Kissing In Cars (3 page)
Such a cheapskate (hardly the way to win a girl over).
So yeah. Guys are the last thing on my mind.
But ever since this afternoon in the library, Weston has been on my mind - like, all freaking day. Every nanosecond. When before today... I don't think I thought of him at all. He wasn't even a blip on my radar.
It's a funny thing how a few exchanged glances can change....
everything
.
I allow myself peek back at the parking lot just once to see that Rick and Weston are surrounded by a group of girls, all eager to be the flavor of the week.
Holy crap, they work fast.
"Hey, guess who's here Jenna? You're boyfriend Weston McGrath," I taunt as I approach my best friend, who's laying in the sand. She's sporting ear buds but I know she can hear me because she immediately shoots up to a sitting position. "Whoops! You better fix your top," I laugh, tossing my bag down beside her in the sand.
"Are you serious?! Holy crap do I look okay?" Her boyfriend Alex (who has seen this behavior from her before) sits up too and has the decency to look affronted, shooting her an incredulous look as she adjusts the straps on her bikini.
His mouth drops open. "Babe! I'm sitting right here..."
"I know babe, but oh my god, he's so cute." She is digging through her beach tote, and finds what she's looking for: a hair brush. "Seriously though Molly, do I look okay?" Alex gives up and lies back down on the towel, shaking his head and closing his eyes. Jenna gives him a quick peck on the cheek.
Measly consolation prize from a girlfriend who's ogling nearby man-flesh.
Alex must agree because he snorts indignantly.
"Sit down for god's sake Molly, you're blocking my view," Jenna practically shouts. I laugh again, because seriously, she's cracking me up. Like right now, she's applying lip gloss. One strong breeze and she'll have sand stuck to her lips all afternoon. "Shit, there he is with that jerk off Rick Salamander."
"It's Rick
Stevens
actually...." Alex chimes in.
"What are they doing, putting jet skis in the water?" Squinting, she looks toward the water. "Holy shit, they're looking over here. Oh my god, oh my god. Are they watching us? I can't look."
Oh yeah, did I mention Jenna is dramatic?
She should be the star of her own reality show.
No really, just ask her.
I force myself not to look over at the guys: Honestly, I have enough drama with Jenna practically hyperventilating on her beach towel next to me. If I didn't know her so well, I would feel horrible for her boyfriend - but no one is more caring and loyal than my best friend.
Jenna and I met in third grade, the year I moved from the private Catholic elementary school, over to the public school in our small town of River Glen, Illinois. And believe it or not, the two schools are directly across the street from each other, which I guess is small town living for you.
The teacher seated me behind her on that first day, and of course I'd been so nervous not knowing what to expect - this was
public
school, after all! Those first few hours no other students spoke to me at all, until math class when the teacher played a short video about multiplication. Jenna turned around and said "Hey, do you like lemon heads?" and I said "Yeah." So she handed me a few, and we sat there smiling at each other while we sucked on the sour candy in the darkened classroom until out taste buds were raw.
At recess, I plastered myself up against the brick wall near the playground, determined not to stand out. Jenna was having none of it. Blonde and tiny (which she still is), she came marching up to me in her floral dress and grabbed my hand, forcing me to play Statue Maker with a small group of girls.... I remember it well: her whipping me around by the arm until I got dizzy, then unexpectedly letting go of my hand so I went sprawling on the ground. Which, for the record, I never in any way resembled a statue. Ugh, I used to get so mad at her.
But
man
did I love that stupid game.
Best friends since.
Leisurely unpacking my bag, I spread out my beach blanket, snapping it open on the sandy shore. Off comes my skirt, and of course, my tank top. I pull it over my head and toss it so it lands strategically on top of my bag. Score! (Yes -in case you were wondering, I
am
one of those people who gloats when their wadded-up paper makes it successfully into the garbage can).
I adjust the straps on the bikini top I purchased just last week. It's a triangle bikini in a bright emerald green that really compliments my tan (and my hair) and ties around my neck. Even though I don't have the struggles many of my friends have with their weight, I'm not the most confident person in a two-piece swimsuit, so I hurry to lay down.
