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Chapter 20— I Heart Colorado
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I spent most of the Homecoming dance locked in that bathroom stall, crying and beating myself up for every stupid thing I’d ever said to Rodrick. I wanted to punch a wall until my knuckles bled. Maybe then I’d be distracted enough by the pain to not feel the gnawing sadness in my chest. But, once the anger passed, all I wanted was to go home and forget the entire night happened. We both deserved a break from each other. And after tonight, it would be so easy to never speak to him again.
I wiped the smudged makeup from my eyes and cursed the puffy redness that attacked my skin. Thankfully, it’d be too dark to notice. The blockage of hurt and anger in my chest fueled me to walk back into that gymnasium just as most of the students were beginning to leave. The decorations that once dazzled me now seemed lifeless and the near-empty gymnasium reminded me more of a coffin than a dance. I looked around for any sign of Angie, but she’d already gone. Standing by the gym doors was Rodrick, silently waiting like some emotionless gatekeeper. I marched right up to him, feeling the urge to spit out a string of insults about how he was just like his jerk friends and how he’d always be some small-town loser. But, when I opened my mouth to speak, all that came out was, “We should go.”
Rodrick’s face, grave and hard, flinched at the words. But, he nodded back and opened the door. “I’ll start the van.”
Rodrick slipped out of the doors and I reached for my phone to text Angie all about what happened that night. But, it was gone. My phone was gone. I’d left it in the bathroom.
Shit. I groaned, trying to imagine how much worse this night could possibly get. After retrieving my phone from the stall and staring at my miserable reflection in the mirror once more, I left the empty school gymnasium. The night was cool with the rush of an incoming fall breeze. The harsh lights in the parking lot shone on the last few cars leaving. The only ones remaining were some trucks, some faculty cars, and Rodrick’s crappy van. I made my way back, and as I did, I began to hear the same laughter from before. But, much louder and with a lot more whoops and hollers. Then, I heard something smacking the other side of the van, like the sound of large pellets hitting the ground. There was so much cheering and hollering that I picked up my speed. Finally, I rounded the corner and froze. It wasn’t pellets that were hitting Rodrick’s van but eggs—white store-bought eggs. The yolks dripped down the side of the Löded Diper lettering and gathered along with the busted shells on the pavement. Yards away from the van lurked Kurt Klein, Heather Hills, and the rest of the jocks and their dates. At my appearance, someone shouted and all of the empty cartons were dropped as the group retreated back to their trucks. I looked around at the mess, still in a state of shock, before my eyes landed on Rodrick standing beside his van. The van had gotten a beating, but the real target had been Rodrick himself. He dripped in messy yellow egg yolks and bits of white eggshells. It had been matted into his hair and dribbled down his nice clothes, collecting in a nice pile at his feet.
My breath caught like a boulder in my throat at the sight. I couldn’t tell if I was enraged or delighted. He looked so pitiful. So humiliated.
“Rodrick…” I began, stepping forward. The anger from before had momentarily vanished as a softer side of myself poked through. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t respond but looked down at himself then back at his van then back to me. “None of it got on you, right?”
I held back a soft smile and took him by the arm. “C’mon, you’ve gotta get cleaned up.”
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The last of the water dripped from the tap as I heard Rodrick shut off the shower in the boy’s locker room. While he’d been busy de-egging himself, I’d gone in search of fresh clothes. But, my options had been limited to the lost-and-found. I’d contemplated what to do with all of the pent-up anger in my body. Kurt Klein was a jerk. He was a bully and a meathead. And the more I thought about it, the more I wished I’d punched him much sooner and much harder. Kurt was getting off far too easy and deserved the same sort of treatment he was shelling out to Rodrick. No pun intended.
I sat on a bench in the boy’s locker room, letting the clouds of steam seeping out from the showers hit the side of my cheek and raise up goosebumps on my arms. It smelled like a cave in there, a cave riddled with pubic hairs and sweaty socks. Oftentimes, I had to take off my glasses to wipe away the fog that had collected on the surface.
“Found some clothes?” came Rodrick’s voice. He was leaning up against the lockers with only a towel wrapped around his waist.
All the air left my lungs, and I immediately felt my heart begin pounding out of my chest. I’d never seen him without a shirt. And my first thought had everything to do with the creamy olive color of his chest and the little black hairs that traveled down from his naval below the towel. His dark hair, coal-black, dripped wet with water and curled just a bit at the ends. And I’d never noticed the homemade Löded Diper tattoo he’d done on his upper shoulder.
My face was red. I could feel the heat radiating off of my cheeks. I forced my eyes away and held out the two shirts I’d retrieved from the lost-and-found.
“Option A or B?” I choked, gesturing to the “I Heart Colorado” shirt and the “Shafter Dentistry Inc.” shirt.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Rodrick smirk and take the first shirt. “That says Colorado, right?”
I nodded.
“Never been. Maybe this is a sign or something.” Rodrick grabbed the jeans lying next to me on the bench. “Thanks, by the way.”
I halfway smiled at him but said nothing, ignoring the overwhelming smell of soap coming from his body.
“Can’t say I wasn’t just a little bit happy to see egg on your face.”
Rodrick shut his eyes and looked down, the playfulness in his words dissipating. “I was acting like a dick, wasn’t I?”
I made a small noise and shrugged, letting him come to the conclusion all on his own. “If you didn’t want to dance with me, I get it—”
“Hey, it’s not that,” he sighed. “I didn’t want you to dance with me. I’m an awful dancer. Terrible. I’m sick at drums and being a badass and…”
I gave him a doubtful, half-annoyed look.
“Okay,” he continued, amending his words, “You get it. I just didn’t want to go out there and make an idiot out of myself. I would’ve been egged on the spot and embarrassed you.”
