Forever Blue (2 page)

     Kristy continued reading what seemed like a ten-page monologue about an upcoming trip to Greece. I, on the other hand,
still struggled with the nonexistent events, the inevitable nothingness that would fill my summer break with boredom and same old routine. Tears of frustration welled in my eyes. I failed to think of anything worthy. I jotted one simple line on my college-ruled paper
after swallowing down my aggravation: This summer, I hope to make some new friends.

***

    
I tried to ignore the loneliness that threatened to engulf me
at lunch that day.
I sat alone at an empty table
under a metal canopy that sheltered a hundred rowdy students shouting over one another.
I chewed a bite of my meatloaf sandwich and caught a glimpse of a small group of student’s rough housing at a table across the way. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t envy those kids. I’d been friendless
from the very beginning of junior high.
It never occurred to me that one day out of the blue, my best friends from kindergarten would suddenly decide that I simply wasn't good enough for them.

     I continued to survey my surroundings, and
was hit by a wave of nausea
at the sight of my past only a few yards away.
Lindsay Wells, Carrie Stuart, and Marissa Carlson giggled and gossiped about something I desperately wished to overhear. Only one thought came to mind: Why do they always care so much about what other people think?

      You see, reality hit me hard the first day of seventh grade. Lindsay
had
approached me in the girls’ locker room
early that morning.
With no discernable emotion, she told me she needed to break away from our circle and "expand her social horizons." After that momentous speech, she dug out a brush from her backpack and started primping her hair. Everything became perfectly clear. My best friend—yes, MY best friend—was looking for acceptance from STRANGERS. No doubt, she was willing to do anything to get it, even if that meant kicking her best friend, a.k.a. me, to the curb.

    
Lindsay leaned against the lockers and waited for my reaction to her news
after she finished grooming herself.
My mind still tried to wrap itself around how thin she was.
Her tiny frame
was devoid of any developing curves, and
barely held up the denim skirt that hung loosely on her hips. I hadn’t seen her in over a month.
I
didn’t know how
to respond to my twelve-year-old friend looking like she was sixteen.
Blonde highlights
had
replaced her mousy brown hair, and she sported a low-cut tank top and black Doc Marten boots. She looked like something straight out of a music video that we were much too young to watch.

     I glanced down at my khaki overalls, touched one of my braids, and
looked at the ground in disgrace. For the first time in my life, I felt uncomfortable in my own skin.

   
“Um, sure, Lindsay,” I said. “I totally get what you are saying.” But I didn’t really get it at all.

     I assumed Lindsay gave everyone in our group the same speech, but no such luck. I found her sitting with my two other friends in the atrium
at lunch that day.
The three of them smiled and acted as though nothing changed—only it had. Each of them sat there in their miniskirts and tank tops looking like clones of one another. I foolishly thought
at first that
maybe Lindsay
had
changed her mind. I tried to get their attention by waving.
Each turned their head in the other direction and pretended like they didn’t see me, as if they choreographed it in some kind of secret pay-no-attention-to-the-losers meeting.
It didn’t take long to figure out what was going on. They had entered a popularity contest—a contest I was excluded from and had no chance of winning in the first place.

     Nothing changed since that horrific day of painful adolescent realizations. I never spoke a word to any of them again. Nevertheless, inch by agonizing inch, my eyes were instinctively drawn to analyzing my three former best friends.

     Two dark-haired boys
in baggy pants walked up to
their lunch table and started making casual conversation. I watched the sickening scene of batting eyelashes and pretentious body gestures. This was the
kind of crap they pushed me aside for.
I turned away in disgust, wishing the day would end.

***

     I walked home from school that last awful day of seventh grade with an overload of thoughts tumbling through my head. The familiar sounds of my neighborhood broke
the tension—the faint hum of a lawn mower—a train whistle blaring
in the distance. Walking home was always somewhat therapeutic for me. I lived in a two-story stucco house snuggled in a neatly groomed suburban neighborhood. Most of my neighbors were lawyers, engineers, and doctors who were all too absorbed in their careers to think about starting families. I don’t think I ever saw any of them come of out their house in my entire existence. I didn’t have much to choose from when it came to rebuilding my social life. Why my parents chose a neighborhood so desolate, so devoid of human life was beyond me.

