Here we go again with the stolen glances, the unspoken disapproval, and the Blues Clues antics. It's one thing to give me the silent treatment, but when someone decides to act out my bra size, then it's personal. What animal grabs a pair of infant socks and then looks at me with a straight face? Then he proceeded to force his oversized hand into the sock, and of course, it didn't fit. The first few tries with the extra small t-shirts went over my head, but this one's loud and clear. I get it, Brandon. Now, please shut up!
The only boy in the store wants to chin-check me on the size of my bras. The tool didn't even earn the right to enter my people's store. Yet he has the nerve to mansplain my correct bra size with charades, no less. I hate boys; I swear if women gave them the chance to redesign bras, then the cups would become cubes.
I click my tongue on the roof of my mouth, wondering why I agreed to do the one thing I hate with a heckler. Honestly, I wish Alexis was here because at least she'd have the decency to bra-check me like a girl. I'm complaining, but after the explosion, I lost it.
Apparently, the sock wasn't the wrong size, but when he kept trying to shove his hand inside, it exploded. His hand limped away as well. So that's what my mangled bras and crooked boobs have to look forward to. TOTAL ANNIHILATION.
"Ebony," Brandon hesitates, "I know you said when you're buying your bras not to exist, but um."
"And you did a touchdown right across that boundary line." I snap, fumbling through the rack.
"This is not your bra size," he blurts out. "You're at least two sizes bigger. . ."
I unload all the bras back on the rack and speed walk toward the exit. "Nope. I refuse to have a dude explain my bra size to me. There's rock bottom, and then there's this."
Brandon catches me before I walk outside. He quickly puts his hands in the air as if I'm going to arrest him. "Easy; I'm just saying to try on a few sizes before you run outside and get kidnapped in your mini-skirt."
"You're just trying to scary me," I roll my eyes, turning back around. "And damnit, it's working."
Eventually, I live to regret my cowardice because the second his hands flip through the bra rack, shivers race down my spine. Something about our equilibrium just threw the world off its axis. I'm not a genius but I'm positive this isn't supposed to be happening. Boys aren't allowed to be this attractive while fondling bedazzled boob bookmarks.
Is it me, or are his large biceps confusing the rest of the female population? There's an entire arsenal of gorgeous women with long-legged spiders sitting on top of their eyelids. False eyelashes are like a calling card for women. I just wish they'd talk softer.
The blonde standing inches away from Brandon is literally about to have a public orgasm by just looking at him. The brunette, wearing too much eyeshadow, tries to touch his muscles, but Brandon jerks away. All the ladies are completely flipping the script and undressing Brandon with their hefty eyelashes.
Yay, woman power.
Eventually, he starts staring at me with a knowing look that drains all the fun out of my smile. I roll my eyes, mouthing a sad 'okay' before I do a complete 360. I open the door to the dressing room, spinning on my heels towards Brandon's entourage. This exchange will be the last time I ever say something like this to him again. So he better frame it and make it last forever.
"Bae, hurry up," I yell. "You know I can't try on all these bra sets alone."
As all the girl's jaws swing low in disappointment, I shut the door. When everyone's out of sight, I break out in a shiver. Then I gaze at myself in the mirror embedded in the wall and collapse on the bench laughing. I can't stop; it's too hilarious. I can't believe I had to save the big six-foot-tall giant from a bunch of women.
The dressing room entrance opens and closes while I'm laughing hysterically. I try to calm down when I see Brandon standing above me, but it doesn't take. Then, thanks to my sense of humor, he drops a load of bras directly on top of my face.
"What did I do that was so wrong?"
Brandon relentlessly tickles my stomach as I squirm on the bench. "Those women took advantage of me while you stood there and watched."
"Baby, if you didn't like the attention then cover your arms next time. Or else you're just asking for it." I say, letting out a whistle.
"I wouldn't be so smug if I were you." He comments, digging through the bras until he uncovers my face.
"Why is that, Lady Killer?" I joke.
