Stacie Evans is focused on three things-graduating high school, padding her resume by volunteering at the local nursing home, and getting out of tiny-town Twin Peaks, Ohio to go to medical school. But when a new face turns up in the volunteer depart...
When I was at work, in between moderating Mrs. Golden and Mr. Davis' banter-filled conversations and keeping up with my daily chores, I tried to make small talk with Westley. I still couldn't put my finger on it, but something about his quiet-yet-intense demeanor made me both nervous and intrigued. The feeling was so strong, it caused me to hold my breath when I got too near him when we passed one another in the hallway. Even then, I still caught myself trying to talk to him anyway.
From the little I could gather from his vague replies and behavior, I knew he had moved to the area just recently, and he had distant family in the area, though I didn't know who they were; he was not an only child like I was, but I didn't know any more about his sibling-situation; he was comfortable interacting with the seniors in the nursing home, but not really anyone else—including me.
I mean, not to sound like that girl, but I wasn't used to struggling to make friends; normally people seemed to naturally open up and gravitate to me, so when Westley didn't, I couldn't stop thinking about it.
When I was home, however, my questions about Westley were always briefly forgotten because Mom was busy rushing around to help me with my school shopping before the fall term started. She would tiptoe around, her pointy-toed heels clicking and her giant shoulder pads bouncing with each step, making a huge fuss about the whole ordeal.
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"I can't believe it's your senior year, sweetheart!" Mom whined, hugging me tightly. "My little baby is all grown up."
I swung my legs from my perch on the bar-stool in the kitchen, allowing her to squeeze me a little too hard. "Mom, chill out! I'm not leaving yet or anything. I still have a year left."
"I know, I know... I just—you just don't understand what it's like as a mom to see your one and only child growing up right in front of you." Mom began fanning herself with her perfectly-manicured hand as if that would stop her tears from coming. "It just does something to you. Makes you feel old..."
"Mom, you look great," I assured her.
Ever since the divorce, she had slowly become obsessed maintaining with her looks and staying "young." As weird as it sounds to admit, my mom looked amazing—she always did. She used to be a beauty-pageant queen in high school, which is how my dad originally fell in love with her. Ironically, it was my mom's beauty-pageant rival who ended up being the homewrecker all those years later. After Dad left Mom, it was like she needed to focus on something. Instead of focusing on blaming Dad, she dieted, worked out, never left the house without her hair and makeup perfectly done... as if any of it would make a difference. Maybe she thought if she did all of that, Dad would come back one day. Maybe this was just her way of coping with the situation. Or maybe she was trying to forget about him altogether. Obviously, she would never admit any of it to me—I was just some dumb teenager, after all.
"Thank you, baby," she replied, smooching me on the cheek and leaving bright lipstick behind. She click-click-clicked over to where she left her purse on the dining room table, pulling out a wad of cash and a notepad. "Okay, so all we have left on your back-to-school list is a few more outfits you can wear into the colder weather. Want to go to the mall for the rest of it?"
