“Travis! You’re going to be late!”
“Jesus Christ, Mom, I’m right here,” I say. Mom spins around, and her briefcase knocks into the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter, sending it spiraling towards the edge. I reach past her and grab it.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were still in bed,” she says.
“I figured,” I say. I put the bowl back in the center of the counter and climb up onto one of the barstools.
“I’m going to be late if I don’t leave right now, so…” She pauses, thinking, then clasps her hands in a business-like manner. “Don’t forget to take your medication. It’s in the cabinet, and you know not to eat it on an empty stomach, right? Right. Get a ride to school with Garen, he has his own car. He can give you a ride home too. I won’t be back until around eight thirty, and Bill won’t be back until late.”
“Tragedy,” I mutter.
“Travis,” Mom says warningly. I kick the leg of the barstool and raise my eyebrows to signal her to continue. “Do your homework as soon as you get home. Don’t fight with your sister. Or Garen.”
“Mom, I’ve done the ‘home alone’ thing before. I get how it works,” I say. Mom laughs and picks up her briefcase again.
“I know. Make sure Garen is up soon? He needs to be ready in time to leave,” she says, and she’s gone with a few clicks of her heels against the tile and the slam of the door. I get my pills out of the bottle in the cabinet and set them down next to the fruit bowl. I peel one of the oranges slowly. I hate eating breakfast, but I can’t take the meds on an empty stomach, and my mom and my doctor are always trying to find some new self-destructive hobby of mine. A skipped meal is anorexia, a paper cut is self mutilation. I separate the orange into sections and am biting into the first one when the sound of feet clomping down the stairs announces Garen’s arrival. As if to make sure I know he’s there, he hops up onto the counter and positions his feet on it right next to my food, then selects an apple from the bowl before kicking it out of the way. It teeters on the edge of the counter for a moment before toppling over the side and onto the floor.
“That was really intelligent,” I remark. Garen smiles without comment and bites into the apple. I get up and get myself a glass of water from the faucet. I take another bite of the orange, then swallow the pills with a mouthful of water. I drop the remaining sections of the orange into the trash can and sit back down in front of Garen.
“Mom and Bill are already gone, and Bree goes to the magnet school two towns over, so she had to leave twenty minutes ago. Mom says to get a ride from you,” I say. Garen snorts.
“Brotherly bonding. Nice. Well, I’ll be upstairs. Call me when you’re ready to go,” he says. He hops off the counter and pauses by the kitchen door. “Literally call me. I won’t hear you over my music if you just yell.”
“But you’ll magically hear your cell phone?” I say, raising my eyebrows. Garen walks back to me and slaps his phone against my stomach and presses a button on the side. It vibrates and he quirks an eyebrow at me. I step back and he puts the phone back in his pocket.
“I don’t have your number,” I say. “I’ll just come up and get you.”
Garen grabs a marker out of the jar on the counter and uncaps it. He grabs my arm and before I can stop him, scrawls his cell phone number down the length of my forearm.
“Oh, thanks for that,” I snap.
“It’ll wash off eventually,” he says with a shrug before disappearing upstairs. I sit back down at the counter and take out my Microbiology textbook. I have a test second period. I studied for four hours last night, and I know I’ll ace it, but that doesn’t stop the mind-numbing panic. It happens whenever I have to do something I have a possibility of failing at; track, school, relationships. Basically everything. The meds are supposed to help, but they don’t. That’s why every morning I end up just like this. Sitting in my kitchen studying my ass off for something I know I can do. Mom calls is ambitious. Bree calls it psychotic. I’m not sure which I agree with.
After ten more minutes, I check my watch. Seven thirty. I unzip my backpack and pull out my cell phone. Dial in the number, wait.
“Hello?”
“You say that like you think it might be somebody else. How many people do you have calling you at seven thirty in the morning?” I ask.
“You’d be surprised. Time to go?” Garen says.
