Status: Active. (Based on the novel by Laurie Halse Anderson.)
Twisted
Two
On the public-humiliation scale, being picked up in Dad's car was better than being picked up in Mm's. Yes, it had a couple rust spots and 135,000 miles on it, but at least it was a decent Buick. Mom drove an ancient Volkswagon, blue, dented from encounters with mailboxes and trees. If I had my own car back, that would've been the best.
When I came out the front door, he pointed to the trunk, gaping open.
I peeled off my t-shirt, boots, and wet socks, and dumped them in the cardboard box stuck in a nest of investment brochures and bungee cords. I left my tank top and skinny jeans on. Even dad knew it would not be cool to strip down to the boxers I was wearing in front of the school.
"Hurry up," he called.
I sat on the beach towel laid on the backseat. Wouldn't want to mess up the leather.
His cell phone rang. His lip curled slightly when he saw the number on the screen. He answered the phone. "What is it now?"
Meet my father: Corporate Tool. He'd always been a hardass, but since his latest promotion, he'd dialed it up.
"That's not my problem," he told the phone. "It's yours. Solve it."
Mom stared at him from the passenger seat, then sighed deeply. It was Friday afternoon, which meant they had just come from their therapy session. They were recovering the joy in their relationship.
"Hi, Mom." I said.
She looked back and gave me a little wave. Her smile was fake, like a piece of paper with a smile drawn on it had been glued to her face.
As I buckled my seat belt, Dad ended his call and started the engine. "I still don't know why you insist on picking her up every day." he told Mom. "It wouldn't kill her to ride her bike."
Mom's smile fell off. She blinked hard and studied the dust on the dashboard.
Meet my mother: pet photographer, cake baker, nice lady who smells faintly of Jack Daniels.
Dad put the car in reverse and glanced at me in the mirror.
"We have an office barbecue tonight," he said. "I suppose it's too late for you to color your hair back to normal before then."
I shook my once brown, now neon blue bangs in front of my eyes. "I don't want to go."
"I expect you and your brother to be ready by seven o' clock."
"I have plans," I said, which was not exactly true, but sounded good.
"Change them." Dad looked beyond me. "Dammit."
We were blocked by an Ibanez five-string bass flying out from the garage from the house I was watching from the roof and falling right in the middle of the road, blocking our path and shattering into three pieces. Dad shifted back into park and turned off the engine. "Don't want to waste gas," he muttered. His phone rang again. He answered it without a word, listened for a moment, then launched into a rant about federal regulations and inter-office memos.
Mom rolled down her window and waved at one of the boys who had stepped in the road to pick up the broken bass. She waved at Sean Caine. The Sean Caine. Sean waved back.
I thought the tar fumes had made me delusional. He'd been in my homeroom since seventh grade. He'd had the starring role in most of my fantasies since then, too.
But this was real.
Sean Caine, Holy God of Metalhead Hotness, floated... towards... our car. He put his calloused hands with their blistered fingertips on my mothers door and leaned forward, making the wrinkles in his tank top stand out to the max.
"Hey, Elise." Sean said to me.
I had this weird rushing noise in my ears. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. My skinny jeans felt hot near the zipper.
"Huh." I said. "Huh-Hi."
Idiot. Moron. Cretin. Fool.
Mom said something about the party. Sean looked surprised for a second, but then Mom mentioned pasta salad and I stopped listening because then a drop of sweat slipped from Sean's collarbone to his chest. I leaned forward for a better view of the water crawling, millimeter by millimeter, down the toned, muscled valley of his...
"Ow!"
Both Mom and Sean stopped talking to stare at me.
"Did you hit your head, Elise?" Mom asked.
"Are you okay?" Sean asked.
"Ha." I said.
---
As we drove down the road, I pressed my face against the back window to watch him walk away. Sean was the underground Alpha Male of Centennial High- the most handsome, the most well-known, the Class-A Metalhead. He was also the son of my dad's boss, and the brother of the girl who had been making my life hell for years.
