Stories from the Back of His Motorcycle

The library smelt like old people. Really old people. Like so-old-that-they’re-on-the-verge-of-death. I wrinkled my nose up in disgust, trying to block my nasal passages as subtly as possible. Miss Octavia was already pissed enough – I didn’t need her doubling my time just because she felt I was being ‘insolent’.

“You can start with just sorting that pile of books into alphabetical order. Try not to confuse Griffin with Gordon – for some reason they always seem to be in each others’ places.” I didn’t tell her that this was because a group of immature boys sneaked in every month or so and switched them for no other reason than they thought it was funny. Hilarious even. It didn’t matter to them that it had gotten old or that Miss Octavia was virtually ripping her hair out over the mystery.

“Don’t bash them about either, handle them carefully. Touch them as if they were… your mascara or something,” her forehead creased in distaste. Her preconceived views on teenagers were laughably cliché. But not laugh-out-loud laughable because that would have just been stupid.

After going over half an hour by twelve minutes – Miss Octavia couldn’t fool me, there was a clock clearly displaying the time – she finally let me go. I was still wiping the grime off my hands and blinking the dust from my eyes when I stepped into the parking lot.

The sky was clear, so clear that it was like being engulfed by a blanket of blue, but that just meant it was piercingly cold. I huddled deeper into my over-sized jumper and secretly hoped that Miss Octavia would get buried under a pile of her own books someday. Then she would have to watch all of the precious authors be submerged by each other, not in a specific regulated order. It would drive her insane to not be able to re-arrange them! I grinned at the visual image, imagining her disgruntled facial expression.

It wasn’t until I was sitting comfortably in my car did I notice Vaughn’s motorcycle still in its usual space. And perched on it with a cigarette between his teeth was Vaughn Hart himself in all his bad-boy glory. He hadn’t noticed me, or he ignored me, as he was just staring peacefully at the sky, occasionally spewing smoke out of his mouth. I found myself admiring the way he looked perfectly at ease in temperatures below the norm for March.

I remembered what he’d said earlier – about being feared by everyone, even the teachers. Maybe it was just his large ego overestimating his intimidating presence, Vaughn’s power to set teachers’ knees trembling grossly over-exaggerated. The only thing Vaughn set off in teachers was a swift annoyance and the God-why-me attitude. Not to mention had their hands reaching to open all possible windows.

In fact, his cockiness was really quite astounding! How could one boy be so thoroughly wrapped up in himself? He was probably just staring at the sky seeing pictures of his own face projected onto any miniscule passing cloud. I watched a trail of cigarette smoke get caught by the wind as it desperately tried to stay congregated into substance.

“You’re staring at him again,” I said aloud to myself, sagging my shoulders back into the seat. It was far too disconcerting how easy it was to stare at Vaughn Hart and how often I found myself subconsciously doing just that.

I turned my key sharply in the ignition, listening with a grimace as the car spluttered weakly. It had been dying for weeks now but I’d relied on it to at least not die under the embarrassing scrutiny of Vaughn. He’d turned to survey the sudden break in his peace, my eyes downcast in mortification.

“Not now,” I chanted “not now baby, fuck just not now.” But my car was using its last seconds alive to spite me for months of singing-along-badly with the radio and eating carelessly, not caring if chocolate slowly melted into the seats or coke spilt onto the dashboard. It was making the most dramatic exit possible complete with wheezing engine and dark exhausts.

“Great,” I sighed, slipping out the door and slamming it ferociously behind me. “I never did like you very much anyway.” I stood there and yelled at my car, denying it the compassion it was probably expecting. That’ll teach my parents for buying me this when I could have easily purchased its prettier newer cousin.

“Are you talking to your car?” a voice asked me in such a tone that I could almost taste the smirk. I just continued to glare at the vehicle in disgust, wondering how I had ever allowed myself to drive in it. It was ugly and smelt funny. And now it didn’t even work.

“No, I’m shouting at my car,” I corrected him calmly as if this were a perfectly normal thing to do. It was the confined emotions of a bad day finally getting to me. I was sick of the arguments and the stress and the detentions and especially Vaughn Hart. Because he was right about me from how I had judged him to how I skimmed through life like he skimmed through school – average at best.

“It doesn’t look so good,” he commented from somewhere closer than I had been expecting. I looked up to find him only a few inches away, dark eyes examining the clouds of black smoke erupting from the exhaust pipe.

I snorted “that’s a bit of an understatement.”

“Let me take a look,” he was in the driver’s seat before I even had a chance to think about protesting. I was still too occupied with mourning the loss of having a car – not so much the vehicle itself – just that now I would have to rely on public transport again like some freshman. I could see their mocking smiles now. How does it feel to be back here again with chewing gum stuck to your ass and rude words staring you in the face? I shuddered at the horror of it all.

“It’s gone,” Vaughn informed me, turning the keys pointlessly in a way he thought was probably impressive. I was a lot better with cars than I looked – that stereotypical outlook on girls with engines made an exception for me. I hadn’t spent a good portion of my childhood watching my Dad tamper with his prized sports car without picking up a few techniques, no matter how bored I had been. And Vaughn ‘examining’ my car’s dashboard was about as productive as staring at its chipped paint. Not that I cared to inform him of this – it was dead as dead could be.

