This Ordinary Life (18 page)

“Yep. See you later.” I close the door behind me.

I walk through my entire neighborhood more than once, around and around and back again, making sure to stay far away from Sebastian's block. After half an hour I have nowhere else to go, but I still don't want to go home. I stop at the corner playground and sit on the swings I've been sitting on my whole life. I swipe my cell phone on and call Frankie. No answer. She's probably at the church with her mom. I text her.

You around?

Nothing.

I twist the swing into a tight coil and let it unwind, spinning me around and around. I can't get Danny's hurt expression out of my mind. What is wrong with me? How could I have let her get me that mad? Even if he was in the shower, I should have known there was a chance he could hear us.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I hope he believed me before I left. The idea of hurting him, in any way, is enough to bring my tears to the surface again. I wipe them away and try to come up with a plan. What can I do to get through to her? To make things normal? Is she that selfish that we don't matter to her at all? I don't think I should have to accept that this is the way things are going to be. It's not fair.

Round and round my thoughts go. But they lead me nowhere.

I scroll through my contacts again. When I see Wes's name, I hit call.

H
IS CAR PULLS
up a few minutes later. He walks toward me, pushing his dirty blond hair back. In his other hand, he has a bulky paper bag. Curiosity lifts my mood and I give him a small smile.

“Sorry to bother you.” I twist again on the swing.

“What? You're crazy. You're no bother.” He puts the bag on the ground and sits on the swing next to mine. “You okay?”

I shrug. I picture Danny's sad and scared face again and a sob lodges in my chest.

“She's so clueless, you know?”

“Your mom?”

“Yeah. She screws up and it's not cool. It's serious. And I love my brother and I do everything I can. But I can't always be there. I mean, I try. But one day I won't be there when it matters and when she isn't bothering or passed out or something and then what?”

Beside me, Wes's silent.

“But tonight I screwed up. I was fighting with her and I thought Danny was in the shower but he wasn't anymore and he heard me. If you could have seen his expression…” I drop my face into my hands, shaking it back and forth against my palms. “Man, I suck.”

“Hey, stop. You so don't suck. You're a great sister. You're taking care of him, which means so much. It's a lot more than most teenage sisters would do.”

“It's not fair,” I whisper.

I can't believe I even said that out loud. I love Danny so much and I want to keep him safe and healthy. But the fact that it's all on me isn't fair.

Wes nods. “You're right. It's not fair. You deserve to just be you, totally beautiful, seventeen-year-old, you.”

He blurs in my vision and I quickly swipe at my tears.

Beautiful? I raise my eyes to his.

“Come on, don't look at me like that. You know you're beautiful.”

I shake my head. “You're crazy,” I whisper.

But he's more things, too. Like sweet, and kind. And here when I need him.

“I get how you feel,” he says. “My life hasn't exactly been all fun times either. It sucks to have the childhood and fun stolen away with doctors and tests and stupid, strict, keep-Wes-safe-in-case-of-a-seizure rules. We should be doing stupid stuff, like drinking beer and jumping off rooftops.”

“Jumping? Off rooftops?”

“Okay, maybe that's taking it too far.” He laughs, reaching down for the bag at his feet. “But you know what I mean. You shouldn't have to be weighed down by your family, just like I shouldn't have to listen to my mom go on and on about college applications or about my epilepsy all the time. That weighs me down, too. Big time.”

Guilt stabs at me over letting his epilepsy worry me the way it did the other night. The way it does.

“Yeah,” I say. “Should could would, whatever that expression is. Our lives are what they are, right?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

I look over at him. His eyes glint with moonlight and excitement.

“Let's make a pact. From here on out, no worries?”

“Seriously, Wes.
Me?
Not worry?”

He sighs, swinging the paper bag in his hands. “Fine, worry is allowed, but when you're with me, can you at least try to forget about it? Can we try and act like we have normal lives, and had normal childhoods and even normal families?”

He gets it. I nod, his face going blurry in my vision again. Maybe he's right. Maybe I can push some of the worries away.

