0 2
Reacquainted
"Hi, Lyndon! How are you?"
Malia's voice travels across the line like a damn siren song. It's velvety and smooth and confident, everything my embarrassing stutter of the simple word hello wasn't.
"Um, I'm, uh, I'm good. Yeah, I'm good," I say, nodding my head as if she can see me trying to reassure myself that I am indeed good. "Uh, you?"
She lightly laughs, probably at my clear awkwardness. "I'm great. I was just thinking of you. My mother said you were moving back and coming to Arlin. How do you feel about it?"
I pull the phone away and sigh heavily. She doesn't really want to know how I feel about coming back to her town and going to her school. "Good."
I grimace. Can I think of any other word to say right now?
"I'd be really nervous to start all over, especially for senior year," she comments, but something tells me this girl would never feel nervous about anything.
"Well, yeah, it's only natural," I say and then immediately grimace again. Who am I right now?
She hums an agreement. "True. At least you'll already know someone. Actually, two people. Noah's enrolling too, right?"
I nod my head, then smack myself on the forehead because she can't even see me. "Yes, he is. So is Knox. Remember him?"
She laughs again, and this time I know she's laughing at me. "Yes, I remember Knox. He's a freshman now?"
"Mhm. The little boy's all grown up," I say with a smile, instantly remembering the times we'd force him to be the dog when we'd play with Malia's fake kitchen/living room set at holiday parties.
"I can't even picture Knox as a teenager." She laughs again, and now I know she's laughing with me, and it actually feels good.
Our giggles mend together, as we briefly exchange stories we remember, of all the stupid shit we'd make Knox do because we had no one else. Noah never hung out with us, and Malia's sister was way too young, even though she wanted to be with us.
"Remember when Blair went crying to Abuela and got us in trouble?"
"Yes!" Malia says over her laughs. "And then we blamed everything on Knox, saying he didn't want to talk to her!"
Mirth gathers at the corners of my eyes at the image of Knox's pissed off face. He was only around six years old at the time, but I'm sure he was cursing us out in his mind.
"He was so pissed. She started crying so much and yelling at him because she even believed it was him," I say, cackling like a fucking hyena.
Malia's laugh is much more contained than mine, but I can hear it in her voice that she's finding this all as hysterical as me. God, can she do anything without sounding like perfection? It's almost annoying.
"Blair was always so gullible," she says wistfully.
"What grade is she in now?" I ask after calming down a bit, eyes still watery from the laughter.
She pauses to think. "Oh, she's starting middle school. Scary sixth grade."
I make a tsk noise. "Yikes, the dreaded sixth grade. What a whirlwind."
Malia makes a noise of agreement. "Definitely."
The line goes silent for a second, a comfortable silence. Then she speaks again, quieter this time.
"We were supposed to go through it together."
"Yeah," I breathe out. "Things just got in the way. The funny part is that we both didn't even go to MS 187."
The line goes silent again, but this time, it's not a comfortable silence. It feels weird. Did I just make it awkward?
"You moved up to private school and I left the damn state," I explain with a strangled laugh, hoping I didn't just ruin this, even though I have no fucking clue what I said wrong.
It's still silent.
"Mhm," Malia finally acknowledges me. "I moved up and... you just moved."
Her tone sounds joking, but the undertone of her voice is off. I'm not sure if I'm overthinking it and being paranoid.
The sad truth is I don't even know the girl. My own cousin is a stranger to me.
I let out a laugh, but I'm sure she can tell it's forced. I'm not sure how else to respond. Things feel kind of tense, and I still don't know what made it this way all of a sudden.
"What do you plan on doing until school starts?" Malia asks, effectively changing the topic.
Things still feel tense, but a ghost of a smile comes to my face at the familiar tactic. She was a pro at avoiding unwanted questions and uncomfortable topics, always knowing how to change the direction of the conversation without making it obvious. It's one of her skills I picked up—or as my mom would say, I copied—from back then, and still use to this day. I'm an expert at avoiding talking about something and telling when someone's doing exactly that, and that's all thanks to Malia.
