Great Expectations

"I'm begging you to be my escape." - Relient K

“He is completely disgusting,” I said, glancing sideways at Poppy as we drove to the Starbuck’s near our school. Every year, after the first day of school, we would go to Starbuck’s and sit there for hours talking about our day. “Do you know what he did? Do you have any idea?” I glanced behind me in the rearview mirror before swerving into the right-hand lane. “He – is – so – infuriating!” I punctuated my words by slamming my hand on the steering wheel, achieving little less than a dull pain in the palm of my hand. “Ugh!” An inconsiderate driver cut me off just before I was about to turn into the shopping plaza.

“I think you’re being just a little bit harsh,” Poppy said as I turned into a parking spot. “Think about it: he’s a new kid in his senior year. This can’t be an easy change for him. Maybe you should cut him a little slack.”

“Right,” I said, getting out of my car. “Maybe I should cut all my hair off and get a nose ring, too.”

“I was thinking about getting a nose ring,” Poppy said hotly.

“Were you really?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. The strong smell of coffee flooded my senses as we walked into Starbuck’s.

“No,” Poppy said, her face breaking into a smile. “I just wanted to see how you’d react to - oh shit.” She stopped, looking nervously between the people in line and me. At first glance, I saw nothing threatening. When I looked again, I noticed Charity Dupree and her posse of cheerleaders. Charity and Poppy had an infamous rivalry that went back to first grade. They had a play date and Charity broke one of her own Barbies but blamed Poppy. They’ve hardly restrained from socially killing each other since.

“Why are they here?” Poppy seethed, narrowing her eyes. “They know we come here after every first day of school. How dare those – Charity!” Poppy’s tone changed in an instant when Charity turned around and noticed Poppy and I, smiling fakely at us.

“Hi, Poppy,” Charity said, twisting her long, dark hair. “I had no idea you would be here.”

“Neither did I,” Poppy said. Charity smiled and turned, taking her drink from the barista. Poppy and I moved forward in line.

“Let’s drink these outside,” I suggested as we waited for our drinks. “It’s nice outside.”

“Yeah, and we won’t have to share oxygen with that fake whore,” Poppy said, snatching her cup and walking out the door, hardly waiting for me. I took a few quick steps towards the door, trying to catch up with Poppy. I wasn’t looking where I was going and nearly collided with the person who was attempting to enter the coffee shop.

“I’m sorry!” I said, trying to keep my coffee from sloshing all over the guy’s shirt – a familiar white tee shirt framed by a black motorcycle jacket. “On second thought,” I said, looking up to meet the hazel eyes of Dean Montague, “I’m not sorry at all.”

“Well, aren’t we in a nice mood?” he said, a confident smile drifting its way onto his face. He held the door open for me, waiting for me to leave.

“Thank you,” I said instinctively.

“No problem,” he replied. “By the way, you got coffee on your dress.” My eyes grew wide as I looked down at my once-pristine sundress, examining it for a coffee stain. “Made you look,” he said with a smirk. “See you later, Juliet.” He allowed the door to close, leaving me standing just outside, struck dumb.

A few seconds later, I came to my senses and walked away. “Dean Montague was civil to me,” I said, sitting down across from Poppy.

“I told you to stop being so harsh to him,” she said, sipping her drink. “He obviously likes you; you should give him a chance. He really is gorgeous, in that James Dean, rebel-without-a-cause sort of way.”

“Exactly the type of guy my parents want me to be with,” I said sarcastically. “They’d prefer me to be with someone more like - ”

“Hunter!” Poppy said, smiling at someone over my shoulder. I turned to see the guy I was practically arranged to marry. Our parents had known each other and knew their children were ‘soul mates.’ Hunter wasn’t a bad guy or anything; he was just extremely confident and a bit pretentious. He played lacrosse and spent a lot of time at his family’s estate. He was a perfect product of his parents’ expectations. There was nothing exciting about Hunter, and that was what I couldn’t stand.

