Olivia Christakos and Her Second First Time (10 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Ninth Grade

“As a reporter for the S&M Bugler, I—”

“I still think that sounds dirty,” I said, cutting Wyatt off.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’d like to welcome you to, uh...the bench where all the grungy people sit at lunchtime.”

“I feel so honored, reporter Rosen,” I said with a little bow. We both sat. “So, why are you doing an article on me again?”

He pulled out a little notepad from the front pocket of his dress shirt and a pen from behind his ear. I rolled my eyes. “All seven reporters have to do a report on a random person in our school,” he said. “Anyone we choose. Jade McKinley usually gets more than her fair share of articles because she’s popular and smart and—”

“Hot,” I added with a knowing smile. But Wyatt just shrugged.

“And Bo Harris gets a lot too because he’s the ultimate football star and has all the cool parties over at his house.”

“And also hot,” I said, but regretted the comment because it could somehow get back to James, who is Bo’s friend and then I really wouldn’t have a shot with James. “But don’t tell anyone I said that. He’s not my type.” That was kind of a lie, though. Bo might be my type if I hadn’t known a guy like James existed.

Wyatt nodded, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “Anyway, we have to pick seven random people to do spotlights on.”

“And you thought I would be the good candidate for that? There’s nothing special about me.”

“So not true,” he said with one of his smiles. “Your family owns a small business in town that you help out with.”

“Not...really.”

“And you have good grades,” he pointed out.

“Bronze honor roll isn’t exactly cream of the crop.” I crossed my legs, wishing I had worn pants instead of this short skirt. But there was no way I could have known that Wyatt was going to spring this interview on me. The skirt was for James when I sat next to him in Life Skills. I’d spent hours on my legs—shaving, bronzing, moisturizing.

But now I kept catching Wyatt looking at them. His gaze made me squirm.

“And you have a little sister at home, who’s so freaking cute and fun. I know you love spending time with her...” He’s reaching.

“That’s not very interesting.”

“Other students could relate to having a sister. You’re...relatable. Real. People just don’t know that side of you yet, you know?”

I nod slowly, wondering it that was true. At the same time, I didn’t want people to know about Natalie. It wasn’t like I was an amazing sister to her or anything. My mind grappled for anything positive that Wyatt could write about me, but came up empty.

“And I thought, if you felt like it, you could give the other girls at this school fashion tips.”

My eyes narrowed. “Fashion tips?” I hissed. “Really? Like that would be my greatest accomplishment to the school’s newspaper?
Fashion tips
?”

He shrugged, his smile drooping. “Or your opinion on the whole 15-year-old Miley posing topless?”

My ears started to grow warm. “I will not offer fashion tips or talk about celebs,” I said. “Are you kidding me? How shallow do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re shallow. I just know you’re interested in that stuff. We can talk about whatever you want. Let’s take a step back. I’ll take your picture first.”

I scowled and he took the picture. “Okay, how about one with a smile?”

I shook my head. “Why do you need my picture? This isn’t some kind of who’s-prettier-than-who article is it? You’re making me out to be a character on that stupid movie...what is it...
Clueless
.” I threw up my hands. I don’t know what I was getting so mad about. I mean, if the reporter was anyone but Wyatt, I would have reason, but I knew he was just trying to find something to talk about. But he just got under my skin, no matter what he did.

I didn’t want him thinking I was as superficial as he was making me out to be.

“Sorry. No, I didn’t mean—” he began but I cut him off and stood.

“There’s a lot more to me than an interest in clothes and celebs.”

“I know that.” His body sagged as he let his camera fall back on his chest.

Glaring at him, I leaned into his face. “Do you really, though?” I started to walk away. “Interview over.”

Chapter Seventeen

Now

Cora helps me wrap the cast in plastic and start the shower and even offers to jump in with me to help wash. Horrified but trying not to show it, I politely refuse and then lock her out of the bathroom.

