Absolutely (Larson) Read online

  “Sweetie, that was probably your conscience. So, no. Not me.” She looks pityingly at me. I have the urge to strangle the look off her face. “That is what I yelled at you as you drove off. Away from the party. Without me.” She flutters her eyelashes for emphasis.

  My eyes are wide as she waves bye to me, effectively ending the conversation and a decade of friendship. All three of them laugh as I walk away, confused.

  Why? I can’t come up with an explanation for her behavior until a memory surfaces.

  The officer who responded to the accident was Officer Castro, Reyna’s dad. She must’ve known he had patrol.

  Reyna can get away with a lot of things, but Officer Castro has to do his job with impunity. Or at least not have to lie as he fills out his paperwork. Reyna is practicing the fine art of CYA. Making me sound like a hammered slut seems like her ticket out of trouble. I wonder how widespread this story of hers has gone.

  Chapter 2

  Today is the first day of school. I wake up bright and miserably early knowing that I must walk to school or have Mom or Dad take me. Brisa is content riding with Mom, but it’s not my thing. Besides, you have to want to be there an hour early since Dad goes to his restaurant and Mom goes into the bakery at the crack o’ dark. Looks like I’m walking. In the early morning heat.

  Not to mention that the claims adjuster called. Totaled. Dad chose to take a check for what the car was worth. He paid the car off and the cow and the fence. I’m back at square one. Scratch that. I can’t even see the game board to see square one.

  So, I start walking. I have no phone and no music. Brisa uses her iPod or I would’ve bummed it from her. Brisa likes her gadgets. I prefer to have only the one. Well, right now, zero. I’d kill for her iPod right now. Ugh, I thought the word ‘kill’. That dang cow is haunting me. I’m a murderer.

  Walking to school is lonely business (even though I’ve only gone a block) and kind of a freak out. My brain is playing out after-school-special and CSI scenes in my head. I see a stray dog down an alley. That could go badly.

  Also, the scenery here in Larson isn’t anything special, but I love the bleakness of it all. Don’t ask me why. The trees and grass are all dead. Several of the houses look like anything above a breeze will knock them over. There are even a few families here in town that keep chickens and the occasional goat. It’s very rural…for lack of a better term.

  Turning the corner on the block, I see someone else walking, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Good. Someone to hear me if I scream. It’s a him and the backside view looks good from here. Dark wash jeans not too, too tight, gray T-shirt the perfect tightness. And Chucks—black.

  I powerwalk to catch up to him. I'm unsure if protocol dictates I tell him he has a walking buddy, but I decide on giving him the head’s up.

  “Hey, mind if I walk with you?” I ask.

  “Huh?” he mumbles. But I notice he reaches up to drop an ear bud from his left ear to hear me. He looks over at me.

  Holy Hotness, Batman. He has close-cropped, dark brown hair. His eyes are Godiva chocolate, melted. He has a rounded jawline and a very slight cleft chin. His lips are full—top and bottom.

  “What did you ask me?” he says as I stare mercilessly at his lips. My mouth is developing a plan of action, starting with that cleft and working its way up…maybe down. It hasn’t decided yet, stupid mouth, working without my brain again.

  Finally I speak, “Um, can I walk with you?” It seems lame now, asking. But a girl’s gotta do…

  “I guess,” he says and shrugs. “I don’t own the sidewalk.” And his ear bud returns to its position and we continue on. His rich voice is replaying in my head. Granted, I only heard him mumble, but it’s enough. It’s rough but warm. Not inviting, but it could be. The guy is absolutely drool-worthy.

  “Do you walk every day?” I ask as we get closer to school.

  “What?” he asks, not too happy about removing the left ear bud again. But I repeat my question anyway.

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” I say. His ear bud is re-implanted successfully. I try not to bother him again, but I'm a talker.

  “What grade are you in?” The ear bud removal is even less enthusiastic than the last time around. He tugs it out and rolls his eyes.

  “Say again?” he asks.

  So I do say it again.

  “Same as you,” he replies before he stuffs the ear bud back into his ear.