“Yeah. Hurry up. I’ve got a test second period, and study hall first. I wanna use all my time to study, so I can’t be late,” I say. My stomach churns just thinking about it, and I hang up. A few seconds later, Garen pounds down the stairs and out the front door. I follow him, locking it behind me, and get into the passenger side of his car. A cherry red Ferrari Testarossa. My dad bought one in black a few years ago as his mid-life crisis fuckmobile. I decide not to mention this, partially because Garen doesn’t need to know, and partially because I desperately do not want to mention a car exactly like this being a fuckmobile. Not while I’m in it, and not with Garen.
“Oh, and just so you have fair warning? If you touch the stereo, I will cut off your hands. And I’m serious,” Garen says. I look at him. He looks back, his face perfectly neutral.
“Fine. I don’t really listen to much music anyway,” I say. The neutrality is gone in a second, replaced by shock, then repulsion.
“What?” he demands. I shrug.
“I don’t have time. Between school, track, work, therapy, and homework, I don’t have time to do anything else,” I say. Slowly, Garen appears to calm down, shifting the car into reverse and twisting to check for traffic. He backs out, then turns back forward, eyebrows raised.
“You realize that makes you a freak, right?” he says. I laugh. I can’t help it.
“Yeah,” I say. I pause a second, then decide to go for it. “I can’t drive either,” I add. Garen stops the car right in the middle of the road and puts it in park.
“Please tell me you’re joking,” he says. I laugh again and shake my head.
“Dead serious,” I say.
“You don’t even have a permit?” he asks. I shake my head again. “Dude, you turn seventeen in a month. That’s just weird.”
“How’d you know that?” I ask.
“I’m stalking you,” he explains.
“Seriously. Tell me,” I say. He shrugs.
“Dad told me last night. He was saying how I have to buy you a present. You know, I was thinking I’d get you strippers or something, but now I think I’m going to have to get you a life. Or at least an iPod. Something,” he says.
“Oh, that’s really generous. I always wanted a life,” I say.
“You say that like you’re joking,” he says with his brow furrowed. I punch his arm.
“Fuck you.”
Garen is silent for a moment. Then he cocks his head to the side, blinks, and unbuckles and gets out.
“Um… Garen? Just out of curiosity, are you stoned? ’Cause you know you have to be in the car to drive it,” I say.
“I’m not driving it. You are. Get in the other seat,” he says.
“I can’t. I don’t even have a permit,” I say. But even as I’m saying it, I unbuckle and slide over into the driver’s seat. I shut the door and buckle the seatbelt. Garen climbs in next to me and does the same.
“Okay. Hands at ten and two,” he says, shifting my hands on the wheel into the right place. “Now, step on the break. It’s on the left.”
“I know that. I’m not retarded. I just can’t drive,” I say.
“Shut up and listen, or you’ll crash the car and we’ll both die and you’ll never get to take your test. Step on the break and shift it into drive,” Garen instructs. I do it slowly, then release the break. The car eases forward slightly.
“Okay, step on the gas,” he says. I slowly press my foot down, and the car moves forward more. Shit shit shit it’s moving. I slam on the break, put the car in park, and fold my hands in my lap. Garen bursts out laughing.
“Shut up!” I say. He manages to get his laughter under control and reaches over and puts my hands back on the wheel.
“Come on. You have to do it, or we’re not getting to school,” he says. I slowly shift back into drive and ease forward. “Alright, more gas,” Garen says. I move my foot down almost imperceptibly, then a little more. We speed up slightly. After another few tiny applications of pressure, I have us going at twenty-five miles per hour. I thank God that there aren’t many corners on the way to school, because every time I have to use the turn signal, I panic and Garen laughs. When we finally pull into the parking lot, I put the car in park right in the middle of the parking lot and unbuckle.
“There’s no way in hell I can actually park like I have a brain, so you do it,” I say. Garen unbuckles and we awkwardly climb over each other to switch seats. Garen puts the car in drive and parks it smoothly.
“It’s not that hard. Come on, you did it every time we had to do a corner,” he says.
“Shut up, I didn’t park. I just… stopped. Which you’re supposed to do anyway,” I protest.
