Hey everyone! I restarted my story..... again, but I think it came out okay. My writing is really bad lately and I'm kind of stuck on where to go next. It might be a while until I post again because like I said, I have no clue where to go from here :(
P.S: This story is rated Pg-13! There is a little amount of cursing, and some inappropriate conversations. [There's teenagers in the story, and you know how they can be ;)]
Chapter 1 “Do you think Kyle Bouner is cute?”
Anya’s voice caught me off guard and I jumped up a little bit. Every time there was a silence, even if it only lasted a few moments, my mind would drag completely somewhere else.
“I don’t know…? Maybe?” I mumbled, staring at my garage door skeptically through my designer sungl*censored*es.
“Well, I think he is. I had his number, since like, the beginning of the school year and we never talked that much. But yesterday he just randomly texted me and we just started talking on and on- Ow!” She quickly snapped her hand up from the hood of my dad’s pickup truck that we were sitting on and pressed it against her lap.
I pointed to the blanket that was lying underneath us. “That’s what this thing, called a blanket is for.”
“Shut up! Shoot, Tonnie, that really hurt. They really need to tape a warning label onto this thing.”
“It’s not the car’s fault. Blame the sun.”
“Stupid sun,” she growled as I rolled my eyes (which she obviously couldn’t tell) and rested back lazily against the windshield. And the sun was hot. It was one of those days where, the second you step outside, you’re suddenly weld up with a bucket of sweat and your hair automatically sticks to the back of your neck. I wasn’t quite sure why we were outside right in the dead center of the sun’s wrath, but Anya loves the heat more than a person should. It could be sixty degrees out and she would be wearing a furry winter coat. And no, I am not joking.
“He’s so sweet though,” she said, licking her mint-chocolate chip ice cream cone. “I mean, he asked me if I was still as pretty as I was during the school year. How cute is that?”
I locked my fingers together and rested them behind my head. “Oh, that’s just, adorable.”
“Could you just at least try to be happy for me, miss, I don’t give a damn about what you have to say.”
I sat up sharply and pretended to stuff her ice cream in her freckled face. Anya has always looked two years younger than she really is. Being five-foot-two at sixteen, which freckles on every part of her body and pale as a ghost, it was difficult for her to get a real boyfriend. “I am happy for you,” my voice cracked a little bit. It always does that in the summer. “It’s just, I don’t need every single little detail. Just tell me, did he ask you out?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
She nodded her head. “Yes, sort of. It wasn’t like he was like ‘Hey, want to go out on a date’, or anything, but he kind of gave me a hint.” She rummaged through her coach purse that was sitting between us and took out her NV 3. “He said…” she was searching through her text messages and read it out loud, “‘Well, I got to go, sorry, but I really hope I see around soon.’”
I jerked her phone out of her hands and read the message to myself. I said, “What’d you write back,” And then clicked on the next message, “‘Yeah, I do, too.’ Is that really the best you can do, Anya?”
She stubbornly snapped the phone away from my hands and held it against her chest defensively. Her voice matched her action. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, nothing. All I’m saying is that you, who reads like twenty Seventy magazines an hour always tells me that the closing statement is always the most important.”
She shot me a death glare. “So?"
"So, shouldn't you follow your own advice?"
Her face fell. "Yeah. I'll think of something incredible to say next time we talk."
Anya and I have been best friends since second grade. She moved next door a few weeks before Christmas with her dad. Her mom had her when she was only fifteen years old, and left Anya by the time she turned two. Her dad, Chris, had been raising her in his apartment for four years when he was twenty. Apparently, Chris and Anya’s mother weren’t even dating when she got pregnant. They were at some wild college party in New York. Too much vodka can do a lot to a person.
Anya was surprisingly quiet when she first moved in. It took me about a week just to get her to say a complete sentence to me. In school, she never worked with a partner and sat alone in lunch. Most people made fun of her, calling her little kid names since no one knew any curses yet, but I never did. I knew that she only lived with her father and was an only child. Even back then, I could tell her life was drowned in lonesome.
After about a month, we sort of became friends. She would come over my house every day after school, I guess she couldn’t stand being in her own house, and we would just sit down in front of the T.V, which a couple of Pizza Lunchables, doing our homework if we had any, and watch Blues Clues. Occasionally we would speak about school or comment on the show, but most of the time it was dead silence.
