The Bad Boys of Summer Anthology(290)

He winked at me, calling a truce. “Sorry. Hey, where you going? I’ll drive you.”

Truth was, I really wanted to get in Trip’s truck. But I also really didn’t want him to think that I really wanted to.

“Um. Actually, I’m just headed over to the mall.”

“Doing some shopping?”

“Nope. Looking for a job.”

Trip nodded his head in approval. “Good for you. Hey, c’mon. After scaring the hell out of you, the least I can do is give you a ride. C’mon. Hop in.”

Well, when you put it that way...

I rolled my eyes then stepped up into the passenger seat.

“Where to, Miss Daisy?”

Cute.

“I figured I’d start at Totally Videos and work my way down. I guess you can just drop me there.”

He put the car in gear. “As you wish.”

I don’t even know what I wish, I thought.

I mean, I probably should have just been content to ride out my good fortune.

Sometimes, when you’re part of the popular crowd, there’s a ton of pressure on you. Everyone is always aware of what you wear, or do, or say. Sometimes, it feels like you’re being scrutinized with a fine-tooth comb, any flaws magnified tenfold. You’re always expected to be “on”. You’re always expected to act a certain way. It can be draining in a way I never felt when I was just plain old Layla Warren, blending in with the wallpaper.

But sometimes, there were perks.

Here was this great-looking guy, fresh from the farm and plunked right into my very own high school. Out of some instinctual, unspoken law of the universe, it was just assumed that he would be part of our group. I was sure most of the girls in school were drooling at Trip from afar. And yet, lucky me, I was afforded actual access.

Yet somehow, it felt a little vapid. I wondered if he would have bothered offering me a ride if I was just some random classmate as opposed to a girl who was part his new circle. I supposed I’d never figure it out, but what I really wanted was for Trip to want to be around me, not just hang with me out of default.

Not that I was complaining. At that moment, I was just happy to be where I was.

Bolstered by that, I asked him, “How did you do that with your voice?”

He asked, “Do what? Trick you into thinking I was someone else?”

“Yeah. You were pretty convincing back there. If I wasn’t so freaked out, I might have actually been impressed.”

This earned a laugh from him. “You’re pretty funny, you know that?” Then, in answer to my question, “I was just goofing around with you. There was this guy who used to work at the hardware store back in Indy. He was actually a decent old guy, but he had the creepiest voice, like Lurch from The Addams family. I guess inspiration struck when I saw you. I didn’t even realize I knew how to impersonate him until I did it!”

He laughed again and then, out of the blue, added, “You look nice, by the way.”

I started to get fidgety and OCD, like I sometimes do when I’m feeling a little nervous. And sitting next to Trip in his truck- idly making small talk and then hearing him toss a compliment my way- was making me very nervous. I made myself stop playing with the zipper on my purse and stowed it away at my feet before diverting his comment with, “Thanks. Do you have a job?”

He took his hand off the wheel to scratch the back of his neck. “Yeah. I do some work for my father down at his office every now and then. This one’s over in the industrial park, off Main? Just phone calls and filing and stuff.”

“Oh, so you’re a secretary,” I teased.

That made him smile. “Yeah, good one, I guess I am.”

“Do you like it?”

He gave me a stock answer. “Uh... I guess so. I mean, it’s a decent job and all and I like making my own money, even if my father is the one who’s signing my paychecks.”

He took a sharp right, causing me to grab the holy shit bar over the window as he continued, “Actually, you know what? It kinda sucks, actually. I absolutely hate it. I really, absolutely, freakin’ hate working there.”

That made me laugh. “Wow. Why don’t you tell me how you really feel! But hey, I guess acknowledging your problem is the first step toward recovery, right?”

“The problem,” he snickered out, “isn’t mine.” His laugh had an edge to it, but I didn’t know him well enough to discern what that meant.

Had I known him better, I probably would have asked him what was wrong. But I thought it would be rude to go playing pop-psychologist with a person I’d only known for one day, so I let it go.

By then, we were already at the mall anyway. Trip pulled up to the side entrance and threw the car in park. His bitter tone was gone, replaced with a playful voice as he said, “That’ll be eight-fifty.”

