Chapter Sixteen
“Mom, I’m home!” I yelled, slamming the door roughly behind me.
“In the kitchen,” she called back as expected. After jogging up the steps, I came into the kitchen to see a very typical sight: my mom was baking. What. A. Shocker.
“Hey!” I greeted, headed straight over to the fridge to see what I could possibly indulge myself in as a form of an afternoon snack.
“Hi, sweetie. How was school?” she questioned, stirring something around in a large, glass bowl.
“Fine,” I shrugged, not wanting to go into details about the day’s events. “I’m going to hang with Dylan later, okay?”
“Is he the boy who you met at the park who practically kidnapped you?”
“That’s him,” I confirmed, taking out a tub of cookie dough that happened to be sitting in my fridge.
“Liz! Don’t eat that!” my mom scolded upon seeing my snacking choice.
“Why not?” I demanded, slowly taking the circular lid off of the container.
“Because it’s unhealthy, and I’m more than sure that there are other ways to fulfill your hunger rather than eating sugar,” she explained.
“Organic sugar,” I corrected her after reading the label.
“I don’t care what type of sugar it is, please, put it away,” she requested.
“Whatever,” I sighed, sadly putting back the bucket of uncooked cookies into the fridge. I looked around the stuffed cooling system, and settled on having raspberries. She couldn’t complain about fruit.
“Are you going to be here for dinner, or are you and your friend getting it together?” she asked, as I plopped one of the small, brightly colored pieces of natural sweetness into my mouth.
“I don’t know,” I replied, taking my bowl of raspberries, about ready to leave the room.
“Then I’m getting takeout,” she proclaimed.
“You do that, mom,” I said, exiting the kitchen and trudging down the corridor to my room. I needed to change; the pink cupcake and white pants combo wasn’t working for me.
When I reached my room, I immediately put down my raspberries and then threw of my shoes, rubbing my aching feet. Heels were invented in hell. Once my feet were able to breath, I went over to my dresser, and pulled out a pair of charcoal sweats and a white T-shirt. I yanked the cupcake blouse off, and slipped on the more loose-fitting tee. Somehow, I then managed to wiggle out of the white jeans, and put on the cozy sweatpants. I felt like I could actually breathe.
I went over to my desk, turned on my laptop, and opened up iTunes. When my library appeared, I pressed shuffle, and started tapping my finger to my knee as the overplayed, unfortunately mainstream sound of Drake and Lil Wayne’s “The Motto” filled my ears. I was then ready for the grueling task of beginning to attempt my homework.
After a good hour of starring blankly at my computer screen mixed with typing a few words for an essay due next Monday, I heard a loud honk, and jolted up. It was undeniably Dylan. He had texted me during the last period of the day telling me that he would pick me up at my house “Whenever”. I guess five o’clock was what Dylan considered “Whenever”.
I violently shut my laptop, all music and activity on it instantly stopping. Quickly, I got up from my desk chair, and walked over to my mirror to see if I looked even somewhat presentable. The shirt I had thrown on before was a V-neck. My neon yellow sports bra was peaking out, and it didn’t help that the shirt was white. There was no time to change it, so I kept it on, and opened my closet, frantically searching for a pair of shoes to put on.
I grabbed the first shoes I found, which happened to be a pair of white and blue Jordans. They were nice shoes- old, scuffed up, and mainly for wearing around outside in gross weather. I didn’t care about the state of the shoes, though; Dylan was at my house, and I needed to go. Without another moment of hesitation, I pulled on the Jordans, picked up my phone, and ran out of my room.
“Liz! Are you going?” my mother called as I rushed through the hallway.
“Yeah!” I said, sprinting down the stairs until I reached the front door. I twisted the doorknob, pulling back the door, and exited the house once and for all.
As my feet thumped against the hard pavement, I could see Dylan’s washed out, rust-colored car parked in my driveway. I waved to him, and he returned the gesture by nodding his head. I came around the passenger’s side of the car, and drew the door open, climbing in.
“Hey, Turner,” Dylan greeted.
“Dylan,” I returned.
“You look hot, as always,” he complimented.
