T R I S T A N
She was not fast. It had been almost half an hour and she still hadn't come out of the grocery store. I had finished my cigarette and started another one. I had sat in every possible position only to find out I wasn't comfortable in any of them. I was bored out of my mind.
Then, finally, she came out, the handles of her tote bag digging in at the shoulder of her sweater, hand reaching for the car keys in the back pocket of her jeans. When the bag slid off and a carton of milk fell to her feet, I smiled. She bent down to pick it up, one hand holding the bag and the other going for the milk. When she came back up, her hair was falling in front of her face. She had to blow it away so she could see what button to press on the car keys.
I was still smiling when she opened the door to the back. Then I remembered how long she had kept me waiting.
"What the fuck took you so long?"
She left the bag under the seat and closed the door again to come sit in the front.
"I was in there for less than ten minutes," she said, putting the keys in the ignition, and then turning around to reach for something she had left in the bag.
"You're such a liar –"
"I got us Twizzlers," she stopped me, holding the plastic bag in my face. I took it.
"You're still a liar. You were in there for at least twenty minutes."
"I know, I'm sorry." She smiled. "There was this old lady in front of me buying groceries to last her a year and then she was trying to use a coupon and it wasn't working and then the cashier had to call for help and–"
"You lost me," I stopped her, a Twizzler already in my mouth, another one in my hand, waiting for her to take it.
"I know," she said as she took it, still smiling, eyes going for the rearview mirror so she could get us out of the parking lot. "I was trying to see how far you would let me go on for. I'm surprised you didn't stop me right away."
"You think you're funny?"
"Pretty funny, yeah. Why? You don't think I'm funny?"
"Absolutely not."
She turned on the radio. This time, Everywhere was on. Zoey's face lit up. Again.
"I love this song too! What radio station is this?"
I rolled my eyes, "It's not a radio station. It's Richard's Fleetwood Mac CD."
She turned the sound up and the windows down and then started singing again.
I reached for another cigarette, and told her the truth, "You have a horrible voice."
She laughed, "I know!"
"It's terrible."
She laughed some more, "I know!"
"There's something seriously wrong with you."
She turned the sound down, "Where am I driving you again?"
I gave her directions to an art supply store downtown. When she parked the car in front of it, a big, big smile showed up on her face.
"You're getting him art supplies? That's really –"
"Stay in the car." I was out before she could ask why. I could have told her why. It was because I didn't want her coming in with me. Obviously.
When I came out of the store, plastic bag in hand, all the watercolor paints and brushes Caitlyn had told me about inside, Zoey was eating another Twizzler behind the wheel. I got back in the passenger's seat.
YOU ARE READING
Growing Pains
Teen FictionIn the day-to-day trenches of high school, it is almost the default-setting to believe we are the main character of our own coming-of-age story. This is not wrong. It's just ours isn't the only story there is. The jocks, the nerds, the cheerleader...