The waiting series, p.4
The Waiting Series, page 4
Reed was standing at the head of the table, watching me plot out urban farming squares, when the doorbell rang. Without a word, he jogged over and opened it. I heard Sean first, the familiar ‘Boom’ that I knew was followed by a knuckle bump with Reed. Vomit was creeping up on me and I knew I was frowning. I heard a few more voices as the footsteps came around the corner and saw Reed whispering something in Sean’s ear, presumably reminding him that I was here.
“Noles, what’s up man!” Sean said, holding a hand up for me to slap. Completely succumbing to the pressure of the situation, I did. As if I had always done that with him, and we had some sort of relationship. Truth be told, I had known Sean since seventh grade, but we never really talked. “Hey,” I said, smiling on the outside.
Pretending, that’s what I was doing. I was disgusted at myself for it, but here I was doing it anyhow. Noles? Since when am I Noles?
“This is Devin and Cole. They’re on varsity with me…juniors. They took the little freshman under their wing,” Reed said, laughing it off like he was embarrassed. As absurd as it was, Reed was the one taking the upper classmen under his wing. Though he was not quite 15, he came to Coolidge with such confidence. I know a lot of it came from his name and his father and his brother, but there was also a certain amount that was just his. He owned it, and he was a leader the instant he stepped foot on our campus.
“Mind if we hit the fridge?” Devin, the biggest of the bunch, said. He was clearly a lineman or some type of defensive player. He was built like a college player. I heard the clanking of glass in the kitchen as the fridge door shut. Then I heard the distinct sound of bottle caps snapping. Curious, I rounded the table, pretending to need to work on the other side just to catch a view of what I suspected. All four boys were holding Heineken beers, leaning against the counter, one of them sitting on top of the kitchen island. It was clearly a regular activity, they seemed so comfortable and at home. I was far from 15, several months shy to be exact, and had yet to really kiss a boy, let alone drink a beer. My palms were sweating, I was so nervous at the situation. Work, busy yourself, Noles! I thought to myself, smirking at my silently said nickname.
I heard the TV turn on and then the regular banter about the NFL and “great catches” ensued. I continued to circle the table, working, but also putting my ears at their best advantage. Just then, I heard my name. It was Sean speaking up, not quite a whisper but clearly low enough so I couldn’t hear, or so he thought.
“Dude, what happened? She’s sort of cute now, huh? Weird, right?” he said.
I was dizzy.
“Hmm, you think so?” I heard Reed say.
“Uh, yeah. I do,” Sean defended. I had been careful to wear my hair down during school, and I had even toyed with a little make up here and there just to feel a little more grown up.
I heard footsteps coming my direction, so I quickly leaned on my elbows, staring intently on the drawing and the line of my ruler. They were all coming to sit in here with us. Each of them taking a chair and leaning around the table. Their conversation continuing while I busied myself drawing, looking up to react every so often, smiling, just so I didn’t appear to be rude or aloof. I heard Cole’s phone conversation with Tatum. My mind took in snippets of everything. Something about a party in the desert, Reed getting a ride with them. It was as if I was washing the windows on the outside of an exclusive club. I was getting a glimpse inside, but not fully participating.
The time flew by, and I was startled when my phone rang. My home phone number popped up. My dad was coming to pick me up. Pulling together our notes, the list and the colored pencils I had brought, I threw everything in my backpack and zipped it up.
“Hey, Noles, we could totally take you home if you want to tell your pops,” said Cole. He was the quieter one of the group, a bit skinny, but tall enough to make his appearance fool you into believing he was an athlete. Noles, somehow that nickname was sticking.
“No, that’s ok, I have some family things to do. But thanks!” I said, deep down knowing we didn’t have any family plans but that I didn’t really want this group pulling up to my gravel driveway after leaving the Johnson palace.
Reed walked me to the door when we heard my dad pulling up, carrying my backpack for me in a sort of traditional gentleman’s way. “Hey, sorry I wasn’t much help today. It looks great though. How about we pick back up on Thursday?”