  “Oh,” I mumble knowing he can’t hear me. Several questions are running through my head. I open my mouth to ask them, but I stop. He’s not gonna let me walk with him if I keep this up. And I don’t trust that dog. It probably has friends…and fleas, not to mention me and the animal kingdom aren’t on good terms just now.

  My mouth keeps popping open, and I keep gritting my teeth to stop it. Stupid, stupid mouth.

  The guy finally stops and turns toward me. He removes both ear buds. “Spit it out,” he orders, not too, too rudely. “I can see you out of the corner of my eye.”

  I blush. He’s waiting, but seemingly enjoying my attempt at avoiding his chocolate eyes. Did I mention his stunning tan? Mmm.

  “Waiting…” he reminds me.

  “Oh, um, what’s your name?”

  “Kiel.”

  “Like the part of a boat?” Not a question I meant to ask, but hey, I'm not totally in control under his gaze.

  “Yeah, sort of.”

  “How do you know what grade I'm in?” I ask fast before my new walking buddy, Kiel, can get his ear buds in.

  “I started school here last year.”

  “No way!” I exclaim. How did I not notice all this hotness?

  “Yes way. In May.”

  I giggle, and it breaks out into full-scale laughter. He grimaces.

  “If you’re done?” he asks rhetorically, because he obviously is. Ear buds are back in and he’s walking. “Coming?”

  He doesn’t ask me for my name or anything. How depressing. Hopefully we will have several classes together. So I can stare.

  ***

  Kiel

  “Kiel Andrés Fuller!” my mom yells from the kitchen. It’s the first day of school and I haven't moved from my bed. She kindly reminds me, “Mijo, you said you were walking!” Mijo is a slang term in Spanish for mi hijo, “my son” in English. I struggle to sit up and get my butt in gear. Summer is officially over.

  I spent the summer in the garage that my parents gladly relinquished to me for my music room. It took a ton of freaking work. But it is finally ready. I just need people to fill it now. A drummer and guitar players. This place we’ve moved to, it’s a small, middle-of-nowhere town. I’ll have to take what I can get.

  I also spent the summer writing and rewriting lyrics and music. Getting that room in working form has been priority one, and it has been worth the work.

  I throw on the first things I can find, jeans, a t-shirt, and the standard black Chuck Taylors. This isn’t my first day at this school, but it’s still new to me, to us. Me and my sister Liliana moved here to Larson, Texas weeks before school let out for the summer. I made friends quickly, while she whined and moaned her way to a lonely summer.

  Then, to top off re-starting at a new school as a senior, I'm walking.

  I don’t like having to walk to school, but my dad is using my Jeep for work since his truck broke down. The part for his truck is being shipped from China or something. This happens the day before my senior year no less and there’s no way I am getting a ride from my parents.

  As I'm walking to school, I'm considering some of the guys I met last year and listening to my iPod. All the sudden there’s someone beside me and she’s talking. I look over and realize I know her. Well, I know of her. Cheer, track, etc.

  Ashlyn, if my memory serves. She has wavy brown hair with pieces flying around her face in the early morning breeze. My fingers itch to tuck the strands behind her ears. But she’d asked me a question, which I couldn’t hear. I answer, probably rudely. Her hazel eyes had me
preoccupied, though.

  We are now walking, together. She’s talking again. This time, as she repeats her question, I notice her oval face. It’s longer than I’d like, but worth the length. Because it ends in full, pink-glossed lips.

  Another rude answer from me. We walk a few more blocks. And she’s talking again. This time I notice Ashlyn’s freckles. I can’t believe I didn’t notice them first. There are so many, in fact, that they almost change her skin color. Like the freckles are trying to chase the pale away.

  Each time I answer her, I'm shocked by how far down she is. Chick is short.

  Memory serves again and I recall that Ashlyn talks a lot. I had a few classes with her the last few weeks of school last year. I'm hoping that was her last question. No offense to her or anything, but I was hoping for a quiet walk. Not likely, as I watch her chewing her lip, opening and closing her mouth, slipping glances my way.

  I finally force her to talk out of sheer frustration. Now I'm stuck in a conversation which ends in her laughing at me for my sad Dr. Seuss-esque rhyming skills.

