The Resurrection of Aubrey Miller(16)

As soon as the ice cold milk hits the top of her head, she lets out a grating shriek and her hands make their way to her face, shielding her expertly applied makeup from the torrential downpour. Milk and Froot Loops ricochet off of Sabrina’s shoulder, spraying onto Candace’s face and hair until I finally drop the empty bowl back onto the table. Kaeleb stands quickly, throws his heavy forearm across my upper body, and forces me backward, but not before I get my final vengeance. With all the strength I can muster, I press against the imprisoning limb and break free. My body flies forward as my right arm swings across the table, sending Styrofoam coffee cups flying into the laps of the already shaken victims in front of me. Sabrina and Candace bound upward from their seats, wildly swiping at their laps while Josh and Luke remain completely still, blank faces still on display as they watch the girls screeching and jumping in front of them.
Unfortunately, that’s the last thing I’m able to see before I’m somehow whisked onto Kaeleb’s shoulder. His left arm curls around my waist while his right braces my shins immobile, most likely a protective measure against the massive Docs covering my feet. I’m forced to watch Kaeleb’s own boots step over the bench as he turns us away from the chaos, but eventually raise my neck so I can fully appreciate the glorious commotion playing out right in front of me. Sabrina’s head jerks up as we retreat, her eyes shooting daggers in my direction. “You f*cking goth freak!” she screams, projecting pure hatred with her words. “You will pay for this, bitch!”
My response? Full-on laughter that ultimately morphs into an eat shit grin. I add the extension of my middle finger as my upper body jostles uncontrollably against Kaeleb’s back, his strides increasing in both strength and speed. My eyes remain latched with hers until I’m carried around the side of the cafeteria and she can no longer be seen.
As soon as we round the corner, Kaeleb gently places me back onto my feet and by the gleaming look in his eyes and the wide, toothy smile he’s giving me, I’d say he approves of my inappropriate behavior. I find it impossible not to mimic his expression as he watches me, not only because of his obvious delight, but because staring back at me is a face much resembling the eight year old boy that I loved so deeply. The same boy who dared me into jumping homemade bike ramps and was repeatedly forced into attending many a tea party.
Yes, I said tea party. Don’t judge.
In this one and only moment, I allow the playful, childhood memories of us to flow without trying to contain them, the familiar recollections washing over me and warming my insides. Damn, that boy must have a ghost key for my memory bins.
“That was f*cking EPIC!” he shouts, then breaks into laughter. “She’s going to be digging Froot Loops out of her hair for months. And her face? Priceless! Candace’s too!”
A small chuckle passes between my lips as I tuck a strand of black hair behind my ear. “Sorry about that,” I respond. “But in my defense, she deserved it.”
“Hell yeah, she did.” Kaeleb hands me my backpack and as he eyes me curiously, our laughter soon falls into an awkward silence. I avert my stare, scanning over a passerby exiting the cafeteria. Slowly, he leans into me and raises his hand toward my face, grazing the side of my chin with the tip of his finger.
Now usually, I would have taken a step back out of his reach, protectively placing distance between us. So color me surprised when I remain standing in place, allowing the heat from his touch to penetrate my skin. Our breaths mingle together as we lock eyes, the mood tangibly shifting from its previous lightheartedness. He takes a small step forward and closely surveys my reaction.
Instinctively, I lift my own hand as his drops away, his eyes still glued to my chin. “What?” I ask, rubbing the area he just touched. Just as my finger skims along the small indentation, I know. I know exactly what he’s looking at.
“How did you get that scar?” His voice is gentle, almost timid as he redirects his eyes to mine.
Blood warms my face. “This? Uhhhhh…” I stall, and then lie. “Tripped last year, hit my chin on the corner of a fireplace. Why?”
Our stares remain locked as I plaster my face with a look of contrived innocence, my mind trying to skirt the memory of how I actually busted my chin wide open. The fact is, I remember quite well. We were six. He was trying to teach me how to skate and I slipped, falling approximately 1.2 seconds after my wheels hit the pavement. Haven’t touched a pair since.
Eyes narrowing, he holds my stare before taking a step back from me. “Wow. Looks like it hurt. I had a friend who fell on her chin like that once and it was pretty nasty. Blood everywhere.” My eyes widen a tad at his reminiscence as a mischievous smile crosses his face. “Yeah, she pretty much ate the curb. Skating accident. She was freaking out, crying and stuff. I had to carry her back to my house because she couldn’t skate back, obviously.”
At that, my blackened brows rise toward the sky. He totally did not carry me back—we were six!—and I sure as hell didn’t “freak out” or “cry”. He chuckles under his breath and shakes his head. “Man, I miss her.”
A breath catches in my throat as it constricts with his sentiment. And although I want to say, “I miss you too,” what passes through my lips is, “Quinn.”
His head jerks back in surprise. “Not Quinn. Her name was—”
“No,” I cut him off, throwing my thumb over my shoulder, “I mean, I should probably go talk to Quinn. You know, make sure she’s okay.”