Chapter Six

Candice is comforted in the aftermath of Connor and their mother's dispute.

I can feel every last muscle in my body tense. Of course I was hoping to hear my name, but not the way that I just did. Not from behind me when I was calling out to a person hundreds of feet ahead of me. “You alright?” The voice asks. It’s a voice I haven’t heard often, but I know it. Hell, I just heard it today as it uttered words, made propositions and posed questions that I never anticipated.

                Sniffling, I regrettably make the most unappealing noise possible as I force myself to turn around. My feet are refusing to cooperate as if the neurotransmitters, big word of the day, are failing to make it from my brain to anywhere past my knees. I still manage to turn, however awkwardly it may be, to face the source of the voice.

                Staring at me are a set of eyes conveying genuine concern and worry. These are the eyes of a very good boy. Or man. Something. I didn’t ask his age before I said ‘yes’ and he’s a senior so he’s at that awkward teeter-totter age where he could be seventeen or eighteen. A child or an adult. And most importantly, at least in the eyes of the law: a minor or a rapist.

                “Candice,” Adam says again as he places his hands on my shoulders. It’s a firm placement. If he has this much strength in his hands, I can’t even imagine how strong the rest of him is. I hate myself for having these thoughts as I’m sobbing before my future homecoming date in the middle of the goddamn neighborhood. But thoughts are thoughts, and my thoughts tend to go rogue. “Look at me.”

                Completely unaware that I even looked away to begin with, my eyes wander from his hand on my shoulder up to meet his eyes. Blue eyes. Candice, stop.

                “Hi,” I finally manage to say. He knows I’m failing history and now he’s going to think I have the vocabulary of an eighteen-month-old.

                I flinch when I first sense something come into my line of sight, but I take a deep sigh of relief as the objects come into focus. Not objects, hands. Adam’s hands. Right in front of my face.
“Can I?” he asks, his voice calm and soothing. Can he what? I’m new to this. Not just boys but the whole notion of someone being comforting.

                Connor managed to give me a pick-me-up every now and then when I was really down, but not like this. No. It’d be wrong if it felt like this with him. I bite my bottom lip, emphasizing the chapped layer of skin on top as his thumbs finally sweep across the area of skin beneath my eyelids.

                I don’t know why or how I produced this many tears, but I feel them pool atop his thumbs, finally vanishing as he swats them away from my face. “There, that’s better.”

                I swallow hard as he smiles down at me, respectfully withdrawing his hands without so much as an ‘accidental’ brush over any other part of my body. “Thanks.” I offer a smile back to him. It’s a weak smile, but it’s the best I have to give him right now.

Those firm hands tuck themselves into the pockets of dark washed jeans. “’Welcome,” is all he offers in return.

We stare at each other for a moment longer. Don’t get excited, it’s not that gazing longingly into each other’s eyes type staring that’s going to lead to him carrying me off to a horse drawn carriage that’s waiting at the end of the street. It’s actually really awkward.

I ponder any and every possible thing I could say or ask. And then it hits me. “What are you doing here?”

There’s nervous laughter followed by a hand being withdrawn from his pocket which immediately begins scratching at the back of his head. “Heh. Well, I called Shannon and-”

“You called Shannon?” I genuinely don’t mean to cut him off. I raise both eyebrows and smile in a way that shows all of my teeth before nodding. “Sorry. Go on!”

He laughs again. “I was just wondering how you felt about the whole homecoming thing. I got kind of freaked out when you sprinted out of the pep-rally like maybe you were having second thoughts or something.”

“No, that? I was, I just… had to pee.” I’ve never wanted to dig a hole so deep and bury myself with a nice hefty rock on top of the dirt as badly as I do right now. Pee? Seriously? The way my face contorts must show the regret quite clearly based on the little smirk on his gorgeous face. Okay. I’m stopping now.

“Well that’s a relief,” this soft, breathy chuckle escapes those same lips and I just want to die. “Anyway, she assured me that you want to go but you might be nervous so she told me I should ease you into homecoming rather than just showing up at your house the night of. So I brought flowers as a sort of… weaning gesture.”

He was doing so well and then he said ‘weaning’. I may be very close to turning sixteen but come on, how am I supposed to take that word seriously? Especially when I have no f*****g idea what it means. I must be feeling braver than usual, seeing as I verbally say “Weaning?” I don’t even sense it coming. I just blurt it out with a nice audible question mark implied in my tone at the end.

“Easing?” He asks nervously, as if suddenly feeling like he’ll have to analyze everything he ever says to me again.

“Much better.” My eyes wander over his form, inspecting his pockets and both hands once more. “Flowers?”

He looks down, a shocked expression overtaking his facial features as both of his shoulders draw up, despite resistance from his leather jacket, and his arms extend out wide to show his full wingspan. It’s in this moment that I see it. I know it. Adam Shepherd might secretly be just as awkward as I am.