I forgot how awesome a shower feels on my skin—it’s exhilarating on my achy body. I turn up the hot water and saturate my back in a river of heat and steam. I take my time washing every inch, shaving (awkwardly), and finger brushing my hair after slathering on gobs of conditioner. I’m sure Old Liv took showers for granted, but I’m going to celebrate every second of this one. It’s like taking a shower for the very first time.

Cora checks up on me once.

Twice.

Three times. My uncontrollable instinct is to yell at her, tell her to back off. When the water begins to run cold, I turn it off. After I get out and dry off, I pull on my clothes—a plain white T-shirt and faded jeans. It’s the only pair I was able to find in the closet, amid a vast array of skirts and fancy blouses. Old Liv is itching to get dressed up, but I don’t want to give Wyatt the wrong idea. I’m going to be riding a skateboard; this is not a date of any kind.

The clothes are a little baggy, especially in the chest area and the waist, but they aren’t falling off and are better than my stale nightgown. When I stick my hands into the pockets to straighten them out, my fingers brush a paper. It’s crinkled and faded, as if the pants were washed with it still inside them.

I pull it out. It’s a receipt. The top says,
Santa Barbara Family Pl
. The rest of the “PL” word is faded away. There’s no description of what was bought or services rendered, but the total is visible in heavy ink: $500.

A touch of familiarity tickles my mind. I’ve held this receipt before, held it in front of me like I am now. This was for something important, but what? I grow frustrated when nothing else comes to me, so after I brush my hair and teeth, I go back into my room and stick the receipt under the lamp.

With my hair wet and no makeup on, I slip on some socks and shoes and sneak out the front door quietly. Cora and Dion are upstairs, trying to catch up on work, and Natalie is over at a friend’s. Cora doesn’t know that I took a shower to go sneak around with Wyatt in front of the house, and she doesn’t need to know. I was supposed to go straight to bed after the shower, so she’ll probably kill me if she finds out that I’m actually outside. I might only have a few minutes before she checks on me again.

The cool night air is welcome on my skin after the pounding hot shower. The sky is growing darker, but there’s still plenty of light to see by. It’s like being in a room with only a lamp turned on.

Wyatt is sitting on the sidewalk, looking like a cartoon frog with those long legs bent in front of him. He’s flipping through his pictures on his camera when I come up to him. “Wow,” he says without looking up, “when you ask someone to wait for you, you really take your time, don’t you?”

I put a toe on his skateboard and move it back and forth tentatively. “I guess? I don’t know. You tell me. Is that what I usually do?”

“You know, you would think so with how you can never leave the house without make-up—” Finally, he looks at me. For a long time, his eyes moving over my face. He clears his throat while his cheeks turn red. “Oh. Well, I mean, how you used to be unable to leave the house without makeup and your hair done. But you were always on time. Early, even. I loved that about you.”

Even though I know he didn’t mean
love
love, I blush anyway. He stares at me long and hard again. I stand on the skateboard, hoping that my natural look isn’t what’s interesting him. Maybe I should have put on makeup. “Now what?” I ask.

He stands. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Just...go?”

He nods. “The body’s weird. Even if you don’t remember how to skateboard, your body might. There’s this thing called muscle memory. If you do something often enough, your body will automatically do it.”

I’d heard that somewhere. “Do I need a helmet or something?” I’m thinking about my accident and how I don’t exactly want to end up in the hospital again.

“I wouldn’t let you do anything to hurt yourself on my watch.”

I peer down the road. It’s straight, no traffic. I rack my brain for whatever I can remember about how to skateboard. But there’s nothing.

I decide to let my body have a go. After I step onto the board with my left foot, I push off with my right. I wobble, topple and stop. “Ha-ha, that was really athletic,” I say. “I’ll be doing ollies in no time. That’s a thing, right? Ollies?”

He laughs at me. “You’re doing fine. Try again.”

I do, this time harder, and end up riding a few feet.

“If your mom happens to look out the window right now, I’m so dead,” he says, jogging over to me. “Maybe I should block her view.” He stands there, arms wide, like he’s about to shield me from a grenade.

