that took us right by Heritage High School and the other big landmarks in town— big being a relative term.
“So,” Blake said, his voice thick with innuendo, “we heard you took a little gamble today in the lunchroom.”
I said nothing. I just kept on driving, with both hands on the wheel.
“Laine Phillips,” Bruce said, picking up the cues from his brother. “Wow. Aim high.”
My hands tightened on the leather wheel, but again, I said nothing as I stopped at a four-way stop about four blocks from the school. The stares and whispered comments from the rest of the school had been more than enough warning about this conversation.
“Dude, the least you can do is turn up the radio,” Blake complained. He reached over from his place in the front passenger seat and twisted the dial. Jay-Z’s voice blasted through the speakers of the car. He raised his voice. “Anyway. Laine. Interesting.”
“Not that interesting.”
I drove the car through the intersection, and past a few quiet streets lined with brick homes built in the 1940s. I liked these houses because they reminded me of the one I grew up in, back before Dad got sick and before Mom “reconnected” with David. And before, of course, I got stuck living with the two trollops who’d hated me all through elementary school, and who now loved to pick on me for being smarter than them. Six months to go; at the most. Six months to go, and I’d be away from this snobby little town, the terrible twins, and a suburban mindset I could never understand. By the fall, I’d live in Charlottesville, Virginia, and study at one of the best schools in the country. Six months wasn’t really that long.
Even though sometimes it seemed like six months would take longer to pass than ten years.
“She doesn’t like you that way,” Bruce said, as we passed St. Margaret’s Catholic Church. “She doesn’t. You’re not her type.”
“Who is her type?”
Bruce snorted. “Not you. Not anyone like you.”
“She just feels bad for you,” Blake added as I turned the car onto Ammunition Ridge. “And she’s too nice to say anything. That’s how Laine Phillips is. She’s too nice.”
Chapter Seven
––––––––
S ATURDAY, MARCH 2
––––––––
I REHEARSED THE phone call twelve times before I made it: five times in the shower, four in front of the bathroom mirror, twice while I ran on the treadmill in the workout room, and once more as I scrubbed the tiles on the kitchen floor on Saturday morning.
True to her promise, Laine had sent me her phone number; she sent it right after class on Friday. The 3:25 time stamp made me grin. She did want to hang out. Blake, Bruce, and those asshats at my school were wrong. Not that I really expected them to be right. They didn’t have many brain cells, and struggled to name all fifty states on the map.
Sitting on my bed, I dialed her number and then counted the rings: One. Two. Three. Four. Then, just when I thought she’d send me to voicemail, she picked up the phone.
“Hey, hello?”
I pulled the phone to my ear. “Laine. Hey.”
“What’s up?” She sounded out of breath.
“Are you, are you okay?” I lay back on the bed and willed my heart to stop pounding, and for thoughts about how she’d look naked to get out of my head. Focus. I needed to focus. I couldn’t let her sexy voice distract me, no matter how much I wanted it to.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just finished a hot yoga class.”
“Hot yoga?”
She laughed. “Yeah, ninety minutes doing yoga in a studio at two hundred degrees. So I don’t get fat.”
“Like I told you before, you don’t need to worry about that.”
When she laughed again, as if she didn’t believe me, I put my hand over my eyes. I needed to get this conversation back on track right away. This wasn’t how I had envisioned it would start.
“Listen, so, um, I thought if you still wanted to hang out that might be kind of fun,” I said after a moment, hoping I
“So,” Blake said, his voice thick with innuendo, “we heard you took a little gamble today in the lunchroom.”
I said nothing. I just kept on driving, with both hands on the wheel.
“Laine Phillips,” Bruce said, picking up the cues from his brother. “Wow. Aim high.”
My hands tightened on the leather wheel, but again, I said nothing as I stopped at a four-way stop about four blocks from the school. The stares and whispered comments from the rest of the school had been more than enough warning about this conversation.
“Dude, the least you can do is turn up the radio,” Blake complained. He reached over from his place in the front passenger seat and twisted the dial. Jay-Z’s voice blasted through the speakers of the car. He raised his voice. “Anyway. Laine. Interesting.”
“Not that interesting.”
I drove the car through the intersection, and past a few quiet streets lined with brick homes built in the 1940s. I liked these houses because they reminded me of the one I grew up in, back before Dad got sick and before Mom “reconnected” with David. And before, of course, I got stuck living with the two trollops who’d hated me all through elementary school, and who now loved to pick on me for being smarter than them. Six months to go; at the most. Six months to go, and I’d be away from this snobby little town, the terrible twins, and a suburban mindset I could never understand. By the fall, I’d live in Charlottesville, Virginia, and study at one of the best schools in the country. Six months wasn’t really that long.
Even though sometimes it seemed like six months would take longer to pass than ten years.
“She doesn’t like you that way,” Bruce said, as we passed St. Margaret’s Catholic Church. “She doesn’t. You’re not her type.”
“Who is her type?”
Bruce snorted. “Not you. Not anyone like you.”
“She just feels bad for you,” Blake added as I turned the car onto Ammunition Ridge. “And she’s too nice to say anything. That’s how Laine Phillips is. She’s too nice.”
Chapter Seven
––––––––
S ATURDAY, MARCH 2
––––––––
I REHEARSED THE phone call twelve times before I made it: five times in the shower, four in front of the bathroom mirror, twice while I ran on the treadmill in the workout room, and once more as I scrubbed the tiles on the kitchen floor on Saturday morning.
True to her promise, Laine had sent me her phone number; she sent it right after class on Friday. The 3:25 time stamp made me grin. She did want to hang out. Blake, Bruce, and those asshats at my school were wrong. Not that I really expected them to be right. They didn’t have many brain cells, and struggled to name all fifty states on the map.
Sitting on my bed, I dialed her number and then counted the rings: One. Two. Three. Four. Then, just when I thought she’d send me to voicemail, she picked up the phone.
“Hey, hello?”
I pulled the phone to my ear. “Laine. Hey.”
“What’s up?” She sounded out of breath.
“Are you, are you okay?” I lay back on the bed and willed my heart to stop pounding, and for thoughts about how she’d look naked to get out of my head. Focus. I needed to focus. I couldn’t let her sexy voice distract me, no matter how much I wanted it to.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just finished a hot yoga class.”
“Hot yoga?”
She laughed. “Yeah, ninety minutes doing yoga in a studio at two hundred degrees. So I don’t get fat.”
“Like I told you before, you don’t need to worry about that.”
When she laughed again, as if she didn’t believe me, I put my hand over my eyes. I needed to get this conversation back on track right away. This wasn’t how I had envisioned it would start.
“Listen, so, um, I thought if you still wanted to hang out that might be kind of fun,” I said after a moment, hoping I
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