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Chapter 14— Axe and Red Hots
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Throughout the drive to Angie’s house, I felt as if I was walking into some sort of trap. Though the smarter side of me knew this wasn’t true, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I would say something or do something that would slip me up and blow my cover. I was already treading on fairly thin ice with Angie. Mostly, it’d been a miracle that I was even allowed to go. Technically, I was grounded and I would stay that way for a whole other week. But, as soon as I mentioned going to a friend’s house, my mother’s strict demeanor completely changed. Maybe she was just shocked that I actually had a friend other than Valerie. Valerie.
For a moment, I thought of how different yet similar both girls were, not just in appearance but in mannerisms as well. Valerie was hardened through and through. After having to deal with helicopter moms who only wanted an overly feminine sweetheart daughter, Valerie learned to deal with the feeling of disappointment. It made her wildly independent and strong as hell. Stronger than me. But, sometimes, it meant she was insensitive and brutal with her friends aka me.
Angie, on the other hand, was unapologetically herself and cared deeply about the feelings of others. She gave great advice while Valerie typically jumped to the harshest solution. But, Angie wasn’t tough at all. She couldn’t stand up for herself like Valerie was used to. And, she settled for what she got.
But, the more I thought about it during my drive, the more I realized that what I saw in those girls—my closest friends—was maybe what I wanted to see in myself.
I slowed my drive as I began to near Angie’s house, a small suburban house planted in a cul-de-sac. The house was nice, as most houses in the suburbs go, but what struck me was how clean and neat it was. Hedges trimmed back to perfection. Flowers color-coordinated with the roofing. Even the stone walkway had been newly power-washed. I pulled into the driveway and made my way to the door. After ringing the doorbell, I was greeted by a tall woman dressed in a gray blazer-suit combo, her brassy blond hair perfectly straightened and her white blouse perfectly pressed. She was on the phone, her attention now split in two.
“Yes? Who are you?” she said, pulling the phone away from her ear.
“Jenny. I’m Angie’s friend,” I quickly answered, almost saying it like a question.
The woman spoke a few words into the cellphone before pulling it away again and shouting for Angie upstairs. The woman then opened the door for me and directed that I take my shoes off. As soon as I stepped in, the smell of freshly-made laundry filled my senses. The house was clean—no—cleaner than clean. It was hospital waiting room clean. The furniture was minimalistic and perfectly cream and beige against the complementary colors of the walls and floors. The decoration hinted towards a New York lifestyle and had no place in a small town like Plainview. This house did not look like Angie. Not at all.
Soon, Angie made it down the staircase by the front door and quickly noticed my confused expression.
“I know,” she groaned, without me even needing to say a word, “You should just come up.”
Angie led me up to her room, a small twin-bed-sized bedroom that battled between the neatness of downstairs and the free-range lifestyle of Angie.
“Was that your mom?” I asked once Angie shut the door.
“Yeah. Believe me, the hair is the only resemblance.”
“It’s…She’s not what I expected.” Honestly, I didn’t know what I expected.
“My mom is super driven. She works a lot at this insurance company that’s stationed in New York. Only reason we’re not there is that city life doesn’t blend well with me.”
New York. I knew it.
“She seems nice.”
Angie shrugged and brushed it off. “She’s not, but thanks.” Changing the topic, Angie opened her closet door where a door mirror reflected the both of us. “Thanks for coming over, Jenny. And thanks for helping me. I don’t know if anything will ever happen between Jeremy and me, but I can’t keep tripping over my words when he’s around. Eventually, he’s going to think I’m psychotic.”
I gave her one of my sweet, artificial smiles again. “That’s not going to happen. You take my advice and guys will be tripping over you at school.”
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The next thirty minutes were a challenge to both my mental and physical energy. I taught Angie some of what I knew about talking to guys, most of it coming from the wisdom of Valerie.
“Compliment them,” I explained. “Pick something unique and special about them and compliment them. Smile a lot. And a fun little touch on the arm or hand can make a huge difference, I swear.”
Angie bombarded me with loads of questions and fears of her own, many the same that I first had before learning from Valerie.
“I get so nervous around him. I wouldn’t even know how to have a conversation with him.”
“Well, maybe try and talk about something he likes.”
“But, he has a girlfriend, Jenny!”
“And yet he asked to hang out with you.”
“Oh what?” she sneered, “Working on yearbook covers?”
“Yeah…” I teased, twirling the end of my braided red hair around my finger, “Just working on yearbook covers…”
Angie squealed and playfully shoved my arm.
Another thirty minutes later and I’d gone over the basics with Angie: walking like you own the room, looking at his lips when he says your name, and always ending the conversation first.
