I'm So Sure (6 page)
“And for your first time, you’re not botching it up
too
much.”
“Don’t you have anything to say to me?”
How about when you sit this close to me, my heart races like I just finished the Boston Marathon? I still think about our one kiss on that crazy night we were running from football players. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I remember that moment in the cabin when we both could have died, and you pretty much saved me.
“Hung out with my ex-boyfriend this weekend.” Did
not
mean to say that.
Bella, thy name is maturity
.
Luke’s grin is slow. Sly. “This would be the boyfriend who cheated on you?”
Um, yeah. That would be the one
. “So I gotta get back to my e-mails. Lots of work-related thoughts to write about. Job ponder-ings and occupational musings.”
Luke stands up, but not before his lips pause near my ear. “I accept your apology too.”
During fourth hour, the secretary announces a required junior class meeting at lunch in the library. When the bell rings to release us from calculus, I head down the hall to the meeting, knowing Lindy will be in a state of panic over having to preside.
Ten minutes later only a third of the class has shown up, and Lindy begins. “As you all know, Harry Wu Fong got accepted into some smart-kid program at Princeton University and is bypassing the rest of his high school years, so that leaves me as your president.” A group of athletes cheer. “Unfortunately Fong had not done much in terms of prom planning. I guess he was too busy being a genius.” She stops and stares toward the door. We all turn around.
Luke Sullivan walks in—holding hands with some girl.
Harvard
girl.
Lindy continues. “So not only do we need to hustle on making some prom decisions, but Friday we learned someone has wiped out our junior class account. So basically we’re broke.”
I so relate.
“We need a fund-raiser,” someone yells.
“Yes, we do.” Lindy chews on her bottom lip. “Does anyone have any suggestions?”
Mikey Sprinkle pushes up his bottle-thick glasses, then holds up a hand. “We could have a car wash and the girls could wear bikinis.”
In your dreams, dude.
“We could sell pies.” This from the guy in the back of the room who’s as wide as a Dodge Ram. “I know I’d buy a few.”
Luke’s girlfriend is cute. And she looks disgustingly smart. That’s a bad combination. I mean, I
knew
she’d be intelligent, but I was hoping she’d look like the butt end of a Doberman.
“Okay, so a bake sale.” Lindy writes this down. “Who knows how to bake?”
Everyone just stares at each other. We’re teenagers. We know how to eat pies—
not
how they’re created.
“We have an idea over here.”
I bristle at Luke’s voice behind me.
He smiles at his girlfriend and she laughs. “Go ahead, Taylor,” he says.
“Last year when I was in high school we did this thing for Valentine’s Day. It was called Match-and-Catch. You fill out this personal survey, and it pairs you with your ideal match in this school. Everyone fills out the surveys, but you have to pay to get your results.”
Four-foot-nine Will Newman pipes up. “Are you saying I could get a girlfriend out of this?”
“Yes.”
Whoops go up all around. “Let’s do it!” Dorks and athletes alike high-five and chest-bump.
Whoa, she said you’d get a match. She
didn’t
say you were guaranteed second base
.
Lindy whistles through her teeth and brings the meeting back to order. “Thanks so much, Taylor. That’s a great idea.”
Big deal. She’s from Harvard. She’s
supposed
to have great ideas.
“We also need to set up a Web site so people can start nominating seniors for prom king and queen. Who can do that?” Lindy asks.
As if on cue, all heads swivel toward Budge Finley, who does
not
look happy to be giving up his chicken nugget time for prom talk.
“I’m busy. I have a gamer’s competition coming up next month.” He sees our faces void of any sympathy. “December is a hectic month at the Wiener Palace. Wieners are in high demand right before the holidays.” He crosses his arms. “Not gonna do it. Final answer.”
Lindy looks like she’s about ready to cry. “But you’re the only one who can do this. Last time we needed a Web page for our class, Zach Dilbert created it and it somehow got hijacked by senior citizen nudists.”
Petey Usher shakes his head. “Dude, I saw my grandma on there.”
By this time I’ve made my way over to where Budge sits at a library table. “If you don’t do it, I’m going to tell all these people that you have your own loofah and have taken over my cucumber facial scrub.”
He sighs. “I can have it ready by Wednesday.”
