Where the Staircase Ends(8)

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Taylor, but did you ever consider the fact that maybe he’s not interested in you? I mean, you see the guy every day, and if he hasn’t bitten by now, well … ”

She opened her mouth and let out several quick circles of smoke, the rings floating upward like tiny life preservers until they melted into the rest of the afternoon air.

Part of me worried that Sunny was right. I’d spent the last few months using every move Sunny had ever taught me: flipping my hair, giggling, wearing tight shirts and sticking out my chest when I was near Justin. I even started buying the same music he liked so we’d have more stuff to talk about, but still the guy never made his move. Sunny had every right to question his interest, except for one teeny tiny unexplained reoccurring event: he kept staring at me.

The first time I caught him I thought I’d imagined it. I’d just answered a question, my voice shaking the way it always did when I had to speak in front of the class. It wasn’t an especially hard question, but our teacher was pleased enough with my answer to write part of it on the board. I was glad to have everyone’s attention diverted away from me, but after a few seconds I still felt the heat of someone watching, so I turned around. My eyes only met Justin’s for a second before he flicked them toward the front of the classroom, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been studying me. Then a week later I caught him staring again, and then again the week after that, always with a discerning glare that somehow felt different from your average everyday staring.

It never happened when I wanted it to, like when I was poised and ready to catch his eye. It was as if he intentionally tried to catch me off guard, like he was conducting some kind of field study on the inner workings of Taylor Anderson. Maybe Sunny had a point about him not making a move yet, but if he didn’t have at least some kind of interest in me, why did he keep watching me like that?

“Pleeease,” I begged, taking the cigarette from Sunny’s outstretched fingers. “Pretty please? If I show up alone, I’ll look like a stalker. Besides, it’s not like there’s anything else going on that night.” I put the cigarette between my lips and gagged when I made contact with the slimy, lip gloss covered surface. “What the hell, Sunny? Can’t you blot before you pass?” I raked my hand across my mouth to rid it of the secondhand gloss. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Then buy your own pack for a change. At least now I don’t have to share it with you.” Her smirk made me wonder if she did it on purpose. It was a typical Sunny move. I watched with irritation as she wiped the sticky goo from the butt and took another drag, all the while studying me from under a row of spidery black-mascaraed lashes. “What the hell is up with his taste in music? I mean really, a Grateful Dead cover band? That band’s like a hundred years old. Can’t he at least go see something original?” She paused for a minute to tap off some ash, an exasperated sigh slipping out from between her lips. “But fine, I’ll go.”

I let out a squeal and wrapped my arms around her, narrowly missing the fiery end of her Camel as I jumped up and down.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“There better be other cute guys there, or you will owe me big time.” She stepped back from my half-hug and flicked her smoke into the grass. “And don’t let your mom pull that ten p.m. curfew crap on us again. I’m not driving all the way downtown just to turn around and come back after the first song.”

“I won’t, I promise. You’re the best!” I gave her one final hug, squeezing her so tightly I’m surprised her head didn’t pop off, then I bounded in the direction of my house (after a few spritzes of Sunny’s perfume) so I could begin primping. Everything was settled. It would officially be the best night of my life.

Of course my mom had other ideas.

“Ten thirty?” I screeched, my mouth falling open in disbelief. “Come on, Mom, that’s completely unfair. It’s a Friday night for crap sake!”

“Don’t use that tone with me, young lady.” She gave me one of her warning glares and moved toward the kitchen. I followed despite her dark tone, my cheeks flaring hot with frustration.

“But the band doesn’t even go on until after nine. I’ll miss half the show! Are you trying to ruin my night? Do you want me to be a social pariah?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Taylor. Coming home early from a show is not going to make you a social pariah. And you’re lucky I’m letting you got out at all. You need to get a good night’s sleep so you can study tomorrow. You have a math test on Monday.”

“Come on, Mom, its Friday. Plus I’m doing really well in that class.” I had to fight to keep the edge out of my voice. If it were up to my mother, I’d be chained to a textbook for the better part of an eternity.

“Yeah, well, you can’t rest on your laurels. You need to finish the year out strong. And if I recall, you only got a B on your last quiz.” She gave me a pointed glare, then turned her attention to an unsorted stack of mail. My blood boiled over at her impassive attitude. Never mind that it was supposed to be my night, or that I’d planned every detail—from my outfit down to what I was going to say when I “accidentally” bumped into Justin. I was nothing but a walking report card to my mom. Study harder. Think harder. Work harder. More, Taylor. More, more, more.