Emerge (4 page)

             
He walked in and slipped casually into the seat next to me.
I got the feeling that everything he did was smooth.
Today we were supposed to talk about costumes and stage directions and
other theatrical things.  But in the 2 feet that separated me from him there was this heat wave, kinda like the waves of heat that emanate from a space heater.  I could almost hear the hum of it and I blushed furiously at the tho
ught that he felt it too.  Then that wench Real World got my attention.
There’s no way this guy feels what I feel for him.  There’s just no way.
He’s not attracted to me.
  I’m just me.
  I might as well be an Amish wallflower. 

             
Out of the corner of my eye I could see him studying his lines, really intently.
I had probably stared at him
through my peripheral vision
for
forty
minutes.
Someone knocked at the door and the teacher excused himself for a minute. 

             
As soon as the door closed he turned to me, still in his desk. 

             
“Hey
,
” he said. 

             
“Hi
,
” I croaked out.

             
After an awkward minute he added,
“So…you weren’t in this class last semester.”

             
I hesitated and then answered
,
“No
…I was in Senior English, but it was full this semester
because that one teacher quit
so they put me here.” 

             
It was like the words were coming
out and my brain was letting them through the gate without any censorship
. 

             
He smiled, and said
,
“Well, that makes it easier.”
I shook my head trying to jumble the words into place in my head.

             
I answered,
“Makes what…” 

             
The bell blared in my ears causing me to look up at the clock
and when I turned
back to the conversation he was gone. 

             
The whole bus ride and walk home was spent overanalyzing his statement. 
What did he mean? Why did he say that? Was he talking about me or the class? 
So, he noticed I wasn’t in that class last semester or he just noticed I was a new student this semester?

             
I analyzed it and ran it over in my brain until I had caused a two m
inute conversation to become a
two
hour throbbing headache. 
But that
two
minute conversation had made my day, my week, maybe even my year.
  I caught a glance at my house as I walked under the freeway overpass and cringed. 
Here we go again.

             
The house was clean and
dinner was made when I got home which was typical after a big Tyrant episode.
  Later I would find out from May in a middle of the night closet conversation that Mom and the Tyrant had gotten
some ‘big money.” That’s what May called it.  She was extremely smart and listened to everything then repeated it back like a parrot. 

             
It was probably one of their famous
random
settlement
check
s
for $2,300
or some other odd amount
and they went to a local casino to double it.
They were always suing people and this was one of their paydays.
Of course they lost it all, hence the Tyrant episode.
It was my Mom’s fault they had lost all of the money.
 

             
May had been left with some lady that Mom had only talked to twice but apparently she was really nice to her and made what May called “
sprinkly
brownies”.
  And apparently that lady
had given Mom quite the talking to about something outside, but May couldn’t hear what they were saying.
 

             
I
had worked that day, only for
two
hours and Mr. Cannon cashed my paycheck that I still had folded up from the day b
efore yesterday.  It was $213.36
and I was hoarding it in case the groceries Mom bought with her mysterious check didn’t last.  I needed stuff, but I could deal without until I knew we were in the green.

             
Mom was Mrs. Cleaver again and not by choice, but to keep the peace.
She ran through the house
towards his room frantically
every time he screamed “Miranda!”
Her bruises were fading already but she still flinched when she smiled
her fake smile
.
  She would always make
three
square meals and keep the house neat as a pin after a big Tyrant event.  She would keep this routine up for about a week and then it would slowly deteriorate into Medusa/Mrs. Cleaver whiplash. 

             
So I woke up the next day
in a great mood and even put a little extra effort into my make-up and hair.  I wore it down today since it was fairly cool out and it wouldn’t catch the
frizzies
.  It was long, passed my shoulder blades but still that same
brown
ish color
.  I shrugged at my reflection and grabbed my bag.
I put a hair band on my wrist just in case.

             
I made myself pay attention in my classes and prayed that it would make the time go faster.
I was itching for just one look at him.
It really does wonders to pay attention when the teacher is….you know…teaching.  I found myself unaware that it was time for the bell
,
class after class.  But I was hyper aware of the clock during fifth period.  I wanted to get into
Drama class so bad that I was tempted to clothesline my fellow students as they passed to make the hallways less crowded. 

             
I walked into class and he was there.  Carlos….he was there sitting at his desk methodically rubbing the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. He looked tired or stressed and I wondered what a guy like him had to stress about.  I sat in the only desk available, the one behind him even though I had plowed through the halls trying to get there early.  He didn’t notice me walk in and I was too much of a coward to say anything to him.  The Drama teacher wasn’t in class…again…and we were told to study on our own.
  So I did.

