Falling for You (7 page)

He shook his head, his eyes pleading with me now. “No. No, that’s not true. I love hanging out with you, being with you, and not just in a physical way.” He came closer. “Please, Rae. You gotta believe me. We’re good together. Maybe I’m pushing you a little too hard, but I’m a guy. You can’t condemn me for that.”

Before I could respond, he kissed me. His solution to everything, it seemed. But I was tired of doing what he wanted simply because I didn’t want to upset him.

What I wanted to do in that moment was leave. And that’s exactly what I did.

poetry journal—november

WHO AM I?

I’m the girl

keeping secrets,

bottled up tight.

The girl

with the parents

who yell day and night.

The girl

who’s never been

quite good enough.

The girl

crying inside

but acting all tough.

But something strange happens

when I’m with you.

I forget who that girl is,

because what do you do?

You tell me sweet things

that I’ve never heard.

Suddenly “beautiful”

is more than a word.

When we walk down the hall,

holding hands, you and me,

I’m the cute guy’s girlfriend,

the one

other girls

wish they could be.

a way with words

TUESDAY MORNING, AND I WAS RUNNING LATE. AGAIN. I CRAMMED my books along with my poetry journal into my backpack and hustled out to the kitchen. I grabbed the last banana out of the fruit bowl.

“Yesterday was the fifteenth, Rae.”

I hadn’t heard him coming, so it startled me. I spun around. Dean stood there wearing one of his flattering wife-beater T-shirts and a pair of boxer shorts.

“I don’t do business with people who aren’t wearing pants,” I said, disgusted by his greediness more than his appearance.

“Give me the damn check,” he barked. “You were asleep when I got home last night, so I didn’t bug you for it then. Next time I might not be so considerate.”

Considerate? What a joke
. “Where were you anyway? I made dinner for you and you never showed.”

“None of your business.”

I reached into my backpack and pulled out my wallet along with a pen. He watched as I signed my paycheck over to him. It was the second one since our little “agreement.”

“Where’s my share?”

He snatched the check from my hand and dropped the bills he’d been holding onto the floor. I picked them up as he retreated back to his bedroom.

“Forty bucks?” I yelled. “Are you kidding me? How am I supposed to pay my insurance? This will barely pay for my gas!”

I wanted to jump on him. Slam him into the wall. But I knew even yelling at him could make things worse. Last time he’d given me a hundred, and I’d objected, loudly, since my checks are usually around three hundred. He’d told me I better watch it, because I was lucky to be getting any at all.

“Dean, come on,” I said, with all the sweetness I could muster as I chased after him. “Please? Can’t I have forty more? Or even twenty?”

He glared at me. “You want to eat or not? Now get your ass to school.”

I gathered my stuff and trudged to my truck. Something told me it was going to be a long day.

•   •   •

At school Nathan met me at my locker, like he had every morning for the past few weeks. I’d get my stuff for my morning classes, then we’d walk to the benches together. When I eyed
him standing there like our disagreement the night before had never happened, I found myself wishing for the days I didn’t have a boyfriend to worry about on top of everything else.

“I’m kind of surprised to see you,” I said. “Thought you might want a little space today.”

He pulled me to him. “Please don’t be upset with me. Please? Let’s pretend it never happened. You came to my house and we played Scrabble. Wasn’t it fun? Sorry I beat you, but I’m good with those triple word scores.” His eyes searched mine for a trace of forgiveness, though he hadn’t even apologized for how he’d behaved. Not really.

His finger traced my jaw. “It’s so good to see you, beautiful.” His blue eyes kissed me before his lips did. And then we were at it, doing what we did best.

Kissing.

More kissing.

And yes, more kissing.

When I pulled away, he whispered, “Everything’s cool with us, right?”

I put my finger on that dimple I loved so much. “You have to back off trying to get me horizontal. Okay?”

“Whatever you say.”

I wasn’t quite convinced, but I could feel people’s eyes on us as they walked by. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Not here.

“You know, I have Saturday off,” I said as I moved around
him to get to my locker. “Want to go to Portland? Maybe go to the art museum or something?”

He groaned and slumped against the wall. “The art museum? You’re kidding, right?”

I stopped midspin and turned to him. “No, I’m not kidding. I thought it’d be fun. I want to get out of here. Have an adventure, you know?”

“An art museum is not an adventure, Rae. It’s more like a prison sentence. Maybe we could catch a college game or something. That’d be fun.”

Typical Nathan. I grabbed my books and slammed the door closed. Suddenly, I didn’t want to spend my day off with him.

I pretended to be sad. “Oh, you know what? I just remembered, I promised Alix we’d go shopping. Sorry. Maybe you and Santiago can go to a game.”

As we walked, holding hands, girls stopped what they were doing and stared at us. Would it ever stop? We should have been old news. Although maybe his good looks would never get old.

When we got to the benches, a few guys leaning against the wall called out to Nathan, and he headed over to say hi. I sat down next to Alix and whispered in her ear, “I told Nathan we have plans on Saturday. So, can we do something?”

She gave me a concerned look. “Sure. What’s going on?”

I mouthed, “Later.”

Felicia sat next to Alix, reading a newspaper. “Hi, Felicia,” I said.

She looked up and smiled. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Fine. Is that the school paper, by chance?”

“Yeah. There’s some over there in the rack.”

I jumped up, snagged one, and came back to my seat. I thumbed through the paper until I found the pull-out section. They’d titled it “Poetry Matters.” Alix looked over my shoulder.

After a minute she pointed at one and laughed. “Oh my God. Michael Montgomery. I’m pretty sure he’s the only guy in the school who would feel compelled to write a poem comparing boxer shorts to tighty whities.”

I chuckled and kept reading. Some were good. Some, not so much.