"I'm not sure. I didn't realize I'd have so many days off before," I respond, choosing to let her change the topic instead of pressuring her. It's our first time talking in years—on the phone, nonetheless. It's not the time to interrogate her.
"You should come over," she suggests. Her tone has completely changed from seconds ago. She's back to being warm and inviting.
"That'd be good. I can finally see this mansion my mom used to say your mom raved about over the phone," I joke, while remembering how envious I felt hearing that Malia was living the life of a Disney princess because of her stepfather, while I was just starting middle school at Beach Way, wishing she'd answer my texts.
She briefly laughs again, but one more time, it doesn't feel like she's laughing with me. Her laugh doesn't sound genuine at all. What is up with this girl?
"Just let me know when you're free this week. I'll come pick you up."
I freeze for a moment. I know I'm free all week, but now I'm wondering if I really wanna hang out with her. She's so hot and cold, that's been made very clear from this phone call. She's gonna give me freaking whiplash if she's like this all the time.
But, then again, who else do I have?
I'd honestly rather hang with her than Noah at school. She's technically a new friend, as we have to get to re-know each other. Her attitude changes can't be more annoying than Noah's entire personality. And who knows, maybe she's just going through something right now. I know I'm pretty unbearable when I'm pissed.
"Any day this week is good for me," I laugh. "I got nothing else to do."
"I have plans tomorrow night, but I'm free for the rest of the week," she says.
"Cool, so maybe Mon—"
"You should come to the party with me!"
My eyes bug out of my head at her suggestion. First of all, that's the loudest she's talked this entire time. Second, she's inviting me out with... her people? And third, it's a damn party?
"Thank you, but—"
"Lyndon," she says, and just those two syllables have me shutting up. "Come with me to the party."
Is she a witch? Is she casting a spell on me? Because I'm ready to agree to go.
No, I can't. That's awkward. I'm awkward. I'd just be meeting her, and then a bunch of other people.
"Is it, like, a school thing?"
She cackles, the sound being the first she makes that remind me she actually is human.
"Oh my gosh, Lyndon, you're adorable," she says.
Huh, funny, I don't feel adorable at the moment, and she doesn't really sound like that's what she means.
"People from school will be there, if that's what you mean, but no, it's not a school funded event or associated with Arlin in anyway."
I roll my eyes so hard they hurt and I start to get a headache.
No shit Malia, it's not a fucking funded school event.
I bite my tongue and withhold the remark.
"So, I'll pick you up around eight o'clock, we'll hang for a few, and then head to the party. Sounds good?"
That most certainly did not sound fucking good.
"Sure, Malia," I say anyway, not really sure what I'm agreeing too.
"Perfect, we'll talk then," she says in lieu of a goodbye.
"Wait a damn motherfucking minute. You're getting me at eight to hang out before the party? What time is this shit starting at? Malia? Hello?"
I'm too late, she's already hung up and I'm starting to feel like this entire conversation was a dream.
"Why do you look like somebody shat in your cereal and told you to still eat it?"
I shake my head and look toward Noah, who's standing in the doorway of my room eating a banana. "What are you talking about?"
"Your face, Lyndon," he responds.
With a roll of my eyes, I get up and slam the door in his face. There is no way in hell I'm telling him Malia invited me to a party with people from our new school. He'll want to go and annoy the fuck out of me while single handedly ruining any chance I have of making friends without him.
He's always been more social than me, but only by a little. We're both introverted in our own ways, but we've always managed to snag a group of friends and keep them separated from each other.
The last time we mixed friends was in elementary school, and that never ended well as we'd argue over which of our friends liked us better. We're both jealous and petty when it comes to that... or we just like competing over everything.
If all goes well, I'll win the friendship race and know more people come next week than he will.
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
Saturdays are always meant for sleeping in. At least, they were in Florida.
Today, and hopefully only ever for today, my mother's decided everyone should wake up early and get the house ready.
Ready for what? I'm not sure.
It's not like it's messy here. We've only moved in about fourteen hours ago. We've hardly spent an entire day here. And it's not like my mother has any friends she'll invite over and have to clean for.