“For two minutes?” Garen says. I open my door and get out. Once Garen is out and the car is locked, I nod to him.
“Thanks. For uh, letting me drive,” I say. He grins.
“I think of it as my responsibility. See,” he throws an arm over my shoulder and starts to head towards the school, “I’m a lot cooler than you, Travis. I know this may come as a shock, because I’m sure you’re pretty bitchin’ by Lakewood standards, but that’s not saying much. I, however--”
“Need to go fuck yourself. Don’t you have to go to the office?” I ask.
“Yep. I have to get my schedule. And then have my schedule changed, because they probably stuck me in the worst classes here,” he says.
“I bet you’ve got fifth period Home Ec. There are three ovens, but one doesn’t work at all and the blue one catches on fire if you turn it on. They put the new kids in that class because they think they won’t complain in their first week, and after that if you go to them, they tell you to stick it out,” I say.
“I was actually hoping for a music elective,” he says.
“Tough shit. They’re sticking you in Home Ec,” I say. And then it happens.
Garen’s arm, still draped over my shoulders, pulls me a little closer as he leans in so close that his lips are actually touching my ear and whispers, “Lucky for you, I look good in an apron.”
My entire body freezes up. I have no idea what to do, and my mind is blaring at me to push him off of me, but I can’t. He’s a guy, my brain screams. His dad is dating your mom andhe’s like your almost-stepbrother and he’s a guy and his lips are on your ear. And suddenly it’s not his lips anymore because those are definitely his teeth on my earlobe. Garen Anderson is nibbling on my ear right in front of the main office at school. Oh my fucking god.
And then he’s gone, walking into the office like nothing happened, leaning down to talk to the secretary, all smiles and cordiality. I stand there, frozen, watching him through the office window for at least three minutes. Fuck. Pull it together, Travis. I blink, then look quickly around. No one is watching me, no one is staring. No one saw. I head for my locker, drop off my backpack and sweatshirt. His number is still scrawled across my arm. I stare at it for a second, then yank my sweatshirt back on and head to study.
Study. Second period. The test.
Fuck.
“Jesus Christ, Mom, I’m right here,” I say. Mom spins around, and her briefcase knocks into the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter, sending it spiraling towards the edge. I reach past her and grab it.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were still in bed,” she says.
“I figured,” I say. I put the bowl back in the center of the counter and climb up onto one of the barstools.
“I’m going to be late if I don’t leave right now, so…” She pauses, thinking, then clasps her hands in a business-like manner. “Don’t forget to take your medication. It’s in the cabinet, and you know not to eat it on an empty stomach, right? Right. Get a ride to school with Garen, he has his own car. He can give you a ride home too. I won’t be back until around eight thirty, and Bill won’t be back until late.”
“Tragedy,” I mutter.
“Travis,” Mom says warningly. I kick the leg of the barstool and raise my eyebrows to signal her to continue. “Do your homework as soon as you get home. Don’t fight with your sister. Or Garen.”
“Mom, I’ve done the ‘home alone’ thing before. I get how it works,” I say. Mom laughs and picks up her briefcase again.
“I know. Make sure Garen is up soon? He needs to be ready in time to leave,” she says, and she’s gone with a few clicks of her heels against the tile and the slam of the door. I get my pills out of the bottle in the cabinet and set them down next to the fruit bowl. I peel one of the oranges slowly. I hate eating breakfast, but I can’t take the meds on an empty stomach, and my mom and my doctor are always trying to find some new self-destructive hobby of mine. A skipped meal is anorexia, a paper cut is self mutilation. I separate the orange into sections and am biting into the first one when the sound of feet clomping down the stairs announces Garen’s arrival. As if to make sure I know he’s there, he hops up onto the counter and positions his feet on it right next to my food, then selects an apple from the bowl before kicking it out of the way. It teeters on the edge of the counter for a moment before toppling over the side and onto the floor.
“That was really intelligent,” I remark. Garen smiles without comment and bites into the apple. I get up and get myself a glass of water from the faucet. I take another bite of the orange, then swallow the pills with a mouthful of water. I drop the remaining sections of the orange into the trash can and sit back down in front of Garen.
