Fumbling with my papers, I begin stuffing the doodles back inside my binder and slam it shut. Glancing up at the rusty old library clock, it says I have less than five minutes to sit here. How long he's been watching me. Should I look up?
Oh my god what if he's still over there staring at me.
I will die... a slow death.
Well, okay.
I'll die a 'less-than-five-minute' death because that's as long as we have to sit here before the bell rings.
I take a chance and raise my eyes.
Yup, there he is, staring at my face with his lips pulled into a smirk, the dark hair under his ball cap curling up slightly over his ears. The sleeves are cut off the bright blue A&F shirt he's wearing, and as he leans back lazily with his arms crossed, it draws attention to his biceps, which look...
insanely
ripped. Tall at 6'2 (I know this because I've seen his stats in the school athletic program - you know, the one they hand out before games).
Tan skin.
Broad
shoulders.
His face clearly hasn't been shaved today: a dark shadow along his jaw and upper lip are unmistakable, even from where I'm sitting. Dear lord is it...sexy.
Really, Weston looks more like a man than most men, and less of an 18 year old boy.
Nope. Calling him a boy would be wrong, wrong,
wrong
on so many levels...
I wonder what he's thinking right now as I stare blatantly back, taking in the large black tattoo covering his entire right arm: it starts halfway up his forearm and stops at his shoulder. Maybe he's sitting there thinking I'm a goody-two-shoes.
His eyes look black from here, and oh
god
, his lips are amazing.
Torture.
WESTON
"Son, mark my words. Staring is the best and quickest way to get yourself kicked out of Victoria's Secret." - Brian McGrath
The bell rings for the last period of the day to end, and I slide my books off the crappy library table. Geez,
buy some new goddamn furniture already
, I can't help thinking. Rolling my shoulders, I take a minute to stretch my upper body. I'm stiff and sore from slouching through the entire fifty minute study hall, and bruised from last nights practice; some dickhead on the other team checked me into the boards of the rink so hard I was up icing it most of last night.
And it was only a scrimmage.
Under the brim of my ball cap, I continue watching as Molly Wakefield tries to scoot her ass out of her chair - in that short jean skirt, it's pretty obvious she's trying not to give me a crotch shot.
I watch her anyways, just in case she does.
Hey, I'm always looking on the bright side of things.
Damn, she's got a great pair of legs - ones I've tried not to appreciate the entire period because I have a shit ton of homework. I cannot afford any distractions; especially not my senior year, and not with my schedule.
School.
Hockey practice.
Hockey games.
Repeat.
But seriously...her legs are fucking amazing. Long, tan and toned, Molly must have been overheating during this entire class period because there's a slight sheen to her skin that resembles an...
afterglow
.
I can't take my eyes off her.
Jesus Christ, what the hell am I talking about? Afterglow?
I sound like a douchebag
.
She knows I'm watching her, and yeah, it's completely obvious she's embarrassed. How do I know this, you're asking yourself? Well for one, she's avoided all eye contact with me for the entire class period, which is fifty minutes. Not to mention she's hustling out of here like her panties are on fire; which of course, makes me think of her in nothing but underwear.
I'm visualizing a low rise thong.
And here's another thing I keep asking myself:
Why the fuck have I never noticed her before
?
Sure, I know who she
is
. I think everyone does: she's pretty, popular and her dad is on the school board. I've seen her in passing - like in the hallway - but I guess I've never stopped to
really
look at her. Oh that's right; girls are hanging on me all the time so I never have the chance.
I trail out of the library behind Molly, taking in her features from her head to her fine ass. Her hair is loose and hanging halfway down her back, swaying gently as she walks. It's this really pretty color brown...not red and not brown. I don't know what the hell color it is, but I like it.
A lot.
Unexpectedly she turns and looks back at me. Our eyes connect but her stare remains impassive, which surprises me. I feel my eyebrows shoot up into my forehead because I don't often get blank stares from girls. Mostly when they look at me they're trying to appear sexy - licking their lips, batting their eyes, gushing uncontrollably - which drives me fucking nuts. I'm not
entirely
lead around by what's in my pants.