     At that moment, my brain stirred from its preoccupation.
In front of the vacant Miller household was a fifty-foot moving truck which was
parked directly across the street from my residence.
I wondered, was the heat just making me delusional, or are we really getting a new neighbor?

    My heart raced in anticipation
at the sight of this new discovery. To see someone finally occupying the property was an unexpected surprise.

     The closer I got to my house, the more rapidly my eyes scanned the front yard of the new neighbor. Two young blond boys stood in the driveway. A mixture of apprehension and excitement grabbed me by the throat as
I watched one of them unload items from their green station wagon. For me to tell if he was around my age or not would take a good amount of investigation. A few feet away, two moving men hauled a coffee table into the house. I huddled in between two overgrown shrubs in my front yard, hoping my staring wouldn’t become obvious.

    
After about a minute or so, I made it into my house unnoticed. Silence greeted me, along with a plate of chocolate chip cookies
that
Mom surprisingly left on the kitchen table. An accompanying note read:  Went to the store. Be back soon. Enjoy! I breathed in the scent of freshly baked goods, grabbed a couple off the plate, and headed to my bedroom.

    
My bedroom window overlooked the front of the new neighbor’s house, so I resumed my surveillance of the two boys. The older boy was drenched in sweat, making his way to and from the garage. He wore off-white basketball shorts and a navy-blue shirt. The younger boy dribbling a basketball on the driveway was his spitting image.

    
A bleach-blonde woman joined the two boys. Her cancerously tanned skin looked almost black and when she spoke, chills ran down my spine. “Stop fooling around, you two! Finish unloading the car! Put that basketball away before I deflate the thing!” She barked orders like some kind of drill sergeant.

    
I turned my attention back to the older boy
once she was out of sight.
As though he knew I was watching
him, he glanced in my direction and in response
I ducked. Feeling foolish, I thought, Great. Now our new neighbors think I’m some kind of snoop or a weird spying freak or something. I didn’t so much as flinch until I heard the rumble of the moving truck. When I finally felt it safe to peep out the window, both boys had disappeared.

***

    
The oppressive heat wave continued the next afternoon. It became way too muggy for me to do any type of physical activity outside, so I sat on my front porch and sulked. Luckily, I had something to keep my mind occupied: The older boy happened to be shooting hoops on his driveway. I sat watching in wonder, drinking in his agile, boyish form. He dribbled and shot baskets for two hours straight in the sweltering heat. Call me crazy, but I’d only discovered this boy less than twenty-four hours earlier, and was already highly fascinated. I wanted to get to know him, but afraid he’d be just like the rest of them. God, I would have done anything just to talk to somebody by age, but the one thing I couldn’t do was risk facing any further rejection. I had enough for one year. I figured it best just to keep to myself. 

My thoughts were cut off at the sight of a basketball rolling to my feet.
My heart thudded against my chest
as I retrieved the ball.
I placed my trembling hands on the orange, bumpy, rubber. This is my chance, I tried to tell myself, but I was unsure of my next move. He jogged toward me. I almost panicked at the sight of him. 

    
“Sorry about that,” he said with an apologetic smile. “The ball just got away from me.” The way his shaggy hair nearly covered both of his eyes was kind of cute.

    
“It’s no problem,” I said, handing the ball back to him. I was certain he would just take it and be on his merry way.

    
“I’m Carter, by the way. We just moved in yesterday.” He reached out to shake my hand, and I think I almost stopped breathing.

    
I lightly grasped his fingers, which were slick with sweat. “I’m—I’m Alexa,” my voice cracked.

    
A long pause ensued, during which I guess neither of us knew exactly what to say. If I didn’t speak up, I would blow my chance of befriending this boy. I couldn’t get the words to move past my lips
as hard I tried.
I
kept hearing
Lindsay Wells’ cackle in my head, telling me how foolish I was for believing he could be different, for thinking he would possibly accept me.