“Mom and Bill are already gone, and Bree goes to the magnet school two towns over, so she had to leave twenty minutes ago. Mom says to get a ride from you,” I say. Garen snorts.
“Brotherly bonding. Nice. Well, I’ll be upstairs. Call me when you’re ready to go,” he says. He hops off the counter and pauses by the kitchen door. “Literally call me. I won’t hear you over my music if you just yell.”
“But you’ll magically hear your cell phone?” I say, raising my eyebrows. Garen walks back to me and slaps his phone against my stomach and presses a button on the side. It vibrates and he quirks an eyebrow at me. I step back and he puts the phone back in his pocket.
“I don’t have your number,” I say. “I’ll just come up and get you.”
Garen grabs a marker out of the jar on the counter and uncaps it. He grabs my arm and before I can stop him, scrawls his cell phone number down the length of my forearm.
“Oh, thanks for that,” I snap.
“It’ll wash off eventually,” he says with a shrug before disappearing upstairs. I sit back down at the counter and take out my Microbiology textbook. I have a test second period. I studied for four hours last night, and I know I’ll ace it, but that doesn’t stop the mind-numbing panic. It happens whenever I have to do something I have a possibility of failing at; track, school, relationships. Basically everything. The meds are supposed to help, but they don’t. That’s why every morning I end up just like this. Sitting in my kitchen studying my ass off for something I know I can do. Mom calls is ambitious. Bree calls it psychotic. I’m not sure which I agree with.
After ten more minutes, I check my watch. Seven thirty. I unzip my backpack and pull out my cell phone. Dial in the number, wait.
“Hello?”
“You say that like you think it might be somebody else. How many people do you have calling you at seven thirty in the morning?” I ask.
“You’d be surprised. Time to go?” Garen says.
“Yeah. Hurry up. I’ve got a test second period, and study hall first. I wanna use all my time to study, so I can’t be late,” I say. My stomach churns just thinking about it, and I hang up. A few seconds later, Garen pounds down the stairs and out the front door. I follow him, locking it behind me, and get into the passenger side of his car. A cherry red Ferrari Testarossa. My dad bought one in black a few years ago as his mid-life crisis fuckmobile. I decide not to mention this, partially because Garen doesn’t need to know, and partially because I desperately do not want to mention a car exactly like this being a fuckmobile. Not while I’m in it, and not with Garen.
“Oh, and just so you have fair warning? If you touch the stereo, I will cut off your hands. And I’m serious,” Garen says. I look at him. He looks back, his face perfectly neutral.
“Fine. I don’t really listen to much music anyway,” I say. The neutrality is gone in a second, replaced by shock, then repulsion.
“What?” he demands. I shrug.
“I don’t have time. Between school, track, work, therapy, and homework, I don’t have time to do anything else,” I say. Slowly, Garen appears to calm down, shifting the car into reverse and twisting to check for traffic. He backs out, then turns back forward, eyebrows raised.
“You realize that makes you a freak, right?” he says. I laugh. I can’t help it.
“Yeah,” I say. I pause a second, then decide to go for it. “I can’t drive either,” I add. Garen stops the car right in the middle of the road and puts it in park.
“Please tell me you’re joking,” he says. I laugh again and shake my head.
“Dead serious,” I say.
“You don’t even have a permit?” he asks. I shake my head again. “Dude, you turn seventeen in a month. That’s just weird.”
“How’d you know that?” I ask.
“I’m stalking you,” he explains.
“Seriously. Tell me,” I say. He shrugs.
“Dad told me last night. He was saying how I have to buy you a present. You know, I was thinking I’d get you strippers or something, but now I think I’m going to have to get you a life. Or at least an iPod. Something,” he says.
“Oh, that’s really generous. I always wanted a life,” I say.
“You say that like you’re joking,” he says with his brow furrowed. I punch his arm.
“Fuck you.”
Garen is silent for a moment. Then he cocks his head to the side, blinks, and unbuckles and gets out.