“That should work. I’ll come by after practice again, OK?” I said, still reeling from the last two hours where I was alone with the it boy of my next four years, spent the afternoon listening to tales of underage drinking, all the while in the presence of underage drinking, and earning a nickname that, while I didn’t really like, I secretly was honored to be given.
My dad asked mostly about the Johnson garage, curious if I got the full tour. I told him we pretty much just worked on the project the entire time, leaving out the part about Reed’s friends and their beer. I sat back in the seat, pulling my legs up from the hot edges of the seat. For once, not really embarrassed by my car or the home we were driving to, but rather impressed with the path my high school self seemed to be on.
Thursday was pretty much a rerun of our first afternoon together at Reed’s house. Once again, Reed’s father wasn’t home. And once again, his friends came over and sat around the table while I worked on building miniature casitas, gardens and filtration stations out of modeling clay. I was more involved in the conversation now, adding in my opinion about the Cardinals chances this year (I knew a few things, but was mostly quoting bits I had read on USAToday.com and some of the sports blogs my brother always read).
Our Tuesdays and Thursdays were becoming a regular thing, for at least an hour after practice every time. The guys would say hi to me in the halls at school, and Sienna and Sarah were delighted to flirt with a few upper classmen. A few times, they even joined me at Reed’s house, sitting around the table and, while I never did, they also drank a few of the Johnson family beers as well. Sarah was a joiner, and she had been to a few high school parties in junior high where she had gotten buzzed on shots with her older sister. Sienna was a bit more cautious, so she nursed her beer, participating, but not really experiencing.
As the project afternoons progressed, I realized I was pretty much handling the entire thing on my own. But while I usually resented it and did it anyway, this seemed different. I didn’t feel taken advantage of, and I liked that the project gave me something to distract myself with when Reed and I were alone, before his friends showed up.
We were fast on our way to becoming friends. I was finally ready to admit to myself that I had a bit of a puppy crush on him for sure, but that I wasn’t really interested in anything beyond that. I liked how he made me feel—like I was a part of something, socially accepted, almost cool. I fantasized about our high school years, me catching rides with him, waving at him while he was on the field for a game. One day, after I’d finally met his dad, he’d know me, too. I would pop over to visit and he’d welcome me in, ask me to stay for dinner. Yes, Reed and I could become great friends. And that would be enough.
“Oh. My. God. Your house is so huuuuuuuge!” I heard a squeal come from the front door. That’s when I was thrown back into reality.
Tatum was here. In this house. With me and my new group of friends. She showed up with Cole and Devin and threw her purse on the table next to our nearly done project, not even casting a look in my direction. Her heavy and clunky keys slid out the top of her purse, knocking over several toothpick structures I had set aside to dry from gluing. Thoughtless and selfish, was all I could think as I pushed her crap from the table to a nearby chair and reassembled the toothpicks.
“Reeeeeeeeeed,” she giggled, in a little-girl voice that I thought wasn’t fooling anyone. The fakeness oozed from her, and it was utterly transparent—far from attractive. But just then, she threw her arms around Reed and nuzzled her nose into the corner of his neck. She was two years older than him, and she could have any guy in our school. But she wanted to lay claim to Reed. And I was furious.
At first, I thought maybe Reed would be as annoyed by her childish voice and overt flirtation as I was, but he seemed to be eating it up, picking her up and twirling her around in the kitchen, touching her legs with his feet on the couch in the living room and admiring “how cute she was” when she stole his hat from his head and put it on her perfectly tussled head of hair.
For the first time in weeks, the guys didn’t sit around the table with me. I continued to work, listening to the conversations in the living room. Tatum giggling at their sports conversations, and asking them what they thought of her hair: Should she cut it? Does it look better up? Should she wear more hats? She had a loose over-shirt on and I watched as she strategically removed it in front of Reed, her back to him as he sat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. She looked over her shoulder, asking him if he could tuck the tag in on the tight tank she was now revealing.
