Scribbled on My Converse

Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Eleven.

I frown, trying to make the next three hours fly by, but with no idea how. I’ve already eaten three times.

   Of course, first Jonathan called to cancel. Stacie went all bitch on him and decided he needed to be with her all day. But then she decided she had better things to do, so I have to wait until nine tonight, which doesn’t bother me as much as it should. He said I could spend the night, but I didn’t want to push it. Especially with my tumbling emotions at the moment. As it is, I’m only staying an hour.

   I drum my hands across the sink. Damn house keeper, keeping our house clean. Right now, I  wish Chelsea was at home, but she’s not. Well, she is, but she’s smooching Benjamin upstairs, and probably doing more. I even think about calling Abram, but I don’t want him thinking I’m excited to see him. Even though I am. I miss him. A little.

  I sigh, then go upstairs to pick out an outfit for tonight. As I pass by Chelsea’s door, I hear a moan, and then a phone ringing. She doesn’t stop to answer it. My phone is still in my back pocket. Good. If someone talks to me, I might just curse them out because I’m too high-strung right now.

  I open up my closet. Should I go with sexy and not-impressable? Or should I go with I want to make a lasting impression? But it’s supposed be casual because we’re only friends.  And we’re only practicing. Plus, I don’t like Jonathan anyway. I just want to be the best in the play. Ella likes Jonathan’s character. Jonathan is a different person. Not his character.

  I grab a few sleeveless shirts and some shorts. I think I might go with sexy-casual. Girls always have to look cute—you never know who you might meet on the road. I pull out my sexiest, shortest blue jean shorts and a bright pink, strapless shirt that’s tight enough to flatter my chest and show my newly acquired bellybutton ring. Yes, I got one while trying to find something to do today. And it didn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would.

   I think about dressing, but I want to shower first, and straighten my hair. Then do my make-up. Spray some perfume… when I glance at the block, twelve minutes have passed by. Good. Only one hour and forty-eight minutes more until I have to get ready.

   I start straightening my room. Fix the covers, throw some old papers away. Position everything into a perfect spot. That kills twenty minutes. I groan, throw some music on, and start wilding out. Maybe if I do my calculus. That’ll take about four hours at least. I crack open my book and stare at the numbers.

   But I really can’t concentrate. I’m translating the script into Spanish in my head. Speaking of script… I go searching through my backpack for my script—which is not there. I frown, trying to see where I put it. It wouldn’t be at school because, well, it wouldn’t. I don’t use it when I do have it.

   I go back downstairs, where I’m sure that my script is. Like I thought earlier, I don’t need it, but it’s something to do.

  I go into the living room, wondering where Daddy and Papa are. Normally, on days they don’t have games—and their practice is usually over at this point—they’re at home, relaxing with us. But, no, they’re gone today.

   I plop onto the sofa and put on a movie, my script forgotten. As the movie progresses, I check the time, counting off the minutes. Ten… fifteen… seventeen… The door bangs open. Benjamin comes through, dripping with sweat. “Hey,” he says, disappearing upstairs.

  Wait…

   I don’t ponder that longer because Jonathan comes right behind him, wearing a pair of blue jeans that fit just right, and a tight white muscle shirt under a blue, black, and white plaid button-up, which is emphasizing those gorgeous muscles. My breath almost gets taken away, but I remember I do have a problem—I mean, I have a boyfriend. Not a problem.

   I try not to smile as wide as my mouth will go at Jonathan, but I can’t help it once he shoots me that secretive little grin that makes me think he has some secrets he wants to tell me. Hell, I’d listen to anything he has to say.

  “Hey, you,” he says, coming sit by me. “You have the script?”

   “We’re practicin’ a sex scene—I doubt it matters if I have a script or not,” I say, but my voice comes out all throaty and  seductive—which is not like I want it to. Benjamin arches an eyebrow from where he’s going upstairs. I think about stopping him, but I don’t. I let him go, grinning at Jonathan, who turns slightly red and looks away.

   “Oh, we can practice,” he says. “Let’s go to your room… for privacy.”

   “Yeah,” I say, following him upstairs with a heated face. “Privacy.”

Short chapter, I know. But, beddy time, and the next chapter shall be the best so far!