Disclaimer: This is part of an original piece of fiction. Mine. Not yours. Don't steal. Thanks. Enjoy.
~~~
On Friday at lunch, we sit our usual way on the folded down tailgate of Jonathon's truck: Kyle, Jonathon, Emily, and I, with Aiden's empty space to my right. The first half of lunch goes by without any significant event, until Aiden saunters up, slips into his place, and begins eating as if he's been here the entire time.
"Where've you been?" Emily asks.
"I was just taking care of some stuff," he says, staring at his hands.
"Wait, so did you do it?" asks Jonathon, leaning back to look down the line at Aiden.
"Do what?" I ask, wondering what I missed. "Did you do what?"
"I broke up with Izzie."
My confused 'why' is drowned out by the others asking 'how did she take it?' and 'did she even say anything?'. Though I must admit, this certainly explains the look he gave me when I mentioned her yesterday...
Aiden shakes his head. "No, it was just classic Izzie- she didn't say a word."
"What did she do, then?" asks Kyle.
"She nodded a lot."
"That's just as well," says Emily. "You're a good guy, Aiden. You deserve someone who's going to fight for you."
"That's sweet," I say.
"Naturally."
"But I still don't know why you broke up with her."
"Because that's what our whole relationship was like- I'd try to put out suggestions, and she'd just nod. She was always nodding," says Aiden. "It was like dating a bobble head."
Somewhere in the midst of nodding our understanding, it becomes comical, and Aiden points down to Jonathon, laughing.
"Yes! Yes, that's exactly what it's like!"
We all collapse in laughter, the sound shaking us and the bed of the truck, attracting stares from our classmates who are coming back in from their own lunches. I slip one arm around Emily and one around Aiden, pulling them into me; somewhere in my mind, I know that I don't want to ever forget this moment.
~~~
My parents and I discussed this this morning: two minutes after school gets out, they're going to be at the back of the building, ready to pick me up and start our drive out to New Orleans.
When the final bell of the day rings and I step out of my classroom, Emily comes out of nowhere and grabs me by the arm, dragging me down the hall.
"Uh, hey Em?" I say, trying not to trip over my own feet as we push our way through the crowded hall.
"Yeah?"
"Where are you taking me?"
"You'll see."
Great.
I glance at the clock on the wall as we pass it, hoping time is passing slowly. I'm not exactly anxious to be late for my parents to pick me up; I don't want to spend the first fifteen minutes of the ride listening to my mother rag on me.
Just as I'm about to point that out to Emily, she opens a classroom door near the back entrance of the building and pushes me inside, pulling the door closed behind us. I'm not entirely sure- because it's pitch black in here- but I think this is Coach Van's classroom. I've never had a class from him, though-
I don't have any more time to think because Emily's arms are around my neck and her hands are in my hair and her lips are on mine- and my back is pushed up against the wall and all I can feel is Emily all around me because it's dark and my eyes are closed.
A moment later, we break apart and I push her hair out of her face.
"I'm not complaining, but what's all this?" I ask.
"It's nothing, I just..." She tries to start, but shakes her head and begins again. "I guess I'm going to miss you, that's all."
"I'm only going to be gone for a few days, Beautiful," I say. "I'll be back on Sunday night. Okay?"
"Okay," she replies, biting her lip.
I pull out my phone to check the time. I've only got a minute.
"Babe, I've got to go. See you on Sunday?"
I kiss her one last time- meaning only for it to be a peck, but as usual, we get carried away.
"I love you," she whispers.
"I love you too."
Freeeeeeeeedooooooooomm!
My phone rings- Daddy is calling me.
"Hello?"
"Auggie, it's time to go. Where are you?"
"Coming, Daddy. I'll be right there," I sigh. I hang up the phone and give Emily a quick squeeze. "See you later, Em."
"Later, Aug."
Road trips with my parents are a fine mix of my mother picking at me, Daddy trying to get her off that subject and into a conversation with him, and listening to my music. I'm sharing the back seat with our fancy clothes hanging from a hook on the far side of the car. Two presents wrapped in plain white paper sit on the seat below them- one is from my parents (a silver picture frame) and the other is from me (a tea kettle). I figure that- tea drinkers or not, Jacks and Geoff will need one eventually.
Through the ride, I stretch out as much as I can, enjoying the freedom that pants provide; I'll be wearing the horrible dress soon, and I'm not looking forward to it.
~~~
This is not my first wedding to attend. Granted, I haven't gone to more than a handful of them, but I'm not new to the process anymore. I have yet to be involved with the ceremony- always a guest, never a bridesmaid- but I know how things go.
That's why, when I see something in the lacing of Jacks' dress went wrong, I know to keep my mouth shut and not freak her out. And when the flower girl looks teary-eyed and close to a fit, I whisper "you look so pretty" when she walks past.
