18 Things (16 page)

Nate belted out the lyrics Conner wrote. “I am the branches, and you are my vine/ Most of the time, we sit and wait for a sign/ But I don’t know if I can wait much longer/ I intend to face all those things I’ve pondered/ All those broken bridges I’ve burned, I’ll mend/ And become someone on who you can depend/ So don’t be afraid, I will return/ After my life lessons, I have learned/ I will return/ I’ll try not to get lost in all the chatter/ And find a way to make my life matter/ And you do the same to find your own place/ And don’t wish our mistakes, we could erase/ We’ll grow into the people we’re meant to be/ Lovers who eat afternoon picnics under Sycamore trees/ So don’t be afraid; I will return/ After my life lessons, I have learned/ I will return/ So no need to cry/ This isn’t goodbye/ For you, I will always sing/ Like eagles, we will soar with our new wings/ When the curtain tears in two at the end of the day/ My love for you will never fade away/ So don’t be afraid, I will return/ After my life lessons, I have learned/ I will return/ I will return.”

The band never missed a beat, but my heart did. I pretended Conner wrote the words of the song just for me. All the ‘What if’ questions plagued my mind, and pain throbbed in my chest. I hung my head low, my hair falling over the sides of my face, and I stared at my sneakers very carefully, trying not to cry. Paralyzed on the couch, my mind flashed to the weekend before he died, the last time I unofficially heard him sing.

The Jedi Order had taken me out to a fifties diner called Dee-Lite Bar and Grill. Getting my first ‘C’ on a test at school depressed me, and they thought breakfast for dinner would cheer me up. Still, Conner didn’t like the way I wasn’t laughing at his usual jokes, so he convinced Sean to stand with him when open mic started, and he sang
Don’t Stop Believin
by Journey. I’d give anything now to have something,
anything
, to believe in.

Nate spoke loudly into the mic, pulling me out of my flashback. I frowned, feeling all the blood drain out of my feet. The memory felt so fresh, like that night happened just yesterday.

“We’ll have T-shirts made up with our name and logo next show, so be prepared to fork out some money! No freebies here, suckers! Anyway, hopefully you liked us and will spread the word.”

More loud cries of agreement.

Those cheerleaders screaming from the kitchen are really getting on my nerves
. I giggled.
Oh yeah, I’m one of them now.

Nate continued, “Yeah, you like that, ladies?
Anyway
, there are movies in the den off to the left and video games in Kyle’s bedroom to the right. You can stay right here and chill if you want. Just please, no slobbering on the furniture, homies. Peace out, everybody!”

I had to tell the band what a great job they did. Leaning forward, I attempted to stand, but Dave blocked me, shoving a beer in my face. “Hey, Olga. You want one?”

Ugh. He reeked of beer.

“Um, no thanks. I’m D.A.R.E. president,” I joked, but sarcasm was lost on him.

“Nice outfit.” He grinned from ear to ear, holding up his can as if giving cheers to my ensemble, a knee-length gray sweater dress.

“Thanks.”

Spilled beer streaked his shirt was streaked with spilled beer and an open fly graced his jeans.

I scanned the room for Nate only to discover Brittany, another big haired, big boobed, blonde cheerleader, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.

I looked again at Dave, his eyes wide and unguarded. “So, how about me, you, and my Porsche get out of here?”

In Driver’s Ed, Dave constantly talked about his car, so I heard this annoying pickup line of sorts from him a lot. “Sorry, but I don’t date underclassmen.”

Nate shuffled over. “Oh, epic fail, dude.”

Dave, a sophomore, pressed the can to his lips and chugged. “Why don’t you date underclassmen?”

“Because,” I said, my gaze bouncing from Nate to Dave. “Boys my own age are already immature. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go watch Star Wars.”

“And I’m immature,” he slurred.

Nate lifted an eyebrow. “Dude, shut up, and XYZ.”

I stood and crushed the empty soda can with trembling hands. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause of my anger, but it drummed inside me as I entered the movie room,
A New Hope
already playing. As young Luke Skywalker began discovering his destiny, and while I contemplated mine, someone rubbed my shoulders. I had an inkling as to whose those hands were, based on the boozy smell emanating from them, but I didn’t know how to turn around and tell Dave to knock it off.

He scratched my back and got dangerously close to brushing the sides of my ta-tas in doing so.

I jumped up so fast I knocked over a bowl of popcorn sitting on the floor, a sick thudding in my abdomen.

Some angry nerds shouted, “Hey! Watch it!” as I scurried out of the room, but not before confirming my suspicion it’d been Dave who tried to molest me.

Heading for the slider, I caught a glimpse of Nate and Brittany sitting together on a Detroit Lions inflatable chair. He looked at me, and caught off guard, I ran head long into the sliding glass door.

That’ll leave a mark
. Surprisingly, my head didn’t even hurt
.
I trudged through Kyle’s spacious backyard to the sound of party-goers laughing, hoping the snickers weren’t directed at me. Ninety-nine percent of the time I felt certain people laughed at me, not with me.

“Hey, Olga. Wait up! Where’s the fire, huh?”