“Oh, yeah. She totally can’t see what we’re up to now.” I laugh and it presses at the pain in my ribs. I wince and get down from the board.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah...just...don’t make me laugh.”

“Can’t promise that,” he says with a smile. He takes the camera from around his neck and slides it over my head. His fingers brush against the skin by my ear and it gives me goose bumps. I pull away reflexively. “Sorry,” he says. “Just thought taking pictures might be a little less taxing for you.”

“It might be just as difficult, seeing as I only have one usable arm.”

“At least your good arm is on the same side as the button. So you can hold it up and take a picture with one hand.”

“The
button?
” I laugh. “You mean the shutter release?”

“Hey, yeah! That’s what it’s called. You remember that?”

I shrug. “I guess. I think it’s general knowledge though, isn’t it? That stuff I can remember.”

“Maybe. But you’ve also taken photography classes and it’s kind of a hobby of yours. Can you tell the difference between something that’s general knowledge and a memory?”

“Well,” I said, stepping on the skateboard again. “At the hospital, I was able to name a lot of celebrities, more than the neurologist said was the norm. Somehow my interests seem to have an effect on how much general knowledge I retain.” I ignore, momentarily, how easily conversation comes to us and how comfortable I am around him. I push off on the skateboard again and make it about thirty feet.

“That’s...confusing,” he says, jogging over to catch up.

“It is. I’m still trying to figure it out. I don’t know if I ever will, but...” I stand on the board and take a picture of the sky. It feels weird, very awkward. The picture comes out blurry because I can’t balance on the board and take a steady picture at the same time. I don’t know what Wyatt sees in the whole skateboarding journalism thing.

I focus the camera instead on Wyatt’s face. He isn’t paying attention to me. He keeps looking back over his shoulder at my house, as if Cora will pop out any moment with a shotgun. His face is serene, though, calm, a mixture of all the personalities he’s shown me so far. Worry fills his eyes and a hesitant confidence shows in his smile. The dark blue sky is behind him, pocked with purple clouds, the dim light turning his features more manly. There’s even a little stubble on his face and I decide I love it.

After I press the shutter release, he turns to look at me. I don’t think he knows that I’ve taken his picture. “But what?” he asks.

It takes me a second to remember what I was talking about. “I was going to say that I hope my memory returns completely someday.”

His small smile drops at this. I don’t know if it’s because he’s being serious, or something else. “Me too,” he says. He looks sincere, but his words come out flat. Maybe he’s just sad.

The dream of him fixing my hair comes to mind and suddenly I realize that we are standing close together. He reaches a hand out for mine. I let him take it, but not sure why. Ever since I woke up from the coma thing, I haven’t liked to be touched. My gut is telling me
pull away
, my heart is saying
give him a chance
and the tension between the two makes me too muddled to do anything. He squeezes my hand but I don’t squeeze back. There could be some unknown meaning in a squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes sad.

“For what?”

“For everything you’re going through. Someone needs to apologize. Might as well be me.”

“Actually, it sounds like I need to apologize to my old self. I was the one who’d drifted into traffic, thinking you were coming down the road. I did this, not you.” I feel every ounce of those words, like I’d gotten drunk and behind the wheel and ran Old Liv over myself.

His face is still. “I didn’t know you were looking for me,” he says. “Chloe told you that?”

I nod. “She told me I’d drifted into traffic because I thought my boyfriend was coming down the street.”

“Oh.” Shadows cross his eyes. “They didn’t tell me that part.” He shakes his head in disgust; his face grows dark, possibly angry. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. I wish I’d been there, outside with you.” He looks me in the eyes; there’s yearning there.

“Why weren’t you?”

He stares at me a minute and I see something in his expression that I can’t read. Guilt, maybe. “You were hanging out with your friends most of the night,” he says. “I was there with my friends, you with yours.”

“But we hung out long enough to take that drunken picture of me?”

“Just long enough,” he says, head down low enough that is seems he’s talking to his shoes instead of me. “I should have gone out with you, though.”