    
“I guess I’ll see ya around. Nice meeting you,” he said.

    
I watched him trek down the driveway. If I needed friends so badly, I
just
couldn’t let him walk away,
I scolded myself. It was do or die time. Either I acted on my impulses or faced another year of torture. 

    
“Hey! Are you any good at a game of one-on-one?” I asked as my heart pounded in my ears.

    
He stopped in the middle of the street, quickly turning around at the sound of my voice. “Yeah, I’m all
right. Why?”

    
Dad taught me everything about basketball. I excelled in the sport and it was the one thing I felt confident in. “All
right, huh? I bet I could kick your butt.”

    
“Oh yeah?” He stiffened as though unsure of himself. After a brief hesitation, he threw me the ball. “You’re on. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

    
I jogged across the street, dribbling the ball in front of me. A few feet away from his hoop, I asked, “Ready?”

    
“More than I’ll ever be,” Carter said, positioning himself in front of me with his game face on.

    
I tightened my grasp around the ball, shifting it left, right, up, and down. Carter tried to block my shot. I noticed a playful flicker in his vivid blue eyes whenever his sweaty blond bangs swept out of his face.

     The sound of our shoes scuffing and squeaking against the hot pavement threatened to distract me. My lungs were on fire, but I was able to dodge him and make a shot from the free-throw line. The ball swished effortlessly through the hoop.

“Oh yeah!”  I shouted in victory.

     Carter moved slowly across the driveway, taking several heavy breaths. “Lucky shot.”

     “You think so, huh?”

     “Yeah, but you won’t be so lucky next time.”

     “Whatever,” I said, enthralled by the fervent expression that washed across his face.
I tossed him the ball, knowing he was ready for more.
“That’s three-zero.”

    
Carter wasn’t going to give up without a good fight. He artfully stole the ball, made a shot, and then proceeded directly to his bragging rights. But I nearly always bounced back (pardon the pun), making a three-pointer that would put me in the lead. We battled it out until our muscles ached and blisters
had
sprouted from the palms of our sweaty hands.

    
A feverish tinge
had
brightened Carter’s cheeks. “Wow,” he said, gasping for breath. “You’re pretty good.”

     “I play a lot with my dad.” I continued working off my exhaustion by dribbling
the ball around in a circle.
“He taught me how to play.”

     “You actually make those shots look easy.”

     “Do you ever play with your brother?”

     “Darren? Nah. He’s only eight and he’d rather play video games.”

    
Carter’s mother suddenly appeared in the driveway, as if on cue to spoil our perfect moment.
Her hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail
and she wore an ill-fitting denim jumper.
The latest gossip magazine was rolled up in her hand.

    
“Carter, did you forget that you have a three o’clock audition today?” she asked with a slight but noticeable tone of disgust oozing from her voice.

    
I witnessed Carter instantly morph from a free-spirited kid to the submissive son. His eyes went flat and dispassionate, as though this woman was a total stranger to him. “No, Mom,” he replied timidly.

    
His mother’s expression turned positively peevish. She placed one hand on her hip, and
stared Carter down. “Well, what are you doing fooling around? You can’t go to an audition sweating like a pig. You have ten minutes to get your act together. Then your ass better be in that damn car!” She strolled back into the house, not bothering to acknowledge my presence.
  
Truthfully, I wasn’t that keen on meeting her in the first place.

    
“Audition?” I asked curiously.

    
“Oh, yeah.” Carter’s gaze shifted toward the ground in what I assumed was embarrassment for his mother’s behavior. “There’s an open casting call for a cereal commercial this afternoon. I have to try out.”

    
I glanced at my new friend intently through the blinding sunlight. “You’re an actor?”

    
“I guess.” He used his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “I’ve been in commercials here and there since I was, like, three.”

    
“Wow. On TV and everything? That’s really cool.”

    
“Yeah, it’s fun I guess,” he said with an awkward smile. “I have to go. If my mom comes out here again, she’ll be even more pissed. See ya around.”