My sister's beaming face was the first thing that greeted me when I got into the living room. More like when I sneaked in.
I wasn't expecting her home early— as usual since she got a job— so hearing the t.v on from all the way outside had my thoughts on overdrive. I wondered what criminal had barged into our home. And why he chose to watch a reality show.
Well, she. Because it turned out to be Danielle-Soledad, of course. Lounging on a couch, eating from a bowl of popcorn.
A bowl that went flying in the air. "Anica? Oh my goodness, you scared me."
"It's you who did!"
"I'm not the one holding a bat! Where did you get that from?"
I suddenly realized what I was holding. Became really thankful it was her and not some burglar because I honestly don't know how to use a bat.
"Under the stairs."
It didn't take long for us to move onto other topics. We first argued about how her bowl was now empty all thanks to me. That's how she put it, anyway. And I kept explaining to her that it was already on the verge of being empty. Eight pops of corn wasn't a lot.
"It was 10." She bothered to correct.
Then once things got a bit quiet, her reality show too was rounding up, she asked how school went. All the dread of the day came back at once. I tried my best to give a vague reply but it's Danielle-Soledad. She saw through it and asked what happened.
I didn't want to tell her about my club incident, didn't want to hear myself say it out loud. At the same time I knew I couldn't tell her nothing. Then she'd just pester me till I speak up and say everything I don't want to hear myself saying.
So I told her Pamela had an abortion.
Thankfully she didn't hear it. The volume on the t.v suddenly surged so she was busy turning it down to hear what I said. Groaning, her question assured me that I was only partially heard. "What did your bratty best friend do this time?"
Since this afternoon I'd been thinking of all Pamela's flaws. But the truth is, they weren't many. Perhaps to another, they'd be but to me, no. I accepted her with all of her extroverted, impulsive, never-makes-a-proper-plan, rather-shove-her-homework-to-me-or-anyone-available behavior.
The only flaw I couldn't see grey, even through tinted glasses, was sleeping with her friend's boyfriend.
After she walked away from me on the field, I dragged myself back into the school building with a sort of bitterness I've never had. I wondered if I was different, maybe more outspoken, or someone who doesn't carefully think through words and their consequences before speaking them. I wondered if I'd have let her know how hypocritical she was being. Would Steph give me the silent treatment, be on Pamela's side if she knew Pamela had not only had a thing with Leo but nearly gave him a child as well?
I considered saying it right there to her face. Asked her the rhetorical question in the middle of the field, but then I reconsidered. Like I always do. Forcefully shoved it out of my mind.
And that's why throughout Danielle-Soledad talking my ear off about how annoyingly dramatic yet interesting the new reality show she's onto was, I was wondering why on earth I could blurt out such a heavy statement. Glad Soledad didn't hear it.
Regardless, my mind was still on the topic while doing homework, when a knock came from my door.
The knock was weird, for sure. My sister has never been one for courtesy or manners so I should've known.
I should've known it would be Tyler standing on the other side.
His eyebrows go up, but his face isn't all that surprised.
How did you get in here is the word on my tongue, but Tyler beats me to it.
"Your sister let me in. I told her I could wait downstairs."
"I'm going to murder her." I tell him with a straight face. I'm a bit hesitant about letting him into my privacy, yet still I open the door wider, "but come in."
Tyler looks so out of place once inside. He's all chiseled and blue uniform, and my room is all purple notebooks placed vertically in a purple shelf, white beddings and- just the average room of a girl who drowns in purple, white and books.
Instead of returning to my homework desk, I lean on the chair as he gives the room a check.
When he's done, he looks to me, continuing the conversation. "I'd hate to be the reason you commit murder."
"Don't worry, it's not all about you. She's been a pain since I knew how to talk." I bite my lip to stop from laughing, though give up when he chuckles himself.
He asks if he can sit on the edge of my bed— as that's like the only available place to seat. Either that or the purple one-seat sofa that's shaped like a teddy bear and I'm certain he won't be too much of a fan.
Well, there's also my homework desk but I'm seating on the only chair.
Long after we're settled— at least thirty seconds have passed— Tyler's yet to say anything. He just sits there, making me uncomfortable with how alright he is staring at me.
I take in a breath. "I'm trying not to ask why you came here 'cause I know I've got a list of times I asked you very harsh and insensitive questions."
"Well," he nods. "You do ask the most hurtful things."
"But if we sit in silence for thirty more seconds, I'm going to blow up."
"Really? Why?"He laughs.
"It's too quiet."
"The end of this street isn't exactly bubbling with conversations and you've been going there for years."
I look away though my lips form a smile.