I turned around and glared at Dave.

Can’t this guy take a hint?

A sure sign a girl’s not into you: she bolted from the room after you nearly touched her ta-tas. I continued hiking through the overgrown yard as fast as I could to get away, but then I stepped in some dog crap. The blood drained out of my face, and I sighed.

Why is it always the crap?

I scraped my shoe against a tree.

Dave came up from behind and placed two enormous hands on each side of me, resting them on the bark, his thumbs caressing my upper arms.

I turned sharply. “Look, Dave, I don’t mean to be rude but…”

“Then don’t, baby.” He caressed my face with his hand. “I know I’m not your first choice, but I’m alive.”

Panicked now, my head spun, but I tried to harness all the misery of this night and direct it toward him without my voice shaking. “Really? That’s your best pickup line? You’re
alive
?”

“I’m just saying,” he slurred. “You have choices, ya know?”

He leaned in, mouth open.

On impulse, I slapped him hard.
Wow, that felt incredible!
I’d never actually witnessed a girl slapping a guy in real life, only in the movies and books, and suddenly, I felt as erratic as Scarlett O’Hara in
Gone with the Wind
.

“Oh, you like to play it rough, my little dominatrix.” Cupping one hand behind my head and the other around my waist, he tried to force me into a kiss.

I shifted my head side to side, trying unsuccessfully to push away.

My mind raced; I couldn’t overpower him or scream. He settled for kissing my neck instead, and his lips sucked my flesh like a vampire.

I spotted Nate at the edge of porch, peering through the black night. My eyes widened, convinced he wasn’t there just a second ago, and my whole body shook, praying he’d spot us and come to the rescue. I heard him calling my name. Somehow, my prayers were answered.

“Olga?” He rushed through the darkness. “Are you okay?”

Dave’s hands flew off me, and I let out a huge breath.

“This girl’s into some freaky crap, dude,” Dave said.

Nate stood face-to-face with Dave in less than a second, then hit him square in the jaw. Dave fell to the ground, blood dripping from his bottom lip.

“I’m well aware of Olga’s bad luck with pieces of crap; just look at you. Now, do I need to count to three, or are you gonna leave on your own?”

A passive expression spread across Dave’s face as he stood, wobbled, then reached for the keys in his pocket.

“Don’t be stupid.” Nate yanked them from his hand. “Walk or get another ride home. You can pick up your precious car tomorrow. One—”

Dave raced up to the porch, covering his mouth with one hand.

Nate shrugged. “Personally, I didn’t care if he did run himself into a tree, but I was worried about the Porsche.”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe you saw us in the dark all the way out here.”

He chewed on his lip for a few seconds. “Olga, I always see you.”

I leaned on the tree trunk again, feeling like the drunken one now.

Nate extended his hand, and I took it, letting him lead me back toward the light.

“It is difficulties that show what men are.”
―Epictetus

aybe trials are part of helping us discover our purpose in life. Because even though I’ve been living for almost eighteen years, I feel like this is the first time I’ve had a life. I’m not running in circles any longer, doing the same things over and over. On this new path, I hope I don’t make the same mistakes. Maybe we’re meant to experience life like this, one day at a time, without complete answers to all life’s questions. I don’t want to leave my 18 Things list with items unchecked. I want new adventures, because one thing Conner’s death taught me is this: Live every day as if it were your last. YOLO!

Chairs scraped against the hard floor of the Journalism room, and I hit the post button on my blog.

Mrs. Cleveland entered carrying her clipboard. “All right, people, we have exactly eight hours ‘til deadline. So don’t just sit there, hustle, hustle, hustle!”

Nicole and I headed to the back room office and laid out our business ads, making sure they were camera ready. She popped a Cantankerous Monkey Squad CD into the computer, then cranked it up.

“Can you pass me the X-Acto knife?”

She swung her arm back, knife in hand.

“Don’t throw it!”

“You’re too easy.” She reached across the table and placed the tool in my hand gently.

“That’s what she said,” I retorted.

Nic giggled, swaying to the music.

“What ad’s supposed to go here?” I pointed to the left-hand corner at the top of the page.

“Mario’s Pizza.”

I licked my lips. “Oh, El Pizza-O! I’m gonna ask Mrs. Cleveland if we can order from there for dinner tonight. You think we’ll stay until ten again?”

“Don’t we always?”

Half-smiling, I drifted out the office door and found Mrs. Cleveland reading my blog.

“Um, sorry. I guess I forgot to close out the window on the computer,” I said.

I reached over, about to click the red ‘x’ with the mouse, but she placed her hand over mine to stop me.

“Why didn’t you tell me you started your own blog?”

I shrugged and stuffed my hands in my pockets. “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t really advertise it. I mean, I only have ten followers. It’s just part of a bucket list I’m doing.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Yes, I read about your eighteen things under your list of previous blogs. We have a limited space available, only one-fourth of a page that the editor and I were trying to fill for a regular feature this year. What do you think?”

I blinked hard. “About what?”

She gestured excitedly to my blog. “About starting a monthly
What’s On Your Bucket List?
feature. We could highlight a different student or teacher each month.”