  I get the feeling I'm in for more of these stimulating walks. The fact that she’s walking to school coupled with a rumor that I heard from my friend Tómas Aguilar, tells me the rumor has merit.

  Her accident also made the local newspaper in the Police Activity section. And in this tiny town, everyone reads the Police Activity section. Which sucks, ‘cause she’s cute. Not that I'm making plans to take her home to Mom, but if I were, this would definitely be a negative. My plans for this year don’t include a relationship, especially one filled with potential drama.

  ***

  She and I go our separate ways once we get to school. I meet up with Tómas and a few other guys I don’t know too well yet. We share musical interests, though, so I'm feeling good about this year.

  Ashlyn is at her locker a few down from mine. I see her rip a picture off the door. From the look on her face, she’s upset by whatever’s on it.

  First period is English and she’s two rows over. I feel her eyes on me almost the whole class. I glance over and she’s mumbling something after Mrs. Branch mentions her grading system being hard and tough. If she wasn’t so attractive, I’d think it was creepy.

  Third period is Spanish, where Ashlyn is already focused on me, again. From what I can tell, she seriously needs to focus on her linguistic skills instead.

  I see her at lunch sitting outside, but she’s zoned out until a couple of girls start up a conversation with her.

  Curiously, in the past few hours I have developed some sort of concern for her. Maybe because my sister’s a freshman who’s having a tough time letting go of our life in Dallas.

  Change can suck if you don’t embrace it.

  ***

  Ashlyn

  It hits me when I walk in that I'm not who I was two weeks ago in regard to my social standing. I don’t know what’s about to hit, if it’ll be the “Big One” or a tremor. How far have Reyna’s rumors spread?

  The answer is on my locker. It’s a picture from the party snapped on a cell phone. The quality reeks of first gen iPhone, but the picture’s subject matter is clear. Me. And I'm dancing suggestively with Jacob, who was a very willing participant. People have seen it and there’s whispering all around me.

  My cheeks are on fire. I’ll just have to play it off until the extent of the damage is known. I tuck the pic into my purse and get going.

  I don’t sit by Reyna or any cheer-friends during first, second, or third period. I notice Kiel in first and third. And when I say notice, he’s hard not to notice. I’m still trying to figure out how I missed him last year. I stare as I think. He probably thinks I’m creepy, but my eyes are now rebelling alongside my mouth. I’ve lost total control.

  Several heretofore-unknown-to-me students have noticed my culling from the herd. They’re not really being nice to me but are allowing me to tread their seating territory to see if I'm friend or foe. Fourth period is more of the same.

  Lunch is going to be weird. So, I grab a salad from the line and walk outside, where my now “old” crowd doesn’t go. There, at one of the picnic tables, is Kiel sitting with a few other guys. I glance around and find an unoccupied table. I need to regroup before fifth. That’s when I have Athletics. It’s going to be painful.

  A couple of girls come up and ask if the other bench is taken. I tell them no, and they proceed to eat. I don’t focus on their conversation, immersed in my own personal tragedy.

  “Ashlyn?” one of them says. I look up wondering how many times they’ve tried to get my attention.

  “Hm?” I reply in true genius fashion.

  “I’m Jenna Lasseter and this is D’Nae Jones. We’re in your grade. So, we were just curious, why are you out here?”

  I vaguely recall these two. Pretty sure I’ve grown up with them. In fact, Jenna may have been at my tenth birthday party. But I’ve been wrapped up in my own world, a world that’s deteriorating before my eyes. These girls are now get to watch me fall from grace.

  “Jenna,” I begin, “Were you at one of my birthday parties? Tenth maybe?”

  “Yeah, and D'Nae, too,” she says, only sounding a bit offended that I couldn’t remember.

  “Oh, sorry,” I apologize to them both.

  “No prob,” D'Nae shrugs. “Why the segregation?”

  Instead of answering, I dig out the pic from my locker and hand it over. “Bad night.” I put my chin in my cupped hands and look to the sky.