"I came to give you this." From the pockets of his blazer he's been holding rather than wearing— I take it that he hates the unnecessary uniform piece. Most people do, and I only wear it to not go against school rules.— From his pockets, he gets out a stationery packet. Mine.
"Oh my- how'd you get that?"
"A girl. She gave it to me, said something about you forgetting it in class and that you always do." My heart jumps out of my chest. While Pamela has been all distant, she still cared enough for this. "I think she's your friend."
"Yeah," I say, happily taking it from him. Then, "What does she look like?"
"Short. Your height, dark skinned."
I feel bad for how quick my heart deflates. Victoria doesn't deserve it.
Though, I'm a thousand times sure she wouldn't care. We've been alright since our first awkward encounter, but she's also made it very clear there are boundaries not to cross. And I still find it uncertain calling her a friend.
"Thanks." I tell him, turning in my chair to place the packet on my desk, although it's more to hide my discomfort from his prying eyes. I can feel him staring hard from the side.
"What's up?"
"Huh?" I fake a non-committed tone. And also fake busy. Scribbling random words into a notebook.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Why would you think something's wrong?"
He sighs. "Melissa, what happened on that field?"
I look up from my fake journaling. When I turn to him he does something with his brows. "Nothing happened."
"Well, what's happened these few weeks? What's happened since the rumor? Since I knew you, why are you one person when we're alone and another in school?"
Though in a calm way, all his questions come out at once.
In my mind I go over a scene where I continue denying the obvious till he gets pissed and leaves. Then a different scene where I sort of come clean.
"I had a fight with my best friend." I wait a beat for him to say something. When he doesn't, I decide I'll make this a monologue where he can't butt in if he wants to. It'll pretty much make this easier.
So, I tell him about Pamela. Pause to think of a way to say my next statement without bloating his ego and reducing myself to a star-eyed fan girl. Once I've figured a way, I finally tell him about the pact. That it's why I didn't want to be seen with him at school, especially because I wasn't sure what things between us really were, that it's why I sat alone during lunch and why I got kicked out the MJR club. Though I make it clear that the last one is merely a suspicion.
"Wow."
"Wow, what?" I ask. My voice coming out a lot more panicked than I wish it did.
"I wasn't expecting that. I mean... not like I know what I was expecting."
"I know it sounds a bit weird."
"More like some mafia shit."
I roll my eyes away. "Don't have to be so dramatic."
"Making a pact with your friends to stay away from me is a lot more dramatic in my books."
I want to glare at him but I can't take my gaze off the floor. So, I'm glaring at the floor instead.
When I stand up I feel Tyler's eyes follow me, all the way to the shelf where I get out a few books I need before placing them all on my table, and back to seating on my office chair that's not so fun since it can't spin.
"You don't have to talk like that."
"Like what?"
"All smart and genius."
His face becomes amused. "Damn, Melissa, I might not be a straight A student but I certainly am not failing all my classes."
"No that's- that's not how I meant it."
While I'm apologetic, I'm glad he's seeing this more as a joke. His question sounds like he's trying hard not to laugh. Really hard. "Do you really think every football jock is an empty head?"
I gasp. "No. However, with a few examples I've met, I'm unable to speak very high of the grades of anybody who plays sport."
I fidget with a mono-colored bracelet on my wrist to avoid Mr Tyler who doesn't mind staring at a person for long hours. "Can you stop? Please."
"What?"
"Looking at me. Don't you know you are?"
"I do."
"Then... stop."
"I don't want to." He smiles in that cocky way that makes me feel smaller than I am.
"I'm sorry for what It feels I said about guys in sport."
"Nah, it's alright. You're not.. entirely wrong. But I can assure you we all do understand a thing or two in our curriculum."
His answer's filled with so much sarcasm that I just have to study his expressions. Well, he is not frowning.
He only starts to look more thoughtful. "What are you going to about the club thing?"
"What?"
"You said—"
"Oh! Yeah, I did."
"Who's gonna keep writing the football reports?"
"Someone else." I shrug so it doesn't look like I'm emotionally attached. Even though I am.
"And your writing?"
I glance up at him, dropping my wrist to the desk. "My writing?"
"You told me you love writing."
"I did... I do." He waits for me to say something more but I don't know what to say.
"Well. Are you gonna stop writing?"
"I won't." I take in a deep breath, letting go while shrugging yet again. "It's something I'd been doing long before getting into MJR, so I can't just stop. It just won't be seen by anyone else besides me anymore. And I guess, not as important."
"Why?"
"Tyler, can we... change the subject?"
He appears hurt almost immediately the suggestion falls out of my mouth, the snarky look I sent his way must add to it. I try to soften my glare.
"If that's what you want."
