embers.
But first, we have to get reacquainted. And that’s not going to be easy if she isn’t even willing to talk to me.
9th grade
I’m sitting on the front steps of the high school with some of the guys, gabbing aimlessly and waiting on the first bell to ring when Phil Sanders lets out a low wolf whistle and murmurs, “Oh, man. Would you look at that? I think I’m in love.”
I turn my head to see what he’s talking about and suddenly, inexplicably find my jeans tightening and my mood darkening.
Pulled alongside the curb is a cherry red Mustang convertible with the top down. But it isn’t the car Phil’s drooling over. Melanie Lane has just hopped out of the passenger seat and is now leaning over the side talking to the driver. The first thing I notice is that her plaid skirt is so short I can just about see the promised land. The second thing I notice – which isn’t until after she straightens, of course – is that the driver is some asshole who’s got to be at least nineteen or twenty. Maybe even older.
It’s none of my business, and normally I wouldn’t give either of them a second thought. But I don’t know, something about the whole scene gets under my skin and starts to itch. Especially when Mr. Mustang lifts his sunglasses and bursts out laughing at whatever it was she just said. He is way too damn friendly. It doesn’t ease my mind any when I see the pervert give her a wink before driving off. He acts just a little too familiar with her and I know he’s sure as hell too damn old to be flirting with a fourteen-year-old girl.
All our eyes are on her as she bounces up the steps, but I’m the only one with enough kahunas to open his big mouth.
“Little old for you, isn’t he?”
Stopping in her tracks, she blinks at me in surprise. “Are you talking to me?”
“Yeah, jailbait. You’re the only one around here who just got dropped off by a senior citizen.”
Cocking her head, she gives me a look of supreme disdain. “For your information, he’s my neighbor. He was just giving me a ride.”
“Was he? Sure it wasn’t the other way around?”
The guys let loose with a round of oohs and crude snickers, and I want to tell them all to knock it off. Part of me knows I’m being a dick but it’s too late to back down now.
“You’re disgusting!” she snaps. “Why don’t you get your mind out of the gutter?”
“Hey, I’m not the one who’s mooning the entire school every time I bend over. What’s the matter, couldn’t find the rest of your skirt? Nice panties, by the way. Love the stripes.”
Her mouth drops open and now I’m starting to feel guilty for acting like such a douche, but for some reason instead of just letting it go I give my mouth carte blanche.
“I’d watch it if I were you. You’re gonna get lover boy locked up. Messing around with a minor is a felony, you know.”
“Nobody’s messing with anybody. He’s not my boyfriend, and you’re an idiot!” Tossing her perfectly styled hair over one shoulder, Melanie sticks her cute little nose in the air and continues prissing her way up the steps.
“Dude…” Beside me, Craig is doubled over laughing. “What are you doing?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, and I stalk off to my locker in a sullen funk because I’m suddenly not feeling like talking anymore.
I don’t see Melanie again until third period Spanish. It’s the only class we share – she’s more the honors type while I’m lucky to squeak by with a passing grade – but I just happen to sit right behind her so lucky me, I get to stare at the back of her head every day for almost an hour.
Some days I want to bring a pair of scissors and quietly snip off a fistful of her hair just for the fun of seeing her go ballistic, but most days I’d rather run my fingers through it to see what it feels like. It looks soft. It’s sort of golden brown, long and straight, and has these highlights that shine under the florescent lights. She smells
But first, we have to get reacquainted. And that’s not going to be easy if she isn’t even willing to talk to me.
9th grade
I’m sitting on the front steps of the high school with some of the guys, gabbing aimlessly and waiting on the first bell to ring when Phil Sanders lets out a low wolf whistle and murmurs, “Oh, man. Would you look at that? I think I’m in love.”
I turn my head to see what he’s talking about and suddenly, inexplicably find my jeans tightening and my mood darkening.
Pulled alongside the curb is a cherry red Mustang convertible with the top down. But it isn’t the car Phil’s drooling over. Melanie Lane has just hopped out of the passenger seat and is now leaning over the side talking to the driver. The first thing I notice is that her plaid skirt is so short I can just about see the promised land. The second thing I notice – which isn’t until after she straightens, of course – is that the driver is some asshole who’s got to be at least nineteen or twenty. Maybe even older.
It’s none of my business, and normally I wouldn’t give either of them a second thought. But I don’t know, something about the whole scene gets under my skin and starts to itch. Especially when Mr. Mustang lifts his sunglasses and bursts out laughing at whatever it was she just said. He is way too damn friendly. It doesn’t ease my mind any when I see the pervert give her a wink before driving off. He acts just a little too familiar with her and I know he’s sure as hell too damn old to be flirting with a fourteen-year-old girl.
All our eyes are on her as she bounces up the steps, but I’m the only one with enough kahunas to open his big mouth.
“Little old for you, isn’t he?”
Stopping in her tracks, she blinks at me in surprise. “Are you talking to me?”
“Yeah, jailbait. You’re the only one around here who just got dropped off by a senior citizen.”
Cocking her head, she gives me a look of supreme disdain. “For your information, he’s my neighbor. He was just giving me a ride.”
“Was he? Sure it wasn’t the other way around?”
The guys let loose with a round of oohs and crude snickers, and I want to tell them all to knock it off. Part of me knows I’m being a dick but it’s too late to back down now.
“You’re disgusting!” she snaps. “Why don’t you get your mind out of the gutter?”
“Hey, I’m not the one who’s mooning the entire school every time I bend over. What’s the matter, couldn’t find the rest of your skirt? Nice panties, by the way. Love the stripes.”
Her mouth drops open and now I’m starting to feel guilty for acting like such a douche, but for some reason instead of just letting it go I give my mouth carte blanche.
“I’d watch it if I were you. You’re gonna get lover boy locked up. Messing around with a minor is a felony, you know.”
“Nobody’s messing with anybody. He’s not my boyfriend, and you’re an idiot!” Tossing her perfectly styled hair over one shoulder, Melanie sticks her cute little nose in the air and continues prissing her way up the steps.
“Dude…” Beside me, Craig is doubled over laughing. “What are you doing?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, and I stalk off to my locker in a sullen funk because I’m suddenly not feeling like talking anymore.
I don’t see Melanie again until third period Spanish. It’s the only class we share – she’s more the honors type while I’m lucky to squeak by with a passing grade – but I just happen to sit right behind her so lucky me, I get to stare at the back of her head every day for almost an hour.
Some days I want to bring a pair of scissors and quietly snip off a fistful of her hair just for the fun of seeing her go ballistic, but most days I’d rather run my fingers through it to see what it feels like. It looks soft. It’s sort of golden brown, long and straight, and has these highlights that shine under the florescent lights. She smells
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