On Heartbreak Ridge: Movie Trilogy Prequel Novella (The Movie Trilogy) (2 page)

“You know that doesn’t matter.”

I clenched my fists, turning to stalk to my bedroom. Robin rushed to catch up with me, carrying a neatly wrapped package in her hand. “Wait- Luke and I got you a birthday present.”

I took the gift, grinning. “Thanks.”

“I saved up. Grandpa helped.”

Tearing at the paper, I lowered to my bed.

The video camera was small; a Sony that I knew was sold at Walmart. I turned over the plastic packaging, reading the specifications.

“I know it’s not, you know, a
real
director’s camera. But you can practice with it. You can be better than Clint Eastwood.”

I stood up and hugged my sister. She stiffened, surprised, and I only tightened my hold.

“Thank you, Robin.”

Tears burned behind my eyes, and I let go and turned to face my
Dirty Harry
poster on my bedroom wall.

“Sure. Happy birthday, Keat.”

She could tell that I was emotional, I knew. She turned, and my bedroom door closed with a soft snap.

When I heard Dad’s car pull into the driveway, I gripped my pillow, waiting.

He came into the house, stumbled through the kitchen under my bedroom, and then shuffled his way up the stairs.

He stopped just outside my bedroom door.

I squeezed my eyes closed, feeling like a coward. My heart raced, and I held my breath, praying he’d keep walking.

Wishing.

Finally, after what seemed like the longest minutes of my life, his voice sounded softly through the door.

“
Happy birthday, Keaton.
”

He
continued down the hallway toward his bedroom.

I turned on my side, the emotions I’d been holding back for hours charging through me with a mixture of relief and fear. Two angry tears pooled in the corners of my eyes.

Why was I grateful that I was spared a turn with the belt for my birthday? Why was that my
gift
from him?

I hated and loved him.

Reaching for my new camera, I pulled it against my chest, closing my eyes.

V

“You were amazing, sweetheart!”

My parents both reached for me at the same time, and I smiled, accepting their hugs.

“Mom, I’m going to get make-up all over you-”

“Don’t worry about that. Greg,” Catherine said, gesturing to the bouquet of pink roses in my dad’s hand. He grinned, presenting them to me.

“You’re so talented,
honey,” Dad assured me, and I grinned, beaming at Mrs. Applebee as she snapped pictures of us in front of the high school stage.

“
Viv! Come on, we’re going to the after party! You coming?” Theresa called, waving to my parents.

I
glanced up at my mom and dad, watching them exchange a look.

“
Listen,” I began. “I won’t drink, do drugs, have sex, or listen to that devil’s music they call rock n’ roll,” I promised them, and my mom smiled.

“
We trust you. Go, behave, and if Theresa drinks,
call
us, any hour, and we’ll come get you.”

“No texting and driving,” my dad added.

“Thank you!” I hugged them again before rushing over to my cast members. We’d just finished our second to last performance of
Grease
, and my blonde Sandy-wig was getting itchy. “Theresa, I’m coming!”

The after party was
at Trevor Beech’s house. He played Danny, the lead,
and
was a senior.

A
nd his parents were
loaded
.

His address was off the main road, set against the woods, and the cabin was more like a mansion. Brilliantly lit in the darkness, the driveway was already filled with cars.

“You know Trevor likes you, Viv. You’re a sophomore. Sophomores rarely get leads.”

“Are you trying to say that I got my part because
Trevor likes me, and not because I’m immensely talented?” I demanded.

Theresa flashed me a “no shit” look, and then broke into laughter. “Dude, you know you’re talented. Stop dropping your big words on me. ‘Immensely.’ Pah-lease.”

I laughed, following her down the driveway to the main house. Trevor greeted us at the door, and his blonde-haired-blue-eyed playboy face refused to turn away from mine.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Vivian. We can’t have an after party without the star of the show.”

I reached for my ponytail, twisting my hair nervously and replying with a grin.

Trevor
was so cute.

I liked him. A lot.

I was sixteen years old; it was about time I felt
some
thing for
some
one.

He was
such good kisser.

Actually, he was the only boy I’d
ever
kissed. We had the beginning scenes of
Grease
at the beach, where we were kissing during our summer montage. We had the scene with the make-out session at the drive-in, and then of course our long kiss at the end during “You’re the One That I Want.”

My lips were still deliciously sore from
that
one.

“Viv!” Theresa snapped her fingers in my face, and
Trevor chuckled, running his hand through his thick mane of hair.

“
Earth to Vivian,” he teased. I blushed, and he drew his finger along my collar bone. “I like when you get all red and rashy like that.”

“It’s so embarrassing,” I protested, blushing again.

Blush. Blushety blush blush blush.

Fi
dgety fingers, twisting my toes, twirling my hair.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his
sky-blue eyes drinking me in from head to toe.

“It’
s a little quieter downstairs. I was gonna head down, if you want to come with me,” Trevor offered.

“Yeah,” I answered, a little too enthusiastically.

“One sec,” Theresa promised, grabbing me by the hand and pulling me toward the bathroom.

Once the door was closed, we both held h
ands, melting into a squealing- hopping- giggling pile of excitement. “Viv! He wants to make out with you!”