"It is."
"I just never saw you as the type to give up so easily."
"I'm not giving up, what do you want me to do? My writing career starts and ends with MJR."
"It doesn't have to."
"But it does!"
"You could have a blog."
"Stop." My voice breaks. And I already know I'll be crying soon so I fold myself on my chair, covering my entire face.
This is such a mess. He should've stopped talking a long time ago.
"Melissa,"
"Go away." I force my tone to be strong. "Please."
However he doesn't follow instructions. Or to him go away is an order to stay. And not just stay, but go down to his knees in front of me. Jolt electricity in my arm when he places a hand on it.
"I told you to go."
"Why were you removed from the club?"
I sniffle, then muster enough courage to rub my face dry of all tears and straighten up. Though, I'm scared I look ugly, so my gaze is anywhere else but on him.
"It doesn't have anything do with that.. pact. Does it? 'Cause that's just messed up and too far."
"It doesn't. But I'd rather not talk talk about it."
He nods. And his hand, despite drifting away from its initial spot, is still on my body.
"Your writing doesn't have to be for your eyes alone." He whispers so only I can hear. However, it's only I who can, we're the only two in the room. But it sort of makes his words more intimate.
"I'll think about it. The blog. My sister's actually been pestering me on starting one for a while." I laugh. Except laughing right after crying sounds like you're a dying cat.
He laughs too, anyway. "Then i'm with her on this one."
"I'm still going to murder her."
"You can murder us both. Just think about what I told you. And don't just think— do."
"Okay, father." I roll my eyes but he's too busy straightening up to full length to notice. All intoxicating proximity gone.
I continue. "You know my sister thinks I should name it M & M. She thinks it's cool since I'm Melissa Martinez."
"Ah, that's not bad."
"That is the worse thing she's ever come up with. And the worst thing you've ever agreed to."
"Just saying. 'Kay why don't you call it.. uh, Tyler Jones? Or TJ?" He crouches down to my eye level, and actually keeps a straight face.
"Well, that's very non-narcissistic of you."
"It is, isn't it?"
"Get out of my face." I shove him away and he laughs. But I'm heavily blushing.
After doing something with his phone, he hands it to me without explanation. I stare at the device.
"Your number."
"Why?"
"So, you can tell me when you do start one."
"I— you're a case." I shake my head but accept it. Giggling whilst putting my number in. "There."
"Good." He takes it back, giving me a once-over while at it. My cheeks can't help but get warm at the attention. Unwanted attention.
"Alright. You seem to be on your way out."
"And are you kicking me out, Martinez?"
"No. You're standing."
"I could sit back down if you want."
"I—"
"Relax. I'm playing with you." The corner of his lips raise in a sneaky smile.
"I might just kick you out." I surprise myself, but I'm unable to keep a straight face after and neither can he as we both laugh at it. My laughter and smile only taper down when he starts for the door. I knew our conversation was over, him staying a minute longer would kind of just be awkward. Yet I still wish he could stay longer. And I mean that for both here and in Colorado, but I know the answer for the two is no.
"Bye."
I perk up. "Yeah, bye." My heart deflates once he's out the door. Put yourself together Melissa, like you didn't know already he was going to go.
After four hours of making my sister understand that I didn't just decide to start a blog because of a boy and her telling me I'm flat out lying 'cause she's been advising the same thing for years— Three hours of actually putting in the work for setting up a good website 'cause she's, besides being annoying is surprisingly skilled at creating one — Two hours of me telling her M & M is as stupid as it sounds. "But it doesn't sound stupid." "Well, then it's as stupid as I think it sounds." — An hour of everything else. And now twenty minutes after dinner, I'm staring at an unknown number that I might already guess whom it belongs to.
What's up - 08:43 pm.
Rather than allowing us go through the weird phase of getting to know each other through text till he finds out I'm a boring grandma who can't keep a conversation going and has fat thumbs that cause me to text slower than a senior citizen since I'd have to keep going back to retype misspelt words— I cut straight to the chase.
I did it.
Elaborate?
You don't have to do all that. 8:45pm I really didn't mean anything I said about sport players having low iq. 8:45pm.
Actually I'd rather continue. Don't want you thinking my kinsmen and I barely graduated elementary
You can be a pain.
I can be
I started the blog. Up on the screen I see him typing. Just to be clear I send another text.
And it's not named M & M because it's still the worst thing my sister's ever come up with. And the worst thing you've ever agreed to.
Happy new month, everybody! I wanna thank every single person that's added this to their reading list this past week, and all the comments & votes too. It was crazy honestly. Swear that all the notifications put a goofy smile on my face. I love you. (even you silent readers)~ Emma