Read Four Play: A Collection of Novellas Online
Authors: Amalie Silver
January 3, 2014 (Seven months ago)
The debate team made a quick trip to Garfield Heights for the day. A debate was being held for the semi-finals in order for our team to move on to the Regionals in March.
It was supposed to be an ordinary trip, nothing special. But I’d been up the night before researching the debate topic, and I found myself alone on the bus when I woke up from an impromptu nap. The rest of the team was inside a McDonald’s when I heard my name being whispered.
It was Bobbi, a.k.a. the
F-Series Ford Ranger.
Typically, we really only see the Ranger in bodybuilders or lesbians. They’re a rare occurrence, indeed, and if I wasn’t so shocked by her forwardness, I probably would’ve tried to get her off me. Yet there was something so unique about the situation that it compelled me to let her continue.
Practice is practice, after all.
She used brute force, letting her four-wheel drive keep up her pace. And like the Ranger, probably could’ve hauled a four-foot-wide piece of plywood on her back while straddling me. But with her big titties bouncing up and down, and the force of her thrusting, I kind of felt like she was using me as a post to grind against. There was no magic. No after-spooge cuddle. Only a pat on my back when she finished six minutes after she’d begun.
She didn’t even care whether or not she got me off.
Which, to be honest, I was thankful for. It had almost been painful.
I’m actually twiddling my thumbs. I look down and watch the absurdity of them, smoothing out the wrinkles in each one as I debate what I’m feeling. Whatever it is, I can’t remember a time I felt so unsettled. Then again, I don’t remember a time I was ever worried about a friend who might or might not be in trouble somehow.
Is that what she is
—
my friend?
I try to remember the last time I had one of those.
“You’re next,”
the one girl said. Were they going to kick the shit out of her?
This girl, Arleen, can’t be from the suburbs. The drama with girls around this town consists of embarrassing Facebook videos of Saturday night parties and whether or not their best friend tagged them in a meme of their favorite people.
Not physical harm
.
My questions continue to mount, and with my assumed answers, a gut feeling of concern tears at my chest.
Oh, God. I’m turning into a chick. Why am I suddenly so attached and emotional?
I dry heave at the thought.
It’s past nine o’clock now, the usual time she appears, and my stomach flips at every cricket and frog I think might be her footsteps.
“Been here long?”
I jump up at Arleen’s voice, not taking the time to ask myself how she could have approached without me hearing her. I have far too many different questions I want to ask.
But the second I see her, and how the moon casts shadows over her skin, my mind empties and I forget all the things I want to know. I swallow hard and try to act as casual as possible by pushing up my sleeves and shoving my hands in my pockets.
“Are you okay?” is all I manage to say.
A half-smile appears and disappears on her face. She scratches her temple and walks toward me. “Were you worried?”
I shrug, but give her a nervous smile. I’m not sure if it’s the thought of becoming friends with someone who is in some kind of danger or the warmth I felt when I heard her voice for the first time since this afternoon.
I’m not a pussy, I’m not a pussy, I’m not a pussy.
We sit against the tree on the ground, and neither of us says a word for several minutes. I try to keep my guard up and convince myself that it’s morbid curiosity I have for her story, and that I can’t possibly be interested in a girl like her. Even just thinking about making her Number Ten makes me uneasy. Though I don’t understand why.
“Can you tell me about it? What happened at school today?”
Her breathing shifts, and out of the corner of my eye I see her shaking her head.
“No.” She sighs. “Let’s not talk about school,” she adds quietly.
“Okay. Then let’s start with something easier. Where are you from?” I turn to face her, and her head dips lazily toward me against the bark of the tree trunk.
She smiles and looks down toward the ground. “Kentucky.”
“And why did you move here? Did your dad get a job transfer or something?”
She shakes her head, and gently tugs at her lip. “Nah, nothing like that.”
I wait for her to continue, but it seems as if she has no intention of answering my question. “Is everyone in Kentucky this vague, or is this just an Arleen thing?”
The small amount of light in our corner of the room exposes her white teeth as she smiles widely.
“I got a smile!” I nudge her arm. “Come on, Arleen,” I say with a grin, “talk to me.”
