CHAPTER SIX: PRESS
I can see the reflection of my fingers typing away on the word document, and I pause to tug at my lip. That's when I catch Stephanie's shadow also reflecting in my laptop screen. She continues to push her hand off her desk and spin her chair around and around. She traded her original wooden desk chair last weekend for a big black one, and I don't think she's gotten up since. It takes up a few more inches of already dwindling space and squeaks a little every time just before it reaches a full 360.
My phone lights up beside me. I purposely put it on silent to keep it from distracting me, but I don't hesitate in picking it up since HOME is flashing across the top of the screen.
"Hello?"
"Hi, lima bean! Just checking in!"
"Hey, mom." I smile at the nickname.
There's some pounding before I hear my mom sigh. "How are you doing?"
"I'm all right. Justâ"
Some more pounding. "Will you stop."
"You're not doing it right," I hear my dad mumble.
"Go away," my mom says as the pounding ensues.
"You're not supposed to pound half of it."
There's a slam.
"There's no right way to pound chicken!"
Stephanie stops spinning and she pierces me with her curious blue eyes. I send her a sheepish smile over my shoulder.
"Mom?" I ask when only more rustling ensues on her end.
"Yes, bean, sorry, I'm here. Your dad's just being a butthead."
"But you're notâ"
"Do you want to make it?" The accusation is completely and totally my moms, and I let out a laugh because it feels like I'm sitting there at the kitchen table. My heart tugs a little at the thought.
"Hi, Lacie!" My dad sounds closer to the phone.
"Hi, dad!"
"Go make yourself useful and chop the tomatoes," my mom orders him, and I laugh again as I imagine the hip bump she gives him in the direction.
"What are you guys making?" I ask as I prop my feet up and wrap my arm around my legs.
"Oh, just some grilled chicken and some salad," she says it like it's no big deal, but I would kill to have her and my dad's food right now. I may miss my bed, but I think I miss family dinner even more.
"Hold on, Lace, I'm putting you on speaker." I hear a click. "Okay, so anything new?"
I wait a few seconds at the sound of rushing water before responding. "No, not really. College is a lot more boring than I expected."
My dad barks out a laugh in the background, and I smile again just picturing the whole scene. My mom's dark blonde hair twisted up in a claw clip as she still wears her black uniform from her day shift, while my dad still prances around in his pajamas, more worried about the food he's going to bring with him on his night shift than if his light blue scrubs are even clean. A cop and a nurse, everything adult rom-coms are made of. It started with coffee and doughnuts and now its meal prepping and pounding chicken.
"Well, how's that lab class you were telling me about?" My mom asks.
"It's all right." I sigh. "I'm working on a lab now."
I hear a slam as something heavy hit the ground. "I am so sick of homework." Layla's backpack. "Do they want me to stay in school until I'm fifty?"
My mom's initial laughter is quick to turn into a pause. I can only imagine the sheepish smile and tense shoulders my little sister throws my dad's way.
"Oof, sorry dad."
"Sorry dad? What the hell does that mean?" he asks.
"It means," my mom singsongs. Her voice is the loudest since she's the closest to the speaker. "That its almost someone's fiftieth birthday."
"Yeah!" my sister chimes back in, latching on to the joke dancing in mom's tone. "And yet he's still wearing doggy pajamas."
I bark out a laugh. No pun intended. No, actually, pun totally intended because those navy blue, sweater dog wearing pajamas sum up my dad's very existence. And his salt and pepper beard.
"Lacie's on the phone? Lacie!" Layla's scream makes me jerk the phone away from my ear and stops Stephanie from spinning again.
"Hey!" I hear my parents yell, but soon my sister's giggles fill my left ear. A new kind of pounding ensues, but this time it's the pounding of her footsteps before I hear a door slam. "So," she says. "Please tell me something cool."
My eyebrows furrow. "Like what?"
"I don't know!" She breathes. "Like, have you gone to any parties? Did you drink? Ew, did you puke your guts out? Are there any hot guys? Because right now, I don't know how I feel about boys. One minute I think they're cute, but then the next minute I catch them laughing at the inappropriate words they carve into the desks."
I let out a laugh. Middle school feels like a distant parody. Sure, some things in life aren't as revolting as they are in the movies, but middle school kind of is. "Honestly, Lay, boys don't really change."
"Oh come' on," she groans. "I have higher expectations for college guys."
