Every Rose (3 page)

I tried to pinpoint my irrational anger and a terrible thought occurred to me. Michael really was over me and falling for Stac
y. But was she falling for him too? Crap. What if all she could see was his potential to piss off her parents? What if she breaks his heart? I didn’t know the answers to any of my musings. All I knew was that I was a horrible person for having set him up to get hurt.

When the guys dropped us off at Stacy’s, I followed Stacy in her house to have our sleepover; but all I really wanted was to go home. I thought about calling my mom and pretending to be sick, but any night away from my responsibilities waiting for me at my house was a good night. So I tried to get over it. Inevitably, Stacy and I started rehashing the night; she recounted how many times
Tony's gaze lingered on me and how many times he “accidentally” touched me. I changed the subject and told her how much Michael’s friendship meant to me and that I was glad that they had hit it off.

She looked at me like I was the village idiot and barked, “I couldn’t possibly date Michael for real. You know that. I just did it to piss off my parents. Mission accomplished. They told me when I went to their room to check in that we’re going car shopping tomorrow, which is exactly what I had hoped for. Can you imagine me driving my brother’s hand-me-down?!”

I felt tears spring to my eyes. If that’s really all it was, why did she seem to have such a good time with him? She hung on his every word, laughed at all his jokes, and shared food with him. It all seemed a little too personal to have been faked on either part.  Now, I really did feel sick to my stomach. Calling my mom suddenly seemed like a great idea.

On the ride home, I let myself consider all of the implications of what Stacy’s little rebellious standoff might have. What if Michael really did like her? What then? He would be crushed. He didn’t deal well with rejection. I knew that all too well. I had set him up for this. I just had to have a little experiment to see if he really was over me. I felt like a naïve, meddling nitwit.

Once I was at home, I sneaked the phone to my room and called him, breaking my phone curfew. Customarily, I hung up on the first ring.

I called him right back. He answered on the first ring. “You know, you don’t have to do that anymore. My brother doesn’t care, and he won’t tell a soul,” he said sleepily.

“I know. It’s just habit,” I snapped back.

“Er…What’s with all the hostility?”

“I’m sorry.” I said aloud. To myself, I amended my apology to I’m sorry for existing.

“For what?”

“For setting you up with Stacy.” To myself, for acting like I don’t care about you when clearly I do. I just don’t know what to do with that.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that? I had fun.”

“Yeah. You really liked her, and she’s a spoiled little brat.” And I’m the biggest brat of them all.

“Yeah. I know, but it was fun hanging out with her and helping her piss off her parents.”

“What? You were in on it?” My voice rose incredulously.

“In on what exactly?”

“On Stacy getting her way and her new car.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“You knew she was using you, though?”

“Of course, you’d have to be completely oblivious to not have known that that’s why she agreed to go out with me in the first place.”

It was the first time I’d ever hung up on him. Almost two years we’d been talking, and he’d pissed me off on countless occasions, but I picked that moment to hang up on him. The cool part was he wouldn’t dare call me back for fear of getting me nice and grounded. Or so I thought. When my phone rang, I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Hello?” I breathed.

“Don’t ever hang up on me again,” he said through his teeth.

I’d never heard him get angry with me before. I cringed. Then, a part of me delighted. I didn’t get that. “That’s what you get for calling me oblivious,” I shot back. “You know better than to call me. If my mom had picked up and realized the phone was for me at this hour…”

He ignored my protests. “I wasn’t calling you oblivious. You’re just too kindhearted to get that she was only using me for my good looks and rebellious appeal,” he snickered, losing his anger quickly.

I contemplated this a moment and decided to level with him. “I’m not kindhearted. I set you up as a test, and I knew that was the only reason she would go out with you. It’s just that you two seemed so—”

“Yeah. I knew that too.”

“Really? Why, then, did you agree to go?” He was really starting to piss me off. Freaking know-it-all.

“Because you wanted to know whether or not I was over you, and I wanted to know what you were like when you were on a date.”
He hesitated for the briefest of moments before he proceeded to completely blow my mind. “When we finally have our time together, I want to know that it's different for you. That I'm different from the boys you date.”

I heard my sharp intake of breath. There it was. He was back. Hadn’t I known that he
really hadn’t gone anywhere, though? He didn’t skip a beat.

“Lorraina, you had to have
known that I was bluffing when I acted like I was over you. I have your initials tattooed on my arm. I have your face tattooed in my brain. I have your soul tattooed in my heart.”

“Damn it, Michael! What the hell?!” I demanded as loudly as I could without being discovered. Why did my heart do that thing again? “You’re the one who’s oblivious. We. Will. Never. Be. Together. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. If we can’t just be fr—”

“You know. I really hate it when you cuss. It’s very unbecoming. You’re far too beautiful to be that foul. Besides, didn’t you learn your lesson about profanity last school year?”

Of course that was the part he heard! How many times over the years had I begun that sentence only to be silenced with his acquiescence or deflection? “I’ve gotta go. I don’t feel very well.”

“K. Call me tomorrow, K?

“Yeah. OK.”

As I was lowering the receiver, I heard him whisper, “I love you, Lorraina. Only you. Forever.”

“Fuuuuuck!” I screamed inside my head. It reverberated throughout my body and I pushed the air of my lungs forcefully, throwing myself back on my bed. I promptly curled into a ball and cried myself to sleep. I kept asking
myself why I was crying. But I had no idea, which brought a new round of tears.

