"School was pretty decent, actually," I admitted to my mom, as I threw my backpack onto the couch. "I met some really nice people." And some not so nice people...
"Oh yeah?" my mom asked excitedly. "Like who? Tell me all about them!" She gently nudged me down onto the couch, then followed suit.
"Well, there was a girl I had three classes with. Her name is Brianca. She's really pretty and smart. I think she said she has a boyfriend. I forget his name. And then, I met a boy during lunch. It's kind of funny..."
I relayed my entire day for my mom, who sat perfectly still, smiling for the duration of my story. I told her about everything, even the cafeteria food and the teacher who spits uncontrollably when he talks. The only thing I didn't mention was the boy on the way to school. I saw him once during school, and immediately changed my direction, walking away from this brooding and ill-tempered kid. Later, I brought him up nonchalantly during lunch to my new friends; Brianca, Will and Patrice. When they failed to think of who I was describing, I searched for him in the cafeteria, hoping to point him out inconspicuously. There he was, sitting alone in the corner of the room. Patrice audibly gasped when she followed the direction of my finger.
"Oh my god, he's back. And you talked to him? Wait, you yelled at him?!" she said wildly, her eyes growing to the size of tomatoes.
"Wow, that takes guts, Jill," Will said, clearly impressed.
"That's Blaine Whyte. He hasn't been in school for the past, like, two months?" Brianca directed to her two friends, who nodded in confirmation. "He's reaaaaally fucked up now," she added before taking a sip of her milk.
"Why? What happened?" I was curious about this supposedly "fucked up" boy.
"Well...his girlfriend died in January I think. In a car accident. He may as well be dead right now too," whispered Patrice. She took a quick glance at Blaine at his isolated table. "I actually feel bad for him," she added pityingly.
"Don't, Patrice," said Will, shaking his head. "Sure, it's definitely tragic, but that doesn't mean he had to get into the drug scene and drop-out of school. Well, I guess he didn't drop-out now..."
"Wait, so he does drugs now? He didn't before?" I asked, with a slight frown. This situation was beginning to sound a bit too familiar to me.
"Oh my god, he was the nicest kid before! Actually, alllll the girls wanted him. But, I guess that's what he does now," gushed Patrice.
So Blaine Whyte is depressed. He's doing drugs. He may be causing himself harm. I can't endure something like that again. I shuddered as Lucy's face appeared in front of me. Thankfully, the lunch bell rang and I was able to run away from the memory.
That night, while I was slaving away on homework, the house phone rang. My mom and I exchanged surprised looks, before she went to answer.
"Hello? Yes, this is MaryBeth Black. Oh, hi! Isn't that just the nicest thing! No, we don't have any plans. That sounds absolutely fantastic. Okay, I'll whip up some appetizers to bring over. Perfect! Thanks for the invitation, Sharon. See you soon!"
My mom hung up the phone eagerly and turned to me, beaming. "We just got a dinner invitation from the neighbors! She said she has a son, so I bet you two will get along well. Why don't you go change into something clean and fresh, while I make some salad. We're going to leave here in about ten."
I loved to see my mother happy about something, so I didn't complain about the idea. I ran upstairs and threw on a purple sweater and some boyfriend jeans. I decided that maybe a little make-up wouldn't hurt, so I hurriedly brushed on the mascara. Leaving my wavy long hair down, I slipped on my Sperry's and rushed back down to the kitchen.
"That was speedy quick. Oh, and you look beautiful! Excited to meet this boy, are we?" My mom winked at me, before returning to mixing her famous Greek salad.
"Mooom. No, I just wanted to look presentable! Please don't say embarrassing things while we are there," I pleaded to my mother's back.
"I promise, Jillian. I'm a cool mom. I know what's hip and what's not."
I snorted, and continued with my homework until my mom was ready to go.
Five minutes later, we were strolling over to the house next door. As we were walking, I realized that this was the house I was watching earlier this morning. It was also right in front of this house that I walked into Blaine. My stomach dropped from the sudden dread that filled it. Could Blaine possibly...
I didn't have time to process the thought, because the door was thrown open and there stood a beautiful, classy woman.
"Welcome!" she beckoned, with open arms. My mother and the other woman shared a quick hug, and then the woman turned to me with a smile plastered on her face. It looked like she had practiced smiling a lot in front of a mirror. "And you must be Jillian!" She smothered me with a warm hug and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.