"Don't we all." I snort. "I will say, though, that since most of them are finished with puberty, they are way hotter." My statement makes Stephanie stop spinning again, but this time she throws her bewilderment at the fading day light in the window across the room.
"But they're still weird?" my sister's voice is softer as she asks the question.
"Pretty much." I click my tongue, but her groan makes me laugh.
"But what about that guy you met? He's weird, too?" I pass a wary glance at Stephanie, but it's too late. Her mouth is hanging open as she slowly turns around in the chair to face me, dramatically dropping the light pink curl she was twirling.
"What guy?" She mouths, but I wave my hand. "What guy?" She persists.
"Yeah, the guy!" my sister echoes.
"No, that wasâ" I breathe out a laugh as I stand up. "He's no one." I sigh as I stretch.
"What does he look like at least? Ooh, is he a cowboy. I'm really into cowboys lately."
"I still can't believe you met a guy," Stephanie mumbles.
I whirl around. "You were there!" The second time at least.
Stephanie's lips form a circle, and I can only imagine that my sister's expression mimics the pout as she says, "what?"
"You know what?" I finally say as I run a hand through my hair. "All guys are weird if you really think about it. Like the male species in general. They've got the Y chromosome; we've got two X's."
"I don't know what that last part means, but true that." Layla makes a popping sound with her lips. "Even dad."
"Even dad." I smile but whip around when Stephanie throws her head back with a laugh.
"Zack attack." She barely gets the words out as she clutches her stomach in silent laughter.
I guess it's better that she's laughing about that instead of the fact that Zack Attack hit me on the head with a box of cake mix, and that's how I ended up meeting the boy who asked me how I pay attention in class when the task is now seemingly impossible around him.
****
"What is that?" Trent's nose is all scrunched up, and I find myself shrinking down in my swivel chair.
My alarm didn't go off this morning, so instead of taking my daily jog across campus I ended up taking a nice long sprint to class. I threw on my favorite grey sweatshirt. It's my favorite because it's baggy enough to cover my butt over my leggings and for my hands to curl inside the sleeves if I want to feel like a cocoon, but it still hugs my body enough to feel like a cocoon opposed to a sack. The problem is I don't remember the last time I washed it. I've been neglecting washing it because it still smells like the lavender scented detergent my mom uses. After all these weeks, it still smells like home.
But it's pouring rain outside.
I almost fell in the shower stall today and took the practically see through curtain with me. All so I could go outside and be showered again by mother nature and who knows what kind of smells.
"What?" I finally hiss when Trent leans over to sniff the air around me. My words falter on my notebook page as I find myself leaning away from him. He's still one seat away, but if I know anything about body odor distance is futile. My little sister's lack of showers on the weekends are proof of that. She'd live in her pajamas if she could.
Trent continues to bob his head around before leaning back into his own personal space. "Mm, you smell good. Like vanilla. . ." He picks up his pen and slowly twirls it between his fingertips.
All the while I sit back up and bring my sweatshirt sleeve to my lips. I guess it's better than smelling likeâ
****
"So, what else?"
"What else what?" I hold the door out for him since a couple other students cut into our paths as well as our dialogue.
"Vanilla cake, vanilla perfume." Trent waves his hand in a circle as if I should continue the list.
"That's it though." I laugh.
"Really?" His eyebrows stretch up to his hairline.
I silently nod as I halfheartedly wrack my brain. That's when it hits me, and I throw my arm out as if it'll physically hit him too. "I actually like vanilla hand sanitizer and vanilla tea, but that's about it." I shrug and continue walking.
"No coffee?" Trent's eyebrows raise again.
"No coffee," I confirm.
"Me either. I prefer hot chocolate." He pushes the door open with his back but holds his black umbrella out in the entryway and slides it open before stepping outside. His lip is doing that upward tilt thing again as he glances back over at me. "Especially, the hot chocolate in the student center."
"I've never had it." I shrug as I tentatively step under the umbrella with him, but my shoulders jump a little when Trent gasps.
"Don't you live on campus?"
"Haven't you heard of Starbucks?" I counter.
Trent holds a hand over his heart. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."
I follow him a few steps further away from the building as the rain continues to pitter-patter against the top of his umbrella. People's feet also pitter-patter against the cement as some of them jog from building to building through puddles.