"Lyndon, please tell me you've unpacked all of your boxes," Mom says when I finally enter the living room after minutes of her shouting in the halls for us to get up.
"I've unpacked all of my boxes," I tell her.
She makes a face and rolls her eyes. "Really, Lyndon?"
"Oh my God, what? You said to tell you that," I defend, while hiding the smirk threatening to come to my face.
"Stop being an asshole, I mean it."
My jaw drops. It is too damn early for her to reprimand me.
"Okay, Mom," I reply, making my way to sit on the couch by Knox.
"Stop testing her all the time," he mumbles once I sit down.
I turn toward him, seeing his eyes are set on the TV that's playing some show I don't recognize. "Stop taking her side all the time."
He ignores me, of course. Now who's being the asshole, Mom?
"Um, where's Noah?" I point out. If I have to suffer in Mom and Knox's presence on an early Saturday morning, then that he has to too.
"Noah, unlike you, was actually productive and went on a morning run," Mom says proudly.
"Huh?" I ask dumbly.
"A morning run, Lyndon," Knox informs me. "You know, physical exercise one does in the morning in order to keep their bodies healthy and in shape?"
"Knox, shut up," I say sharply, annoyed at his smartassery.
"You should go sometime, Lyndon," Mom says as she walks off to the kitchen.
"Are you calling me fat?" I ask, trying to come off offended, though I honestly don't give a fuck how she feels about my bodyweight.
"You're a fucking twig, Lyndon," Knox says dryly as he switches channels.
I reach my hand out and shove his head away as hard as I can. If he had been Noah, he wouldn't have hesitated to smack me across the face with the remote. But because Knox is well... Knox, he simply shakes his head and ignores my abuse.
Wow, can't believe I'm feeling this, but I wish Noah was here right now.
I get up from the couch and head back towards my room.
"Where are you going? Come have breakfast," Mom says as she walks out of kitchen, spatula in hand.
"Not hungry," I lie. My stomach's actually grumbling, but I can't sit with them and eat. They'll just ruin my appetite. I instead choose to grab an apple off the table and continue on to my room.
"Lyndon," I hear Mom say with a sigh behind me. But I don't acknowledge it, instead entering my room and slamming the door.
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
Hours have passed since this morning. Mom's knocked on my door a few times since then, but I've ignored each attempt. There's a lock on my door, but I didn't use it, meaning if she really wanted to check on me and make things okay, she could have came in.
But she didn't touch the doorknob once.
I guess she's either respecting my privacy or doesn't care enough to try.
I can't tell if I'm okay with that or not.
Noah's the only person I replied too, but it was in brief, one-worded answers. He came around dinner time, telling me I hate it here too, but I'm not dumb enough to think starving myself is the answer. Eat something, Lynnie.
So I will. Just not with any of them.
He came almost an hour and a half ago. They have to be done by now.
I slowly creep out of the room and scan my surroundings. No sound is coming from the room closest to the hallway, which is the living room. All doors leading to their bedrooms are closed. I tiptoe toward the living room and take advantage of the open floor plan of the house, which allows me to see the dining room and kitchen are both empty.
I use the wall for support and make my way to the kitchen, barely able to stop my hands from shaking as I warm up leftover rice, beans, and chicken.
I never thought I'd be so happy to consume rice and beans, considering we eat it every damn day, but I guess that's what happens when you eat nothing all day. I'm fucking starving. The longer I watch the numbers counting down on the microwave, the more lightheaded I get.
Note to self: never not eat just to prove a point.
When the microwave dings, I rush to grab a fork and the plate, before making my way to the table. After shoving half the food on my plate into my mouth and moaning in delight, I get up for some juice, already feeling the food getting stuck in my throat.
Just as I'm deciding between grape juice or fruit punch, the front door opens and I freeze.
I hear that familiar whistle. The sound is associated with memories of him finally coming home from a long day of work. Emotions are connected to it, as I started off awaiting hearing that whistle in joy to dreading it, hating the way he'd just come and go, but never really was present.