Alix pointed to my poem. “What’s the deal with anonymous? Everyone else included a name. Embarrassed, maybe?”

I blinked, trying not to show my surprise at her pointing to my poem. “Maybe. Who knows?”

“It’s pretty good,” Alix said. “Sad, though.”

Felicia looked up from reading. “Rae, how come you didn’t submit a poem? Didn’t you tell me once you love writing poetry?”

“Yeah. I do. It’s just . . . Robert Frost I am not.” I elbowed Alix, wanting to turn the attention away from myself. “What about you? You should write about that Mustang you’ve been working on.”

She sat up straight and smiled. “Hey. Maybe I will. I mean, if Michael Montgomery can do it—”

“Anyone can do it,” we said at the same time, then laughed.

The bell rang, so I let Nathan kiss me good-bye before Felicia and I scurried off to English.

Felicia motioned to the board as we took our seats. “Deadline for the next issue is coming up. You should write something, Rae.”

“I don’t know. Between work and school and Nathan, I don’t have any time.”

“You could use something you’ve already written. You must have some, right?”

Thankfully, I didn’t get a chance to respond. The bell rang and Ms. Bloodsaw started talking. My friends didn’t really know about my poetry journals. I was afraid if they knew, they’d want to read some of the stuff. And that was the problem—most everything I wrote was just too personal to share. Maybe other people could write about underwear or trees or their dog, but to me it was like, what’s the point? It should matter. It should say something. Mean something.

With class well underway, I slipped out my poetry journal and paged through it. I stopped when I landed on one I’d rewritten a few months ago, after I’d found it in one of my earlier journals. I’d do that sometimes—find one that needed work, pull it out, and spend time searching for better words. I loved getting lost in the process of revision. Maybe lots of
things in my life were out of my control, but when it came to my words, I had all the authority.

I’d written the first draft soon after we’d moved in with Dean. What was I? Twelve? I remembered how I had felt when I’d written it. My illusions of what “a new man” and “we’re getting married” meant shattered like a broken window. I’d believed my mom when she told me our life would be so much better with Dean around. Not only did I believe her, I’d let myself imagine a happy family, like I used to dream about as a little girl.

For the girl who had longed for just a little happiness at home and never got it, I chose that poem.

In My Imagination

by Anonymous

Most kids imagine

castles and dragons

and knights wielding swords.

Or fairies with pixie dust,

making wishes come true.

Not me.

I liked to imagine

one happy family,

taking trips to the zoo.

Packing lunch in a basket

for a day at the park.

Happy me.

I can hardly believe

how different life is

from those childhood dreams.

No zoo trips, no picnics,

just harsh words and spite.

Disappointed me.

Alone in my room,

I feel trapped,

and forgotten.

What I’d give for a fairy tale

and wishes come true.

Why me?

So I’ll imagine

my real dad, a knight,

riding up on a horse,

with lunch in a basket

and me in his heart.

Rescue me.

it’s personal

SCARLETT WAS SITTING ON THE WHITE BENCH IN FRONT OF Cutting Edge when I arrived for work after school. I admired her darling red-and-white vintage dress. Scarlett’s a genius when it comes to thrift-store shopping. She took me shopping with her one time and I learned so much about how to scour the racks for the best finds.

“Rae!” she said in her raspy voice. “Haven’t seen you in a while. You staying out of trouble?”

“I’m trying, Scarlett. I swear, I’m trying.”

She took a long drag of her cigarette, then blew it out and smiled. “Good girl.”

“What about you?”

“I have a cut and color in a couple of minutes with Mrs. LaBlanc. I’m telling you what, I could hardly sleep last night
because I was so damned excited to hear all about her hip replacement surgery.”

I laughed. “You love your clients and you know it.” I motioned toward Mack’s. “I’m gonna get myself a tea before I head to work. You want anything?”

She raised her coffee mug. “I’m good, sweetie, thanks for asking. Have a nice afternoon, okay?”

“You too.”

My stomach growled as I opened the door to Mack’s. I hadn’t eaten lunch. I told my rumbling stomach to shut up. Only three hours until dinner. I could wait.

Mack’s Bean Shack is a cute coffee shop with regular tables in the center of the café and big, comfy chairs along the walls. It’s an inviting place and does good business, but the place was empty that afternoon. Leo stood behind the counter, his back to the front door, as he ground beans. The strong smell made me blink a few times. I definitely prefer the sweet smell of flowers to the pungent aroma of coffee.

When he turned the noisy grinder off, I said, “Hey, Leo.”

He startled, but smiled when he saw me. “Rae! How you been? You want your usual?”

“Yes, please. And I’m okay. Busy with school.”

He grabbed a cup and started filling it with hot water. “I’m glad you came in. I brought a book I think you might like. Have you read
Through the Wilderness
?”

“No. What’s it about?”

He rummaged around in the basket of tea bags until he found my favorite, green tea with jasmine. I do love flora, even in my tea. “It’s about this sixteen-year-old kid who travels back in time,” he explained, “and ends up riding for the Pony Express. The writing is unbelievably good.”

“Hmmm. Okay. I’ll have to check it out.” I pulled the newspaper and a couple of books out of my backpack as I searched for my wallet. Leo slid the mug of hot water and the tea bag over to me.

“Don’t worry about it, Rae. I’ve got it covered.”

“Thanks, Leo.”

He snatched up the school paper. “Hey, can I read this?”

“Sure. Take it home, if you want. I can pick up another copy for myself tomorrow. You worried you’re missing out on some top-notch journalism or something?”

I put the tea bag in my mug. Leo tucked the newspaper under his arm as he went to the glass case and pulled out two oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, another of my favorites. Clearly, Leo was my snack-time hero.