After school I drive my Bug ten minutes out of town to Dolly’s sprawling property. Her house looks like a
Southern Living
centerfold, and she has it all decked out for Christmas inside and out.
She swings open the front door before I can touch a finger to the bell. “Let’s go. Time’s a-ticking. I gotta get back to Sugar’s for the dinner crowd.” She shoves me off the front porch and toward her Jeep. “Hop in.”
“Where are we going?” She pulls back onto her dirt road and into a field. I hold onto the handle above me as we jostle down the well-worn path.
“I have a little barn back here. Need some work done. I’ll introduce you to Clyde, and he’ll get you started.”
“Started with what?”
Dolly only laughs, a throaty sound that probably sends men’s hearts racing, but has me wanting to throw open the door and jump out.
A faint snowflake spits every few seconds as Dolly drives up to her so-called “little” barn.
“Do you keep Donald Trump’s horses here or what?” I climb out of the Jeep and just stare, my mouth wide open in awe. Before me is a sprawling horse ranch. Five or six people mill around. There’s an enormous barn with stalls. To my left is a giant tracklike area where a man is walking with a bucking pony. Horses are everywhere. And so is the Circle D symbol.
I turn in a full circle. “What is this, Dolly?”
She lifts a shoulder. “A little hobby of mine.” Dolly gives me a light tap with her gloved hand. “What, you didn’t think I built that house on what Sugar’s pays me, did you?”
We walk together toward the man with the wild pony.
“After Mickey left me, I needed something. Everything in my life was gone—my girls, my husband. I sold our two-bedroom house, bought three acres out here, and lived in an RV. After three months of not even getting out of bed, I woke up one day and decided I needed something to do besides smoke and watch
One Life to Live
. I remembered when I was a kid I had a horse. So I bought one. Started working with it. Twenty years, two hundred horses, and a few acres later, I’m now a breeder. Waitressing—just a hobby.”
“Are you any good?”
We reach the old man with the pony, and he stops. “Is she any good? Ever heard of Holy Smokes?”
It sounds familiar. “The horse that won the Kentucky Derby?”
“That was Dolly’s third Derby horse. This lady here has the magic touch.”
Dolly laughs and shakes her head. “This is Clyde Mullins. And he’s been with me for fifteen years. Knows a horse farm like you know those fancy shoes. He’s going to show you some of the most important jobs of running the place. Clyde, you take it easy on my girl here. I’m out.” Leaving me with the white-haired man, she takes off in a loud roar.
“This way, girl.”
“Am I going to brush some tails?”
“Nope.”
“Dress some ponies?”
“Don’t think so.”
“File some paperwork?”
Clyde stops at the “little” barn and spits. “You ever seen horse poop?”
I swallow. “Never.”
He grins. “You’re about to make up for lost time.”
G
od must totally be mad at me.
I scoop up my last batch of horse manure and throw it in the wheelbarrow. I’ve been breathing through my mouth for the last two hours. During the first hour, I OD’d on the smell and had to put my head between my legs.
“Get the wet shavings now,” Clyde calls out as he sticks his head in. “It’s gotta be real dry.”
“Do you have some potpourri or maybe a nice scented candle for the horse too?” Maybe a Jonas Brothers poster?
He laughs and keeps walking.
Ten minutes later I’ve swept the floor until my arms ache.
“Don’t fill that wheelbarrow up with too much manure at once.” Clyde walks by and throws out another helpful tip, and I find myself really tired of his Horse Crap Tutorial.
Swishing the broom across the floor one last time, I decide this is pretty stinking good. Seriously, this horse’s bedroom has to be cleaner than mine.
Okay, now to wheel this pile-o-poo out to the manure area. Before today I didn’t know people collected manure. I collect vintage Chanel bags, so I guess to each her own.
With gloved hands, I grab onto the wooden handles and drag the wheelbarrow around, pointing it toward the open stall door.
Okay, here goes
. Using all my upper body strength, I lift up on the handles and push it outside. And Clyde didn’t think I’d be able to handle a full load.
This thing
is
heavy. Wobbly.
I look ahead the fifty feet it takes to get to the manure pile, and it stretches out before me like another continent.
Clyde ambles by again, his eyes on my progress.