It felt so unreal that Anya and I were ever like that back then. I mean now, it’s as if we’re one person in two different bodies. We spend almost every waking moment together, talk on the phone practically every night together, and tell each other our dirty little secrets. It’s strange to think how much things can change over the course of a few years. Time is a gift, yet a scare. It can rotate the most solid situations and change everything before you even have time to react against it.
“But like, what if Kyle is like, you know, him,” she put air quotes around him, even though they weren’t needed.
“Well,” I flexed my arms back behind me so that they were against the windshield. “At least you know how to deal with a guy like him. And plus, you’ll know all the signs from the start.”
The “him” we were talking about way Anya’s ex-boyfriend, Jake. She was completely and utterly in love with him; she had his name all over her school binders, owned his sweatshirt, and had like, literally fifty stuffed animals from all their dates at the local fairs. And he seemed like the perfect guy too; cute, sexy, funny, smart, charming, yet sort of sentimental. Anya and I were already planning their marriage in a notebook that was under her bed. Now it’s in the garbage.
The reason for this is because on Valentines Day, Anya just thought it would be oh-so-romantic to say those three magic words. I love you. She had practiced it in front of the mirror about a hundred times, and even made me pretend to be Jake, and I had to wear one of his sweatshirts and take off all of my make-up. Anya wanted the “full affect”.
So after days and days of practicing, Anya decided to go to the bike shop where Jake worked and surprise him with a romantic picnic for the beach. Her strawberry blonde hair was softly curled with a little flower in it, she wore this adorable blue and white sundress we got from Charlotte Russe the day before, and she smelt purely like lavender perfume. Everything was perfect.
Obviously, her perfection was ruined the second she walked through the door. I’m not quite sure if this is exactly how it happened, since Anya is the biggest drama queen and over exaggerator on the face of this planet, but apparently Jake was “on top, all over, full body touching, hands exploring” p*censored*ion with another girl. And this girl happened to be Anya’s least favorite person and mine ever. Brittany Laves, the gorgeous school skank who could have any guy she wanted. Of course, she happened to choose Anya’s.
Anya came home mascara-faced and blotchy eyed, curled up in a ball on her bed. I just kind of sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her leg soothingly since I didn’t have much experience in that department. She had some sort of anxiety attack and took everything that even reminded her of Jake and threw it out of her bedroom door and into the hallway. She even threw out one of her black bras that was apparently special since it was the one she wore when they got to “second base”.
I still wonder.
Anya’s voice sought me back into reality. Remember when I said I kind of doze off into my imagination? Now was one of those times. “Whatever. You know, I just want that gay loser out of my life forever.”
“And he is,” I pointed out, “Now he has what he wanted. A stupid Brittany Laves who doesn’t even know his favorite color.
“Real romantic.”
“A total love story.”
We were silent for a few moments. Anya had taken her empty ice cream cone and attempted to chuck it into the garbage can that stood against my garage. I watched indolently through my sungl*censored*es as it plopped onto the concrete, with little splatters of melted green goo dripping out.
“Damn,” Anya mumbled to herself, “I always miss.”
“What time is it?” She asked me.
I grabbed my phone that was sitting on the windshield wipers and flipped it open. “Two-thirty. Why?”
“We start work in exactly eighteen and a half hours. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts."
I was already picturing waking up at eight in the morning to Halfway Gone by Lifehouse blasting through my alarm clock, and putting my hair up in a ponytail with my eyes still half closed. And walking to the Second Party Diner with Anya ten steps ahead of me while I was secretly cursing her off for getting us into work.
So I gave her a sign of my anger by saying, “Shut up.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“You’re the one who got us these stupid jobs. So don’t be complaining about it.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “No,” she said the word as if I was too dumb to understand what it meant, “I didn’t.”
“Oh really,” I put on my fake smile, preparing to mock her, “Come on Tonnie! It will be so much fun working at a diner! We can like, go to so many stores if we get the money. Let’s try it.” I changed my ex
pression back to normal.
She stuck her tongue out at me and I did the same to her. That, to us, was worse than cursing at each other. “Whatever,” She mumbled, grabbing her purse and standing up, “I gotta go. My aunts coming over and my dad said if I’m even one minute late again he’s going to put me up for adoption.”
“Ouch.”
