Secret Lucidity(103)
“Why aren’t you at work?”
“I had an appointment with my doctor.”
I turn to my mom, who looks years beyond her age, with deep-set wrinkles and brittle hair. She’s had a tough life raising me as a single mother, and although she’s been absent for the majority of my childhood, there isn’t a single day that I don’t appreciate her efforts to keep us afloat. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. It was only a checkup. Nothing to concern yourself with.”
I hate when she brushes my warranted concerns off and claims there’s nothing to worry about.
“How was work today?”
When the water comes to a boil, I toss in the pasta. “Same as every other day,” I tell her, leaving out the fact that the girl I can’t seem to get out of my head lives in one of the houses that’s on my route.
“Any plans for tonight?”
“I’m supposed to hang out at Micah’s.”
“That sounds fun.”
I continue to watch the pot, stirring occasionally until it’s done.
“You want parmesan?” I ask as I drain the noodles and toss some margarine into them.
“We’re all out.”
Sprinkling a dash of salt over the noodles, I set the bowl in front of her, kiss her cheek, and wish I weren’t so self-sufficient. For once, it would be nice if someone would tend to me, to ask me if I was all right. Not that I’m not okay, but it’s the knowing that I’m being looked after that’s been my missing piece in life. Again, I don’t hold it against my mom, but the feelings of abandonment are ever-lingering.
“I’m going to jump in the shower and then head out. You need anything else?”
She shakes her head and thanks me for cooking before taking a bite.
After working out in the heat all day and then stopping by Krista’s, I opt for a cold shower, which soothes my sunbaked skin. Not knowing how late I’m going to be out tonight, I give in once more and jerk another one out before finishing my shower.
Running my hand through my wet hair that’s long overdue for a trim, I walk over to my dresser and pull out a pair of shorts and a T-shirt to toss on. With the money I earn, I’ve been able to accrue a decent collection of clothing to replace the thrift store hand-me-downs of my younger years. Thankfully, most of the kids I go to school with couldn’t care less about labels—at least for the guys. It seems those who don’t come from wealth desire the “look” of luxury more than those who are privy to it. Take it or leave it, they’re fine with shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops, so my fitting into the visual standards of those down in South Tampa has never been an issue.
But where I live, just west of the University of South Florida, is the armpit of Tampa. Rusty mobile homes and rundown apartments like this one line the streets. The city does its best to hide our dilapidated presence behind restaurants, sports bars, and retail sites that dominate the scene near USF.
I’m one of the lucky ones, though. With some help, I was able to leave my neighborhood school and transfer to South Shore High in South Tampa, where the city’s most valuable properties line the impeccably manicured streets.
“Dude, you coming over?” Micah says when I answer his call.
“Leaving now.”
“Trent and I are about to head out and grab some takeout. The house is open, so let yourself in.”
“Sounds good.”
Getting into my car, I crank the windows down since the air conditioning finally gave up the good fight the other day, and start driving south to Harbour Island. Thirty minutes later, I cross the small bridge over to the gated community. When I pull up to Micah’s house, I see Trent’s car, along with a sporty, white Mercedes hatchback, the same one that’s parked at Adaline’s house every time I’ve been there.
My attempts to dodge this girl keep failing. I didn’t think much of her when we first bumped into each other, and it wasn’t until I saw that look of attraction in her eyes later that day in sixth period that I told myself to steer clear. It’s been difficult since she’s become friends with Micah, so to avoid making it too obvious that I’m avoiding her, I pull the key from the ignition and head inside, knowing that everyone is out grabbing food.
I walk through the house to the back doors so I can take in the waterfront view I’m not privileged enough to see every day. Opening the double doors, I step outside as the sun is setting in the distance, and a girl’s voice catches my attention.
I scan the expansive yard, and find her sitting on the edge of the dock, talking on the phone. Her long blonde hair is pulled into a ponytail that hangs down the center of her back, which is barely covered by the strappy, loose top she’s wearing. My chest kicks out a few hard beats, and as much as it feels good, I hate it just as badly.
I watch her.
How can I not?
Her skin is darker than it was when I met her on her first day of school, and I wonder how much time she’s been spending at the beach. That thought is chased by a pang of jealousy when I consider who she would be going to the beach with. It’s not like Micah has made it a secret that he likes the girl, only I don’t know in what capacity.
“You haven’t even called me since Mom and I moved,” she says into the phone, her voice is loud with agitation. “I started a new school, and you haven’t even texted me to ask how it’s going.”