Her smile turns down. “Simon, look. I’m not really a big talker—”
“Wait. I’m going to interrupt you right there. I know for a fact you’re a talker, because you shut me down in debate the other night.”
She smiles again, a little less than before. “Right. I mean, I’m not a big talker about this stuff. Personal stuff.”
“Are you afraid I’ll tell someone?”
She doesn’t respond, but makes quick eye-contact and looks back down again.
“All right. That’s fair,” I say, trying to reassure her. “I’m not much of a talker about personal stuff, either.” And I realize that I’m not. It’s been years since I had anyone I spoke to about anything that wasn’t building a debate rebuttal or coming up with a witty one-liner to get into someone’s pants. “So then let’s make a new rule.”
She lifts her chin and focuses on me.
“The first rule is that we don’t talk about school. The second…” I look back to her, and she’s waiting impatiently for my words. “The second is that anything we say never leaves this place.”
She tugs at her lip, thinking about my proposition, then combs her fingers through her long hair. “How do I know I can trust you?”
I reply instantly. “You don’t. Just like I don’t know if
I
can trust
you
. But we’re both here for a reason, and it seems you’re not here for my boyish good looks.” I raise my eyebrow, and she cracks another smile.
“But it seems you have a lot of friends,” she whispers, keeping her head down, her smile fading.
I don’t want to admit that I don’t. Instead, I merely say, “No, Arleen. What you’ve heard at school is not really the person I am.” I shake my head, wondering what she’s heard, and feeling like one of my go-to speeches actually holds some sincerity. “I have nobody.” A lump gathers in my throat at my confession, and I feel like a jackass.
It’s the first time I’ve ever admitted to being weak.
She giggles. “What is it about the night that always makes the truth bubble to the surface?” Her elbow nudges mine, and I look to her eyes again. She smiles and rests her head on my shoulder. “I haven’t had a friend in a long time, either.”
Her hand finds mine, and we sit in silence.
There’s a small part of me that thinks she could be Number Ten because I can feel her walls crumbling. But then there’s another part of me that just enjoys being with her. No games, no tricks, and no speeches.
And I was thinking about Arleen not as a number, or a car, but as a person.
One I was finding myself liking a whole hell of a lot.
***
Two weeks pass. Arleen doesn’t acknowledge me in the halls at school, but every time I see her I stare until she’s walked past me.
I don’t get it.
Was there some rule that she’d made that I never heard? Is she embarrassed about being friends with me?
Because every night Arleen meets me at the ruins. Every night we go there without many words exchanged—just two people enjoying each other’s company.
My entire life has been turned upside down: I’ve canceled dates. I don’t text other girls anymore. I don’t spend my nights thinking about Miss Shields. And I’m not sure when it happened, but my desire to get to debate has shifted from wanting to go for my coach to being there for Arleen.
Will Arleen be there today? Will she speak to me? Why won’t she look at me? What secrets is she hiding?
My parents left for Fiji yesterday, and I barely noticed. Mom was courteous enough to leave me a note, but I was so eager to meet Arleen that I cut our last dinner together short and raced out the door.
I don’t even think I told them where I was going.
It’s getting rather irritating. I had liked my spreadsheets and my conquests. My endless fantasies about my teacher. Even my emotionally absent parents fit into my version of normal.
I think about Arleen night and day.
Other than eating and sleeping, nothing is the same. I’m completely outside of myself and I’m losing my grip.
I’ve decided enough is enough. I’m going to find out all I can tonight, and if she won’t tell me, I’m kissing this friendship goodbye and pursuing her as Number Ten.
Because, I tell myself,
that
is all I really wanted from her—to be the next notch on my belt. She was a means to an end.
I’m pretty sure I thought that at one point, right?
I’m pacing the space when she enters. She’s so quiet every time she comes here, I’m beginning to wonder if she has always just been in my imagination.
“Who are you?” I bark as soon as she comes into view.
The sparkle that was in her eye when she first walked in fades and her hands begin to tremble.
“Come here, Arleen.” My tone softens. “I’m sorry if I scared you, but I can’t seem to get you out of my mind. And it’s annoying the shit out of me.”
She nods and walks to me. Her silence kills me. I can see she’s conflicted, and now I feel like a dick for demanding answers.
