Shy Girls Eat Words

“And that is a participial phrase,” I concluded, slamming the book shut.

“Whoever invented English is a major prick,” Arizona commented.

“Not really. Everything has rules.” I began collecting my things as Arizona stood up and stretched. His shirt rode up a bit revealing a bit of his abs. I instantly turned back to my stuff.
A little color dusted my cheeks, but I mean what girl wouldn’t blush at the sight of the hottest boy in school’s abs. Really? Girls think about it.

He sighed grandly. “Hey,” he called to me.

“Hm?” I asked distantly, trying to concentrate on my math book.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“Um…I really don’t know. There was a documentary on cardiovascular system advances made this year that I really wanted to catch.”

“C’mon. You wouldn’t stay last time,” he whined.

Oh boy. Guilt trip. Why can I not just say no? Blah. I couldn’t resist it. There was no chance when it came to guilt trips.

“Alright,” I caved.

He beamed brightly. My sigh was audible as he motioned for me to follow him. He led me down the elegant staircase and into his chrome and cherry wood kitchen. It was high-tech with lots of buttons and unnecessary TVs in ridiculous places. I mean, who really needs a television inside their refrigerator? In my mind it’s very unnecessary.

I sat down at the marble-countered island in the center of the room. The stool I was sitting on spun beneath me. It kept me entertained while Arizona swung open the shiny refrigerator door. He poked about inside the cool box for a bit before pulling out a package of cheese, butter, and a container of some kind of chowder-like soup. He went into a small closet and returned with bread in hand.

“I hope you like grilled cheese and clam chowder,” he said with a smile.

Damn! I love grilled cheese and clam chowder. I was silently hoping he would have picked something I hated, so then I could leave. No, he had to go and choose two very delicious foods.

He cranked on the oven. There was a small remote on the counter. I stared at it for a minute. Arizona turned to see me looking at the little black clicker. He grabbed it and pressed a button. Soon the kitchen was filled with thudding bass and screamed words.

“Screamo?” I asked disbelievingly.

He smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. What you don’t like it? I mean, I have other music…”

“No,” I cut him off as he reached for the remote, “I actually…like this band. I just never really took you as a hardcore rock guy.”

“Well, I’m just as surprised over here,” he said.

Silence washed over us for a little.

“Um…Arizona?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he asked.

“You’re going to burn the grilled cheese.”

He whipped around. “Shit!” He ran over and yanked a spatula from a drawer.

Who knew me and Arizona would have something in common? I mean, sure, it would be a shock to anyone to find out I liked screamo. Still, Arizona Greene liking screamo could be a stretch, too? He seems like the rap type. You know the kind of cocky guys who memorize the demeaning lyrics in some sort of false hope that they will wake up the next morning with black-pigmented skin. Those kinds.

“Here you are,” Arizona sang, sliding me a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich on it. He sat on a stool next to me, gently setting down a cup of soup. I took a bite of the grilled cheese and nearly died. It was so good! Who knew he could cook, too? “So, tell me,” he prompted.

“Tell you what?” I asked.

“Why are your parents gone so much do you think?” he asked.

“Because they work. I told you. They go on business trips.”

“But don’t you think they would want to spend time with you.”

I picked up my soup spoon. I had torn through the sandwich in no time. “Well, your parents are never around.”

“They come home late,” he defended. “Doesn’t anyone talk to you?”

“To be one hundred percent honest, no. No one talks to me. My aunt calls me once a week to make sure I’m not dead. My parents call once a month to make sure I have money in my account.” I set my spoon down and regretted starting to delve into my personal life. “And my-“
I stopped myself before I said anything else. I couldn’t bring him up in front of Arizona. I couldn’t bring him up in front of anyone. Arizona reminded me too much of him. He was so confident, but he didn’t really have anything to be confident in except all the wrong things. I just wasn’t open enough to handle this. Arizona didn’t need to know. He had no right really. I mean it was my personal life we were getting into.

“Your what?” he prompted.

“Nothing,” I muttered and looked down at the bowl.

“No, I want to know.”

“Arizona, it doesn’t even matter.” It felt weird saying his name. I’m not sure why, but we never really have a conversation. I just tell him why adjectives can only modify certain types of words.

“I don’t care if it doesn’t matter. I need to know.”

“Why?” I asked. He was sounding like a two-year-old.

“I need to know, Ocean. I need to know so I can know you better.”

Oh God. That was it. I stood up. “I have to go.”

“Where?”

“Home.” I slid my arms in my coat and shouldered my bag.

“Why?”

I began walking to the front door. “Because I do. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I sprinted away from the house and got in my car as quickly as I could.

The car couldn’t start quick enough. I pulled out his driveway and made my way down the street.

I couldn’t be open. I just couldn’t. It wasn’t me. There was no way I could sit there and explain why I was the way I was. I couldn’t even cope with it myself. If I couldn’t then what made Arizona think he could understand it.

No one understood me. It was a fact. I was just too complex. My life was messed up for sure. If I keep to myself, less people worry about how my day was. No one cares if I got pushed into a trash can. Nobody wants to know what got dumped on my binder that day or why I missed first period. No one cares. I prefer it that way.

Still, I get lonely. I don’t want to be alone. It’s not preference. It’s convenience. Sometimes that convenience seems like it hurts more than it helps. Like now. As I pulled into my driveway, I dashed out of the car. The driveway never seemed longer. I ran to the front door and pushed my way into my house. The staircase seemed steeper than normal as tears filled my eyes. My bedroom door seemed heavier as I pushed it open. My bed was more inviting as I collapsed onto and sobbed into my awaiting pillow.

I cried for myself. I cried for my parents. I cried for him. I cried for Arizona. I cried that Arizona was here. I cried because I couldn’t be open. I just wished that Arizona would break down this stupid-ass barrier I put up to protect myself. I just want it all to go away. I want to have friends, and I don’t want to be alone anymore.