I jolt awake, look at the clock, and blink; it’s two in the morning. I run my hand over my chest. I must have dozed off thinking about him because he has just starred in the most unexpected, shockingly pleasant dream I’ve ever had. My heart is beating rapidly, and my throat aches for a drink of water. I grab the glass beside my bed and drain it of its contents in one gulp. I take a deep, steadying breath, trying to hold tight to the images from my dream. It wasn’t the first time I’d dreamt of him over the years. It was, however, the first time I’d dreamt a dream like that. Huh, I thought only guys dreamt like that.

Chapter Four

Gotta Get It All out on Paper

Since I can’t go to back to sleep and can’t get into one of the books I had purchased, I decide to do something I haven’t done in years. I reach into the back of my nightstand to find my journal. I open it up and thumb through my memories from my senior year of high school. Just as I had hoped, there was plenty of blank paper because I had stopped journaling shortly before graduation. So many memories were fighting to get through that I felt the need to get them down on paper.

It was the craziest feeling. I was seeing Michael in a whole new light—one where doubt and fear didn’t plague my every emotion where he was concerned. For years, I struggled with my need for him. I never was quite sure where I stood. I loved him being my best friend. At times, I wanted him to be more than that, though. Every time I thought about giving into that desire, he would do something that would make me doubt that it would be good for me. His intensity scared me, yet I couldn’t walk away.

I had already made up my mind what I wanted out of tomorrow, well tonight. Now, I just had to bide my time and figure how to handle the impending situation. Writing out my memories might just help me do that. I quickly write down my memory from before I had fallen asleep. Then, I move on to the first time I’d ever heard his name.

It was early in my eighth grade year, and my brothers and I were waiting at the bus stop. I was reading some Nancy Drew, an
d they were seeing how far they could throw their rocks across the road. Suddenly, Jerome is standing beside me. I look up and demand, “What?”

He says, “Don’t be mad at me, but I forgot that I was supposed to tell you something.”

“OK. I promise I won’t be mad. What is it?” If I get in trouble for doing or not doing something, I was gonna wring his neck.

“Well, I was supposed to tell you that Mike Bang has decided to marry you,” he explains.

That was one thing I never expected Jerome to say to me, so I didn’t really have a response. I don’t even know who Mike Bang is. Nervous laughter bubbles out of me, “What are you talking about? I don’t even know anybody by that name?”

“Yeah, you do. You just don’t talk to him. He sits in the back of the bus with all the older kids. He’s in like 9th grade and…” my brother starts to get distracted by the rock throwing competition and tries to walk off mid-sentence.

“Hey! Wait a second? Are you talking about the boy with the really black hair and dark skin? He lives by the Taylors?”

“Yeah, that’s him. He told me that he hung out with Daddy at the river this summer and knows all about you. He says he’s going to marry you one day.” With that, Jerome rejoins he competition.

I vaguely know who he is but have no idea why he would tell my brother that. I am flattered, of course, being the vain person that I am. However, since I am new at the school, pretty much every guy wants to date me. It isn’t vanity for me to think that part, though. It is a reality of small town living.

That day on the bus I pay special attention when we near his stop. I want to see if he will make eye contact with me after telling my brother something so brazen. Unfortunately, my curiou
s nature would be denied; he doesn’t get on the bus. I don’t dare ask anyone where he might be less I be accused of liking him. I may not know him very well, but I knew enough about his type. Bad boy. As if to prove my thoughts just, one of my friends offers up intelligence as to Michael’s whereabouts. He had been suspended from school for fighting.

Later that day, while cleaning up at the barn, I hear my brother on the phone in the tack room. That’s weird. Who would he be talking to? It better not be a customer. I open the tack room, an
d his guilty gaze meets mine. “Jerome, who are you on the phone with?” I snap.

He has the nerve to laugh and say, “It’s for you.”

“I didn’t hear it ring,” I state as I move toward the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, Lorraina. Do you know who this is?” a velvety voice asks.

All I can think is that it’s a boy and my parents will beat me senseless if they find out I am talking to a boy. “Um…no,” I utter.

“It’s Mike. Mike Bang from the bus.”

“How did you get our number?” I demand. I look over my shoulder for my brother, but he is long gone. Little rat!

“You do realize that your grandparents’ business phone is in the book, right?” Before I can offer a retort, he explains, “I had a friend ask your brother to call me actually. I thought it would be better if he just handed you the phone and I was on it rather than you having to decide if and when you would ever get around to calling me.”

“Oh, really?” I laugh, “And why would I ever want to call you?”

“Well, how else are you going to get to know your future husband?”

I hear myself laugh a flirty little laugh, but it is bravado for sure. I don’t know what game he was playing at, but I do know I don’t want any part of it. “Well, it was nice talking to you, Michael; but I have to go and get my chores done.”

“That has a nice ring to it—Michael,” he rolls it around on his tongue as if savoring the thing.

“Well, that is your name, right?!” I bite out; his voice had taken on a new quality—a dangerous one.

“Yeah, but everyone usually calls me Mike.”

“Oh, then. I guess I should call you Mike.” I mentally shrug. I’ve just never been one for nicknames.

“No, Lorraina,” he replies thoughtfully. “You should call me Michael.”

Confused, I ask, “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re not everyone. See ya tomorrow, Lorraina.”

That was the whole of our first conversation. Short, simple, to the point. Names, brief introductions, marriage proposal. I really was intrigued even though I knew I shouldn’t be. I also very much liked the attention that he was giving me. That feeling would wear off quickly enough, though.

I look back over my journaling and realize that I’d written my memories in present tense. I puzzle over this for a moment, and then I recall the conversation that took place after I had spoken to Michael.

After that disturbing conversation, I had noticed my dad sitting on the front porch alone, so I decided to ask him about Michael and his family since they seemed to be friends. I made my way out and struck up conversation on an unrelated topic. Finally, I meandered enough to find out what I really wanted to know.