Remember When (Remember Trilogy #1) (8 page)

   Tess wandered around the candy display looking bored as Trip met me at the front counter to fill out the form. He had his license out- copying the numbers onto his application- and that’s when I saw it.

   Terrence C. Wilmington III’s middle name was
Chester
.

   Chester! This was just too good. But I made the decision to keep it to myself for the time being. It was awesome enough just having the inside scoop on him, knowing something NO ONE else knew about the infamous Trip Wilmington, so I didn’t want to call him out on it right away. As trivial as it was, his middle name was something only
he
and
I
knew about. Even though he was unaware of it, there was some tiny little unspoken bond between us now, some inherent bit of information that even Tess Valletti wasn’t privy to. It was like I had a piece of him all to myself.

   It took me a couple tries, but I was finally able to get the register working properly. I scanned their chosen movie
(Spinal Tap
-
nice
) as I asked, “Are you sure you want to work here? I’ve only been here for two hours and I’m ready to quit.”

   Trip didn’t look up from his writing. “Baby, that’s half the reason I’m applying here. You
need
me.”

   I rolled my eyes, but he didn’t see. I leaned way over the counter and whispered my best horror-movie warning, “
Ruuun
.”

   Trip laughed as he signed his name to the bottom of the page. “Too late now, sweetheart. Here you go.”

   He handed me the completed application, which I put in a top drawer for safekeeping. “You’re sealing your fate here, you realize that, don’t you?”

   He gave me a dirty look out of the corner of his eye, and I was expecting some sort of witty retort. Instead he asked, “What do I owe you?”

   “Three-eighteen.”

   He slapped a ten down on the counter.  I was counting his change when out of nowhere, he came out with, “So, hey- I was thinking- You want to get together tomorrow?”

   At first, my heart leapt out of my chest, until I realized that he was only trying to arrange a brainstorming session for our Shakespeare thing. “Oh, for our report. Yeah, sure. I’m not working tomorrow, but-” and I hated having to say this aloud, “I don’t get my license for another two weeks, we’ll have to do it at my house.”

  
Oh my God. Did I just say “do it at my house”?

   Trip gave a shrug. “No problem. I’ll just drive you home after school.” He turned and called out over his shoulder, “Hey, Tess, you ready?”

   At that, she sauntered over, they offered their goodbyes and then they were gone...

   ...leaving me trying to think about
anything
other than the fact that I was going to be spending an entire afternoon alone with Trip Wilmington.

Chapter 10

...ALMOST

   There was never a longer Tuesday in my entire life. Lisa didn’t settle my nerves any with the way she kept talking about it
all day long
. She was confident that Trip and I were going to be spending most of our study session groping each other on the couch. I wasn’t so sure.

   I’d avoided talking to him at lunch and made sure he didn’t get the chance to walk me down to English. I couldn’t escape him during class, but I kept the conversation to a minimum.

   It seems stupid now, but I didn’t want to do anything that would jinx our plans for the afternoon. I thought if I said or did the wrong thing, Trip would realize I was a total dork and wouldn’t want to partner up with me for the thing after all. All I needed to do was get through that one afternoon with him in order to show him how indispensible I’d be as an assignment buddy. Then I could relax knowing that by then, he’d realize how much he needed me, if for no other reason than that he wanted a good grade.

   By the time school let out, I had already decided that I was good to go. This was confirmed when Trip actually showed up to meet me on the front steps. In front of everyone, he plucked me out of the crowd and
put his hand at the small of my back
for the walk down to his car.

   Let me tell you, it felt
amazing
to be seen with him. I hoped everyone noticed it. Maybe rumors would get started that we were carrying on some sort of secret relationship. People would say things like, “I heard that Trip Wilmington dumped Tess Valletti for Layla Warren.”

   And if anyone actually had the balls to ever ask me outright, I’d only give them the satisfaction of a mysterious smile while saying something classy like, “I never kiss and tell,
dahling
.”

   While I was picturing who was going to play me in the movie version of my life story (Alyssa Milano, maybe?), Trip unlocked the passenger door of his Bronco
and held it open until I got inside. I thought it was so cool how he did that. Maybe it was a common thing to do where he came from, but in Norman, the guys were always too aloof to treat any of us like actual ladies. God, didn’t they realize how easy it was to impress us?

   Trip cruised over to his side of the truck and slid himself behind the wheel. As he put the key in the ignition, I made the decision that whatever song was playing on the radio at that moment would be burned forever into my brain as “our song”.

   He turned the key... and New Kids on the Block came blaring out of the speakers singing “
The Right Stuff”
.

   Okay, fine. The
next
song would be the one.

   “What the hell is this crap?” Trip asked as he popped a Guns N’ Roses tape into the cassette player.

   I watched as he loosened his tie over his head and unbuttoned his blue Oxford so that it hung open casually over his thin, white T-shirt, stretched taut over the contours of his chest. He shifted over to fix his hair in the rearview mirror, his arm pressed against mine as he leaned across the center console. I could feel the heat of the day just emanating off of him and smell the crisp, clean scent of his skin just inches from my own body.

   And that, ladies and gentlemen, even to this very day, is why I completely fall apart whenever I hear even a single note from
“
Paradise City”
.

   I was trying to play it cool- tapping my hands against my knees to the music, looking absently out the window- but I was actually a trembling mess inside. I mean shit! I was riding shotgun in
Trip’s truck! For the second time in less than a week! But this time, I had him all to myself for the next two, maybe three, hours. How the hell was I going to hold it together all that time?