“Sure is,” I let a hand get caught up in my hair as I swept it to a side, not caring that it just lay limply by my head and tugged on my roots. I was beyond tense and this was beyond a bad day. I could literally feel my heart contracting tighter, the very blood in my veins convulsing together.

Vaughn shut the door loudly, shoving hands in his pockets and coming to stand next to me. We watched the car wither still further until it just stood – still and no longer smoking. I let out a long sigh. Life really was a bitch sometimes.

“Come on then sweetheart,” Vaughn, completely unfazed by how cruel life was, started walking away. I stared at the back of his head incredulously and wondered how he could be so damn calm when my only source of transport lay useless in the school’s parking lot.

“I swear,” I hissed “you call me sweetheart one more time and I’ll show you just how sweet my fist is.”

He whipped his head around to take in my clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. “Sounds intriguing,” he beamed innocently. I merely snorted and turned on my heel – preparing myself to walk the four miles home. I took in deep gulps of air just to ready my lungs for the next few hours of constant walking.

“Sweetheart?”

My hands wrapped themselves into fists but I didn’t turn.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” I said in the kind of voice one would slap a hand to their head and utter a “duh.”

Silence was my only reply but I didn’t care, I was already across the parking lot and strolling beside the main road. I hadn’t brought my cell phone and I hadn’t brought my i-pod so not only would I have to walk all the way home, I’d have to go it with only about a hundred passing cars’ engines to listen to. I groaned to myself, feeling the burning of my legs already. My body wasn’t physically capable to partake in long journeys. It was the type of body that managed to just stay in shape even when the only activity I did was walking from my car into school. Or retrieving chocolate from the top of the cabinet.

But it all faded away after a while. The noise, the ache, the dead car. Time snatched away all except my deepest thoughts, the reflection I usually avoided in fear of just what I’d find. Because there were memories there that nobody should have to face and a truth I was running quickly away from no matter how difficult it was to ignore.

Vaughn Hart.

Why did he have to intrigue me so? Why couldn’t he just have been all that I had expected – dull and fickle and stupid. Vaughn was deep, even if I denied it a million times or threw a thousand insults, and he was mysterious. There were so many things I didn’t know about him. So many sentences left unfinished, open ended, giving me a flash of him but never quite the full picture. It was as if he would stop himself, always afraid or protective of what lay just beneath the surface.

And how irresistible the surface of him was. It was like refusing thirst or hunger to even think of disputing the rush Vaughn’s presence released in me. I was rejecting it with all my might. I was scared. And I was wary.

I saw my parents’ hearts broken every day. So many different assortments of beautiful flowers left dying on the side, so many shattered glasses the only physical remnants of arguments long over and long renewed. It was like being stuck in a cage – imprisoned by your own tears and anxiety. What if Dad left one too many bruises on Mom’s skin? What if Mom cried one too many times? What if I kept silent one too many nights? I despised whatever love was because it had turned my parents into monsters and back one thousand too many times.

“Alice!”

My head swung up like a rag doll being yanked too abruptly. Vaughn was there, one leg leaning against the tarmac as he still sat upon that motorbike. He was grinning like an idiot and offering out the helmet. I stood rooted on the pavement a few feet away from him while cars swerved noisily past him, blaring their horns. It didn’t seem to bother Vaughn that he had stopped in the middle of the road at what was quickly becoming rush hour. Not a lot seemed to bother him actually.

“Alice,” he called again even though he had my attention. Then it clicked. The offered helmet. The bike paused momentarily. The room being made for me on the back.

“No way,” I said even though it was washed away by the engines.

“What?”

“There is no way,” I shouted “that I am getting on that thing. It’s like a death trap. I’ll take my chances and walk.”

“Alice,” he stopped me from turning away by simply yelling my name again. It shouldn’t sound so sweet on his lips and it certainly shouldn’t make me seriously consider joining him.

“I value my life too much,” I waved quickly before making my way faster along the pavement. But, I realised a few minutes later, he was trailing me. At a pace which conjured even more anger from cars stuck behind him, Vaughn rumbled along beside me. I had no choice but to stop and turn to him again.

“Just go away.”

“Stop being so damn stubborn and get on,” Vaughn yelled back.

“No.”

Vaughn visibly let out a long breath, his leather jacked rising and falling slowly. He gave me a long, bored look that sent unwanted shivers rocketing through my already cold body. “Live a little Alice,” he said. I almost didn’t catch his words and then thoroughly wished I hadn’t. It was everything Vaughn had been right about and a chance for me to start rectifying it. He was the problem, the teacher and the solution all in one.

Wordlessly, I stepped out onto the road, ignoring more car horns, and took the helmet from his outstretched hands. I desperately wanted to tell him that this didn’t change anything, that I still disliked him immensely and that motorbikes were extremely dangerous but the helmet shut me up. Maybe that had been partially why he gave it to me.

Vaughn smirked at me before revving the engine with a twist of his wrist. In fear, I gripped hold of his jacket tightly in my hands, kneading the material nervously. He pushed off from the ground and we were flying. Flying across the road, slicing past cars, weaving through traffic. I had let go of his jacket to wrap my arms fully around his torso, squeezing my eyes shut tightly and tasting my own exhilarated breath against the helmet’s visor. It was probably beautiful but I didn’t want to know. I just wanted to be home.