Nobody's Listening

T W O

When I got back home, my mom wasn’t home yet, and I didn’t have any messages on the home phone, cell phone, or computer. I walked slowly upstairs and when I got to my room, I flopped onto my bed, suddenly exhausted by the day’s events. I picked up the photo frame on my bedside table and stared at its photo. A picture of my parents and I, before my father had died from a heart attack. The tears started to come and I had to put the photo frame back face down.

I started to slowly fall apart inside. My heart was ripping back into pieces. I curled up and shut my eyes against harsh reality and fell into an uneasy sleep.

I guess it was the phone ringing that woke me up. It was dark out, and the street light outside of my window shone orange. Someone had turned off the lights and shut my door, and I could hear the quiet murmurs of the TV downstairs.

I picked up the phone and hit ‘talk.’ “Hello?” I asked groggily.

“Hey, Dezzy. I’m sorry I had to leave so quickly today, my brother called and I had to go pick him up from baseball practice.”

“It’s fine, Cyd,” I answered, sitting up and stretching. “So, what is it that you wanted to tell me about Lucas?”

“Ah, yes. But first, I demand to know what happened between you and James.”

I sighed. “Nothing. Can you please just hurry up and tell me about Lucas.”

“Okay then,” Cyd said, sighing back. “Well, he likes three girls this year. Yvonne Smith.”

“She’s okay. A little… terrorist-y, though.”

Cyd snorted. “Yeah, I know, right? And he also likes Sabrina Wood.”

I gagged. “Isn't she the girl that went to that frat party and gave them all topless lap dances?”

She giggled. “Yep, the one and only. And there was one more…” She paused and I could hear her biting her nails.

“Okay, who?”

“You’re gonna go ballistic.”

I rolled my eyes. “Uh huh. Just go ahead and tell me."

"Fine. He likes you, Dezzy."

The room spun. "That's impossible," I said.

"No way. I asked him if he was joking, you know, because everyone knows we're tighter than James' skinny jeans." She giggled then immediately stopped. "But then he shrugged and was all like, 'I really like Desirae Plunkett.' It was so weird." She took a deep breath. "So, are you gonna go out with him?"

"What? No, of course not. He's an ass."

Cyd scoffed into the phone. "And what makes you say that?"

"Oh, c'mon, Cyd. He's so not my type. He's athletic. He's good looking–"

"You're good looking too!" Cyd interrupted.

"–And he probably thinks it'd be cool to go out with the 'hipster' girl," I keep going, ignoring Cyd's protests of my looks. "Plus, didn't you two go out in like… fifth grade?"

"And…?"

"Well, didn't he like… end up pushing you off the playground and breaking your arm?" I smiled slightly at the memory of little Cyd magnified by a huge pink arm cast.

"We were eleven, Dezzy," Cyd says with some impatience. "We've all grown up since then."

"Did you know that serial killers start out young with killing small animals and pets?"

"Did you know I'm about to punch you in the face?"

I laughed. "I'm just stating a fun fact, dear."

She snorted. "Fine. I'll leave you be, Desirae Plunkett. Just give Lucas a chance?"

I sighed. "I'll think about it, Cyd Papadopoulos."

"Promise?"

"Pwomise," I answered, hanging up the phone before Cyd can comment on my incorrect way of saying 'promise'. Honestly, I didn't like Lucas. His big form and his abusive past frightened me. So what if the last time he had hurt a girlfriend was in fifth grade with Cyd? It was still abusive.

I laughed softly and got up. I was hungry, and I was sure my mom would like to hear about my fabulous first day of school.