“Yeah, I got it,” he said, a bit taken with her. I could tell he was feeding off of her. Who wouldn’t. She was 17 going on 26 and was built like a Hooters waitress. I thought of myself trying to pull off that same move…I would look idiotic, I disappointed.
For two hours, the giggling continued. At one point, she had jumped up on his lap and had wrapped her arms around his neck. He was stroking up and down her back with his hand, his thumb flicking the straps of her tank top. He had a smirk on his face and she knew she had him. While I was only a room away, I was an entire world apart.
My phone made me jump, and I knocked over the stack of note cards I had been making about our various model pieces. I told my dad I would meet him outside when he came, fearful that I might start crying at any moment. I bent down to gather the note cards and my eyes started to sting. I saw the bottom of Reed’s tattered jeans on the other underside of the table. I begged myself to stop the tears and wished with all my might that he would just leave it at a “see ya next time” or “goodbye.”
“Was that your dad?” he asked.
“Yeah, he’s on his way. I’m just packing up and then I’ll be out of your hair,” I said, a bit snarky. I hated myself for letting it get the best of me, and then also dreaded the direction I knew this would go, and the fact that I was taking it there.
“What the hell does that mean, Noles? Something wrong?” Reed said, squatting down to help me with my note cards. Just then, I heard Tatum calling from the living room, “Reeeeeeeeeeeeed, come back here, I’m cold.”
He smiled a little, turning his head sideways, almost as if he was imagining just what he could do to warm her up.
I snapped. “You know, if I was going to do this entire thing by myself, I could have just done it at home, saved us both a lot of hassle. It’s not like I need your table to hold up the card board,” I shot the words at him, though they were merely a mask for what was eating at my insides.
“Noles, I totally didn’t mean to leave you with all of this. I just figured you liked doing this part and you were so good at it. We always have fun, and laugh, and I can totally jump in whenever you need me to. You just never seem to want me to…I’m sorry, dude,” he rattled that last part off, just as Tatum let out another cackle of a laugh. And that finally broke me.
“Dude? … Dude?” I stood as he did, getting close enough to him so I could say this last part with enough force but just out of earshot of what was in the next room. “I’m not a dude, Reed, like Cole or Devin. At least …” I looked around as I stepped closer to whisper in his ear. “I haven’t had a sex change,” I gritted through my teeth. Then, picking up his wrist, I formed his hand into a fist and pounded mine against it, looking straight into his eyes the entire time, unflinching. “Booooom!” I said plainly, with as little emotion as possible, pursing my lips. Staring into his eyes for a few more uncomfortable seconds, I saw realization wash over his face. I had heard the entire thing—and I had heard him.
I grabbed my bag from the nearby chair, headed straight to the door and left, never turning back. I walked down the driveway as my dad was pulling up, willing myself to hold it all in until I could lock myself in my room. Reed knew exactly what I meant. He got it all, and I knew it. And as proud as I was of myself, I also silently scolded myself for being surprised that he would cuddle with Tatum in his house while I was busying myself with clay and glue … like a child.
I let the tears fall as soon as I pushed my face into my bed, and I cried until finally falling asleep well after midnight.
4. Words
I wouldn’t call it moping, but I walked to my homeroom that morning with a certain sense of hopelessness. I was exhausted from the previous night’s cry fest, and dreading my science class with Reed. As Sienna and Sarah bounded into the classroom, full smiles, I sank further into my seat. We had planned on going to the football game tonight, but that was before I made an ass out of myself in front of our cool new group of friends and lambasted the boy who had repeatedly broken my heart in a matter of weeks. I had to try to get out of this, and so as soon as they sat down next to me I put on a coughing act and said I wasn’t feeling very well.
“Like hell,” Sarah started. “Girl, you better suck it up and start taking some vitamin C, cuz there’s no way we’re missing that game tonight. Cole invited us to the desert party after, and we are going, because he is way hot, and I want him.”