“I know,” I said rather conceitedly.
“And how do I look?” he prompted.
“Fine,” I shrugged.
“Come on, Liz, just ‘fine’? I don’t think so! I look hot!” he protested, backing out of my driveway.
“No, you don’t,” I disagreed indifferently.
“You’re right, I don’t, because I look clearly look like a sexy beast,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows so that I could see when looking up into the driver’s mirror.
“Sure, Dylan,” I laughed.
“You know it’s true,” he turned down a different street, as I had a hunch as to where we were going.
“Keep telling yourself that,” I yawned, taking in his appearance.
He had changed out of a black T-shirt from school, and into a white tank top that clung to his body like a second skin. On his legs was a pair of scuffed up jeans, and on his feet a pair of white Jordans. For the short period of time that I had known him, I found this overall look rather customary of his attire.
We rode in a comfortable muteness for the majority of the ride, until Dylan turned the radio on to some dumb pop station where the annoyingly catchy “Call Me Maybe” was playing. That song is just about the dumbest one I have ever heard. The worst part about it is once you’ve heard it, you can never un-hear it; it’s etched into your mind forever. It’s that one song that you can’t get out of your head… ever.
As dusk swept over the sky, turning it a light purple shade, Dylan came to a stop. We were in a place I had been to once before, also with him. As predicted, we were at the bridge.
“Shall we?” Dylan said, turning the car off, and unbuckling his seatbelt. Nodding silently, I did the same, and exited on my side.
I approached the gruff, concrete structure and followed Dylan’s lead as he effortlessly climbed up the side. Once I had ascended to the top, I looked for Dylan and saw him sitting on the edge of a train track with something in his hands.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the object in he was grasping as I sat down next to him, not caring in the slightest that my butt was probably going to get muddy due to the dirt on the tracks.
“A flask,” he answered bluntly, holding it out for me to see. In his hand was indeed a silver flask. “Want some?”
“What’s in it?” I questioned, not in the mood to get drunk because it was school night.
“Tequila,” he shrugged, unscrewing the lid and taking a swig. Suddenly, his apathetic demeanor changed into an excited one as he suggested, “Let’s play a game!”
“What game?” I inquired hesitantly.
“Never Have I Ever,” he replied immediately, smirking.
“Okay,” I said, vaguely remembering how to play the game. “On what terms?”
“Everything you’ve done you take a sip,” he shook the shiny bottle.
“You go first.”
He thought for a moment, before setting the bottle down in front of us. “Never have I ever… had a boyfriend.”
I stared at the bottle, the statement catching me off guard. I didn’t reach for the flask, truth being the prime component in this game. Dylan looked at me skeptically, and then laughed.
“What?” I questioned.
“You must really not like tequila,” he said.
“I was actually being honest,” I rolled my eyes, “that is the point of the game, right?”
“You’ve never had a boyfriend?” his eyebrows rose up in pure shock.
“Nope,” I said truthfully.
“You don’t… bat for the other team, do you?”
“No, Dylan,” I laughed, “I am indeed attracted to boys.”
“Like me,” he added.
“Yes, you are a boy.”
“No, I mean you’re attracted to guys like me,” he said, placing one of his hands on my knee.
“Guys like you?” I pushed his hand off my body.
“Yeah, sexy, Jordan wearing boys whose names happen to be Dylan Collins,” he explained smugly.
“In your dreams!” I pushed his shoulder playfully.
“It’s your turn,” he said.
I nodded, wondering what on earth I hadn’t done that Dylan most certainly had. “Never have I ever… had sex,” I said quietly, waiting to see Dylan’s response to me admitting to be a virgin.
“Liz! Stop lying!” he cried, grasping for the bottle, and taking a short sip.
“I’m not,” I said simply.
“You, the hottest girl on this earth, have never had sex before? Damn, there must be something wrong with the universe…” he shook his head. “If you’d like, I can change that.”
On instinct, I punched his shoulder, immediately regretted it. “I’m so sorry!” I apologized quickly.