“Try it again,” I repeated, sitting on her bed and judging her walk across her bedroom floor.
Angie groaned and silently scolded herself before resetting her position on the other side of the room. She began her walk across the carpeted floor, her legs just a bit too stiff and her arms floating around like they had nowhere to go.
“No wait,” I stopped her. “You look like you’re walking to your own execution. You have to loosen up.” I hopped off of the bed and crossed over to her. Taking her wrists in hand, I shook out her arms and twisted her body from side to side.
“What are you doing?” Angie squealed.
“Getting rid of all your nerves. You need to walk as if you’re floating on the ground, feet tapping the floor and shoulders relaxed. Don’t forget to sway your hips, but just barely. Like you’re walking a runway.”
“I’m not a model,” she snapped.
“Well, today, you are.”
After she reset herself and tried the walk a few more times, I began to see improvement. She was getting better, but something was still holding her back.
“Ugh,” she groaned, throwing up her arms and collapsing onto the bed next to me.
“This is pointless if Jeremy still has a girlfriend. I can’t compete with Heather freakin’ Hills, Jenny. She’s a golden-haired goddess with a stone-cold heart and no morals.”
I sighed and rested a hand on Angie’s arm. She was such a pretty girl. Angie was everything I needed to be and more. She was a kindhearted friend and a sweet, ambitious girl. Why couldn’t she see that in herself?
“Angie, you don’t need to compete with Heather freakin’ Hills. You are a wonderful, intelligent, and beautiful girl. Sometimes, well, a lot of times, I wish I was more like you. And you don’t need to work hard to get Jeremy Redford’s attention. Either he likes you for you or not at all. And that’s it. I care about you too much to see you put yourself down like that.”
Angie sat up, her bright eyes glued to mine. “Really?”
Her hopeful and innocent look brought a smile to my face, and I grabbed her hand in mine. “Really.”
Angie finally let herself smile and her shoulders relaxed. “Maybe you’ve got a point. But, I’ve gotta act fast. The Homecoming dance is coming up soon, and if Heather and Jeremy get voted King and Queen, she’ll never let him break up with her for anything.”
“Well, then you better jump on Buddy Holly while you’ve got the chance.”
She cocked her head to the side and squinted. “Buddy who?”
I smirked to myself and held back the urge to roll my eyes. “No one.”
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Back at home, I sat on my bed and pressed my guitar into my chest. The sleek touch of the polished wood against my skin always seemed to have a way to make me feel calm. My fingers grazed across the cold rigidness of the strings, always reminding me of why I was doing this—any of this. But, today, my mind had a different image to share. My eyelids fluttered closed and I swear I could feel a warmth cover my fingers, a touch of soft fingertips dancing over my skin. The way they curled around the gaps of my fingers, tugging my hand back with a need unlike one I’d ever known. I felt the shadow of a warm breath hitting the bare back of my neck, raising every single goosebump. The heat traveled across my skin, invading my nerves and turning my muscles into butter. But, above all of that, I could smell a fragrance drifting over my head like a cloud, engulfing my senses and toying with my thoughts. It was spicy and sweet, intoxicating and smoky. Like cigarettes and brown sugar. No, like warm black pepper and cinnamon…God, it was like…like Axe and Red Hots.
I sat there for a few moments, trying to absorb all of the feelings clouding my right judgment. How long had I felt this way? And why him? He was a loser. He was an angsty, arrogant loser. A loser who smiled at me way too often and sorta bit his lip when I smiled back. A loser who always had a perfect comeback to my teasing. A loser who asked me questions and actually listened. A loser who’d stepped in my way and taken a punch for me. A loser I found impossible to get out of my head at night.
I looked down at my guitar and sighed, “Ah, shit.”
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A soft knock on my door awakened my thoughts from my song journal sitting on my bed. I’d found the best way to address the fluttery and weakening feelings attacking my body was just to put it all down in a song. I didn’t even care if it sucked. I just had to get it out.
“Philly?” came my mom’s voice.
“Yeah?” I replied without a second thought.
She pushed open the door, and I just barely caught the grave look of concern and fear corrupting her face before she held out my full bathroom trash can.
My brows knit together and I laid my pencil down. What was this?
Then, she reached and pulled out a flash of metal sticking out of the top of the trash heap. A fork. A metal fork. A metal kitchen fork. The same fork I’d used to scrape my dinners into the toilet and the trash.
My stomach dropped and hardened like stone. Every ounce of blood slipped from my face, and I suddenly felt very, very nauseous.
My mother frowned and her lip quivered as she said, “Honey, we need to talk.”
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