I cocked an eyebrow and said, “That all?”
“Also, I hate school dances. They’re total suck-fests.” He paused and bowed his head slightly, like a puppy dog being shamed. “I’m sorry.”
As he pouted in silence, a brand new idea came to me. One that brought a mischievous smile to my face and reignited the darker side of Philly Emmett. I stood from the bench and crossed over to the lockers, closer to him and the potent soap smell. “Well, maybe Homecoming doesn’t have to completely suck.”
Newly intrigued, Rodrick looked up and cocked his head to the side, his heavy eyebrows knitting close together. “What are you thinking?”
I feigned an innocent look and a teasing smile, dragging my gaze across the empty locker room. “Maybe it’s time Kurt Klein is reminded of how much of a badass you are.”
I held Rodrick’s attention in the palm of my hand. His eyes went wide with disbelief and newfound thrill. And inside of me, it felt as if a mask had been ripped away and, for a brief shining moment, I could truly be my chaotic self again. I smirked, some perfect mischief hiding in the very corners of my smile. It was high time that Strawberry Shortcake should strap on some fishnets once again.
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There were thirteen cans of cheap spray paint in the school’s art room when we snuck inside. There were only five when we left. Maybe it was overkill, but the blood was pumping hot in my veins. And tonight, I vowed to take Kurt Klein down. I’d never seen Rodrick as alive as he was now, racing down the halls beside me. The heels of his shoes squeaking across the tile. My high heels bundled in my arms as I padded barefoot down the halls. My wild red hair falling from the bobby pins and flying back behind me. His heavy-breathed laughter and hollers and his hands banging on loose locker doors. At that moment, we were forever young and forever invincible. Fuck anyone who thought otherwise.
We finally burst out of the gymnasium doors once again but, this time, with a newfound go-to-hell energy. We cheered and howled into the empty night air all the way to the van—now crusted over with egg yolks. As soon as Rodrick’s driver’s side door slammed shut, he fired up the engine and cranked up The Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go” over his radio. I tossed the bag of spray paint cans in the back and grinned, nearly out of breath from our art room rampage.
“You know where Kurt lives, right?”
“I wish I didn’t. Down the street from the baby hippo Greg hangs out with. I pass by his house every time I have to drop stupid Greg off.”
“You drive your brother around? That’s so nice.”
Rodrick smirked darkly before pulling back the stick shift and stepping on the gas. “Oh no, don’t get me wrong. I’m not nice.”
Rodrick drove like a bat out of hell, veering down highways and corners with the speed and grace of an angry bull. His tires squealed around sharp bends, and when he slammed on the brakes, both of us lifted out of our seats. We were likely to be killed keeping this up. But, the hell if I cared.
I flicked the lighter in my hand and sucked in a deep inhale of smoke from my cigarette. It felt so good and warm settling into my lungs—like the blood was back to flowing in my veins. I pulled away from the first drag and slowly let the smoke pass from my lips, the charred taste mixing with the strawberry of my lip gloss. God, every time was so amazing. I peeked over to Rodrick who was balancing driving and jamming out to the loud, grating music. His head fervidly bobbed to the beat. His hair, still damp from the shower, fell into his eyes on the downbeat. He seemed almost to be in a trance.
Then, from nowhere, I remembered what he’d said to me when we first met. It came to me like a whisper far off in my memories, the same voice from the staircase at my house. You got any smokes?
I felt along the length of the cigarette in my fingers and nudged Rodrick. He woke from his trance and noticed, and I took the opportunity to hand it over. I wasn’t the only one feeling a bit nostalgic as Rodrick held the cigarette over the steering wheel, gazing down at it like a treasure. Then, he parted his lips and took in a long drag, letting his chest puff out. When he finally released the long stream of pale white smoke, he smiled wide and toothy. “I thought you told me that smoking kills.”
I smirked back at him. “That such a bad thing?”
Rodrick held his smile and yanked the van around another corner, decreasing his speed to one we wouldn’t get pulled over for as we entered the suburban neighborhood. All the houses were pitch black and silent, a tell-tale sign that hooligans like us weren’t welcome.
“There—” Rodrick pointed to a nice, family house not far away. “That’s Kurt’s place.”
I craned my head out of the window to get a better look. And, sure enough, there was Kurt Klein’s precious red truck parked in the driveway.
Rodrick slowed the van down to a smooth roll and found a spot along the sidewalk to park. Rodrick pushed the stick shift into park and turned, returning the half-burned cigarette back over to me. “You know, you’re the one who talked me out of spray-painting Kurt’s truck the first time. Now I’m your partner in crime? How does that happen?”
I pushed open the door and hopped out, taking a last drag from the cigarette before crushing it under my heel. “Dunno. Funny how things work out like that.”
Rodrick jumped out and grabbed the bag of spray paint cans. “Seriously, Jenny. This isn’t really like you.”
I rounded the corner of his van and grumbled under my breath, “Maybe you should quit focusing on what’s ‘like me’ and more on what’s going on now. You were right, okay? Kurt Klein sucks. So, I’m gonna let him know in big blue letters.”
I dug deep inside the bag until I found a can of blue spray paint. Rodrick watched me creep around the dark corners of bushes and vehicles, making my way closer and closer to Kurt’s truck.
“Wait,” Rodrick whispered, sneaking around a hedge and nearly tripping over a garden hose in the process. His lanky arms and legs did him no favors when it came to this sort of thing. Finally, he made his way to a crouched position next to me, catching his breath from his near fumble. “I like being right,” he said.
We smiled at one another—a kind of smile that told a different story and promised consequences. My favorite kind of smile.
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