Pairs. I relaxed a little. Joe and I had known each other since we were both pulled out of the regular classes in the third grade for our “superior cognitive abilities.” He was the closest thing I had to a friend, and we always worked on projects like this together. When Mr. Jones had mentioned group work, I thought he meant a larger group. I didn’t do well in those. I tried to keep my focus on the good news as opposed to the potential for public speaking, which just wasn’t going to happen. Joe would do it for us.
“Justin and Ian, pair up. Joe and Devin, Aimee and Scott, Mayra and Matthew…”
“Wha-what?” I interrupted.
“You and Mayra will work on your project together,” Mr. Jones confirmed. He smiled, and I wondered if he had brushed his teeth that morning.
“I work with Joe,” I reminded him. Surely he just forgot.
“Joe’s going to work with our new student,” Mr. Jones said. “You will be working with Mayra.”
My heart began to pound, and blood rushed to my ears, which also began to pound. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold this one back, so I got up and ran out into the hallway.
I didn’t look back. With sweat running from my hairline and onto my neck, I headed straight for the front door, trying to figure out where I could go to hide.
I couldn’t sit in my car—not with the bumper the way it was—and there was no way I was going to hide out in either the bathroom or the locker room. One of the websites I ran was for a public health service, and I’d read the statistics. I wouldn’t even walk into a public restroom without a hazmat suit.
I ended up just running laps around the football field.
Once I managed to calm down, I went to the office and tried to change out of AP Ecology and into anything else, anything that would give me the science credit I needed for graduation.
“I’m sorry, Matthew,” the secretary told me, “but it’s too late in the semester to switch.”
“Is Mrs. Heath available?” Mrs. Heath was the special education consultant for the school. She worked in a lot of the schools around the county, and I met with her twice a year to go over my individual education plan.
“Mrs. Heath won’t be on site until next Tuesday.”
I wanted to bang my head against the wall, but giving myself a concussion certainly wasn’t going to help. I couldn’t just drop ecology for a study hall and graduate on time, and Mr. Jones was clear the project was going to be a major chunk of our semester grade, so I couldn’t just opt out of the project. I was stuck. I would have to do it to keep my GPA up.
I heard the door open behind me and looked back over my shoulder to see none other than Mayra Trevino herself, followed by Aimee. Mayra reached over the counter and dropped a paper on the office desk before turning to me with a smile.
“I tried to wait for you to come back,” she said quietly, “but Mr. Jones said we had to choose from a list today. I picked honey bees. I hope that’s okay.”
I just stared at her for a minute, watching the way her mouth moved while I tried to figure out just what the hell I was supposed to say back to her.
“Honey bees?” I finally managed to say.
“The depletion of honey bee populations could have a drastic impact on our ecosystems,” she replied.
“Oh…um…I have work to do tonight,” I finally said. “I can’t work on it.”
“Tomorrow, then?” she suggested. “We could work on it in the library or maybe at my place?”
Aimee shuffled her feet behind Mayra and tossed her long, brown hair over her shoulder. I wondered if she wanted to say something but was holding back. She had a soccer bag over her shoulder, and I figured they had already started practice for the spring season.
“Matthew,” Mayra said again, “is the library okay?”
“Not the library,” I said softly. That’s where Coach Lords, Justin’s father, worked as the librarian. He was as bad as Justin. He was worse, actually, because he had a position of authority within the school hierarchy. Every time he saw me, he badgered me to play football. They were always short on players, and if there weren’t enough people signed up to play, the funding would be cut.
“Okay,” she responded. “My place?”
“Your place?” I repeated, like a total idiot. Normally, I didn’t make eye contact with people, but I couldn’t stop looking at her eyes. I had never really looked at them before. Most people with brown eyes had speckles of a lighter color or a lot of variations in the hues, but hers were almost solid brown—like a chocolate bar.
“After school?”
“Okay.” I could barely get the sound out because I had totally stopped breathing.
“Cool! Do you need directions?”
“No,” I said. “I know where you live.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow!”
She turned to Aimee, and they both skipped out of the office while I tried to breathe again.
Different seat, different project partner, and soon a different car to drive—these were the kinds of things I couldn’t have stack up on me all at once. Despite the run around the field, I was still too worked up to deal with any more surprises today. I quickly signed myself out of school and headed off to the body shop to get my car assessed.
“Sorry, kid,” the guy at the body shop told me. “You have to be at least twenty-five to take out a rental car. It’s policy.”
“Oh,” I said. “Sorry, I didn’t know there was a rule.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a smile. “We’ll get you back in your own car as soon as we can. I have to tell ya, though. We’re pretty backed up.”
And the stack of surprises grew higher.
I walked out of the shop door and moved around the corner of the building. There was a place to fill your car tires with air, and I sat on the curb, closed my eyes, and tried to get myself back together with little success.
Lose.
Chapter 2—Rainy Day Haircuts
Finally pulling myself up from the ground, I walked away from the shop and headed down the road. Of course, it started to rain about then—just a little sprinkle. The sprinkle quickly turned into a downpour, naturally, and I was sopping wet as I trudged down the sidewalk, staring at my feet as I went.