"You still have to try on these bra's and I'm not leaving," Brandon smirks, holding a black lacy bra.
He leans in closer until we're barely centimeters apart. A smile plays on his soft lips as I bite down on mine. As he draws closer, I close my eyes, but before the sparks start flying someone knocks on the door. Brandon looks away and exhales, shaking his head.
Meanwhile, I'm burning holes to the outside until it reaches the despicable villain on the other side. Do they realize how long I've been waiting for this? It's like waiting for a solar eclipse to happen in the United States! The next one is twenty freaking years away, prick!
"This is mall security." The man knocks again. "I got some complaints about a man wandering into your dressing room. Can you open the door, ma'am?"
My eyes widen in horror as I push Brandon into a corner. For some dumb reason I take off my shirt, earning a whistle from the pervert in the corner. I try to snatch the bra from his hands, but he glares at me.
"What the hell are you about to do, flash the asshole?" Brandon whispers, fighting to put my sweater back on.
"Hey, trust me." I mouth.
"I'll trust you when you put your damn clothes back on," Brandon demands in a low voice.
I open the door until I can't see Brandon standing behind it. I fold my arms across my chest as the young security guard examines a rack he shouldn't.
Examining his name tag, I notice that the pudgy boy with the wavy dark brown hair is Theodore. He examines the small room, glancing at the open black curtain in the back.
"Can I help you, Leon?" I grumble.
He peers inside the dressing room with anxiety written all over his face. "Some umm w-women said some things." He stammers, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I heard what you said." I tap my foot on the floor. "Are you implying that I'm a man?"
"NO," Theodore exclaims, backing away. "That's what they were implying, but I see how woman you are."
Brandon hits the wall while I suddenly stomp my foot in complete anger. "No, Rio, you run off and tell those bitches they're not man enough to handle what's inside this dressing room." I say, wagging my finger in his face.
I slam the door shut as I snatch my sweater and one of the new bra's from Brandon. I race to the end of the room, closing the curtain while Brandon paces back and forth. To my surprise, not only have I gone up two sizes, but this bra doesn't hug me nearly as tight as my mother. He quickly tosses the jeans I picked out earlier, followed by the band shirt he bought.
"Nice performance," Brandon grumbles.
I slide the curtain apart, fully dressed in a black Imagine Dragons t-shirt and distressed jeans. "You liked it? I was channeling Alexis."
"You think your boyfriend's still outside?"
Taking a deep breath, I grab a handful of bras and stand in front of the door. I prepare myself for the ten-yard learning strategies dash. Immediately, Brandon opens the door. Sure enough, Theodore is by the clothing racks talking to one of the bimbos that ratted us out. I try to tiptoe out of the dressing room, but Theo turns his head, and looks directly at us. He mouth flies open as he does a double take. Before he closes his mouth we make a break for the counter.
After a two-minute chase, Theo kills over, catching his breath. Meanwhile, I unload all my bras at Lizzie's cash register. Earlier when Brandon paid for the jeans, I told her I would do a complete metamorphosis in their changing room. So, she happily unhooks the ink tag and scans the items at a record-breaking speed. Before long, she hands over the receipt and the plastic bag filled with a dozen brassieres.
"Hey," Theo calls out, still trying to catch his breath. "You broke store policy, pal, so stop resisting arrest."
"Should we run or call an ambulance?" I ask, grabbing the bag from the cashier.
Brandon calmly grabs my hand, guiding me to the entrance of the store. "A brisk walk, maybe."
"I was going to ask you out, but you blew it, missy," Theo yells.
As it turns out the little engine could do it after all. So the second we let down our guards Theodore starts talking to three security guards. Brandon shakes his head, silently blaming me for all of this. Suddenly, we're zigzagging down the escalator past a group of people. One of the security guards almost catches up to us. Brandon and I look at each other simultaneously, glancing down at the five steps. Without thinking, we jump to the floor. The moment our feet hit the floor we don't stop running until we cross the point of no return.