My stomach drops and the appetite I had for my food is gone. Of course it is, this man literally ruins everything.
I grab a random cartoon of juice and close the fridge, so he knows someone's here.
"Elle?" he asks.
Is it fucked up that I haven't heard his voice in almost a year? Not since New Year's Eve to be exact. We're at the end of August now. That's a long time to go without hearing your father.
Random texts he'd send here and there just aren't the same as hearing him.
He walks further into the house, and the damn open floor plan I was grateful for allows him to see who's in the kitchen. His face slightly drops. Ouch.
"Guess again," I say while reaching for a cup and pouring the drink into it.
I take a sip as he looks me over, before a smile comes to his face, causing his eyes to crinkle at the corners.
"Sunshine," he says affectionately, but the childhood nickname given by him and only ever used by him does not make me feel nostalgic at all. If anything, it annoys me even more.
Flashes of him singing that stupid song come to me, and I have to keep drinking to stop myself from starting an argument already.
He walked in and said two words. Calm down, Lyndon.
I finish the drink and nod my head his way in acknowledgement, before retaking my seat at the table. I shuffle my fork around the plate.
"I've always hated how you play with your food."
I look up at him and notice he's wearing a suit, carrying a briefcase, and walking toward where I'm sitting.
"I've always hated your job."
He stops walking and sighs. "Lyndon—"
I cut off his sentence with the loud sound the chair makes as I push it back and stand up, taking my plate with me.
"Okay, okay. I'll take the hint. Don't eat in your room, I'm not going to stay here."
"You never do." I avoid eye contact with him as I say it, not able to handle the look in his eyes—those eyes that are so creepily identical to my own.
He reaches an arm out. "Lyndon, I'm sorry about this."
I dodge whatever he planned on doing. Whether it was a hug or a pat on the back, I don't want it.
I keep moving with my plate and watch the panic come to his face at the thought of me eating in my room, making a mess of crumbs and attracting bugs.
"Don't worry, I'm throwing it out. I lost my appetite," I say to ease his worries.
But those worries are replaced with guilt at the thought of him making me not want to eat.
Good, feel guilty you asshole.
"Are you heading to sleep?"
Why is he even attempting to still make conversation? Why can't he just leave me alone? He certainly had no problem doing it before.
"Nope, I'm going out."
"Oh," he says, eyebrows shooting up to his forehead in surprise. "May I ask with who?"
"No you may not," I reply as I walk toward the hallway that leads to my bedroom. There's another hallway on the other side of the living room, and I have absolutely no clue where it leads.
"Lyndon, I want you home in one piece no later than midnight."
I wave my hand in the air in acknowledgement behind me, but I don't turn around or stop walking.
I planned on being home earlier than that, due to the fact that I don't know Malia too well or her friends, and I know I'm horrible at making friends, especially at first. But because he wants me home early, I'm going to do everything in my power to be late.
I love being petty.
As soon as I reach my room I grab my phone and confirm the plans with Malia for tonight. We briefly talked this morning, but I just want to make sure it's still on before I look like a liar to my dad.
When she says yes, I take a quick shower and then proceed to stand in my towel for a good hour trying to decide what the fuck to wear.
I consider not even going because every article of clothing I own sucks.
Malia says she's dressing casual when I ask, but what if her definition of casual and my definition don't match up? I have a gut feeling that they definitely won't.
A crop top and ripped jeans seems safe enough. I've never been good with makeup, so some foundation on my pimples and mascara on my barely there eyelashes is all I can manage for tonight. I poked myself in the eye at least three times just doing that, so clearly this is a sign tonight's going to go badly.
When I look at the time and see it's past eight o'clock I briefly panic over the fact that I'm late, before realizing Malia's the driver and is actually the one being tardy. Where is she?
I text and call, only to get a quick answer on the third ring.
"I'm on my way, driving right now, five minutes, bye!"
She rushes the words out in one breath, and I look down to see she's already ended the call.
Uh, okay...
She texts me she's here a few minutes later, so I grab my keys and some gum and head out, opting to not take a bag or sweater. Hopefully I don't end up regretting either decision tonight.