“Geez, Liz, you got some arm!” he complimented (Well, at least I took it as a compliment), rubbing the area my fist had grazed against.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I asked, grabbing his arm to see if I had indeed done some serious damage. As I was inspecting his shoulder, his other hand snaked behind my waist, crashing me into him. “Hey!”
“You’re cute, you know that?” he smiled, as our eyes connected with each other’s. “Liz, you couldn’t hurt a fly.” It stung when he said that, and my gut reaction was to show him how wrong he was. Alas, beating Dylan up wouldn’t be beneficial for the long term, so I sought against it.
“It’s your turn,” I mumbled, attempting to get out of his tight grasp.
“Never have I ever,” he paused, contemplating his next few words, “smoked pot.”
Tentatively, I lifted up the flask and brought it to my mouth, taking a small sip. As the sharp liquid dripped down my throat, I remembered why I hated this game. Once I had finished, I threw the bottle to the ground, watching it tumble to the weeds and small spouts of grass. Then, Dylan picked up the bottle, and took another mouthful.
“I thought the point of this game was to name things we haven’t done,” I said in response to his actions.
“It is, I just wanted to know if you’ve done drugs,” he said casually.
“Well, I have,” I said, still struggling to elude his arms around my waist.
“Where?” he questioned.
“California. I was at a friend’s house, the stuff belonged to his older brother, a few of us tried it, got high, and vowed to never do it again,” I told, ceasing to fight off his clench any longer, and giving into the awkward position that we were in. “What about you?”
“I was at an old friend’s house, I got it from a guy at school, and the two of us tried it. I hated it, and I wish I could say the same for he,” he said, the last part sounding a tad bit on the sarcastic side.
“Mhmmm… Never have I ever kissed anybody,” I said, resuming the game.
Without an ounce of hesitation, he drank the strong alcohol yet again, and gaped at me in disbelief. “This one, I’m more than positive you’re lying about.”
“Yeah, you’re right, I am,” I laughed, taking the flask from him and drawing it up to my mouth, not wanting to taste what was bound to trickle into my taste buds.
“A girl like you never having been kissed is truly ridiculous,” he muttered, shifting me in his arms so that I was practically sitting on top of him, my head resting on his chest. It was a nice feeling, and made me feel, almost… safe.
“You’re turn,” I said, not wanting to dwell much on the kissing topic.
“Never have I ever… fallen for my best friend,” he said, causing me to freeze both physically and mentally. All that I could see was the distant memory playing out in my head…
“You’re never going to find love, Liz!” Lance laughed evilly. “Who in the world would ever love you? Hell, who would you ever love?”
“Justin,” I said quietly, trying to hold back the tears. Crying was a sign of weakness- something I couldn’t afford at this point.
“Justin? Seriously? He doesn’t care about you, and he certainly doesn’t love you! After all, you’re not really a girl,” he said tauntingly.
My fingers curled up into tight fists, as the only emotion I could portray that was acceptable happened to be anger. I drew my arm back, about to swing a punch, when I felt someone grasp my wrist. “What the-”
“Shut. Up,” a strong voice I knew well said behind me through clenched teeth. At first, I thought he was addressing me, but then the boy standing in front of me quivered slightly.
“I can stand up for myself,” I muttered to my best friend.
“No, you can’t!” Lance interjected, hearing my quiet words.
“One day, I will kill you in your sleep!” I threatened heatedly.
“I’d like to see you try!” he challenged, snorting.
“Physical violence is never the answer,” Justin informed me calmly. “Lance, go.”
“Look at that, Justin saving the day again! How sweet!” Lance sneered, walking away from us.
Once I was sure he was out of earshot and sight, I let a single tear trickle down my face, hating myself for reacting so severely to a boy I loathed. If trying to get me to break was his goal, he had succeeded. I felt dejected.
“Did-did you hear what we were talking about?” I asked Justin timidly. He nodded silently, not uttering a word.
“Is it true?” he questioned.
“Is what true?” I gulped.
“Do you love me?” It was my turn to nod in taciturnity, waiting for an answer. “Let’s, just, like, go, uh, play ball,” he fragmentally offered, not saying anything in regards to what I had wordlessly admitted.
