Art & Soul
Page 4
Sitting back on his heels, he sighed and wiped his brow. “I’m never going to get laid, or a girlfriend, am I? I’m going to be a forty-year-old virgin.”
“Don’t be silly,” I remarked. “You’ll be getting laid in no time.”
“Right. And I’ll be like, ‘hey, sexy mama, if you could just allow me to put on and take off the condom four times before we start the dirty, that would be great.’ Yeah, no big deal.”
I snickered. “You’re right. You’re never going to get laid.”
Simon narrowed his eyes at me and placed the dirty rags into his laundry hamper. He moved to his nightstand and squeezed four squirts of hand sanitizer into his palm. “You’re such a bitch.”
“I love you too,” I grinned. My hair was still dripping wet from the rain, and I began braiding it. “Listen, if you’re still a virgin on the eve of your thirty-ninth birthday, I will show up and we’ll have sex together. I’ll even let you touch my boobs four times.”
Simon’s eyes traveled to my chest and his lips turned up. His cheeks flushed crimson. “Well, I might have to touch them six times. Or ten. Who knows how bad this issue of mine will be by then.”
“You’re such a guy sometimes.”
“And don’t you forget it.” He hopped on his bed and pushed his glasses up his nose. “So, do you want to keep playing nonchalant about your late night visit or do we want to discuss what’s bothering you?”
“What makes you think something is bothering me?”
He cocked an eyebrow. My heart pounded in my throat as I grabbed my purse and climbed onto his bed. My legs crossed, my lips hardened, and I slipped my hand into the purse.
First, I pulled out a paper towel and laid it on his comforter.
I reached back into the purse.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
I laid the four plastic sticks on the paper towel, and I watched the air evaporate from Simon’s lungs. He was silent, which made me sick to my stomach.
“Are those…?”
I nodded.
“And they are…?”
I nodded again.
I’d made sure to get four tests in honor of my best friend. Well that, and for my own wellbeing.
“How did you afford all of those?” he asked, knowing that I was pretty good at never having enough money for ice cream or chocolate.
“I saved up the money from babysitting Grace and KitKat these past few weeks. And trust me, the irony of me getting the money for these from babysitting wasn’t overlooked.”
Four different tests. Four different brands. Four different days. Four matching results.
Simon was emptied of thought as he fell backward, running his hand over his mouth. “Aria…for the simple fact that it seems false until one of us verbally speaks the words, I’m going to ask you to say it.”
“I’m pregnant.” The words burned the back of my throat, and I felt ridiculously alone once they left my mouth.
“How? Who?”
“Over the summer. There was a guy.”
“You never mentioned a guy.” Simon’s curiosity was at an all time high, but I didn’t want to go into any more details of how I’d humiliated myself and fallen for the wrong guy.
“I didn’t think he was worth mentioning.”
He didn’t know what to say after that. Neither did I.
We sat quietly until 5:56 A.M. The rainstorm had passed, and I knew I should head back home before my parents left for work. I’d told them I would watch my little sisters during the day for twenty bucks.
I climbed back out of Simon’s window and thanked him for sitting up with me and not once looking at me with a judgmental stare.
“Are you going to keep it?” Simon whispered.
I shrugged. I hadn’t really put any thought into the fact that I was actually pregnant after I’d peed on four different sticks, and told him the news. “My parents are going to flip out.”
Simon frowned. He knew they were going to freak out about this. Especially Dad. “Well, whatever you need just let me know.”
A sad, small grin took over my lips. There was something so remarkable about best friends. They were always a solid reminder that you were never truly alone.
* * *
I headed back through Mr. Myers’ woods and at the halfway mark I paused and glanced up at the sky. The sun was waking with a yawn, slowly stretching its light across the trees with the burnt leaves that would soon enough fall to the ground.
I wasn’t ready for it to be morning. I wasn’t ready to go home. I wasn’t ready to face the fact that tomorrow was the first day of school and I would be that girl. The girl who was going to start wearing baggy clothes to try to hide a growing stomach. The girl who was going to be noticed not because of her artistic ways, but because of her bad decisions. The girl who was knocked up in high school.
My back leaned against a tree, and I allowed the tang of the morning air to kiss my cheeks.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.”
A quiet voice made me swiftly turn around. My eyes darted around the woods, searching for the sound. The voice continued speaking, but it was clear that the words weren’t being directed toward me.
“You’re beautiful.”
Those words definitely weren’t created for me. Most of the time when people talked about me they said, “Oh. Aria. You’re so…unique,” or, “You’re too skinny, eat a burger,” or, “What the hell did you do to your hair this time?!”
A few feet away a guy was kneeling in front of a deer. The deer’s eyes were wide, alarmed, but he wasn’t terrified enough to run. I’d never seen the guy before, but he appeared about my age. I knew everyone in Mayfair Heights by first and last name—even if they never noticed me—so it was strange that his face was unfamiliar to me. He had chocolate-colored hair that was hidden under a baseball cap, and a slight shadow of a beard. He wore a sapphire T-shirt with faded jeans, and loosely tied blue Chucks.
In his hand were berries, which he held out toward the deer.
“You’re gonna love these,” he promised. Each time he spoke I noticed the accent attached to the words. He wasn’t from around here—that was for certain. There was this southern drawl that showed up at the end of each of his sentences; it was soothing.