Anya started to walk away in her purple t-shirt tied in the back and black soffe shorts, but she stopped and looked at me. “My thoughts will always be on you, my dear.”
I narrowed my eyebrows. “What?”
“You said that the last thing you say is the most important. So I’m testing it out. Sue me.”
I stuck my tongue out at her.
So far in life I have learned a few things.
All guys are jerks.
That’s something all girls know. It is just in our minds when we are born to look at a guy and have this little signal in our heads go off saying “Beware of male gender.” But it’s only the real acknowledgers who have living proof. I do. His name, is Allen Zemar.
It was early last year. I had a crush on Allen since the eighth grade and he sat next to me in biology. All I was capable of doing in that cl*censored* was staring at those delicious, buff arms, and imagining them being wrapped around me. He was just so good looking. It was like when you p*censored* a car accident on the road. You just can’t keep your eyes away.
He started to smile at me through those opaque brown eyes and I would smile back. I never said anything. I never did anything. I don’t even think I could breathe. My whole brain was clouded with a-totally-hot-guy-is-looking-at-you syndrome. I really needed medicine for it.
Somehow in the middle of all my idiotic gestures and R-rated thoughts, Allen actually found some sort of insane part of his head and asked me out. I went against every one of Anya’s beliefs about playing hard to get, and making everything a challenge, and said yes before he could even get the full question out. That was embarr*censored*ing.
We went to the movies together. We both sat silently. He put his arm around me. I froze with delight of a guy like him being interested in me and the fear of doing something stupid. I put my brain aside for a few moments and rest my head on his shoulder, secretly smelling his varsity jacket. A guy that smells good is a guy worth keeping.
And then we’re going out. Suddenly I feel like I’m soaring through life with the wind blowing in my hair rather than pushing and shoving my way through a pine needle maze. Everything was perfect and I had stopped picturing those incredible arms around me. Because they really were.
And then it happened.
“Baby,” he had told me one night in his car. It’s Over by Daughtry was humming around Allen’s voice. “We need to talk.”
“Hmmmm,” I had my head laid back against the leather seat with my eyes sealed shut. The moment felt so perfect, like I was a princess in the fairytale with my Prince Charming.
“I want to break up.”
My eyes were open then. So open, in fact, that it was a miracle they didn’t pop out of their sockets. I could feel my sizzling blood rushing along my veins and the small voice in the back of my head telling me This isn’t happening.
I didn’t speak. My throat was as dry as sand and I knew I would throw up if I even attempted to speak. But I couldn’t get out of the car either. My entire body grew numb and the only place to look was at Allen’s gorgeous face.
“It’s just,” he wasn’t even fidgeting when he spoke. It was as if everything, the moment, his words, his voice, had been planned or acted out all before. Maybe it was. “I don’t feel that instant connection with you, you know? Like this doesn’t feel like it. You probably feel the same way.”
“No,” my voice was emotionless and dull, “Actually, I don’t.”
He was staring down at my knees then. “Oh. Well, I don’t want you to feel guilty at all. Please, it’s-”
“Let me guess,” my voice was loud and you couldn’t hear Chris Daughtry’s voice anymore. I was furious. “It’s not me, it’s you?”
He smiled. “Exactly!”
“Oh, god, Allen, how many times have you used that useless line before?”
“Not many.”
“Not many, huh? So I guess that means you have before, doesn’t it?”
He was fidgeting. Not many girls were probably as hot-headed as me. He was probably expecting tears and mascara running by now.
“Yeah, but like-”
“Save it,” I snapped, smoothing out my dress and stepping out of the car. The light in my family room seemed to be the only thing that seemed to be real to me at that moment. The sound of Allen’s car rumbling and the glint of light from the headlights seemed like a dream as I walked away from them.
Allen broke up with me because he officially got me. Guys are weird like that. Once they finally get what they want, they don’t want it anymore.
He got a new girlfriend three days after he broke up with me. I didn’t mind. Because as I looked back on our relationship, I realized it wasn’t Allen that I wanted at all. I wanted him to be this perfect guy so much that I made myself believe that was who he really was. That was who I was falling for, my imaginary perfect man in disguise. Now, all he is to me is a stupid mistake of a boy who wasted a few months of my time. Every girl has had one.
So Anya and I both learned how guys can be such useless heart breakers. She had the cheating boyfriend, and I had the one who didn’t even care about me.
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