Dad's sitting in the living room when I walk by and I have to refrain the reflex to roll my eyes at the sight of him.
He notices me passing through, as I sadly need to pass the couch to get to the front door.
"Be safe, Lyndon," he says, making me turn around to find his eyes being lit up by the TV in the dark room.
"Mhm," I reply, and then walk out the door.
A horn honks a few houses down, and when I see the red Lamborghini parked by the curb I almost pass out.
I practically run toward the car, not caring whether or not that's actually Malia in there. I gently open the passenger side and lower myself into the seat.
"Holy shit," I say in awe.
The feminine laugh let out after that has me turning to my right to see literal perfection sitting next to me. Malia has certainly kept all her beauty from childhood and had it grow into something much more. The word beautiful doesn't even do her justice. Her skin is naturally tanned, the perfect sun-kissed color people dream of buying with a spray tan or getting after days under the sun. Her hair is dark, almost black, and flowing down her back in effortless waves. Her eyes are the only ordinary thing about her, but even the regular brown pop against her high cheekbones, full lips, and long eyelashes. Even the large beauty mark placed by her nose doesn't take away from her face.
I'm almost scared to let my eyes travel lower and compare our outfits, but I do anyway. And I regret it. She's wearing a crop top too, except it's paired with a skirt. Our casual's did not mean the same thing, but even so, the way she wears it doesn't come across too dressy. Damn it, she does look casual. Casually fucking perfect.
Her damn body can rival Aphrodite's itself. Not too big and not too small anywhere at all. My heart can't take the comparisons anymore, so I look back to her face, and still, my heart physically hurts. She's more gorgeous than I thought she'd be, if that's even fucking possible. The confidence she oozes and aura she gives out that lets you know she knows she's perfect makes it all the more worse.
"Hi," I squeak once I finish assessing her.
She smiles and I'm just about ready to punch her in the face, but I won't because my parents always taught me to respect art, and she looks like she was painted by Picasso.
"Hey," she says while reaching an arm out and pulling me in for a side hug. I let my arms reach up and return the embrace, and I can't help but acknowledge that everything feels different.
I knew we wouldn't go back to how we were when we were just kids, but still, I feel like I really don't know her.
She pulls away and her perfume lingers, something I instantly recognize as Chanel No 5.
"Are you excited?" She asks after a moment of staring into my eyes.
I shake my head. "No, not really."
"What? Lyndon, you're supposed to say yes," she laughs as she begins driving God knows where.
"You kind of forced me to go to this thing. But I guess I'll get excited once we get there. Where is it, by the way?" I ask as I watch the houses pass outside the window, not familiar at all with this area.
"Some abandoned warehouse in Queens," she answers.
Wow, her and her friends hang out in Queens? Where we grew up? I'm shocked that's not too poor for them.
"Is it by Ozone Park?" I ask, trying to remember when I lived there and what was around.
"God no," she immediately says, making my face drop. Okay, maybe she is pretentious after all, considering we grew up literally in Ozone Park, the very place she's making a face at.
We reach a red light and she turns to me. She must notice my face, because she says, "I didn't mean it like that. We're going somewhere in Queens Boulevard. It's on the opposite side of Queens, really far from Ozone Park."
I nod my head, hoping she didn't feel like she had to defend herself. She can say and act how she wants. The purpose of tonight is to get to know her and her friends, and then decide if they're the type of people I want to associate with for the school year.
"Cool," I say, effectively ending our conversation.
I don't really wanna drive in silence, but I'm not sure what else to say. Plus, I'm enjoying taking in the sites and being driven around in the sexiest car I've ever seen.
Malia reaches for the radio, so I raise my hand as an offer to DJ for us. She shakes her head and grabs her phone instead.
"I'm using my music, unless you wanna connect your phone?" she offers.
"No, your music is fine," I say.
I'm shocked when songs I actually recognize come on, and we both rap along to the verses we know. We're interrupted from finishing one of my favorite songs when the music cuts off. A symbol pops up on the screen, indicating an incoming phone call.
The name says Jalen.