“I’m sorry,” I say defeated. My shoulders slouch and I reach for her hand.
“Don’t be. I can’t imagine how frustrating it is to not know anything about someone you spend so much time with. Especially since I know more about you than I care to.”
My eyes shut. “I can only imagine the shit you’ve heard.” I open my eyes and shake my head. “Tell me something. Anything. Outside of the fact that your name is Arleen Carson, I don’t have a clue who you are.”
“Sit. I’ll tell you,” she says, and sits cross-legged on the ground.
I sit eagerly and wait for her to speak.
“But you have to promise me, Simon. Promise you won’t tell a soul of what I’m about to say.”
“Of course.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise.”
She scratches her chin, still apprehensive. “When I was eleven, my father left my mother.”
“This was in Kentucky?” I ask.
She nods and continues. “My brother and I were good kids. Never got in fights, always did our homework…” She finds a stick and draws lines in the dirt at our feet. “The same night that Dad left, Mom did too.”
I process her words, but I can’t comprehend what she’s telling me. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Seems she couldn’t bear the thought of raising us by herself. She left an envelope filled with six thousand dollars on the table, and that was it.”
“Where did you go?” I ask, harsher than I intend.
“Nowhere. We stayed.”
“Wait. You stayed? How?”
“It was a big apartment complex and no one ever questioned where the rent came from. I paid in money orders.”
The more she speaks, the angrier I get—not at
her
, but at her parents. At
every
parent who thinks we can do this on our own.
I shake my head and my eyes bug out of their sockets. “You’ve been living alone and raising your brother since you were eleven? How did you continue to pay for rent, electricity, food?”
She swallows, her chin quivering with her response. “I did what I had to.”
I shiver and my mind automatically drifts to the worst possible scenario. My jaw sets as I think about dirty old men with their hands all over her. My skin feels like it ignites into flames as I try to find the words to ask her.
She sees it in my eyes and quickly retorts, “No! Not that. I’ve never done…
that
.”
My chest contracts as I let out the breath I didn’t realize was holding.
“But I sold drugs. Lots and lots of drugs to kids at school.” A tear falls from her eye and she quickly wipes it away, pretending it never existed.
“Where are your parents now?” I ask, glaring into the woods and imagining what I’d say to them if I ever met them.
“It doesn’t matter.” She sniffs. “About six months ago I decided I didn’t want this for myself or my brother. So I stopped dealing. I got out. But we also ran out of money pretty quick.” She looks up to the sky and exhales. “After I called the police, they showed up at my door and took me and my brother into state care.”
“And now?”
She hesitates and slowly exhales again. “Now Matthew and I live about six blocks from here in a home for kids. I tuck him in every night, which is why I always get here so late. It’s not the best situation, but at least it’s something.”
I can’t even imagine, with my privileged upbringing, everything she has been through. In this instance, I feel extremely small.
But I can’t help but be thankful. Not for the horrific circumstances of her life, but for whatever bit of serendipity that brought her here. And into my life.
I rake my hands across my face and look over at her. She’s stopped tracing lines in the dirt, but the conversation has left her emotionally exhausted. I can see it in her posture.
Her eyes flutter shut, and I can tell she wants to sleep.
“Come here,” I whisper. “That’s enough talking for tonight.” I prop myself against the tree and pat my leg.
She tries to smile, but it takes too much effort. Instead, she lays her head in my lap and closes her eyes.
I run my fingers through her hair—noting that it’s just as soft as I thought it would be—to soothe her, and before long I can feel her tears on my knee.
I lean back against the tree, trying to find something to say.
But I have no go-to speeches for this one.
I’m in entirely new territory. And the last thing I want to do is hurt this girl any more than she’s already been hurt.
As she drifts to sleep, I slowly reposition myself, so that she is lying practically on top of me. And I’m not even thinking (well not
entirely)
about how I can work this so that I can sleep with her.
I’m not thinking of her as my Number Ten. My next conquest. The next notch on my bedpost.
I keep my arms wrapped tightly around her, giving her a chaste kiss on the top of her head.
I’m tired, but I don’t fall asleep—scared that when I do, she’ll leave.
And I realize that’s not something I’d be okay with.