I stepped over every crack in the sidewalk, trying to pace my steps just right so I didn’t have to walk awkwardly. As I came to intersections or driveways, I lifted my shoulders up a little higher until I got past. When I was a kid in the car, I would always lift my feet off the floor when we went past driveways—like I was jumping over them. The fixation on the act helped keep me calm and kept me from worrying about whether or not my clothes would be ruined by the rain.
I counted steps between drives. I counted red cars as they passed by me. I counted the number of breaths it took when I had to cross the street. As focused as I was, I didn’t even hear my name at first.
“Matthew? Matthew, is that you?”
I looked up into the face of—once again—Mayra Trevino. She was in an older model, sky-blue Porsche, and she pulled over right beside me—facing the wrong way on the street.
“What are you doing in this rain?” she asked.
I could only shake my head at her.
“You want a ride home?”
“It’s only another mile,” I responded.
She sighed, looked a little exasperated, and pursed her lips together.
“Matthew, don’t be ridiculous. You’ll catch a cold or something.”
“Viruses aren’t caused by weather,” I said.
“Let me give you a ride,” she said more insistently.
“You’re on the wrong side of the road.”
“If I move, will you get in?”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. It would make me feel better, that was for sure. Right now she was facing traffic, even if there wasn’t anyone coming. It just didn’t look right—not at all. Without waiting for me to respond, she backed up a little and repositioned the car at the curb on
the other side of the road.
“Well, come on then!” she called out the window. “I’m getting wet here, too!”
“You don’t have to do this!” I called back to her. About that time, the thunder started rolling in. Lightning burst across the sky, and the rain came down even harder.
“Get in the damn car, Matthew.”
When she put it that way, I didn’t really feel like I had a choice, so I looked both ways, lifted my shoulders, crossed the street, and went around to the passenger side. Standing in the rain was a little ridiculous, and I didn’t want Mayra to end up all wet, so I got in the car.
I shivered, and Mayra turned up the heat in the Porsche.
“I’m getting the seat wet,” I said quietly, and my heart began to pound.
Mayra laughed.
“I seriously doubt you could affect the resale value by getting the leather seat wet,” she said. “Besides, this is a hand-me-down from my uncle. He found it at a car auction.”
“I’m sorry,” I said anyway.
“It’s okay,” she said. “Really. It will wipe right off.”
I looked down at my hands in my lap and watched her out of the corner of my eye. It occurred to me that I had no idea what kind of a driver she was, and I inhaled sharply, feeling my breath catch in my throat. I wanted to close my eyes, but I had to keep them on her to make sure she didn’t make any mistakes.
She was watching me closely, and her forehead was creased a little. She gave me a tight-lipped smile, then put the car into first and looked over her shoulder for other cars. She glanced at me once more and then pulled out slowly. She went the exact speed limit and kept her eyes on the road. Air filled my lungs again, and I felt myself relax a little.
“Where do you live?” Mayra asked softly. She didn’t look over at me, and I was grateful she was concentrating on what she was doing.
“Acorn Circle,” I told her. “At the end of Arrowhead.”
“Oh, okay! That’s over by Aimee’s, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “She lives six houses down and across the street.”
Shit, shit, shit.
I became increasingly aware that I was in a vintage vehicle with the beautiful and popular Mayra Trevino, and I was about as ill-prepared to talk to her as I was to give her a gynecological exam.
In addition, I needed to learn when to shut the fuck up, even when I was only talking to myself. The images of Mayra getting a pap smear that suddenly filled my head nearly caused me to open the door and fling myself onto the pavement. My heart pounded in my chest, and my vision became blurry. I squeezed my thighs with my hands, trying to stop myself from shaking.
Don’t do this…don’t do this…not in front of her…please…
I was vaguely aware that the car had stopped, and Mayra was saying my name over and over. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could do the same with my ears. My body jumped uncontrollably when her hand touched my shoulder, and she said the only thing that could have caused me to answer her.
“Should I call 911?” Her voice was panicked.
“No!” I squeaked. “No…don’t! I just need to get home.”
“We’re here,” she said quietly.
I yanked at the door handle, which wouldn’t budge the door. A strange sound came out of my throat when I yanked again and realized I was trapped. Before Mayra exited the car, I heard her tell me she would open the door, and she ran around to the other side. She opened the door, and I practically fell out on top of her.
Then I ran.
I ran straight for the front door, opened it, and slammed it behind me. I dropped down onto my ass just inside and leaned against it. I could hear her outside, yelling at me.
“Matthew! Matthew! Are you okay? Matthew, please open the door! I want to know you are all right!”
I ignored her. I closed my eyes, pulled into myself, and calculated pi.
“Matthew! Matthew, my dad is working from home today! I’ll call him, and he’ll break the door down!”
I wasn’t falling for that. He would have no legal right to enter my house without the police and a search warrant. There was no just cause. She continued to call out pointless threats, and I went through the engine specifications of an Audi R8.