"Look at Britney Renken drooling over Weston. Ugh, nauseating." Jenna is mumbling to herself, disgusted. I turn my head and look at her over my sunglasses as she continues ranting. "And what is she wearing? Like a guy wants to see her ass cheeks hanging out."
Um, actually that's exactly what guys want, I stop myself from pointing out, and Alex confirms it by snorting out his nose. However, I keep my mouth shut and raise my head to watch the bubbly blonde grinning broadly at Rick and Weston. Petite, cute, and running her hand up and down Weston's' arm. My stomach does a flip-flop and something happens to my breathing that I can't put a finger on.
What does jealously feel like?
Can you even be jealous for something you don't even have? Over a guy you don't even
know
?
Is....
he
...someone I want for myself? He's so far removed from everything I know, which tends to border on, well, boring. For now, I'm just going to lay here and pretend that I'm alone on the beach with Jenna. Oh yeah - and Alex.
Er, and everyone else.
To chicken to make a move, my butt stays glued to my blanket until mom texts me to get home.
MOLLY
"Sometimes you just have to put yourself out there. And do something with your hair. Also, showing some boob doesn't hurt either." - Maddie, our other friend.
It's early Wednesday morning, and I dress for the day with care. I've risen before the sun, with a mission: to be just a
little
unforgettable...
Pulling the white eyelet sundress off the hanger that I'd laid out last night, I check it over once more for stains. It's my favorite dress and I slip it over my head before eagerly walking to the mirror. I gaze at my reflection, all but nodding approval at my own appearance: spaghetti straps, a deep 'V' neckline (just appropriate enough for school) with lace trim that emphasizes my curves nicely. There is a small set of pearl buttons up the front right under my breasts, and the skirt flares out to the middle of my thighs. It's just stark white enough to set off the tan I've been cultivating on the weekends.
Slipping on a delicate silver chain bracelet and matching silver hoops earrings, I wander into the closet and stare at my shoes. Do I wear a high wedge sandal to elongate my legs or go with something a little edgier?
I'm smiling now as I pull out my well-worn pair of turquoise and brown cowboy boots. When my parents bought me them for me last year for Christmas, I became the envy of all my friends: that's how spectacular they are. They make me want to dance, and paired with this dress.... I feel feminine. And kind of like a knockout, actually.
My curling iron has been warming up and is hot enough to start my hair. I take the next forty-five minutes to wrap my long hair around its barrel, creating loose waves. I spritz it with Bumble & Bumble Surf spray, scrunch it so it looks like I've spent the day at the beach, and start applying my make-up.
Normally, I don't take this much time in the morning to get ready. My mom is probably down in the kitchen wondering why I'm up so darn early.
I won't lie.
We all know it's because of that damn Weston McGrath.
Soon enough I'm taking my seat in Marketing first period with one of my favorite teachers, Mrs. Paul. Short, gray, pudgy, and in her early 60's, Mrs. Paul reminds me of my grandma. Also, she doesn't put up with any crap, so it's always a riot when she unleashes her fury on someone in class.
As I'm organizing my homework and removing it from my Marketing folder, a large body slides into the seat next to mine that doesn't belong there. It's Rick Stevens, and he's wearing a white hockey tee shirt with the saying "Stitches Get Bitches" on it.
Classy.
Real
classy.
"Damn Wakefield, you clean up nice." Rick has an idiot grin on his face that I want to slap off his face, and he's leaning over the desk blatantly peering at my chest. Technically it could be considered a leer. "Nice...necklace."
Only, I'm not wearing a necklace. Gross.
Isn't he a little young to be a lecherous pig?
I don't respond, choosing to ignore him. What guy calls a girl by her last name, anyways? I thought
guys
only did that to
each other
.
"Do you need a "tutor" for the mid-term project?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrows. And gross, did he just use air quotes when he said the word tutor? "I'm really good at giving instruction."
"Er, no, I'm good. Thanks."
"Do you want a 'study buddy'?" he asks, once again using his fingers to punctuate the words 'study buddy' with air quotes.