I shrug sheepishly at the trio standing at the entrance to the Remington Mall. On the other hand, Brandon beams, walking to the driver's side of his car. He glances at the three men with another taunting smile.
"A little past your jurisdiction?" He taunts, leaning against the roof of his Mustang.
I close myself inside, collapsing on the passenger seat. "This is what happens when I don't listen to my gut and listen to you instead."
"This was all your fault," Brandon complains, slamming the door. "Next time you take off your shirt, I better be the only one in the room."
I shove my hand in his face. "You're just mad it only took Theo one day to see me in a bra."
"Don't remind me I was this close to punching that asshole." He glances over his shoulder, quickly whipping onto the road.
One day with Brandon feels like a year and I don't think I'm ever coming down from this high. He managed to burrow himself beneath my skin even when I was beyond depressed. I've never seen a guy piss someone off without even talking to them. I'm officially on the edge of my seat because there's no way I can predict what will happen next. But now I'm wondering why someone so wild and unpredictable would want to join the military. For some reason, I imagine a completely different life for Brandon.
The further he drives down the road the more the neighborhood looks immaculate. He reaches the end of the street and parks on the side of the road behind a row of cars. I stitch my eyebrows together, observing the Griffith Park sign holstered over decorative rocks.
The insulated backpack he reaches for on the back seat is the first strike against me. Then, there are no other humans visible around us. He opens his door as I nod in silence. Moments later, I lock the passenger door.
"What are you doing?" Brandon laughs.
"Oh, I'm not getting out."
He sighs in frustration. "Ebony, if I wanted to kidnap you, I would have done it days ago."
"That's not why I'm not getting out," I say firmly.
"How about we drive down the road a couple of times with the top down? The wind will feel nice when it blows you back to Dodge City." Brandon teases.
I slam the door shut. "You're despicable."
Let's hurry the stabbing along. I'd rather be carried to my final resting place before this exhausting hike ends. Besides, I'm sure my untimely death would stick it to the twenty-five cash app payments. Not that Brandon suspects anything. I don't think it's fair for one senior to beat up every juvenile miscreant in our school. Then when he's done kicking ass and taking names, he goes off to protect the country. That would be so legendary.
I pull my phone from my back pocket, checking the latest insult of the hour. No one really thinks about how guys have thousands of ways to insult girls. Honestly, I expected rehearsed lines by now, but thanks to the Urban Dictionary, boys never lack creativity. Sadly, here's another example of why English teachers in America should quit their day jobs.
"Leave your phone," Brandon announces.
"As soon as you leave your bolt cutters and flashlight behind, hoodlum." I turn my screen off, catching up to him at the front of the sign.
"Eventually, you have to tell me."
The way he stares at me, I swear I've never felt more transparent. He gets in my face and looks down at my cell phone. I fight the urge to tell him everything even though we were moments from sharing a real kiss.
No matter how cruel it sounds, I'm just looking out for myself. One minute, we're so hot we could burn. Then, the strong winds creep into Brandon's heart, and suddenly everything's cold. I don't think he can last long enough to heal my scars. I just don't think it's possible.
I avert my gaze from his crisp blue eye, directingnmy attention to the large rock underneath the sign. When I process the sentence, my heart pounds inside my chest. "Oh, see, this is how the stupid teenagers die at the beginning of the scary movies. I'll be waiting in the car."
"If you think I'm letting you get away that easily, you're crazy," Brandon says, racing in front of me.
"There's a note written on one of the stones that says 'Have you seen me' with a name attached to it. I'm not trying to end up like Maya." I shout, trying to bulldoze past him to absolutely no avail.
"Ebony, it's a cartoon." He mocks, "When have you seen a person with square eyebrows and mustache lips? I promise I'll protect you; just stop running."
"Why are we even here?" I complain.
"Because what I have to show you can't be explained in words. You have to walk on the edge with me."
Brandon places his car keys in my hand and turns around. Without another word, he heads toward the entrance. Suddenly, I'm left with a choice of trusting Brandon or protecting my past. Is it possible to forgive myself and start walking on a new trail?