“I know. I’m freaking out,” I whispered, turning to the mirror to check my hair.

“Don’t freak out. You’ve already kissed him, like, a bazillion times.”

“That’s different! On-stage kissing, no tongue! What in the hell am I supposed to do with my tongue again?”

Theresa smirked, leaning against the wall behind me. Her strawberry blonde hair was cut in a cute little pageboy, and her blue-green eyes sparkled with laughter. “Okay, don’t get all crazy. Let him put his tongue in first. Then, no, like, lapping or anything. Just gentle, twirling… slowly, until you start to feel it in your skirt.”

I laughed nervously, shaking my head and hurriedly applying more of my pink lemonade Lip Smackers. “You should write this shit down. Seriously.”

“I will. When I’m a famous romance author, I’ll make sure I acknowledge your first make-out session as my inspiration.”

We laughed again, and I squared my shoulders, taking a deep, calming breath.

“Okay. Am I cute?” I checked, turning to her.

She quirked an eyebrow. “You’re adorable, Sandra Dee.”

I hugged her, doing another excited stand-still dance. “Thank you!”

We made our way through the crowd. I noticed that not only
was the drama club there, but also most of the football team. Since Trevor was the quarterback, he’d invited pretty much the entire school.

The door to the lower level of the house was closed, and I twisted the handle, my heart thundering in my chest.

Trevor was waiting for me.

To make out.

My boobs were too small, so I’d need to somehow direct him away from my chest. I had nice enough legs, I thought, and they were bare beneath my skirt.

Legs. Legs only.

Legs, legs,
legs
.

“Hey Viv, over here,” Trevor called through the dim light. As my eyes began to focus in the almost-darkness, I realized that there were couples everywhere making the hell out to the music coming from the gigantic speakers.

Chris Daughtry was rocking “Feels Like Tonight” and I was like, Chris, come on, I’m under enough pressure as it is.

“My room’s down here. Come in, I’ll show you.”

Trevor led me into the bedroom to the right, closing the door behind us.

The music was still pouring through the speakers in his
room.

I glanced around appreciatively, twisting my ponytail into a knot. “Nice room. You have a lot of trophies.”

“Thanks,” he replied, tugging on his comforter. “Sorry, I forgot to make my bed.”

I shrugged, swallowing hard.

“That’s okay.”

Awkward.

Awkward awkward awkward.

My OCD was kicking in. I began repeating my thoughts in threes, and longed to tear the comforter from his hand and neatly align the striped pattern until the bed was
Better Homes and Garden’s
ready.

“
I didn’t expect to feel so disappointed after the show tonight.”

“Why?” I managed, standing uncomfortably by his bed. “Why were you disappointed?”

He ran his hand through his hair again, allowing the length to fall just at the sides of his eyes. “I only get to kiss you for one more show.”

I bit my bottom lip, looking down.

He wants to kiss me again!

I yanked.

And then my breath caught in my throat.

My finger was stuck.

In my
hair
.

Oh, shit.

The amount of hairspray in my hair, combined with it being shoved under the wig for so long, had turned the strands into a rat’s nest. I pulled, my adrenaline pumping.

Just keep twirling.
Your finger has to come out of your hair. It won’t stay there forever! Calm down!

“I don’t mean to make you nervous. You’re getting all rashy again.”

“No! No, I’m not nervous,” I protested, trying for one, hard yank.

Nothing.

“Are you… okay?” Trevor asked, taking a step closer.

I nodded,
gulping before lifting my watery eyes to his. “Trevor? My finger is kind of… stuck. In my hair.”

He looked taken aback, and then reached for my hand.

Sure as shit, my hand was wound tightly into my hair. I could feel the knot cutting off the circulation in my finger.

“How did that even happen?” h
e asked with an incredulous laugh, turning for the door. “Hold up, there’re some scissors in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared through the door.

I sat gingerly on the bed

Oh, my god, I’m a fucking moron.

I can’t believe this is happening to me!

I waited, ramrod straight, for almost five entire minutes. I
knew
it was five minutes because my eyes were trained on the clock near Trevor’s TV.

What was taking him so long?

Leona Lewis began to croon about it all getting better in time.

Shit.

The more I fought my finger, the more the tangle grew.

“Sorry!” Trevor burst through the door, and I jerked at the sudden noise.
“Everyone kept asking me questions.”

“That’s okay,” I assured him. “I’m the idiot with a finger stuck in my hair.”

He laughed, settling next to me with the scissors. “You’re not an idiot. Well… I don’t want to cut a giant chunk out of your hair. What should I do?”

“Just cut the strands around my finger?” I suggested.

“Okay, hold still.”

I was free in no time, with minimal damage. He held the tiny lock of my hair in his hand, awkwardly handing it over to me.

I giggled. “You can keep it. A souvenir.”

He laughed, setting both the scissors and the hair on his dresser. “I love how funny you are.”

I beamed.

And then wham, he was kissing me.

I landed with my back on his bed, and his arms locked around me. I opened my mouth, and then closed it, remembering Theresa’s words.
Let him stick his tongue in first.

Too late. The second my mouth opened, his tongue delved, and I just went with it.

His hand was locked at my waist. He had two choices; north or south.

Somehow, I had to get him south, but
past
my skirt. Legs.