I smiled back, and politely corrected her. "Jill, please." One thing was for sure: my mom had taught me good manners.
"Of course, of course," she blabbered. "Please come in! I'm sure Blaine will be down soon." She opened the door wider and summoned us inside.
So Blaine does live here. I felt my palms begin to sweat as I connected the scenes in my head. He threw the lamp this morning. He lives right next door to me. He is exactly like Lucy. I shook my head fiercely, and followed the two mothers into the kitchen. Their kitchen was beautiful and smelt absolutely heavenly at the moment. At the stove stood a tall, broad man wearing a chef's hat. He turned around, with spatula in hand, and gave a huge grin. He may have been a middle-aged man, and a father as well, but he was amazingly handsome.
"Welcome, Black family! I knew we were bound to be good friends when I realized our last names," he said while shaking mine and my mom's hands.
My mom broke into laughter when she understood the joke. I smiled weakly, still preoccupied with the thought of Blaine living right next door to me.
Soon, the parents were sitting around the kitchen island and were laughing over a bottle of expensive, red wine. I sat awkwardly, not saying anything and fiddling with my fingers.
As if remembering I was present, Mrs. Whyte said, "Sweetie, why don't you just go on up to Blaine's room. It's the first door on the right. I'm sure he's just doing some homework or something."
"Um, I'm fine. I don't want to bother-"
"Go ahead, Jill. I’m sure it will be fine," my mother encouraged. She gave me a slight push out of the chair towards the stairs. "Go ahead," she said again.
My heart was pounding as I slowly climbed the stairs. The last thing I wanted to do right now was talk to Blaine Whyte, especially after the way I treated him this morning. But, there was nothing I could do now. I stopped in front of his bedroom door and tried to listen for any noise behind the door. I heard only the faintest sound, like the pages of a book being turned. Slowly, I turned the knob and poked my head.
The room was in complete utter blackness. I was momentarily discombobulated by the thick darkness. "Hello?" I asked into the dark room.
All of the sudden, the lights were turned on, making me scream from the abrupt change. I covered my eyes, trying to block out the burning light.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" a voice hissed, sounding really close.
I instantly removed my hands, but was forced to squint in order to identify who was speaking. In front of me stood Blaine Whyte, with his usual scowl.
"I...Well, your...I" I stuttered like a moron. His proximity was making me incredibly frightened. Will he throw a lamp at me this time?
"Talk, you idiot," he growled. His green eyes began to penetrate my skull again. Quickly, I looked away.
"Your mother told me to come up," I muttered, looking at the floor. I heard him sigh angrily, and then punch the doorframe.
"Well, go away. Don't talk to me." He began to close the door again, but my curiosity got the best of me.
"Wait!" I exclaimed as I prevented him from slamming the door in my face. "Don't you wanna talk?" I realized as soon as I said it that there was no possible way Blaine Whyte wanted to talk to me. His glare proved that.
"Why the fuck would I want to do that?" he said, icily.
I decided I wouldn't let this jerk think he could order me away. I pushed right past him into the room, and began looking through all his stuff. On his desk was an open journal. The pages were covered with sprawled writing, messy and hard to read.
"So you write?" I asked, casually. By looking at his face, I realized that my gutsy trespassing into his room had surprised him. But, in a split second, his wrathful grimace reappeared on his face.
"Get the fuck out," he demanded, boring holes into my back as I continued to meander around his room.
"Why were the lights out?" I asked, purposefully ignoring his rude request. I picked up a small picture next to his bed. Inside a beautifully decorated frame, two people sat on a park bench, holding hands. Instantly, I recognized the boy as Blaine, albeit a tanner, happier Blaine. I was inspecting the girl perched next to him, when the frame was ripped from my hands.
"Don't you fucking dare hold this picture! GET THE FUCK OUT!" Blaine screamed in my face, grabbing my wrist and shoving me toward the open door.
I wanted to cry. No one had ever spoken to me like that, except for...my dad. I knew I had crossed the line somehow, so I crept out of the room. While I was closing the door, I peered in to see Blaine staring at the picture, with a pained look of absolute grief.
For the rest of the night, I stuck to my mother's side. I was glad to learn that the parents hadn't heard Blaine's enraged outburst, and instead, told them that he really wanted to sleep. I didn't dare talk to Blaine for the rest of the week.