“Um… Garen? Just out of curiosity, are you stoned? ’Cause you know you have to be in the car to drive it,” I say.
“I’m not driving it. You are. Get in the other seat,” he says.
“I can’t. I don’t even have a permit,” I say. But even as I’m saying it, I unbuckle and slide over into the driver’s seat. I shut the door and buckle the seatbelt. Garen climbs in next to me and does the same.
“Okay. Hands at ten and two,” he says, shifting my hands on the wheel into the right place. “Now, step on the break. It’s on the left.”
“I know that. I’m not retarded. I just can’t drive,” I say.
“Shut up and listen, or you’ll crash the car and we’ll both die and you’ll never get to take your test. Step on the break and shift it into drive,” Garen instructs. I do it slowly, then release the break. The car eases forward slightly.
“Okay, step on the gas,” he says. I slowly press my foot down, and the car moves forward more. Shit shit shit it’s moving. I slam on the break, put the car in park, and fold my hands in my lap. Garen bursts out laughing.
“Shut up!” I say. He manages to get his laughter under control and reaches over and puts my hands back on the wheel.
“Come on. You have to do it, or we’re not getting to school,” he says. I slowly shift back into drive and ease forward. “Alright, more gas,” Garen says. I move my foot down almost imperceptibly, then a little more. We speed up slightly. After another few tiny applications of pressure, I have us going at twenty-five miles per hour. I thank God that there aren’t many corners on the way to school, because every time I have to use the turn signal, I panic and Garen laughs. When we finally pull into the parking lot, I put the car in park right in the middle of the parking lot and unbuckle.
“There’s no way in hell I can actually park like I have a brain, so you do it,” I say. Garen unbuckles and we awkwardly climb over each other to switch seats. Garen puts the car in drive and parks it smoothly.
“It’s not that hard. Come on, you did it every time we had to do a corner,” he says.
“Shut up, I didn’t park. I just… stopped. Which you’re supposed to do anyway,” I protest.
“For two minutes?” Garen says. I open my door and get out. Once Garen is out and the car is locked, I nod to him.
“Thanks. For uh, letting me drive,” I say. He grins.
“I think of it as my responsibility. See,” he throws an arm over my shoulder and starts to head towards the school, “I’m a lot cooler than you, Travis. I know this may come as a shock, because I’m sure you’re pretty bitchin’ by Lakewood standards, but that’s not saying much. I, however--”
“Need to go fuck yourself. Don’t you have to go to the office?” I ask.
“Yep. I have to get my schedule. And then have my schedule changed, because they probably stuck me in the worst classes here,” he says.
“I bet you’ve got fifth period Home Ec. There are three ovens, but one doesn’t work at all and the blue one catches on fire if you turn it on. They put the new kids in that class because they think they won’t complain in their first week, and after that if you go to them, they tell you to stick it out,” I say.
“I was actually hoping for a music elective,” he says.
“Tough shit. They’re sticking you in Home Ec,” I say. And then it happens.
Garen’s arm, still draped over my shoulders, pulls me a little closer as he leans in so close that his lips are actually touching my ear and whispers, “Lucky for you, I look good in an apron.”
My entire body freezes up. I have no idea what to do, and my mind is blaring at me to push him off of me, but I can’t. He’s a guy, my brain screams. His dad is dating your mom andhe’s like your almost-stepbrother and he’s a guy and his lips are on your ear. And suddenly it’s not his lips anymore because those are definitely his teeth on my earlobe. Garen Anderson is nibbling on my ear right in front of the main office at school. Oh my fucking god.
And then he’s gone, walking into the office like nothing happened, leaning down to talk to the secretary, all smiles and cordiality. I stand there, frozen, watching him through the office window for at least three minutes. Fuck. Pull it together, Travis. I blink, then look quickly around. No one is watching me, no one is staring. No one saw. I head for my locker, drop off my backpack and sweatshirt. His number is still scrawled across my arm. I stare at it for a second, then yank my sweatshirt back on and head to study.
Study. Second period. The test.
Fuck.