I've got news for you ladies:
Desperation is not an attractive quality
.
Molly disappears into the crowd, and I stop.
Hesitating for the briefest of seconds, I finally turn in the opposite direction and head towards my locker.
MOLLY
"Don't flatter yourself buddy! I wasn't looking at you,
I was checking out your
truck
." - Jenna
"A few of us are going to the lake, you wanna come?" asks Jenna. We're standing at my locker where I'm both collecting my homework and shoving books into the tiny cramped space. I hold back some papers from falling out with my palm and quickly slam it shut.
"Well... I hadn't really planned on it, no. My parents aren't home so I kind of wanted the house to myself for a few hours. You know how it is...." I shrug and stand there shifting my weight, wanting to hit the road. I mean seriously, is there anything better than having your parents out of the house?
My mom, who has been a stay-at-home-mom since my brother was born, is usually home most afternoons. If she isn't home when I walk in the door, she's usually home shortly after.
Tonight, as luck would have it, my parents are attending a fundraiser for a new girl's school that has just been renovated. My dad works in finance, but is also on the school board for our district, so they attend these sorts of things every so often.
"Yeah I get it, Molly, but can't you do your homework at the beach? Just bring a blanket. Run home and grab your suit and meet us there. Cool?" Jenna stares at me with her big blue eyes and pushes out her bottom lip, which I consider her trademark move to manipulate me.
And...it works.
"
Fine
," I relent, begrudgingly. "I'll run home quick and grab my suit."
Ugh, I'm such a pushover.
What I really wanted to do is go home, watch Pretty Little Liars on Demand while eating Cheetos on the couch. For the record, Cheetos are a big '
no no'
at my house ever since the time my idiot older brother got caught wiping his orange fingers on the arms of the Lazy-Boy .
Food hasn't been allowed in the living room since.
I call it the "Incident of 2010 that ruined it for everybody."
Now my mom watches us like a hawk.
"Wear that new suit you bought at Macy's last week," she said wiggling her eyebrows at me in a suggestive manner. "
Just
in case! You never knooww..." she singsongs this last part. "I want to make sure you have a hot date for Fall Formal so you can double with me and Alex again this year."
Classic Jenna, always with a dance on the brain.
Before school even starts each year, she starts shopping for Formal dresses - in like, June. I'm every bit of a girly-girl as she is, but come on -
June
?
I am able to make it home, change, and get back on the freeway in less than a half hour. Headed south to Random Lake's public shoreline with the top down on the Jeep, my hair is flying in a million different directions. I have sunglasses on so that I can see, because hair is getting in my eyes.
I'd decided to scrap the idea of getting homework done on the beach, knowing that realistically no one is going to let me actually study. Instead they'll chatter non-stop, probably harass me to play sand volleyball (which I
suck
at) - stuff like that. According to Jenna, I was the only Senior she'd actually seen read a textbook this year and I needed to "give it a rest already...
god
...."
I'm clipping down the highway at a good pace, loving the way the wind makes me feel.
Free.
Alive.
Young.
I've got on my jean skirt, a plain aqua ribbed tank top from American Eagle over my suit, and flip flops. Nothing fancy. Driving with the top down on the Jeep feels amazing. If you've never been in a convertible, it's like standing on the top of a hill on a gorgeous day and letting the wind dance itself around you.
Pushing my sunglasses to the bridge of my nose, I adjust the adapter on my iPod and crank up the radio. I find my favorite tune - "Gone, Gone, Gone" by Phillip Phillips - and start belting out the lyrics to the high tempo love song.
"
And I would do it for youuuu, for youu oohhh - Baby I'm not moving on, I'll love you long after you're gone.....
"
Is that my voice? Gosh I sound incredible...
I'm tapping the steering wheel with both palms, and can see a red pickup truck in my rear-view mirror approaching to pass. Whoever it is, he's hell bent on a mission to get somewhere, and is past me within seconds.
The windows on the red truck are tinted but I see the shadow of a large figure in the passenger seat crane around once it's past. On the back bumper, there's a sticker that reads "Puck Off," so I can only presume it's guys from school and that they're on the hockey team.
