon as I finish speaking, my lips are again between my teeth.
“Because you’re flawless.”
Wha... wha… what? My thoughts must show on my face because he chuckles.
“And when most girls are trying to look cute for me, they tend to bite their bottom lip, not—””
“I’m not trying to look cute for you.”
His head cocks to the side and looks at me with confusion, then purses his lips. When a smile tugs at the corners, I feel myself begin to blush.
Damn it.
I begin thinking of ways to turn this back around, but thankfully I don’t have to, he does.
“After overhearing your conversation with-.”
I blurt out, “Your ex-girlfriend.”
He smirks. “Girlfriend is a bit of an overstatement.”
“Meaning?”
His eyes narrow. “You really need me to explain?”
“Well no.” I rub my lips, which causes him to look at them. Stupid h
abit. “It’s none of my business. Let’s talk Macbeth.”
He lets out a soft chuckle and then speaks, “She’s not bullshitting you. Most tutors just do the work.”
“I’m not most tutors.”
His eyes sparkle and I’m reminded of, “As much of a pain in the ass as that’s going to be, I think I’ll enjoy the challenge it holds.”
Challenge?
“Glad to hear it. Now tell me what struggles you’re having with Shakespeare?”
He looks at me with slight confusion.
Adding intelligent as number one on my list of characteristics tonight, I think before explaining, “He wrote the play, Macbeth.”
He squints his eyes, chuckles at himself, and sighs, “Right.”
When the door to the study center flies open, I look up, and the music starts again in my head.
She glares at him, then at me. Then visibly composes herself; yet that ‘I just ate poo’ look is still on her face. “My time’s not up yet.”
She plops her bag on the center of the table. I recognize it immediately as de la Porte’s last season’s IT bag. A black Italian leather tote. I remember it being sold out everywhere within a week. It was their very first, and at nearly three thousand dollars, it still sold out.
I look at her, stunned because she’s back. And I see a little bit too much delight in her eyes from it all.
With all the girl power BS you hear these days, it’s lost on me. Completely and totally lost. Men… boys can overstep, be sexual, even be pigs at times. You see it on the streets, you see it on TV and hear about it everywhere. But in my minimal amount of interaction with girls my age, and what I have witnessed in passing or the presence of others, it is sometimes easier to take a catcall than a bitch bite.
“Cat got your tongue?”
I don’t know what it is with me today. Is it possibly the slight sense of satisfaction I gain from knowing I’m good at something? That my hard work and focus on academics has paid off and empowers me? Is it that I get a feeling if I do let it fly, Aaron is here, and for some reason, I don’t think he’d let her physically attack me?
On the tip of my tongue, a bitter bite boils. But what would that do? I mean, aside from giving me that one moment to be as offensive to her as she has been to me, what good would it really do?
Instead of letting it flow like I want, I think WWMD, What Would Mom Do.
She’d kill her with kindness or use her intelligence.
I don’t feel like being kind.
I glance at my phone. “You have two minutes left.”
Her composure waivers, and she points at Aaron. “Then give me what he used of mine.”
I take the opportunity to push the folder she left minutes ago toward her. “I’ll let you decide if you’d like to request a different tutor, or want me to tell them I don’t feel like we’re a good fit.”
“What?” she snaps. And no, she’s not regained composure, but she’s back to being nasty.
“I said ”
Her scream cuts me off. “I know what you said!”
“Then why’d you ask, Sylvie?” Aaron leans back slightly, more relaxed, the still to her storm, linking his hands behind his neck.
“Piss off,” she snaps at him, then whips her head back to look at me. “You’ll lose your scholarship.”
As she snatches the folder, I inform her, “Not that it matters at all, but I don’t have one to lose.”
She looks at Aaron. “I call bullshit.” She leans in and sniffs me, actually sniffs me. “Smell it, too.”
“You’re such a bitch,” he yawns like she’s boring him.
“You helped make me this way,” she snaps.
Fighting the urge to sniff myself, I watch her walk away and yes, I hear the music… again, this time louder.
When the door slams, although I still feeling slightly humiliated, I’m a bit giddy.
When I feel fingers pushing my hair away from my face, I look up quickly into amused crystal blue smiling eyes.
“Why you hiding under there, little badass?”
I sit back slowly as I ask, “Under where?”
To that he laughs, and it only takes a second for me to realize why.
Underwear.
That night, I felt what I imagined it would be like when I drank my first alcoholic beverage, buzzed.
Lying in my bed, red leather journal open as I wrote a list much like Autumn’s.
Someone who tells me I’m pretty.
Fancy face was pretty close. I smile at the thought of the first ever compliment received from a boy.
Someone who pushes me out of my comfort zone.
Like Aaron Esposito.
Someone who's smart and takes the time to learn.