Trent shifts his backpack higher over his shoulder. "No, but seriously, you have to try it."
"Okay," I mock as I take a step back, but Trent closes the distance again.
"Wait, where are you headed next? I can walk you if you want?" He lifts the umbrella up in his hand as if to remind me that he still has it.
"No, it's okay." I take another small step back, but he stretches his forearm out to keep the umbrella over my head. There's no more humidity clinging to the air and yet he still only has a navy-blue t-shirt clinging to his chest.
"Are you sure?" He leans down, so I can hear him over all the rain drops. "It's not a big deal."
"Thank you, butâ" My eyes keep darting to and from his. To and from his wispy blonde eyelashes. To and from the beauty mark above his eyebrow. To and from the acne scars coating his jaw. To and from all these things that I never imagined he'd have up close. I flick my thumb up over my shoulder. "I think I'm just going to run."
At least when I do, I have an excuse as to why my heart is beating so fast.
****
"Okay, that's it."
I barely pull my fingers away before Stephanie slams my laptop shut.
"Hey!" I whine, but she swipes it off my lap.
"Let's go."
"Where?" I ask.
"Somewhere," she groans as she slowly backs away from me and dramatically flops her back against her bed. Just her back because the beds are too tall to dramatically flop onto.
"I don't know," I say after I finish laughing at her antics.
"Oh come' on!" She stands back up. "It's Friday night, and I don't feel like partying, but I want to do something." Now she's flopping her back against my bed.
"Food?" I offer.
She perks back up. "Movie?" A beat passes before Stephanie waves her hands from side to side. "Food and a movie?"
"Sure." I laugh.
Little did I know that food would mean stuffing Stephanie's backpack purse with snacks from the vending machine downstairs and a movie would mean an actual movie in a movie theater on an actual giant screen and not on the screens of our laptops. One shuttle bus to the mall later, and I'm left fidgeting next to Stephanie with a ticket to a scary movie I have no desire seeing.
"But it's almost Halloween," Stephanie sing-songed as she handed me the ticket. "Don't you just love getting scared sh*tless!"
The second we left the dorms, Stephanie perked right up. She kept messing around with her army green jacket zipper and jokingly pulling the hood of my black sweatshirt over my head.
I kick a leftover popcorn kernel across the plush navy-blue eighties themed carpet debating whether I'm in the mood for it when Stephanie yanks my hood up again. Outside I embraced it, but now that we are in the theater, I immediately yank my hood back down and attempt to straighten my hair back down with it.
"Peas!"
I turn and silently curse myself for responding to the silly nickname all the while I hear Stephanie sputtering behind me.
"Funny to see you here." Zack spreads his arms as he continues to trot over to us. I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling since Trent has to swat Zack's right arm from hitting him in the face.
"Hey." Trent smiles when he reaches us. Luckily there's no one behind us in the popcorn line to be mad at their entrance.
"I thought sharks lived in the ocean," Stephanie jokes from the other side of me and catches Zack's attention.
"I'm more of a land shark."
"Well, keep your hands off my popcorn."
"I make no promises."
Trent's shoulder brushes against mine. "What movie are you guys seeing?"
"I'm forcing Lacie to see her first scary movie," Stephanie answers for me, still giddy as ever.
"Not my first," I say before casting my gaze on my black high tops. "But will be my last."
"Hey!" Stephanie yells when Zack rips her ticket out of her hand.
"Theater six? Looks like you're stuck with me, Steph-a-knee."
"Yeah, no." She lightly shoves him away as we finally make it to the front of the line.
Once Stephanie has her popcorn, we all walk to the correct theater Zack steals popcorn pieces, tosses them up in the air, and attempts tocatch them with his mouth along the way. He only catches one out of the threebefore we walk into the darkened theater and find the previews are alreadyflashing across the screen. Stephanie picks a row towards the back and Zack goes in first. I go to sit in the plush red seat next to him, but Stephanie shoves me out of the way and sits down. She pops a piece of popcorn in her mouth as she stares up at me. I glance over at the empty seat next to her only to see that Trent's already occupying the one next to it. I internally shake my head. First, she drags me to a scary movie and now she dictates who I sit next to.