“See?” I raise my chin. “This isn’t so bad. Easy! A piece of—” The wheelbarrow pitches to the left. I suck air and lean to the right, pulling with everything I’ve got. Sweat explodes on my forehead, and my arms burn with the effort to right the wheelbarrow.
I run over a rock, and all control is lost.
The wheelbarrow goes left. The manure flies out in great, steaming globs.
And I fall right into it.
Face first.
I come up gagging and coughing. “Ew! Ew! Gonna die! Call 9-1-1! Get the fire department!”
When I finally clear out my eyes, I see two rough brown work boots.
“I wasn’t doubting your muscles there, Wonder Woman.” Clyde chuckles and flicks a piece of dirt off his pants. “The wheelbarrow gets unsteady if there’s too much weight.”
I continue heaving and spitting. “I’m gonna need some help here.”
“You sure are.” He holds out a shovel. “This ought to do the trick.”
By eight o’clock it’s dark, I reek like a sewer plant, and my left nostril is clogged with gunk from a horse’s butt.
I catch a ride with Clyde to Dolly’s house to get my car. He makes me sit in the back so as not to offend his delicate sensibilities. I bail out and watch him make a U and head back to the barn.
I open the Bug trunk and find a towel to throw over my seat. Easing into the car, I twist the ignition key. The engine makes a
thunk, thunk
. I drop my head to the steering wheel and bang it a few good times. This does nothing more than dislodge more dried manure. I give it another go, and the car still won’t start. Maybe my smell killed it.
I dig for my phone and call Mom. No answer.
I call Dolly. No answer.
I try Jake, Budge, Lindy, Matt, and a few other friends—even the geek from American History who sends me messages on Facebook that border on sexual harassment.
Nobody is home! Is the whole world gone tonight? Did the rapture come, and I missed it? God thought I stunk too much to let me in?
I close my eyes and let out a whimpery mewl. I have one other person left to call. The last human being on the face of the earth I want to see me like this.
Fifteen minutes later I stare at the opened door of the green 4Runner and think walking back to town doesn’t sound so bad. I probably need to burn off a few more calories anyway.
“Get in. I’ve got the seat lined with trash bags.”
I bite back a curse as Luke Sullivan holds the passenger door open. “Thanks for coming. I know you were probably busy.”
Talking to your Harvard girlfriend who would
never
be coated head-to-toe in horse business
.
“You smell different tonight. New perfume?” Luke coughs into his hand and turns his head away from me. I don’t know if it’s to hide his laughter or because he’s about to gag.
“Funny. You’re hilarious. You should have your own show on Comedy Central.”
He shuts me in the SUV, and I hear him laugh it up as he walks around to his side.
I just want to die. To vaporize and disappear.
Even though it’s cold enough to ice a pond, we drive with the windows down. I’m too tired and humiliated to even care that I’m freezing. There could be snot dripping out of my working right nostril, and I wouldn’t even mind.
Luke stops grinning long enough to break the silence. “Can I ask what you were doing tonight?”
“Working. What does it look like I’ve been doing?”
“You really don’t want me to answer that, little buckaroo.” He flips on the heat, careful not to touch me. “You couldn’t sling fries like the rest of our classmates?”
“Can you just drive please?” I hear him chuckle again, and it only fans the flames on my temper. “If you tell
anyone
about this, I will . . .” I can’t think of a single, legal thing.
“Yes?”
“Tell the world what a horrible kisser you are.”
Luke brakes right in the middle of the dirt road and throws it into park. In the dark I see his eyes trained on me. “Bella”—his voice is a gravelly whisper—“right now you are the most disgusting thing I have ever seen. You smell, you look like you got caught in a cattle stampede, and my vehicle will never be the same.” He leans over the gearshift. “And if I wasn’t so afraid of whatever’s coating your lips, I would prove to you what a liar you are.”
I stare at his mouth. “Liar?” My word comes out more like a breathy wheeze.
Luke eases forward an inch. “Don’t tempt me.”
I can hear my own heart beating.
Then he slings it into drive and tears down the road, a slight smile on his arrogant face.
We spend the rest of the trip without talking, and when he’s almost to a complete stop in my driveway, I jump out like a stunt guy and all but crash through the front door.