The deer stepped forward, moving in closer to him. Anticipation overtook me, hoping the deer would connect with the stranger.
“Don’t be silly,” I remarked. “You’ll be getting laid in no time.”
“Right. And I’ll be like, ‘hey, sexy mama, if you could just allow me to put on and take off the condom four times before we start the dirty, that would be great.’ Yeah, no big deal.”
I snickered. “You’re right. You’re never going to get laid.”
Simon narrowed his eyes at me and placed the dirty rags into his laundry hamper. He moved to his nightstand and squeezed four squirts of hand sanitizer into his palm. “You’re such a bitch.”
“I love you too,” I grinned. My hair was still dripping wet from the rain, and I began braiding it. “Listen, if you’re still a virgin on the eve of your thirty-ninth birthday, I will show up and we’ll have sex together. I’ll even let you touch my boobs four times.”
Simon’s eyes traveled to my chest and his lips turned up. His cheeks flushed crimson. “Well, I might have to touch them six times. Or ten. Who knows how bad this issue of mine will be by then.”
“You’re such a guy sometimes.”
“And don’t you forget it.” He hopped on his bed and pushed his glasses up his nose. “So, do you want to keep playing nonchalant about your late night visit or do we want to discuss what’s bothering you?”
“What makes you think something is bothering me?”
He cocked an eyebrow. My heart pounded in my throat as I grabbed my purse and climbed onto his bed. My legs crossed, my lips hardened, and I slipped my hand into the purse.
First, I pulled out a paper towel and laid it on his comforter.
I reached back into the purse.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
I laid the four plastic sticks on the paper towel, and I watched the air evaporate from Simon’s lungs. He was silent, which made me sick to my stomach.
“Are those…?”
I nodded.
“And they are…?”
I nodded again.
I’d made sure to get four tests in honor of my best friend. Well that, and for my own wellbeing.
“How did you afford all of those?” he asked, knowing that I was pretty good at never having enough money for ice cream or chocolate.
“I saved up the money from babysitting Grace and KitKat these past few weeks. And trust me, the irony of me getting the money for these from babysitting wasn’t overlooked.”
Four different tests. Four different brands. Four different days. Four matching results.
Simon was emptied of thought as he fell backward, running his hand over his mouth. “Aria…for the simple fact that it seems false until one of us verbally speaks the words, I’m going to ask you to say it.”
“I’m pregnant.” The words burned the back of my throat, and I felt ridiculously alone once they left my mouth.
“How? Who?”
“Over the summer. There was a guy.”
“You never mentioned a guy.” Simon’s curiosity was at an all time high, but I didn’t want to go into any more details of how I’d humiliated myself and fallen for the wrong guy.
“I didn’t think he was worth mentioning.”
He didn’t know what to say after that. Neither did I.
We sat quietly until 5:56 A.M. The rainstorm had passed, and I knew I should head back home before my parents left for work. I’d told them I would watch my little sisters during the day for twenty bucks.
I climbed back out of Simon’s window and thanked him for sitting up with me and not once looking at me with a judgmental stare.
“Are you going to keep it?” Simon whispered.
I shrugged. I hadn’t really put any thought into the fact that I was actually pregnant after I’d peed on four different sticks, and told him the news. “My parents are going to flip out.”
Simon frowned. He knew they were going to freak out about this. Especially Dad. “Well, whatever you need just let me know.”
A sad, small grin took over my lips. There was something so remarkable about best friends. They were always a solid reminder that you were never truly alone.
* * *
I headed back through Mr. Myers’ woods and at the halfway mark I paused and glanced up at the sky. The sun was waking with a yawn, slowly stretching its light across the trees with the burnt leaves that would soon enough fall to the ground.
I wasn’t ready for it to be morning. I wasn’t ready to go home. I wasn’t ready to face the fact that tomorrow was the first day of school and I would be that girl. The girl who was going to start wearing baggy clothes to try to hide a growing stomach. The girl who was going to be noticed not because of her artistic ways, but because of her bad decisions. The girl who was knocked up in high school.
My back leaned against a tree, and I allowed the tang of the morning air to kiss my cheeks.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.”
A quiet voice made me swiftly turn around. My eyes darted around the woods, searching for the sound. The voice continued speaking, but it was clear that the words weren’t being directed toward me.
“You’re beautiful.”
Those words definitely weren’t created for me. Most of the time when people talked about me they said, “Oh. Aria. You’re so…unique,” or, “You’re too skinny, eat a burger,” or, “What the hell did you do to your hair this time?!”
A few feet away a guy was kneeling in front of a deer. The deer’s eyes were wide, alarmed, but he wasn’t terrified enough to run. I’d never seen the guy before, but he appeared about my age. I knew everyone in Mayfair Heights by first and last name—even if they never noticed me—so it was strange that his face was unfamiliar to me. He had chocolate-colored hair that was hidden under a baseball cap, and a slight shadow of a beard. He wore a sapphire T-shirt with faded jeans, and loosely tied blue Chucks.
In his hand were berries, which he held out toward the deer.
“You’re gonna love these,” he promised. Each time he spoke I noticed the accent attached to the words. He wasn’t from around here—that was for certain. There was this southern drawl that showed up at the end of each of his sentences; it was soothing.
The deer stepped forward, moving in closer to him. Anticipation overtook me, hoping the deer would connect with the stranger.
