Gravity by Amanda Miga Page B

sharing
this sacred place with her. For this moment, she’s precious to me.
Gently gliding her across the music room floor, I listen to her
laugh, and feel her soft hands in mine. Her eyes are bright behind
her glasses, her curly hair bounces like bedsprings, and her smile
lights up her face beautifully.
    I kiss her hand as the piano echoes the last
few notes. Beth turns red. I'm just doing what feels right for the
moment. My action surprised me as well. The room full of voices
rushes into my head for just a few seconds, until a blaring
vibration of a trumpet rips the voices away.
     
    ***
    Alex
     
    The definition of home is an empty house. The
smell of homemade cooking permeates the air, but it's not
welcoming. There's no one home to share it with. The housekeeper
had left me dinner as per my parents' instruction. The meal is
still warm with plastic covering it. It's not the same as a hot
meal made by someone who loves you. The substitute meals don't have
that special something. I sit and eat my meal quietly. One thing
about being home is there's no one to bombard my mind. But that's
the problem, there's either too many or no one at all.
    "I hate spaghetti."
    The red blinking light on the answering
machine flashes. A message from my parents no less. I press the
button and immediately hear my father.
    "Hey, Son, Florence from the guidance office called. What's this about not showing
up for some of the extracurricular activities you signed up for?
Your commitments to those activities are what the college boards
will look at. If you can't commit yourself to those clubs than…” My
father audibly sighs. “Florence doesn't think you're being
consistent. She wondered if anything was going on at home. Alex, I
don't like being called a bad father..."
    "Right, I'm sure that's exactly what she
called you, Dad." I play with my food.
    "...You know what I do for a living and I do
it for you and your mother."
    "Alex, this is Mom. Honey, I know this is
strange on the answering machine..."
    "No shit." I twirl the fork to see how big I
can get the spaghetti around it.
    "... but I want to call you later and discuss
the things Florence suggested."
    "Right, call when I won't be here." I drop my
fork into the bowl. "It's not like I didn't tell you about Jake's
party."
    "...we'll be home on the 25th."
    I drag my hand down my face. The 25th is
three weeks away. I hate that they're never here. It's like I have
ghost parents and they only talk through the answering machine.
"Shit." I push the unsatisfying bowl away from me.
    “… on a happy note, she informed us that your
grade point average—“I turn off the answering machine, cutting away
Mom's delighted tone. I can't stand this shit anymore. I know where
the one sided conversation is headed. The car I'm dying to have
will be mine. I've been meaning to lower my average so it doesn't
look so much like a lie, but again attention gets the best of me
and the car is hot. I hate how happy they are when I'm on the ball;
it only makes me feel bad that I've never earned it fairly.
Listening to their praises makes me sick to my stomach, but so does
their disappointment. Sometimes the car doesn’t matter. Today the
car doesn’t matter.

Chapter Nine
     
    Alex
     
    Jake's lawn smells like chemicals. A large
hand nearly covering my crown shoves my head further into moist
soil. “I don’t know what’s funnier,” Hunter’s voice spits into my
ear, "you thinking you could get in or this sad-ass sweater you're
wearing. Did you time warp from the eights?”
    I press my lips shut and attempt to turn my
head to avoid eating dirt. I huff out grass blades. “Get off
me!”
    “What’s your name pee-wee?”
    Pee-wee?
    A boot heel digs into the center of my
back.
    “Fuck!” I mumble into the ground. Hunter
takes my arm and pins it to my back while my head is pulled away
from the grass. “You know my name, asshole? What the fuck are you
doing? Get off.”
    “You hear that guys? He thinks we know