"I'll do the project entirely on my own, thanks."
"So how's about you and me —" fortunately he is cut off.
"
Mister
Stevens,
pah-lease
stop harassing Miss Wakefield and take your ass
igned
seat," comes the stern voice of Mrs. Paul. She says the word 'mister' in such a scandalized tone that it has me snorting in an unladylike way behind my folder. Rick stands up, stretches his arms and puffs his chest out while throwing me what he probably considers a suggestive smile and walks to his desk in the front of the room.
Gross. He's like an oily used car salesman. Jenna would be dying right now if she could see this. Absolutely in hysterics. She loves it when I'm uncomfortable, damn her. Sneaking my phone out of my backpack, I slide it open and text to my friend Tasha, who sits three seats to my right.
Me
: rick is a P-I-G pig!
Tasha
: he needs 2 b spayed and neutered
Me:
wanna work on project 2gether?
Tasha
: ttlly :)
Excellent. Now if Rick decides to bug me about it again, I have a legitimate excuse.
I spend the rest of the class period rolling my eyes as Rick tries to impress me by constantly raising his hand. Each time he does, he glances back with a deliberate expression of self-satisfaction. What he thinks he knows is beyond me. I can't help but find it amusing, and if I had a blog I'd totally write about it. I guess since I haven't had an actual boyfriend since, well - freshman year - I should be somewhat flattered. But...I am not.
Not. At. All.
After forty-five long minutes, the bell finally rings. I'm not one of those students that has all my supplies packed up before the class officially ends, so I'm still sitting at my desk gathering my things when most of the students have piled out of the room. Even Rick has fled.
I take my time, entering the hallway full of bustling students. It's somewhat of a crush, but as I move down the corridor greeting friends along the way, a smile spreads across my face.
You know the scenes in the movies where the girl is walking down the hallway and suddenly everything is in slow motion because the boy she's fantasizing about sees her and turns to watch her from his locker? And sometimes in the movie a slight breeze blows, causing the girls hair to blow around her face, making her appear incredibly hot? Well, that's exactly what I'm going to
pretend
is happening to me right now.
Every fiber of my being urges me to look away because, okay, I'm panicking a little.
Because seriously just like the few times before, Weston's dark eyes are watching me so intently my skin is getting hot.
He's got one arm raised up over his head, bracing himself against his open locker door, and my eyes trail down to the waistband of his dark jeans, which hang low on his hips exposing a slice of his washboard abs.
Don't stare at his abs, don't stare at his abs
I chant inside my head. Then...
Please don't let me neck get red, please don't let my neck get red
. My eyes quickly roam his body and I notice he's returning the favor.
His eyes are raking over my body, too. I silently give thanks for my great boobs and long reddish hair, because he obviously appreciates it.
Thank you mother for the wonderful genes
.
I tilt my head and look him directly in the eyes, smiling warmly.
He cocks an eyebrow, obviously taken off guard.
I resist the urge to smirk in satisfaction.
I pass by and can
feel
his gaze trailing after me. When I turn my head to focus on walking, I run smack into a solid chest. Great.
Just freaking great.
Rick Stevens of all people, probably on his way to Weston's locker, since Rick follows Weston pretty much everywhere like a puppy dog. The books in my arms get jostled loose, falling to the floor. I don't wait for Rick to help me (mostly because he's
such
an ass), bending at the knees to pick them up.
And instead of being a gentleman, the swine Rick stands there and begins to feign a moaning sound, gyrating his hips and loudly groaning out "Oh yeah baby...give it to me," while my face is level with his crotch.
I have a strong urge to punch him in the balls.
Here's a million dollar question: how does this nimrod manage to get dates?
Rick has this bad-boy persona that has girls falling all over themselves to get close to him. In my opinion (and trust me on this one) he looks like Kevin's brother Buzz from Home Alone - you know, the chubby brother with the buzz hair cut? Yeah. When you think Rick Stevens, think Buzz.
If the guy wasn't a hockey player he could kiss his free ticket to, well...
you know
...goodbye.