And me? I was a zit on the butt of the student body. I had a screwed-up past and no visible future. My chances of hooking up with anything male, much less Sean, were small.
But anything was possible on the last Friday of summer vacation.
---
When I came out the front door, he pointed to the trunk, gaping open.
I peeled off my t-shirt, boots, and wet socks, and dumped them in the cardboard box stuck in a nest of investment brochures and bungee cords. I left my tank top and skinny jeans on. Even dad knew it would not be cool to strip down to the boxers I was wearing in front of the school.
"Hurry up," he called.
I sat on the beach towel laid on the backseat. Wouldn't want to mess up the leather.
His cell phone rang. His lip curled slightly when he saw the number on the screen. He answered the phone. "What is it now?"
Meet my father: Corporate Tool. He'd always been a hardass, but since his latest promotion, he'd dialed it up.
"That's not my problem," he told the phone. "It's yours. Solve it."
Mom stared at him from the passenger seat, then sighed deeply. It was Friday afternoon, which meant they had just come from their therapy session. They were recovering the joy in their relationship.
"Hi, Mom." I said.
She looked back and gave me a little wave. Her smile was fake, like a piece of paper with a smile drawn on it had been glued to her face.
As I buckled my seat belt, Dad ended his call and started the engine. "I still don't know why you insist on picking her up every day." he told Mom. "It wouldn't kill her to ride her bike."
Mom's smile fell off. She blinked hard and studied the dust on the dashboard.
Meet my mother: pet photographer, cake baker, nice lady who smells faintly of Jack Daniels.
Dad put the car in reverse and glanced at me in the mirror.
"We have an office barbecue tonight," he said. "I suppose it's too late for you to color your hair back to normal before then."
I shook my once brown, now neon blue bangs in front of my eyes. "I don't want to go."
"I expect you and your brother to be ready by seven o' clock."
"I have plans," I said, which was not exactly true, but sounded good.
"Change them." Dad looked beyond me. "Dammit."
We were blocked by an Ibanez five-string bass flying out from the garage from the house I was watching from the roof and falling right in the middle of the road, blocking our path and shattering into three pieces. Dad shifted back into park and turned off the engine. "Don't want to waste gas," he muttered. His phone rang again. He answered it without a word, listened for a moment, then launched into a rant about federal regulations and inter-office memos.
Mom rolled down her window and waved at one of the boys who had stepped in the road to pick up the broken bass. She waved at Sean Caine. The Sean Caine. Sean waved back.
I thought the tar fumes had made me delusional. He'd been in my homeroom since seventh grade. He'd had the starring role in most of my fantasies since then, too.
But this was real.
Sean Caine, Holy God of Metalhead Hotness, floated... towards... our car. He put his calloused hands with their blistered fingertips on my mothers door and leaned forward, making the wrinkles in his tank top stand out to the max.
"Hey, Elise." Sean said to me.
I had this weird rushing noise in my ears. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. My skinny jeans felt hot near the zipper.
"Huh." I said. "Huh-Hi."
Idiot. Moron. Cretin. Fool.
Mom said something about the party. Sean looked surprised for a second, but then Mom mentioned pasta salad and I stopped listening because then a drop of sweat slipped from Sean's collarbone to his chest. I leaned forward for a better view of the water crawling, millimeter by millimeter, down the toned, muscled valley of his...
"Ow!"
Both Mom and Sean stopped talking to stare at me.
"Did you hit your head, Elise?" Mom asked.
"Are you okay?" Sean asked.
"Ha." I said.
---
As we drove down the road, I pressed my face against the back window to watch him walk away. Sean was the underground Alpha Male of Centennial High- the most handsome, the most well-known, the Class-A Metalhead. He was also the son of my dad's boss, and the brother of the girl who had been making my life hell for years.
And me? I was a zit on the butt of the student body. I had a screwed-up past and no visible future. My chances of hooking up with anything male, much less Sean, were small.
But anything was possible on the last Friday of summer vacation.
---
♠ ♠ ♠
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