I let go of his hand and touch his arm. “There’s no way you could have known I would have drunkenly stumbled in the street.”

“True, but it was obvious that you were drunk. I should have stayed with you, in case something did happen.”

I shake my head. “That’s kind of silly. Plus, I might’ve gotten annoyed with you.”

His expression hardens. “But at least you wouldn’t have a broken brain right now. At least you’d remember me.” His lips press together tightly and he grabs for my hand again. His warm palm mingles with mine.

I feel for Wyatt. I do. He’s in love with Old Liv; I can see that. He feels responsible for her, protective of her. The problem is that I’m still uncertain if I’m her anymore. I don’t know if I feel the same for Wyatt as he does for me. I also don’t want to jump into a decision just because I think I should or because several other people have said it’s what I should do. If anything, I’m hurting this nice guy with my indecision. What I want is to be around him so I can figure things out, but distant enough so I don’t lead him on. So, I pull my hand from his. “Listen.”

His hand falls to his side, but it stays open, as if I might reach out for him again.

“I don’t know what I want yet,” I continue, not looking at him. “I think, for the person I used to be, I need to remember what I wanted then first. Does that make sense?”

His words come out heavy and slow. “Sort of.”

“I’m not sure if I should try to recapture my past or move forward. I know that I have to give my family a chance. Obviously I can’t give them up.”

“But you’re giving me up?” His words sound heavy.

I blink a few times, thinking of the right words. “I think I need to be single right now. I don’t want to be confused and you’re confusing me.”

He takes a step forward. “I want to help you.” He’s officially in my personal space. The warmth of him creeps into my warmth. It reminds me of a Venn diagram. His personal space is a circle. Mine’s a circle. But we’re pushed close enough together that they overlap.

“You
are
helping me,” I insist, pushing the skateboard up with my foot and gesturing to it. “This is helping.” After I pull off the camera strap from my neck, I hand it out to him. I don’t want to risk touching his neck by putting it on myself. “I don’t mind more of it. But I...” He takes the camera from me, careful not to touch his fingertips to mine. He’s hurt now. His deflated body makes my heart ache. “I need to figure things out first. If we’re meant to be together, it will happen organically, right?”

“What if all this time you’re using to figure things out pushes us farther apart?”

What I don’t tell him is how far away from him I really am feeling. How I don’t know if that will change. Instead, I say, “I’m numb inside right now. I don’t feel anything. For anybody. I hope that will change soon, but until then...friends?”

His eyes light up a little. “You mean you aren’t going to bar me from seeing you?”

I hesitate. Try to put myself in his shoes again. I would hate if he made me stay away completely. I think of his note. He does seem to really care about me. I shake my head. “No...”

“So we can still spend time together? Skateboard? Take pictures?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Watch movies? Eat burgers?”

I nod. “Just...no dates. Nothing romantic. Just friends.”

He smiles. “So we can hang out together? Say on a Wednesday?”

My eyes narrow at him. “That sounds like a date.”

“Nope. It isn’t.”

“I’d have to say maybe, then.” I brush the hair that the light breeze has pushed into my eyes off my face.

“What can I do to get you to say yes?”

My guts twist with a mixture of excitement and anger. This boy won’t stop. “There have to be some rules.”

“Rules?”

I nod. “There will be no kissing.”

He blinks.

“No unnecessary touching. No flirting. You can’t call me your girlfriend or honey or anything like that. You can’t hold my hand—”

“Wouldn’t that go under ‘no unnecessary touching’?”

“You get the point.”

“Are those all your rules?” He smirks and I try not to return it.

“For now.”

“Fine,” he says, crossing his arms in front of him. “Challenge accepted.” His mouth twists into a mischievous smile, a wave of confidence flooding his expression. It looks good on him—until he opens his mouth again. “But do you think you can follow your own rules?”

I open my mouth to answer him when Cora barks from the door. “Olivia Achilla Christakos.”

Wyatt’s eyes widen. “Oh, no. She used your middle name. You better get in there.”