Confession:
I think
you and I
both
know that when you pass a Jeep on the road, it's almost impossible to resist checking out the driver. Have you ever passed a Jeep and not looked? In fact, have you ever seen a Jeep coming down the road and gotten all excited, and then when it drives by you, you're all bummed out because the driver was Ewww? Or taken one look at the driver and thought "Damn that dude is ugly! They have no business owning that sweet ride!" and been completely disappointed? I'd even go as far as to say: it should be a law that all Jeep drivers be pleasant to look at. I mean it, seriously.
The current laws of attraction state that an attractive girl driving a Jeep is even
more
irresistible to the opposite sex than any other vehicle - especially one with their hair down.
It's a scientific fact, er... somewhere.
It's coded in guy DNA.
Anyways, like I said - best feeling in the world.
I will even admit to an air of a smugness about myself when I'm driving. What can I say? I can't help it.
Soon I'm squeezing into a small parking spot - I groan at the sight of myself in the mirror. What a disaster. Grabbing my bag, I hop out the window without actually opening the door, ala Dukes of Hazard. Before I go any further, I lean over to give my head and hair a good shake, running my fingers through it to get out any knots. When I flip my hair back up my eyes immediate connect with Weston McGrath.
Well, well, well, what are the odds
....?
He's openly staring. Again.
Leaning his shoulder against the passenger side door of the red truck that had passed me earlier, it's obvious Weston is waiting for its driver, who's still inside. Knowing that he had been checking me out on the highway sends an excited shiver up my spine. I can't see his eyes because he's wearing really dark sunglasses, but this time he isn't wearing a ball cap. Messy hair blowing in the breeze, he's changed his shirt (another cut off tee shirt) and is wearing Hawaiian printed board shorts that hang low on his hips. For a brief second I wonder if he has chest hair.
Ugh, get a grip Molly
! I scold myself and give myself a mental slap.
He's just so...so.....What's the word for it?
Intense.
What is wrong with me today!? These thoughts are so unlike me!
I can hardly even focus.
The driver side door opens and Rick Stevens - he's a senior too - walks around to the tailgate and opens it up. I actually have Rick in my marketing class. For such an asshole, he's pretty smart. Shocking, right?
Rick follows Weston's gaze and takes off his sunglasses. He gives me one of those head nods - you know the kind - the unspoken 'hey.'
"Little Miss Molly Wakefield, lookin' good. Waz zup?"
Oh my god, seriously? What an idiot.
"Hey guys," is my bashful reply. They can't tell because it's hot out, but I'm blushing down to my toes.
I'm so lame.
Not sticking around for idle chatter, I give them a feeble wave and scurry to the beach as fast as my flip flops will carry me. My mom once said "Molly, you can afford to flirt a little. It never hurts if you want to meet someone special. And you never know - you just might have fun doing it." This is all very true, but I utterly refuse to be
one of those girls
. Simpering. Giggling.
Fake
. The one thing I always wonder: why do guys always fall for that?
I never once understood it.
Don't get me wrong: I date.
Have
dated.
Do the occasional hair toss.
But over the past few months, as I get closer to high school graduation, it's a little harder to want to even bother. I mean, I'll be heading for college at the end of the year. And as for my own unique popularity... I'd classify myself as one of those "middle of the road" people - not popular, not
un
-popular. Friends with everyone and friendly
to
everyone (for the most part). Yes, I play a sport: I'm on a club soccer team called Lake Country Fusion, and I also play for school. I'm not winning any college scholarships, but I consider myself pretty darn good.
I've got fast feet.
A few weeks ago, when school first started, this guy named TJ Walker asked me to the movies. Jenna was all agog, because - again with wanting to double date... But there weren't any sparks. I didn't even want the poor kid to kiss me good-night, which he
did
attempt to do while we sat in the driveway under garage security light. I kept sarcastically thinking "
Really TJ?! You didn't even talk to me tonight
!" Not to mention, he only paid for his half of the movie, and I bought my own popcorn.