“Hey,” he said, sitting down next to me. “How was your first day of school?”

“Fine,” I said. My mother had trained me since I was born to never complain – complaints could be seen as weaknesses, and weaknesses could always be manipulated to harm you. “How was yours?”

“Pretty good,” Hunter said, smiling at me.

Poppy’s phone began to play “Blister In The Sun,” announcing she had a new text message. She picked up her phone and looked at it. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Poppy looked up at me and I knew she was about to ask a favor of me. I had a feeling what it would be. “I need to borrow your car,” Poppy said. “Unless you want to come with me to pick my sister up from Cinderella rehearsal. My mom can’t, because she’s in the studio with her class and my dad is in Thailand on business. Please Jules?” Poppy looked at me with wide eyes. I sighed and gave her the keys. “Thank you so much!” She grinned at me, taking the keys and standing. “I’ll be back in half an hour or so.”

I sighed. Poppy was always running around doing glamorous things, because her parents didn’t expect her to behave like a debutante at every waking moment. I watched her drive away in my car, hoping she wouldn’t dent it.

“Hey, I’m sorry, but I have to go.” I glanced at Hunter, who smiled apologetically. “I have to get to lacrosse practice, but I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. He kissed me on the cheek, got up, and walked away. All people were able to do was walk away from me. I took a drink of my coffee and stared out across the street, at the traffic congesting the roads and the heat rolling off the asphalt in waves as rush hour began.

“Looks like everyone’s leaving you.” I sighed and looked up at Dean Montague, smirking down at me, his eyes hidden by aviators. He stumbled into the seat next to me, which Hunter had just vacated. “Where’s your shiny car?”

“Poppy’s borrowing it,” I replied, standing to throw away my empty coffee cup. “She should be back soon.”

Dean put his feet on the empty chair across from him. “Of course she will,” he said. “I haven’t been here long, but I’ve met girls like Poppy. She won’t be back for a while. Where’d your boyfriend go – manicure?”

I narrowed my eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend and he went to lacrosse practice.” I turned away from Dean but still heard him laugh. I was under the foolish impression that if I ignored the problem, it would go away.

“Where do you want to go?” Dean asked.

“Away from you,” I answered.

“Other than wherever I’m not.” I glanced over my shoulder at him. He leaned forward. “I’ll give you a ride on my bike,” he said in my ear. My mind instantly began to consider this information. My mother would kill me. I’d never been on a motorcycle before. I was wearing a dress. It would be such a rush. I could die. It would be an adventure. Hunter would never do this in his entire life.

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

Dean looked surprised for an instant, but grinned as he got to his feet. “Excellent.” I followed him around the corner of the building to where his bright red bike was parked. Suddenly, it looked more dangerous, more risky, and I didn’t trust Dean at all. I pushed these thoughts to the back of my mind as I took the helmet he gave me, pulling it onto my head. Now there was a chance I wouldn’t die, but I’d suffer severe road burn and break bones and –

“Get on,” Dean said, already sitting on his bike. I looked at him nervously, biting my lip. I pulled up my dress so I could get onto the bike more easily, wrapping my arms tightly around Dean.

“Please don’t kill me,” I said quietly.

Dean laughed – his laughter shook my arms along with his body. “Hold on tight. I’ll go slow, just for you.” The bike shuddered to life, the sound of its motor muffled by the helmet. Dean guided it gently out of the parking lot and onto the street, into traffic. He didn’t swerve like I’d seen him on the first day of school; he rode with the traffic, glancing over his shoulder every few moments to check on me.

He turned down a side street, out of the traffic. We drove towards the ocean – the wind was in my face and along my body, pulling at the fabric of my dress and the hairs that escaped my helmet. As I clung to Dean Montague, riding a motorcycle down a wide and deserted street, I felt like I was flying. I was beginning to understand how precious freedom was, and how little of it I had tasted.