“And hopefully your mom will get her crap together soon.”

“Yeah, in your house where things are normal, that may seem possible, but try a day in the life with the Torres family and you'll be singing a different tune.” I sniff back tears.

“I don't think you want me to sing,” Wes says. “You've seen my dancing and I assure you, my singing is leagues worse.”

A vision of his head banging dance flashes through my mind and I smile. He opens the bag as I wipe the tears from my cheeks.

“So anyway,” he says. “I stopped at Clyde's.” Despite being upset and still trying to forget the last few hours, I perk up.

“How did you know I like Clyde's?”

Wes shakes his head. “Lucky guess? Who, in a twenty mile radius of Clyde's doesn't know and love it? Homemade ice cream in over a hundred flavors? What's not to love?”

When he pulls out four sundae cups, my mouth literally waters.

“But,” he says. “Guessing what flavor you'd like was not easy.”

“Why did you get so many?” I laugh. “Are more people coming I don't know about?”

Wes holds up a finger giving me a faux exasperated look. “Would you listen?”

I nod, both hands over my mouth as if to hold any more interruptions or laughter in.

“First,” he says. “I got apple pie ice cream sundae. Vanilla ice cream with pieces of pie crust and baked apples inside. It's one of their most popular choices. But, it's also traditional, so I wasn't sure it quite suited you, since you're so obviously
not
traditional.”

“But—”

He holds up a hand to stop me and I clamp my mouth shut again.

“Next up, brownie batter with peanut butter. Regular chocolate seemed too boring for you, but hey, brownie batter, just because. Who doesn't like to eat batter? Batter-flavored anything sounded good to me. Third, we have raspberry chocolate chip. Their raspberry is kind of super sour and also super sweet, so then I thought you can sometimes be that way too…”

“Very funny!” I'm laughing harder now, but something else is happening inside me too. My walls are crumbling, bit by bit, as if they are nothing more than walls of straw instead of stone and brick. I'm reminded of the old children's fable, except Wes isn't the big bad wolf at all.

Not every boy will be like Sebastian.

One by one, Wes lines the sundae cups along on the railroad ties that separate the swing sets from the rest of the playground.

“Now, our last choice is the one that I actually picked first. For some reason, this one says DJ Sunny Torres to me. Let's see how well I know you, shall we?” He pulls the last cup out and waves it in front of me. “Mango ice cream. It's not only delicious, but it's also kind of sassy, and sunny, too.”

My mouth is full on watering now and when I hop off the swing to reach for the cup, I'm a little too excited and almost knock the glorious mango ice cream right out of his hands.

“It's my favorite,” I admit, taking the cup and spoon from him.

“That would explain the reaction.” He pumps his fist. “I knew it! Am I good or what?”

When I take a bite of the ice cream, I close my eyes. “So good.”

Wes opens the brownie batter cup and we sit back on the swings. “Wow, that is damn good,” he says through a mouth full of ice cream.

“Better than good,” I say. “But Wes?”

“Yeah?”

“Who's going to eat the rest of those?”

“Um… us?” He looks up at the sky, avoiding my eyes in a pretend serious and guilty way.

“Also, did you just refer to this ice cream as sassy?”

Swinging slightly in my direction, he hangs his head and I fixate on the bit of brownie batter ice cream on the corner of his lip. I think about what it would be like to lick it off.

Hellllo, listeners! What in the world is going on in Jasmine Torres' mind tonight?

“I did, didn't I?” Wes grins. “Don't tell anyone I used the word sassy. Damn, you bring out the best—or is it the worst—in me, Sunny.”

I shake my head as I continue to eat my ice cream.

Once it's all gone, and by all I mean all four cups, Wes climbs to the top of the curly slide like he's a little kid. I lounge in the grass near the bottom, unable to move after all that ice cream and still feeling rattled by the scene at home. Checking the time on my phone, I hope Danny got his homework done and ate dinner okay. And that his heart isn't broken by the things he heard me say.

“I'm the king of the universe!” Wes shouts from the top of the slide. I smile as much as possible while thinking of Danny's sad face.