I sit down because there's nothing else I can do about it, and the lights dim further a few minutes later as the movie begins to play. I run my fingers over the red velvet arm rests and try to remind myself that whatever horrendous thing plays across the screen is not real. The problem is the red velvet also reminds me of the very real guy sitting next to me. The same guy that decides to slouch down against the back of his chair and let his feet slide with the motion. The outside of his left sneaker presses right up against the side of mine. I don't dare look in his direction, but his eyes are still trained on the screen in my periphery. That cancels out any intention. It has to. Plus, he's always slouching in philosophy.
A bang from the screen makes me jerk back in my seat and although Stephanie chuckles at my reaction, I'm glad it forced Trent and I's feet apart.
I don't allow myself to be deceived by the sudden stillness on screen. It's just the quiet before another storm. Or in this case, more screams. I decide to focus on my surroundings again to prevent myself from getting sucked into eerie violin music and dark corners. The exit signs are still glowing red beside the large screen. I can see the wisps of hair on the tops of other people's heads. I turn to catch Stephanie slowly putting another piece of popcorn in her mouth while her eyes remain fixated on the screen. I slowly breath in and run my finger along the chair cushion underneath me, and for a second, I can pretend that I'm calm.
But then I spot movement in the corner of my eye as Trent's sneaker goes sliding again. Everything is still again when the outsides of our shoes are aligned. I fight the urge to assess his face, but I'm now more in tune with the movement beside me than anything on the screen.
He scratches his nose then the side of his cheek. A couple minutes later he runs his hands over the back of his neck but avoids deflating the spiked-up hair above his forehead. Then he sits back up in his seat and our feet disconnect by default.
I slowly lift my leg up and cross it over the other, separating us further because now I'm more irritated with myself for getting so worked up over nothing. I curl my hands into my sweatshirt sleeves and fold my arms across my chest as I sit up straighter. But a ghost pops out the second I look ahead, making me flinch again.
This time Trent's the one quietly chuckling beside me, which makes my defensive posture futile. I'm not protected from the fictional horror nor the all too real boy beside me. Now would be a good time for Stephanie to yank my hood up. I'm about too seconds away from doing it myself.
"Hey."
I hear the whisper before Trent's posture is sliding again. This time both his foot and his thigh are aligned with mine as he leans in towards me.
"Are you okay?"
I catch his gaze for a split second before nodding. That's all I can do because even though I really wasn't okay a second ago, his thigh is now providing my body more warmth than my sweatshirt. His jeans through my black yoga pants. I lift my head up to try and ignore it, but a hand comes up in front of my face.
"I wouldn't look yet."
Then a bang resounds and for once I'm the only one not flinching.
"Thank you," I whisper, and that earns me a tilt of his lips as he drops his hand. The moment doesn't last long because more wails from the screen bring my own hands up to my face. I hesitate in planting them fully against my cheeks both because my acne prone skin doesn't need the contact, but also because I want to cover my ears. I can't decide which is worse. The bloody scene or the screams.
I crack open my fingers. "Is it safe yet?"
"Nope," Trent whispers, but chuckles when I quickly cover my face again. Trent continues to look at the screen, but I keep my gaze on him. His skin continues to be filtered by whatever is running across the movie screen. White, blue, and black saturation. His side profile continues to go in and out of focus before he turns back to me.
"Now?" I whisper.
"Uh . . . yeah." He's scratching the back of his neck again.
"Don't lie."
He shakes his head with a smile. "I'm not."
"Okay." I slowly let my hands fall back down to my lap, but he leans forward before I can bring myself to face ahead.
"So." His fingers trace along the armrest. "How are you?"
"I've been better," I grumble both because it's true and because I still don't want to disrupt any other movie goers even though at this point, I probably already have. Then again, Trent's the one that keeps chuckling as if we are watching comedy.
I go to pick at the blue paint on my nails, but my eyes dart up again on their own accord. Natural instincts I want to curse but can't because a piece of hair naturally falls over my face, and Trent's pointer finger comes up from the arm rest and gently pushes it to the side. The action is so minimal I barely feel it. The hair barely moves, and yet I still can't bring myself to move.
"Ugh!" Stephanie grunts beside me as she stands up and pours the rest of her popcorn on Zack. "Come' on, Lacie, we're leaving." She grabs my arm and pulls me out of my chair. I look back over my shoulder to see Trent slowly sliding down in his chair again. He sends me a half salute with a tip of his point and middle finger as a sheepish smile stretches across his lips all the while Zack shrugs and continues to eat popcorn pieces off his stomach.