             
I studied the back of his head and memorized the hairline which threatened to go into his collar and my fingers twitched in want of reaching out to touch him.
  I longed to find out what he smelled like.
I wanted to wrap my arms around that neck and push my face into his ne
ck while he told me why he was stressed.
I closed m
y eyes instantaneously and rattled
the thoughts out of my head.
 
Get over yourself
,
Jenna….as if.
  I instead opened my latest reading conquest and began to lose myself in the tale of a wolf-man and his mate. 

             
After a while, I looked up as movement caught my eye in front of me.  That same guy from the hallway, who tipped me off to Carlos’ name
,
was giving him cr
azy eyes like he was watching Wimbledon on a big screen TV.  After a minute his tennis eyes took over his head and he began bobbing it, towards my way.  I wondered if there was a girl behind me who t
hey thought was hot or he had a violent twitch
.
I glanced back to see who it was so I could berate myself mentally for not looking more like her.  I didn’t see any girls behind me and so I resumed being entranced by the wolf claiming his mate.  My book was pushed slightly and suddenly I was face to face with
him
.  He was turned around towards his left and looking over my book at me.

             
“Hi
,
Jenna
,
”
he said with
a voice that curled my toes in the security of my Chucks. 

             
“Oh, hi
…
”

             
I tried to be so cool.  I sounded like a prairie dog on crack. 

             
“You know my name?” I said.

             
“Um…yeah
…
Mr.
Escobar said your name when he was giving out the parts in the play
.” 

             
“Oh
,
yeah
…
”

I
rolled my eyes
at myself just wallowing in my stupidity.

             
“So…
”  he
smiled
, “h
ave
you learned your lines yet?” 

             
I half smiled back,
“ Nah
, I don’t have many so I really haven’t started yet.”

 
He chuckled a little at that and added “Well, next week we start practicing in the theater every class so you should learn them.” 

             
“Yeah
,
”
I said, “I’ll do that.” 

             
“It will be nice to see you somewhere out o
f this classroom.”

             
A
s he spoke I noticed for the first time that today he had dark circles under his eyes and he looked exhausted.  I wondered why, but a
gain, I was too much of a chicken
to ask.
He turned back ar
ound while I was still in La-La Land
and I resumed reading until the bell rang.  As he got his backpack to leave he turned around and gave me a look that stilled my heart.
He gently tugged at the end of one of my brown strands of hair.

             
“By the way, your hair looks pretty like that.”

             
He
said this and then made a quick exit with the other students.
He just left.
Not
e to self: Never put your hair up again….ever.
  I
t
took me at least a minute to be able to move again to catch the bus.

             
The next day was more of the same conversation as the day before and I cringed at the thought of practicing in the theater on Monda
y and of not seeing Carlos for two
days.  The weekend went off without a hitch as Mr. Tyrant and Mrs.
Cleaver were still playing nice and had even let May watch some TV.
  I worked for
twelve
hours on Saturday.  Mr. Cannon said I could because the place was swamped.  I never thought a sheet music store could be swamped, but it was really busy.  I was glad for it.  It got me out of the house and hooked me up with a sweet paycheck. 
And while I worked I daydreamed of the boy with caramel and cinnamon skin
who made me
want
to find a home in his arms and let his heartbeat soothe my
battered
mind
.

Chapter 5

             
The next month came and went with side glances and smiles and simple small conversation.
He laughed at my goofy jokes and I hung on to his every word.
  I was asked by several of the girls in Drama class if I liked him. 
Whether or not he had asked me out.
 
Whether or not he liked me.
  I blushed when I was asked if I liked him and my rose red cheeks gave the answer that my mouth could not bear to give.  I truly didn’t know if he was into me or not.  If I had to go only by his glances or his smile I would say “yes.”  But if I had to go by actions, I wouldn’t know the answer.  He often lent a hand to help me up when we were all sitting aroun
d and he opened the door for me, but he hadn’t asked for my phone number and he hadn’
t asked me out.  Maybe he had a girlfriend.
The very thought turned my stomach. 

             
Home was like a bad episode of the Twilight Zone. 
Something dramatic ha
d changed during that last episode
between the Tyrant and my Mom. I wish I knew what it was so I could keep it in my pocket for the future, but I didn’t know. She was keeping the house fairly clean and
hadn’t traded any of our food stamps for cigarette money yet this month
.  Food was cooked and she even enrolled May in a preschool and was taking her every day.  It was some kind of income based preschool and of course we qualified because there was no income.