Like Aaron Esposito.
Someone who will stick up for me when someone is belittling me.
Like Aaron Esposito.
Someone who walks me to my mom’s office building because he likes talking to me about Shakespeare.
Like Aaron Esposito did after tutoring.
Someone with a good heart and great hair.
Like Aaron Esposito.
Aaron Esposito.
Aaron Esposito.
Aaron Esposito.
Aaron Esposito.
For the next three days, I feel that same buzz, that high every time I see him during and after school. Is this what a crush feels like?
If so, I like it.
I like it a lot.
I like it just as much, possibly a little more than I liked when Stella approached me at lunch that first day.
I like having friends. I like tutoring. I like that Aaron comes into the student center when I’m finishing with Ella’s session and waits. I like that he took Sylvia’s spot and kept his too, saying it was harder than he thought. I liked that he actually seemed interested in Macbeth, and that he walked me to de la Porte after tutoring. I liked that even though he didn’t sit with me at lunch, whenever I looked up in his direction, he was looking at me too.
Life is good, so good.
Until it isn’t.
Friday, while waiting for Stella next to my locker, I checked my Instagram account, I had real likes on my first post in a year, from people other than my mother, Autumn, Dad, and dirty little Johnny.
I was tagged in a post so I clicked to check it out. 789 hearts in less than ten minutes and over 500 comments, all I see are laughing face emojis and everything that once was a buzz… blurs.
Looking at my feet, I walked as quickly as I could to the nearest exit. When the student safety officer tried to stop me, I continue on.
I have never been more thankful for being swallowed up by the hustle and bustle of the city streets than I am at this very moment.
Everyone is too busy trying to get to work that they don’t notice the tears falling down my face.
There for all the world to see was a transformation Tuesday picture, of me… before my teeth were fixed, before the braces were off, and before my final surgery.
I weave my way in and out of people, dodging vendors setting up their street carts, and playing leapfrog with taxis and town cars while crossing avenues and streets. At 5th Avenue, I’m almost running when a motorcycle is forced to skid to a stop and almost lands on its side. I give the driver an apologetic look. The driver tips their helmeted head, but doesn't curse at me like the others do.
I make it to the front of de la Porte where I see Autumn walking toward me.
“Natasha?” She hurries toward me. “Oh no, no, no, no, no, don’t you cry.”
She drops the two cups of Starbucks out of her hands, and wraps her arms around me.
“Sweetheart, what happened? Are you okay? Is Angela okay?” Unable to answer her because I’m drowning in my own tears, she continues. “Someone want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Who posts a transformation Tuesday picture on a fucking Friday?” It’s Stella’s voice. Then her arms wrap around me from behind, hugging me. “A cuntstipated bitch, that’s who.
”
“Wait, what?” Autumn asks her.
“Cuntstipated. Have you ever been constipated, lady?”
“Lala, easy.” I hear a soft male voice and feel a hand petting my hair.
Aaron Esposito.
I wanna die.
Christ in heaven, take me away.
“Cuntstipated, is when you are emotionally and spiritually void. Full of piss, vinegar, and pure evil. That cunt has to look in the mirror every day. And you know she does it several times too. Clear cuntst–”
“Lala–” Aaron interrupts her again.
“Oh, stick it up your ass, AE, IO, You caused this. Just like you caused our perfect little circle to fall apart after Queen Cunt came back to school with her newly acquired fat sacks where her barely b’s used to lay. You were mesmerized by those saline bags.”
I hear a laugh and look up at Autumn. She immediately starts wiping away my tears. “Friends of yours?”
I don’t answer because I’m not sure about anything anymore.
“Stella and–”
Thankfully, Aaron cuts Autumn off by introducing himself, because she was about to say his name, which would make him aware I talk about him, at which point I would probably jump into oncoming traffic.
When she shakes his hand, Stella turns me toward her and hugs me.
Over her shoulder is the rest of them, Tyler, Jenny, Jamal, and Elijah.
I close my eyes so they don’t see the daggers I want to shoot at them for being here. At this moment, I realize the truth is friends are liabilities. I don’t even want them to know me anymore.
When they all hug me, I realize I was wrong, I did want them here; I just hadn’t ever wanted them to know the ugly truth about my past.
Today would change everything.
I knew it would.
In the elevator, I push myself as far back in the corner as I can, and I wish they hadn’t followed, I wished Autumn hadn’t invited them in, and I wish they weren’t so damn excited about being here at the fashion fortress of New York City, de la Porte.
Riding the elevator, I pray my father doesn’t get on, and then I pray that it plummets to the basement and ends my miserable existence, but everyone else survives. When the last person gets off on Dad’s floor, I try to push myself back into the wall when I see him walking toward the open elevator door.