It wasn’t like in the movies when the girl tells the boy that she loves him and he swings her around in a circle, kissing her, and ending in a happily ever after. No, this wasn’t some fairytale- it was the harsh reality of life. Movies were fiction; nothing more than the ideal outcome of a brutal situation. Honestly, what did I expect? He was my best friend. Besides, I didn’t even know what love was…
“Liz!” Dylan said loudly, shaking my shoulders as I slowly jolted out of the not so fond recollection. “Are you okay?”
“Y-yeah,” I said shakily, taking the container of alcohol and drawing it up to my lips. I took two gulps of the unpleasant liquid, and placed it back to the ground.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Dylan said quietly.
“I know, which is why I don’t intend on telling you,” I said harshly.
“Your turn,” he mumbled.
I took a deep breath before thinking up a lighter, less love intense topic to bring up. “Never have I ever been arrested.” I waited as Dylan’s arm outstretched for the bottle cautiously, before taking a drink. To be honest, I wasn’t surprised. “How many times?”
“Two,” he said proudly as if we were counting the number of Girl Scout badges we had.
“Why?” was my next question.
“The first time was for underage drinking, and the second for speeding. In both cases the cops didn’t like me,” he shared.
“Shocker,” I muttered.
“Isn’t it? I’m so charming, attractive, and not to mention responsible!”
“You forgot humble,” I laughed lightly.
“Yeah, that too,” he agreed. “Can I ask you a question, Liz?”
“Shoot,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder as I looked up at the now completely blackened sky, only illuminated slightly by the splattered stars placed randomly about.
“Why do you wear Jordans?” he asked surprisingly.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged, the question seeming a bit odd.
“Well, there has to be a reason,” he said, continuing to go on about the unwanted subject.
“Nah, not really,” I said too quickly.
“Okay,” he dropped it. “I have a good one: Never have I ever kissed someone on train tracks.”
I furrowed my face, confused, when I felt something collide with my face- my lips more precisely. Before I could comprehend what was occurring, a sweet, tequila-like with a hint of pizza taste entered my mouth. My lips didn’t move, as I was in shock at what was happening. Hell, it took me a whole fucking five seconds to realize that Dylan was indeed kissing me.
One of his hands snaked around my waist as the other tangled itself in my hair. Tentatively, I put my hands around the back of his neck, causing him to press closer into me. As his tongue sought entrance into my mouth, I knew it was time to stop before things went too far. I was buzzed, at night, on top of a fucking bridge, in the middle of nowhere, near no one, with a boy I knew very little about- do the math.
“What the fuck? Never do that again!” I exclaimed, my lips tingling as I pushed away from him.
“Just giving you the chance to get drunk,” he shrugged.
“How considerate.”
“Now you’ve kissed someone on train tracks,” he said happily.
“Whoopee,” I deadpanned. “Why’d you do it?”
“You know how you asked if I was jealous about you going to that stupid dance with Wilson?” I nodded. “I lied.”
“So, the thought of Eric’s lips on mine, and his hands on waist, bothers you?” I asked, scrunching my eyebrows in pure amusement.
“Just a tad bit,” he said, trying to shake it off.
“Why the kiss?”
“So, that when you do eventually kiss Wilson, which I have no doubt you will, you’ll be thinking of me, and what a crappy kisser he is compared to me,” he said smugly.
“Speaking from experience?” I poked. “Besides, who’s to say I haven’t already kissed him?”
“Believe me, you haven’t. If you did, not only I would know, but the whole damn universe would,” he laughed dryly.
“I don’t think Eric’s that type of person,” I said, taking a sip from the flask, not caring that it was part of the game. I was already a little buzzed, so why not go all the way?
“You clearly don’t know Eric Wilson then,” he scoffed.
“And you do?” I retorted.
“Better than most,” he said reminiscently, with a hint of guilt portrayed in his voice.
“Well, I don’t know either of you for that matter, Mr. Collins,” I said, thinking about how I truly knew very little about the boy who had kissed me minutes before.
“And I don’t know you,” he said.
“You’re right, you don’t,” I laughed incredibly honestly. No one truly knew me - well, at least, the real me.