The Right Side of Reckless (A Lot Like Screwed-Up)

Sample [2]

     I couldn't look at him. My gaze moved to the mahogany shelf on my vintage mirror-dresser combo and stopped on an old figurine my grandmother had given me. I focused on the dancing woman, seeking an excuse.

     "I don't know, Troy. Maybe after we're married?" Internally I cringed. It was a poor argument. Hardly anyone waited for marriage anymore. Troy himself was far from a virgin. He was our school's star running back, and he'd hooked up a lot before we got together.

     Troy's face fell in utter disbelief. "Married? I'm seventeen, you're sixteen. What makes you think I wanna—marriage is on my mind right now?"

     It stung when he almost said he wasn't thinking about marrying me. But maybe I was being naive; we were only teenagers. It wasn't that deep.

     However, having found my way out of the situation, I took it. "So you don't want to marry me?" I lifted an eyebrow, crossing my arms and appearing hurt.

     "Marriage is just a piece of paper."

     "A paper of value." I feigned cluelessness as I tapped my chin. "How does that one Beyoncé song go? Something about putting a ring on it?"

     Troy waved me off while he shook his head. "Please, that's what you females' problem is, sitting there listening to Beyoncé and letting her fill your heads up with that 'girls run the world' nonsense."

     "Excuse me?" Personally, I was more for unity than the idea of one gender on top, but Troy's tone irritated me.

     He quickly tried to backtrack. "Rey, I just... Of course I want to be with you." He came closer and pulled me into his arms. "You know when I make it big I'm taking you with me. Big house. Nice cars. All that."

     "Troy." I sighed. "I'm not with you because of your ability to play football. If something happens when you're in college and you can't play—"

     "God forbid," he quickly interjected.

     "Like I said, if something ever happened and you couldn't play pro, I wouldn't leave you. I love you for you, not some sport you play. I don't think about us in a big house, I think about us in a normal house, married at least, living happily ever after."

     Troy planted a kiss on my forehead. "That's why I love you, Rey. You're not with me because I'm next."

     We were an unmatched pair. Troy was the most popular guy in school and the star football player. I wasn't that popular, nor was I a cheerleader. Some people didn't get it, since I was just Regan London, but Troy liked me. Enough that he'd pursued me despite my early rejections.

     When we'd gotten together my sophomore year, I hadn't cared about his status at our school. He was just some football player everyone wanted to be with or wanted to be; it hadn't impressed me. But then he started chasing me, ignoring his usual options, showing up around me more often. At first, I told him it was going to take a lot more than him hanging around to wow me, which made him laugh, and he kept at it, little love notes carefully stuffed into my locker, popping up with a single rose or carnation before school or after—the shower of affection wasn't lost on me. Slowly, I fell for him once and for all.

     My gaze drifted across my room to my white marble desk, where vase after vase of flowers from him used to sit. Now, there was only the photo of us from last year's homecoming.

     When he let his ego go, Troy was amazing—sweet when he wanted to be, and just as stubborn and persistent as well. He was my first boyfriend and my first kiss. It would only make sense if he were my first...first as well. A part of me wanted him to be, but another part just didn't know.

     Troy caressed my cheek. "I want to show you how much I love you. Don't you want to do the same?"

     "I'll try." I nodded, noncommittal. Thinking about it wasn't as hard as actually going through with it.

     Troy sniffed the air. "What'd your mom cook?"

     "Beans, I think. Probably some cornbread, too."

     Troy sucked his teeth, clearly not liking what was on the menu. "Yeah, I better go home. I hate beans."

     "They taste good."

     "I'll take your word for it." He made his way toward my bedroom door. "I'ma dip out and see what my mom made back at the crib."

     Relieved, I led him downstairs, stopping in the TV area so he could say goodbye to my parents.

     "Night, Mr. and Mrs. London." Troy politely kissed my mother's cheek and shook my father's hand.

     "Another game tomorrow, eh, Troy?" my father said. He was such a huge fan of our school's team. If Troy hadn't been Troy Jordan, the next big thing, I was positive my father wouldn't have allowed me to date him, as strict as he was. I often wondered if he would approve of our relationship if he knew how much Troy wanted to sleep with me.

     Troy grinned. He was a star athlete destined to go the distance, aka the NFL. High school football wasn't a challenge for him anymore. "Oh definitely, sir, can't wait to beat Ellet." He turned to Avery, who was sitting on the opposite couch, playing his handheld video game. "A'ight man, see you later?"

     Avery nodded, briefly looking up from his screen.

     I showed Troy to the front porch and gave him a hug goodnight.

     "Enjoy your homework, Rey," he teased.

     It was an excuse, a pitiful one, but it had worked.

     "Yeah, you prepare for your game tomorrow, okay?"

     "You coming to that party afterward?"

     I always ended up going to a party after one of Troy's games. It was tradition to celebrate the Panthers' win and another step closer to Troy's greatness. I couldn't stay out too late, though; I spent a lot of my time on weekends volunteering at the Briar Park Community Center, where my mother worked. Juggling that on top of school left very little energy for partying.

     But I didn't tell Troy that.

     "Yeah, of course," I agreed.

     He kissed me, then pulled back and held me at arm's length. "I love you, you know that, right?"

     "Of course, Troy. I love you, too."

     But taking in his dark brown face and dark brown eyes, my gut churned with unease, and something I'd started to feel whenever he was with me.

     He wasn't the problem.

     I was.