  “This is why you’re ostracized? Hardly seems rejection-worthy. This kind of stuff happens every weekend,” Jenna says, puzzled.

  “No,” I sigh, “it’s not, entirely.” I'm not sure if I can trust them, but they are the first people to truly talk to me today. My mouth takes over while my brain is still thinking it through. I give them the abbreviated version.

  “I am apparently alcohol intolerant, tried to drive myself and Reyna home. Totaled my car, killed a cow. Reyna bailed before the police show up. Now I'm the crazy one with a slutty rep and a drinking problem. Yay me.” I do a pathetic fist pump for emphasis.

  They appear surprised for a second before they look at each other and shrug. D'Nae hands back the pic and says, “You can share our table any time you need to. When—no, if—it rains, we go to the art room with Mrs. Jones, my mom.”

  I'm oddly at peace with this new arrangement. Sure, it’s only day one of my isolation, but who knows how long it’ll last? “Ok. I’d like that,” I tell them.

  We finish eating in comfortable silence.

  Chapter 3

  Kiel

  It’s not shocking that she and I have Athletics together. Sports aren’t really my scene, but it’s apparently what gets scholarships if the grades aren’t stellar. Thankfully, I'm good at the sports thing. The coaches in Dallas said I had promise. Starting quarterback, Varsity as a sophomore.

  I’d had myself set up for my senior year, even with the problems I had. Most of the coaching staff were willing to “fix” my attendance record and grades to keep me playing.

  Whatever pecking order I'm about to upset here, I'm ready.

  Practices and scrimmages have been good for me so far, but the coach is about to make some decisions. Before I came along, I think Jacob Martin had quarterback bagged and tagged. He thought so, too.

  Anyway, the boys and girls are all in the gym suited out in our gym clothes. Of all the girls in the building, my eyes go directly to Ashlyn. I gotta say I don’t think cute describes her right now.

  Ashlyn, in the short grays they wear, is hot. Rocking body, killer legs, even though she’s diminutive.

  Of course, her hazel eyes find mine as I do my once over. Far from the only guy getting an eyeful, our coach hollers for our attention.

  Later in the locker room, I hear the rumors about Ashlyn and they’ve either gotten bigger or there was more than one party. Several of the guys are going on about her and her assets (my term, not theirs). By the time these rumors have gotten out, there will be
nothing left of her reputation.

  I feel bad because I don’t say anything, but I also don’t know anything. Throwing in my two cents would be unwise and get me involved. Exactly what I didn’t want.

  Sixth period and she’s getting go-to-hell eyes from jealous girls and leers from the jerkoffs. By some bizarre twist of fate, the seat behind her is the only free seat not in the front of the class. I walk by her and get situated.

  Is it a relief that she can’t stare at me? It actually isn’t, I think. The staring is good for my ego. Now I'm faced with the daunting task of not touching her hair or hand as the syllabus for Biology II appears by her head.

  Mr. Simpson reads the syllabus to us like we’re five year olds. He tells us there will be some chemistry. Innocent, right?

  Ashlyn giggles quietly and whispers, “Is he coming on to us.”

  There’s no one else to hear her joke because her ex-friends are on the other side of the room. I don’t laugh either. I don’t even smile. I wonder if that makes me an insensitive tool, but giving her encouragement would be a bad idea, too.

  ***

  Ashlyn

  Kiel is the one with roaming eyes in Athletics and I’m flattered. Then he sits down behind me in Biology. I feel exposed, somehow, sitting in front of him. Exposed and alone. I've seen Jenna and D'Nae around and in a few of my classes, but I don’t know how far their offer of friendship extends. Is it lunchtime only or an open invite?

  I really want people to stop it with the looks, male and female alike. What a long freaking day. There’s still cheer practice to make it through. Luckily, I'm a base, not a flyer because I might not make it out alive. Flyers already risk life and limb being thrown into the air. As a base, I’m much safer.

  It’s every bit as vile as I expect with Reyna and the other cheer zombies. Their brains have been infected with the Reyna virus. I have to say ‘mean’ takes on a whole new meaning when it’s spackled over with false cheerfulness and shouts of victory.