Not Today, But Someday(2)

I did, but he’s the only one who’ll ever know.

“I had to get out of there. Dad was threatening to come over.”

“What for?” he asks, annoyed.

“To take me to the doctor,” I say, “also known as Mom’s manipulative way to get me to go to school.”

“You underestimated her,” he chuckles. I nod in agreement.

“What class are you in right now?” I ask him.

“Physics,” he says.

“God, I hope I don’t have to take that next year.”

“It’s an elective.”

“Nerd,” I tease him.

“Freak,” he comes back, the same insult he always gives me. As different as we are, we’ve always been close, all our lives. The recent split of our parents has only made us more reliant on one another. “Here’s the office.” He holds the door open for me, but doesn’t follow me in. “Meet you here after school?” I turn around and walk back toward him, suddenly nervous and not wanting him to leave.

“Unless I go home early,” I say, faking a cough and trying to get a little more sympathy from him. I barely smile, and I know he can see the anxiety on my face.

“You’ll be fine, Em. It’s not that bad.” He hugs me quickly before leaving me standing alone in front of three girls my age. They all have nearly the exact same haircut, with bouncy curls that I can only imagine would be crispy to the touch. I think about my own hair, though, realizing I have no room to judge them this morning. Only one girl – the blonde one – smiles at me, welcoming me up to the counter. The other two whisper back and forth to one another, holding a small slip of paper in front of their mouths. Way to be subtle.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m new,” I tell her simply.

“Is that your name?” one of the chattering ones behind her asks. I glare at her momentarily, trying not to get discouraged.

I hate my father.

“Emi Hennigan,” I talk only to the blonde. “It might be under Emily.”

“Oh, so that’s your brother?” the girl with black hair perks up immediately, twirling a long strand. She stands and walks toward me, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Chris Hennigan?”

“Yes.” And I’ll make sure you never have a chance with him.

“I’m Amelia.” She holds her hand out, showing off her long, red fingernails, in an effort to introduce herself. I wrote her off ten seconds ago.

I smirk and nod, looking back at the one friendly girl. “I’m late to class.”

Taken aback by my disinterest in polite introductions, she hands me the piece of paper with my schedule on it without a word.

“Thanks.”

“Did you need help finding your class?” she asks softly.

“No, but your friend might.” I grin cheekily, fluttering my eyelashes as all three girls stare at me, shocked. I turn quickly to make my exit.

That wasn’t such a bad first impression after all.





CHAPTER 2 - NATE





Every day for three months, we’d leave the building at lunch time. Before I got my license in November, she’d take me to one of the many parked buses at the back of the lot. She liked bus 37 the best, although she never told me why. For the first week, I was almost too afraid we’d get caught to be able to perform. Almost. She could coax any guy to give her what she wanted, though.

When I turned sixteen and passed my driver’s exam, I got my convertible. Even the seats of my small car were more accommodating than the benches on the buses. And at least I knew the leather was clean.

I take a long drag on the cigarette, trying to take the edge off in one of the few ways I can in the middle of a school day – without her. Our mid-day meetings had become a habit, and the abrupt halt of them left me very unsatisfied at lunch time. I remember how her brown hair would tickle my bare chest as she’d lean over me. Her fingernails left marks on my skin. My lips left marks on hers. And her lips... the filthy things those beautiful, full lips would say, and do.

As soon as I finish one cigarette, I pull out another. I wonder if I could find another girl who’d have lunch with me every day. Not lunch in the cafeteria, where older women slop government-approved food on a tray and tell you to have a good afternoon. I need the kind of lunch she once gave me. It didn’t matter to me that sometimes I went to fourth period hungrier than I was in third period. I was sated in the way I wanted to be. I was full. My desire for her was quenched, and I’d be in an altered state for the rest of the day, high on her.

I could try to have an average lunch – a lunch like everyone else – but instead, I choose to smoke. With the clouds overhead delivering tiny flakes of snow at their whim, the heated puffs feel even more comforting in my lungs. Leaning against the parking lot gate behind a row of evergreens, staring at those traitorous buses across the lot, I think I’m far enough away from the school to have some time alone, but I’m wrong. I hear laughter first, then other sounds that are only too familiar, the memories of those sounds too fresh and raw. And then I hear something else.

I can’t even enjoy the last few drags of my cigarette. I throw the butt down hastily, stomping it with aggression, imagining Clark beneath the heel of my favorite worn work boot. It only takes hearing that one word to convince me to go to class.