Black. Mahogany. Skittering leaves and paper burning. Lust. Passion. Heartache. Power.
Isaac presses the stop button and turns off the microphone. Every rational emotion has been siphoned through my fingers into the music. I’m a deflated vessel.
The sun disappears over the horizon, the sky an interesting pool of pink, orange, and periwinkle. It’s a sign. For me. The sun knows what I just accomplished, and it approves. I don’t believe in psychics and all that nonsense, but I do believe tonight’s dreamy sunset is a message. I surprise myself with this optimism and confidence. I feel… good . Cocky? In control.
“A penny for your thoughts?” Isaac’s question breaks the silence. He sits with his chin in his hand, like Rodin’s “The Thinker.”
I give a soft laugh. “I think…I’m going to get in.”
He chuckles. “That’s my girl.”
“Your girl?” I arch an eyebrow.
It’s cute to see a grown man blush . I like it . I know he probably didn’t mean anything by it, but now’s my chance. A door opened just a crack and I will totally walk through it, to hell with the consequences.
In one smooth motion, I rise from the bench and step in front of Isaac, who still slouches on the loveseat. He sits up straight and tilts his head back to look at me. I take a huge risk in crowding his personal space when my knees brush the insides of his thighs. I take an even bigger risk when I ask him a question.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I was your girl?”
I don’t know where this intoxicating confidence comes from, but I need to bottle it. His eyes glass over, and he doesn’t say no. Instead, he reaches up with his right hand and trails a finger along my jaw from ear to chin. I don’t expect an answer, so I don’t wait for one. I slip out of the studio and discover I’ve got a new little wiggle in my walk. Before I shut the back door, I take one last peek.
Isaac has his head in his hands.
***
I don’t need scissors anymore. It’s been weeks, and my arms have healed nicely. Because I don’t cut deeply, there are hardly any scars. And now that I know I really have Isaac’s attention, and possibly Dave’s, it’s like a whole new world has opened up. Now I know why R.J. keeps warning me, why Daddy wonders what “goes on in there.” I didn’t think it was possible, but it is.
I’m not as hideous as I thought.
I spend a ridiculous amount of time at school in a daydream. I analyze the evidence, over and over. Until now, most of my feedback has come from Mama. According to her, I’m too tall, my hair is too curly, too red, and I’m too curvy. Translation: I’m a red-headed Amazon freak.
Now I’ve been flirted with by two hot guys , and when I came on to Isaac, he definitely responded.
Let’s take this for a test drive.
I sit in A.P. Government with all the other brains, and honestly, there’s no one here I want as a test subject. Besides, I’ve known most of them too long. It’d be weird—they’ve seen me with braces, monthly acne, and knobby knees.
Except for him. He stands at the front of the room delivering a lecture on neo-conservatism. Mr. Nelson looks about Isaac’s age, though time hasn’t been as kind. He shaves his head, not to be tough but because his hair has receded past his ears. He’s not ugly, though he’s let himself slide right into middle age. There’s no wedding band on his left hand, but I’m certain he’s straight.
Perfect.
I don’t have a plan, so I wing it. It’s not like I’ve done this before. I start by making eye contact. He notices right away. I’m usually hunched over my desk, furiously scribbling notes. I smile the next time he looks my way. He smiles back, but continues his lecture without missing a beat. Under my desk, I cross my legs, which are so long I have to angle them out into the aisle a bit. The standard-issue uniform skirt may fit most girls, but on me it’s almost a micro-mini. For once, I’m not annoyed and don’t tug
Isaac presses the stop button and turns off the microphone. Every rational emotion has been siphoned through my fingers into the music. I’m a deflated vessel.
The sun disappears over the horizon, the sky an interesting pool of pink, orange, and periwinkle. It’s a sign. For me. The sun knows what I just accomplished, and it approves. I don’t believe in psychics and all that nonsense, but I do believe tonight’s dreamy sunset is a message. I surprise myself with this optimism and confidence. I feel… good . Cocky? In control.
“A penny for your thoughts?” Isaac’s question breaks the silence. He sits with his chin in his hand, like Rodin’s “The Thinker.”
I give a soft laugh. “I think…I’m going to get in.”
He chuckles. “That’s my girl.”
“Your girl?” I arch an eyebrow.
It’s cute to see a grown man blush . I like it . I know he probably didn’t mean anything by it, but now’s my chance. A door opened just a crack and I will totally walk through it, to hell with the consequences.
In one smooth motion, I rise from the bench and step in front of Isaac, who still slouches on the loveseat. He sits up straight and tilts his head back to look at me. I take a huge risk in crowding his personal space when my knees brush the insides of his thighs. I take an even bigger risk when I ask him a question.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I was your girl?”
I don’t know where this intoxicating confidence comes from, but I need to bottle it. His eyes glass over, and he doesn’t say no. Instead, he reaches up with his right hand and trails a finger along my jaw from ear to chin. I don’t expect an answer, so I don’t wait for one. I slip out of the studio and discover I’ve got a new little wiggle in my walk. Before I shut the back door, I take one last peek.
Isaac has his head in his hands.
***
I don’t need scissors anymore. It’s been weeks, and my arms have healed nicely. Because I don’t cut deeply, there are hardly any scars. And now that I know I really have Isaac’s attention, and possibly Dave’s, it’s like a whole new world has opened up. Now I know why R.J. keeps warning me, why Daddy wonders what “goes on in there.” I didn’t think it was possible, but it is.
I’m not as hideous as I thought.
I spend a ridiculous amount of time at school in a daydream. I analyze the evidence, over and over. Until now, most of my feedback has come from Mama. According to her, I’m too tall, my hair is too curly, too red, and I’m too curvy. Translation: I’m a red-headed Amazon freak.
Now I’ve been flirted with by two hot guys , and when I came on to Isaac, he definitely responded.
Let’s take this for a test drive.
I sit in A.P. Government with all the other brains, and honestly, there’s no one here I want as a test subject. Besides, I’ve known most of them too long. It’d be weird—they’ve seen me with braces, monthly acne, and knobby knees.
Except for him. He stands at the front of the room delivering a lecture on neo-conservatism. Mr. Nelson looks about Isaac’s age, though time hasn’t been as kind. He shaves his head, not to be tough but because his hair has receded past his ears. He’s not ugly, though he’s let himself slide right into middle age. There’s no wedding band on his left hand, but I’m certain he’s straight.
Perfect.
I don’t have a plan, so I wing it. It’s not like I’ve done this before. I start by making eye contact. He notices right away. I’m usually hunched over my desk, furiously scribbling notes. I smile the next time he looks my way. He smiles back, but continues his lecture without missing a beat. Under my desk, I cross my legs, which are so long I have to angle them out into the aisle a bit. The standard-issue uniform skirt may fit most girls, but on me it’s almost a micro-mini. For once, I’m not annoyed and don’t tug
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