Finally, there was silence outside.
A moment later, there was knocking again.
“Matthew?” she called through the wooden door. “Matthew—I have your book bag.”
Shit, shit, shit.
I’d left it in the car.
“You can’t do your homework without it, so you’re going to have to let me in.”
Moaning, I grabbed at my hair and pulled. The minor pain helped me focus a little. There was no way I could get along for the night without the things in my book bag. My homework was there, if nothing else, and my lunchbox. How would I pack lunch for tomorrow if I didn’t have my lunchbox? I forced a deep breath inside of me, stood up on shaky legs, and opened the door.
She smiled at me triumphantly, and I scowled back at her.
“Are you going to invite me in?” she asked.
“What if you’re a vampire?” I replied and instantly wanted to smack myself on the back of the head for saying something so stupid.
“A vampire?”
“They, um…” I stammered. “They can’t come inside your house unless you invite them.”
“I promise I’m not a vampire.”
“If you were, that’s just what you would say.”
We stared at each other for a moment, and I could see she wasn’t going to back down. Besides, she hadn’t relinquished my backpack, and it was still raining outside. I stepped off to the right, and she walked in past me.
She put the book bag on the floor as she walked in and looked around. I quickly grabbed it and put it on the bench where it was supposed to be before following Mayra into the family room.
“You’re all wet, too,” I said as I realized she was dripping on the carpet.
“Oh!” Mayra took a quick step back to the tile foyer. “Sorry about that. I can clean it up.”
“It’s okay,” I said. It wasn’t, but a wet floor wasn’t a trigger point, so I wasn’t going to get too upset about it. The carpet was old and easily cleaned. “I’ll get you a towel.”
I ran upstairs to the bathroom, taking out a large beach towel and examining it for a minute. It was blue and green with purple seashells on it and a little bit threadbare. I vaguely remembered my parents buying it when we were vacationing at Myrtle Beach.
I put it back, then tiptoed into the master bath to pull out one of the large, fluffy, cream-colored towels from under the sink there. It was soft and definitely classier than a beach towel.
Classy? A towel?
I shook my head and walked back downstairs.
“You live here alone, don’t you?”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second before handing her the towel. I tried to decide if I could handle her here, asking me a lot of questions. I wasn’t sure why, but having her here really wasn’t upsetting me too much. It was a little uncomfortable but nothing I couldn’t handle.
“Yes,” I said quietly. My mouth turned up in a half smile.
“You could have cool parties here,” she exclaimed. “No parents!”
I froze, and the whole atmosphere of the room changed drastically.
“Oh shit, Matthew—I’m sorry!” she cried. “I wasn’t…I just meant…shit, I wasn’t thinking.”
My body felt chilled, and I couldn’t look up from the floor. I did manage to speak.
“It’s okay,” I said slowly. “I know they’re dead.”
She fiddled with the towel in her hands and shuffled her feet.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
I shrugged and just stood there, still looking at the floor. Some of the rainwater in my hair dribbled down the side of my face. I closed my eyes again.
“You’re still soaked,” Mayra said quietly.
She took a step toward me, and the next th
ing I knew, she was reaching up with the towel and rubbing it across my head.
She was so, so close to me—closer than any non-relative female had ever been—and she smelled so good. I inhaled slowly through my nose and tried to figure out the scent—something like peonies. For some reason, it seemed to relax me a little.
I opened my eyes and looked down at her. She had a slight smile on her face, and her gaze was fixed on her hands and the towel she was running over my head, which also felt wonderful. After a minute, she pulled the towel away from my mostly dried hair and tossed it over her shoulder. She looked at me for a moment, smiled a little more, and then reached up and ran her fingers through my hair. She pushed it back up off my forehead and then twisted it around her fingers.
“You need a haircut,” she said.
“I know,” I replied.
She fiddled with it some more.
“It doesn’t stay where I put it,” I said randomly, but it seemed to make her smile again.
When she smiled, her eyes lit up, too.
“I see that,” she smirked. “Do you want me to cut it for you?”
I just stared at her, trying to comprehend what she was asking.
“I cut my dad’s all the time,” she said. “I’m good at it—I swear.”
“You want to…cut my hair?”
“I will,” she said, “if that’s okay with you.”
I couldn’t seem to form any words to answer her, so I silently found a pair of hair-cutting shears and sat down on a chair in the kitchen.
Trying to stay still while Mayra was near me with a pair of scissors was not easy.
I knew I needed a haircut. I had planned on getting one at the end of the month, when I usually got paid for my website work. I just didn’t have much extra money on hand. It was all budgeted exactly with the remainder going into the account for college. I kept whatever didn’t round evenly for spending money.
The lady who usually cut my hair knew just how much to take off. I didn’t like it if it was changed too much, and she had managed to figure out exactly how I wanted it cut after I freaked out on her once. Mayra didn’t know, and even as I sat on the kitchen stool with the cream-colored towel around my shoulders, I felt myself start to hyperventilate.