“I don’t know,” I started, but was quickly cut off.
“You’ll feel fine as soon as we start having fun. If not, my sister will totally drop you off at home on our way to the party, ok?” Sarah said. There really is no reasoning with her when her mind’s made up.
“OK,” I shrugged, slumping down even more in my chair.
Sienna just looked at me with a soft smile. I think she sensed that there was something more to it, but she was also sweet enough to know when I didn’t want to talk. She just squeezed my wrist and whispered, “we’ll have fun!”
My morning classes flew by and I was on my way to science, walking alone. I spent extra time at my locker to avoid the chance that I might have to walk in with Reed. I scanned the quad on my way to the room terrified that I would still run into him. When I entered the classroom, I snapped my focus right to his seat. I wanted to see him first—before he locked eyes on me. For some reason, I thought that might help me prepare myself and square up my irrational emotions. But his seat was still empty.
I walked over, lopped my backpack over the chair and pulled out my notebook and a pencil. Intently counting the second-hand clicks on the clock, I started to fill with concern that Reed wasn’t here. He was skipping school, either because of the dressing down I had given him or because he was off making out with a 17-year-old hoochie. Caught up in the drama in my head, I didn’t notice when he slipped in at the last second and slid into his seat next to me.
I could feel the blood rushing to my head. In fact, I could hear it passing over my eardrums in waves, making it almost impossible to hear our teacher. I refused to pull my gaze up from my notebook. I didn’t want to see if he was frowning. I didn’t want to see if he was furious or sad. I just wanted to shrink down to microscopic size and scamper off unnoticed. The only part of Reed I could see was his feet. They were bouncing up and down, propped on his toes. He was clearly just as affected sitting next to me, but I was pretty sure that he was just counting the seconds that he could be free from me. He smacked his notebook on his desktop and pulled a pen out ready to take notes for the class.
I wrote down various bits of our lesson. Cell structures and mitochondria. It seemed pretty simple so I wasn’t too alarmed at my own lack of attention. Reed, however, seemed to be writing down everything our teacher said, word for word. His pen was busy and he kept stopping and scribbling every few seconds. He slowed down some near the end of class and started drumming his pen on his leg to match the tempo of his bouncing. I expected that when we heard the bell he would be off with a sprint.
Finally, after 50 torturous minutes, the bell rang. I slid my notebook sideways on my desk into my backpack and zipped it up. I heard Reed ripping off a page from his notebook and standing up to leave. I thought I would just sit still for an extra minute or two to let him get a head start. I was starting to imagine the pattern of doing this for the next eight months of school and was wondering if I could handle the stress of it when I saw Reed slide a folded piece of paper over to me on top of a blue pocket folder.
Confused, I looked up at him, pursing my lips and crooking the corner of my mouth.
“Just take it and read it, OK?” he said shortly. And then he was walking away.
I flipped open the folder and saw my note cards tucked into one pocket with a rubber band around them. They had been highlighted and numbered. In the other pocket was a typed and stapled paper. The top sheet was titled “A Sustainable Society: By Nolan Lennox and Reed Johnson.” I pulled the paper from the folder and realized it was a full four pages, single spaced. I read the first few paragraphs and they were exactly as I would have written them, minus a few word choices.
Reed had finished our project. By himself. Last night.
I didn’t quite know what to make of this. I was equal parts offended that he hadn’t included me in our work and awed by his gesture. I was fairly confident that the note he had folded and placed on top of the folder he had given me would provide me with clarity. I started to unfold and read it where I sat, but the next class was already filing in. I was going to be late for PE. Also, as much as I wanted to know what he had written to me, I also was afraid. Was he angry? Is that why he had written so manically during our class? Wondering if I had just bided my time, waiting to yell at him and embarrass him in front of his friends. Did he finish the paper just to be rid of me? Or, maybe they were kind words? And at that thought, part of me wanted to savor it and read it just a few words at a time.