Suddenly Wes's heavy metal music fills the park. Still on the top of the slide's platform, he holds his phone out like a speaker and does his dorky, hilarious oh-my-God-why-is-he-dancing-like-that thing and my laughter comes back, full force like a hurricane wind that will knock me over. I lean back on the grass, my laughter coming in fits as Wes continues to entertain me. I sit up when the music stops. Wes slides down the slide, landing right in front of me. I'm still giggling when he pulls me up to stand. He holds onto my hands tightly, hooking his fingers with mine.

“Those are some serious dance moves.” My words are barely more than a breath. Wes's eyes lock on mine before he lowers his gaze to my lips. He lets go of one of my hands and reaches up to tuck my hair behind my ears.

“You feel better?” He asks softly, taking another step, even closer.

“I do. I really do. It was so nice of you to come here. To do all this.” I gesture to the empty ice cream cups.

He pulls me closer and I let myself be pulled. I lean against him and wrap my arms around his waist in a tight hug, my ear taking in the thump thump thump of his heartbeat. His hands, warm and strong, massage my shoulders and his arms circle me tightly. He rests his chin on the top of my head and I take a deep, deep breath, breathing in his laundry detergent and the scent of him, boy out of shower, some kind of musky soap. And comfort. Just straight up comfort. This feels way too good. Way too safe.

“Thanks,” I whisper against him, blinking rapidly against his soft tee shirt to stop the tears that threaten to come for an entirely different reason this time.

I
WAKE UP
the next morning and swear my house is on fire, based on smell alone. Once I'm actually awake and standing in the middle of my room, I realize all is safe and well when I figure out what the smell is—someone is cooking bacon.

What the—? Still half asleep, I stumble into the kitchen. Mom stands at the stove, spatula in hand.

Good morning, listeners. Join me, DJ Jasmine Torres as I broadcast on location, from the Twilight Zone!

Seriously though. This is weird. It's the first time I've seen her since last night's argument and I'm not sure what to say.

“Hi. Mom.” Safe.

She turns around with a smile on her face. “Hey Jazz. You hungry? I'm making pancakes. And bacon.”

I nod slowly. Who are you and what have you done with my real mother? “Yeah. Wow. Sounds good. I'll get ready and be back in a few.”

My phone dings on my desk. Frankie confirming our after school plans. I'm going to her house to borrow a good interview outfit. The one I had planned for the field trip is nowhere near good enough for a one-on-one actual interview meeting.

My phone dings again and I pick it up, ready to tell her I have to get ready. But it's Wes. I grin.

ice cream dreams!

what does that mean?

nightmares all night. crazy dreams too. i think it was the brownie batter. u may or may not have made an appearance in them…

I laugh, my finger hovering over the screen. My skin warms when I remember his arms wrapped around me last night.

tell me about them later?

are u asking me out?:)

a phone call, jackass.

I giggle as I pull on shorts and a tank top. After I put on my makeup and calm down my hair, I pick up my phone again. There's a new text.

fine. but you have to call me.

Fair enough.

The pancakes are melt-in-your-mouth good. I mean, even-better-than-the-diner good.

Danny scoots around on the chair, smiling as he shovels his breakfast into his mouth. I grab a stack of napkins and place them next to him.

“Thanks Jazzy!” When he slides into my arm to nuzzle my hand, I go warm and gooey inside, just like this maple syrup. Maybe last night's mistake won't permanently scar him after all.

Mom looks between us, an anxious light in her eyes. She's trying.

Fine.

“Thanks for the breakfast, Mom. It's really good.” I mean it, too.

“You're welcome.” She pushes the pancakes around on her plate with her fork.

“It's so good!” Danny says. “I want to have pancakes every day. Can I have pancakes for lunch too?”

“You have a sandwich today,” I answer. “Like every day.”

“Okay. Can we have pancakes for dinner? Or for snack?”

Mom laughs. “We'll see.”

“That reminds me,” I say. “Today I'm going to Frankie's after school to get ready for my interview. You'll be home for Danny?”