I made a big, phony show of digging through my purse. “Damn. I left my wallet in my other bag. I’ll have to owe it to you.”

He smiled as I got out of the truck, and because I knew he was watching me, I made extra sure not to slip and wind up face-down on the sidewalk.

I was feeling a little elated from the time I’d just spent alone with him, while simultaneously feeling let down at the thought of it coming to an end. I knew I was stalling, hoping to drag a few more seconds out of our time together, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Hey, thanks for the ride.”

He leaned over toward the passenger side to talk to me out the open window. “No problem.”

I tapped my toe against the tire as I asked, “See you tomorrow?”

He winked and repeated, “See you tomorrow.”

Short of throwing myself across the hood of his truck, there was really nothing else to do at that point but say goodbye. I had just turned and was starting to walk inside when I heard him yell, “Hey Layla!” which made my stomach do a little flip.

I looked back at Trip, still leaning out the passenger window with a wide grin playing at his lips and answered, “Yes?”

His grin turned into the full-force smile, the one that stopped me dead in my tracks at lunch.

“Good luck.”

At that, he threw the truck in gear and took off.





Chapter 5

BRAIN DEAD



The rest of the week went by in a blur. I did remember to start waking up about ten minutes earlier than usual so that I could catch Trip during his morning jog. Sitting off to the side of my window in the dark and peeking through the blinds was risky, but even feeling like a stalker and losing a few minutes of sleep was worth the payoff. I mean, there were worse ways to start a day, am I right?

Trip and I still walked from the cafeteria down to English every day, and sometimes, we even managed to carve out a few moments of conversation during class. Riveting commentary such as, “What page are we on?” or “Do you have an extra pencil?”

But even still, it was the part of day that I most looked forward to, those few stolen moments when he’d be sitting just inches away from me. It was unnerving and exciting... and totally self-destructive. I spent the entire day preoccupied with waiting to see Trip, then spent the class so distracted by the mere proximity of him that I was starting to turn into quite the space cadet. At the very least, I consoled myself with the knowledge that English was my best subject, so it’s not like my studies were suffering from any daydreams during that class. But still. I didn’t know how much longer that would be the case and I already seemed to be slipping everywhere else.

By Friday, I’d fallen behind on my silk-screening project, so I opted to cut lunch and head down to the art room instead. It was slightly devastating, knowing I was skipping out on some major social time with him, but I had to take control of my life. I couldn’t spend every waking moment thinking about Trip Wilmington.

By the time I beat the bell to Mason’s class, Trip was already at his desk and a note was waiting for me at mine. I slid into my seat and unfolded it.



Where were you?



My stomach did an involuntary flip, appreciating that he’d noticed my absence from our lunch table. I gave a “Hi” over my shoulder and started to say, “I went down-” but before I could finish, Mason called attention to the front of the room and I was forced to shut up. Trip mimed writing in the air with an imaginary pencil, so I scribbled



I went down to the art room



and passed it low behind me for him to grab.

A few seconds later, as Mason was explaining our Shakespeare outline or something, a folded wad of paper was tossed over my shoulder.



What for?



I decided to bust his chops:



To do art, dummy.



I heard him snicker behind me. A minute later, I felt his hand tuck the paper into the waistband at the small of my back. I turned just long enough to shoot him a look and catch him raising his eyebrows at me.





I kind of figured that out already on my own. And who are you calling dummy, dummy.



I made sure Mason wasn’t looking before tossing back my response.



YOU!



Then I threw a second piece of paper over my shoulder, where I had written:



...Dummy.



I heard Trip stifle a guffaw, choking back the laughter as he spent an exorbitant amount of time writing a reply.

At that point, we were asked to work on our “Mind Ramble” exercises, a little task that Mason utilized to get our creative juices flowing. She'd give us a subject- in this case, Romeo and Juliet- and ask us to keep it in the edges of our thoughts as we scribbled whatever the hell our minds told our hands to put on the paper. I really tried to let my brain wander and produce an effective Mind Ramble, but I couldn’t get past the idea that Trip was apparently “mind rambling” right then about me.