   I grabbed my purse off the floor and started rifling through it, looking for nothing in particular except a way to occupy my hands.

   “Damn, you’re fidgety.”

   That caught me off guard. “What?”

   Trip turned down the radio and said, “I don’t think you’ve stopped bopping around once since getting in my truck.”

   I always fidget when I’m nervous. Not really the smoothest habit, but at least it was better than Charlene Henderson’s nervous cheerleader tick. You could always tell when she was feeling even slightly uncomfortable when the poor girl started in with regimented clapping.

   “Oh. I was just looking for... some gum! Here it is. Wanna slice?”

   “Slice?”

   “Yeah. It’s Juicy Fruit.” I held a piece in his direction. “See? It’s a slice. Want one?”

   This made Trip smile. “Yeah, sure. Unwrap it for me?”

   So I did. I thought about sliding over to the driver’s side and feeding it to him all
9 1/2 Weeks
, but then wimped out and just passed it over.

   “Thanks.”

   I was such a dork that I found myself sneaking looks at him as he chewed a stupid piece of gum. But just watching his jaw clench up with every chomp was enough to make my palms all sweaty. I tried to look inconspicuous as I wiped them against my polyester skirt.

   As we pulled up in front of my house, I realized that I had never even given Trip the address. It was pretty cool that he had obviously done some recon and found out on his own. Then again- and I got the worst, most panicky feeling in my chest when I thought this- maybe he knew where I lived because he’d seen me spying out my window at him every morning. Could God be that cruel?

   My fears were laid to rest when Trip said, “This
is
your house, right? Funny. I run through this neighborhood sometimes.”

   And I thought,
Yes, you do. Every day so far except Sunday.

   But I said, “Oh yeah? Guess I’ll have to alert the Neighborhood Watch. They don’t appreciate riffraff roaming around on their streets.”

   Trip grinned as he let me out of the truck. “Yeah. Just try it, Dummy.”

   I gave him a light backhand on his arm in answer.

   Before I led him up our front walk, I jumped up and grabbed a leaf off the tree at the curb. It was something I’d done a million times, but I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought to skip that little ritual for one, stupid day. I was a little embarrassed as I shrugged and offered a brief explanation to Trip. “Sorry. Superstition.”

   He laughed. “You do that often?” he asked. “Maul trees in your spare time?”

   “Just that one,” I answered, before playfully admitting, “Every day, actually!”

   Even though I was laughing, I was feeling pretty skittish at the thought of being alone with Trip for the next few hours. My father usually didn’t come home from work until dinnertime and Bruce had freshman football practice every day. Knowing this, I had made a point to do a quick cleanup before leaving for school that morning in order to make sure the house would be presentable in the afternoon. Living with two men is a constant study in maintainable hygienics. My father wasn’t so bad, but Bruce was an absolute slob. After he split for the bus stop, I was
met with a destroyed bathroom- soaking wet towels and clothes all over the floor. Hello? Ever hear of a hamper?

   Thank God I’d taken care of Bruce’s discarded boxer shorts, however, because Trip hit the bathroom the second we were inside the door. I utilized the time during his absence to pull a couple of Cokes out of the fridge and settle myself at the kitchen table.

   I had my English notebook lain out and was tapping my pen against the page in front of me as I read the booklet of requirements for the project. Basically, we were supposed to give a report on our assigned scene in a “style of our choosing”. We were to focus on the motivations of each character and interpret Shakespeare’s language into our present-day vernacular.

   Here are the questions we needed to answer in our report:


        
What do your characters want? What are they trying to say? How do they go about achieving their goals?


        
How are you like/unlike your assigned characters? What traits do you share? What traits are completely opposite from you? Would people who know you agree with your assessment?


        
How would your characters like living in Norman, NJ? How would your characters dress and speak differently if they were living here today? (Please utilize a visual aid for this portion of your project.)

   I was pondering investing in some posterboard for the visual aid aspect of our presentation when I realized Trip was taking an awfully long time in the bathroom.

   Oh, dear God. Please tell me he’s not pooping in there.

   My suspicions turned out to be unfounded when I heard a noise coming from down the hall.

   I moved down the hallway to my bedroom where I saw Trip standing at my dresser, giving the once-over to all of my things.

   Thank God I made my bed that morning, but what if he’d gone snooping through my dressers or something? I had a brief recollection of the set of pink, flowery, days-of-the-week cotton panties that were shoved to the back of my undies drawer. I never wore them, but couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. They were a gift the past Christmas from my Aunt Eleanor, who always used the excuse of having four sons to buy the cutesiest, girliest things possible for me. They were so, so, so very uncool. My reputation would have been destroyed.

   “What are you doing?”

   He looked up just then and smiled. “Just checking out your room. It’s the best way to get to know someone, don’t you think?”

   “Yeah, I guess. Or, you know, maybe you could just ask them stuff.”

   I watched as he ignored me and picked up one of my glass atomizers. He gave a quick squirt of
Anais Anais
in the air and took a sniff. “Nice.” He put the bottle down and rifled through a dish of change, coming up with a guitar pick. He held it up, impressed. “This yours?”

   Yeah, right. My cousin Jack tried to teach me only a million times, but I was a total sped. I could never get my fingers to bend just the right way and it got so frustrating that I decided it just wasn’t worth it. “Nope. My cousin’s.”