And I know that my dad is going to laugh a lot and smile constantly. He'll remember in a toast when Jacks was "knee high to a grasshopper" and wish the newlyweds lots of luck and happiness.
My mother will clasp a crumpled tissue in her lap and dab at her welled up- but not running over- eyes through the entire ceremony. She won't really cry, though.
And I will sit alone with other teenage family guests and their uncomfortable dates during the dinner and dance reception.
That's where I am when an unfamiliar guy around my age sits down beside me.
"I'm surprised no one's asked you to dance," he says haltingly, but still grinning.
"You obviously don't know me," I snort, thinking of the disasters that could happen if I tried to dance. It isn't until I finish my small laughing fit that I realize I just shut him down for no reason. I don't really care, but to be polite, I give him a shred of my attention.
"Oh, sorry," he says, blushing bright red like I've just told him his fly is down. He must not talk to girls enough to get efficiently shot down like that. "I'm Clyde."
"Are you serious?" I ask, almost interested. "Clyde. Like Bonnie and Clyde?"
"Clyde like Bonnie and Clyde," he says with a nod, picking his faltering confidence back up again.
"Nice name."
"Thanks. I'd say the same thing about yours, but I don't know it."
I smile. "I'm August. I'm Jacks' cousin," I say without pausing to think if anyone from the groom's family even knows her by that name.
"Cool. I'm a friend of Geoff's family."
He sticks his hand out for me to shake. I don't take it. I'm not done with the introduction yet.
"You are?" I ask, wanting a specific answer. "Or your parents are, so you are by proxy?"
His eyes narrow, showing me that he thought it'd be easier to talk to me. He's still smiling, though; I think he's catching on that I don't like to take shit from strangers.
"Weirdly enough, I actually am."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I mow their lawn and watch the dogs and shit when they're out of town. I clean the pool sometimes, too."
"You're their pool boy and you got invited to the wedding," I say, my voice barbed by doubt.
"Believe it or not," he replies, shrugging and trying to look nonchalant, but failing due to the deep blush splattered on his face.
"Well, Clyde the pool boy," I say, holding out my hand for him to shake, "it is a pleasure to meet you."
My mother would be deliriously proud of that particular choice of words; the previous sarcasm, not so much.
"And likewise, August, the sarcastic cousin," he replies, taking my hand. "Now let's dance."
Before I have time to resist, he turns the handshake into him pulling me out of my chair and onto the dance floor. Normally, I would bitch about it and go back to my seat; but this feels like something Aiden or- more likely- Jonathon would do for my own good, so I go with it.
"You're smoother than I thought," I laugh.
"Oh, yeah. That's what was missing from my introduction," he says, smiling and pulling me closer so as not to bump into the couple two-stepping behind us. "I should have told you- 'Smooth' is my middle name."
"Is 'Cheesy As Hell' somewhere in there too?"
"How'd you know that?" He looks astonished.
"I'm smart like that," I shrug.
"More like smart ass," he says.
"That sounds better."
We dance in silence for two more lines of the song, the wedding band's spruced up cover of some popular ballad.
"So, what were you thinking about before I bothered you?" he asks.
"Relationships. People I know who are together."
"Ah, yes. The classic wedding related train of thought," he says, nodding. "You thinking about your boyfriend?"
"No, I-" I begin, but I stop myself. I have to be careful; I don't know this guy. "Well, I- I don't have a boyfriend," I finish lamely.
It's not a lie.
"Really? They clearly don't know what they're missing."
"That's sweet of you," I reply, uncaring of his flattery. "But I was thinking about how- if I had a boyfriend, say- I would want him to be my best friend, you know?"
"Yeah."
I know what he's doing. He's letting me talk to get on my good side. He clearly doesn't know me at all; it takes more than that.
"Like this couple I know," I say, deftly pretending that I'm not talking about my girlfriend and I, "My friend Emily and her girlfriend are best friends. They do everything together. I mean, they're not perfect, but it's still great."
It's like a door has slammed shut behind his eyes- and suddenly, he's not so nice.
"Did you say 'her girlfriend'?" he asks, a hint of hope toward the contrary evident.
"Yes. They're gay."
I say it as baldly as I would state the color of his tie, right in front of my eyes.
"And that doesn't weird you out?" he asks.
"No. They love each other," I reply. "I think it's sweet. Why would it?"
He doesn't have to speak; I know he's thinking 'I think it's wrong'.
As I finish that thought, the song ends and he steps away looking relieved.
"Well, dancing with you sure was... uh..." and he walks away, not even bothering to finish the sentiment he wouldn't have meant anyhow.
"Yeah, you too," I mutter as I head back to my beckoning seat.
People say that the closer you get to New Orleans, the more accepting everyone is of differences.
People lie a lot.
~~~
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