“Oh, s**t!” He turns and starts jogging down the line of cars, stopping a few vehicles away before reaching through the open passenger side window of a tan Jeep. He retracts his arm with two carnations in hand. “I pulled up and saw you screaming so I just hopped right out.” He smiles as he walks back in my direction, extending his hand to offer the two pink flowers to me.

I take them from his with a smile, doing the most cliché smitten teenage girl impression that’s sadly not entirely an impression as I lift them to my nose, inhaling their scent gleefully. Remember when I said I wanted to dig that hole before? Now I want to dig it just a few feet deeper.

“So, I know this isn’t what I came here for, but” anytime he pauses on 'but' I can feel my blood pressure rise as an overwhelming sense of anxiety consumes me. I freeze every time, in this instance with my nose buried in the center of a carnation. “Do you want to tell me what happened right before I got here?”

No.  I nod my head slowly. What the hell I said to say ‘no’. Time to order an MRI, my brain is misfiring left and right. Or is that a CAT scan? Whatever, I’ll look it up later. Not really.

His baby blue eyes are staring at me again, and this time it’s entirely my fault. He’s waiting for me to tell him what happened because I nodded my head. Genius. “My brother and my mom just had a fight and my brother left.”

“That’s all? You seemed really upset.”

I c**k my head to the side as I tuck my free hand into my back pocket and look away, giving my shoulders a decent enough shrug for him to see. “Their fights get pretty intense, I guess.”

“I know I’m not Shannon and I’m not your brother.” No. Thank God you are not my brother. “But I’m a great listener.”

I turn back to look at him and smile, both in an attempt to keep his ego intact and because I genuinely appreciate his offer. “But I’m not a good talker.”

The saying ‘the lightbulb clicked’ or lit up or whatever never really held any value with me. But here I am staring at a beautiful, brilliant guy and I actually see it. His facial features are all strained but they relax and his lips rise into a sort of proud smile and his eyelids bust wide open. I’m branding it the ‘lightbulb look’. Copyrighted term, unless it’s already copyrighted. If that’s the case, I’ll send you a check in about fifty years when I have money.

“I have an idea,” he finally proclaims proudly as if I couldn’t already tell. “Which one’s your house?”

I’m a turtle. I was easing my head out of the shell, got to about my nose and now I’m reeling it back in. Quickly. Like a snapping turtle. “Uhm… Why?”

“I’ll show you,” I guess it comes from years of being Shannon’s friend but my mind immediately wanders to that place where very dirty things happen. His face is innocent, and his voice was soft. Sweet. I’m relieved that he’s not seducing me, and I make a mental note to slap Shannon tomorrow for tainting my formerly innocent thoughts.

“I really don’t want to go in there right now.” I know he has good intentions. He’s not the issue. My hesitation originates from my fear of the fallout inside the house. Also known as my mother, probably in an old beat up bathrobe, laying in that chair with a bottle of cheap beer in either hand sobbing while she watches the local news.

“Then come with me,” he nods his head back to indicate his car.

Surely he can’t be serious. I look down at my attire, still the same sweatpants that narrowly avoided becoming a vomit rag this morning matched with a white t-shirt that was nearly see through earlier as I danced like a crazed lunatic dripping with sweat. “I’m not dressed to go anywhere.”

“I promise it’ll be nowhere fancy,” I would settle for that, but he continues anyway. “Besides, you don’t have to look good for anybody. If this look is good enough for you, it’s good enough for me and it should be good enough for everyone else.”

F**k. All of the f***s and any other words that could possibly be associated with them. This is a new feeling in my stomach. It’s not hunger, it’s not being full, and it’s not anger or sadness or even nausea. I am most definitely approaching ‘smitten’ status, and if I ever use that word out loud I will change my name and move someone far away. Where I’ll probably live in a box because I’ve never had a job and I have the skillset of a pre-schooler. I’m possibly trumped by the pre-schoolers seeing as they can be pretty crafty at that age.

                I’m unaware of how long I’ve been smiling like the biggest dork in all of Chicago but my cheeks and my jaw both hurt. Poor Adam, poor patient Adam, has been standing there waiting for me to give some form of verification that I understand what he’s saying to me and he’s not speaking a foreign language. “Okay,” I finally manage to blurt out.

                He thankfully doesn’t do the corny, half-expected thing by linking arms with me. As if still wanting to reassure me of his gentlemanly status, though, he goes to the passenger door first and pulls it open for me. I thank him with stupid big doe eyes beating like a heart. Like the heart that is currently threatening to pound out of my chest.

                It’s not just me being smitten anymore. There’s a sense of nerves taking over. I know he’s not a stranger, but we were as good as minor acquaintances this morning before he rescued my a*s in History, asked me to this dance at the pep-rally and showed up at my house like we’re in some chick flick. Now here I sit, in his car, going God knows where to do God knows what.

                Thinking about the alternatives quickly helps me calm my nerves. Go inside and watch your mother slip into an alcohol induced coma or stand there on the sidewalk crying until Connor comes home. Jeep ride it is.

                I’d be lying if I said I suddenly feel confident or calm, because I don’t. But there is something reassuring about the shared awkwardness the driver beside expresses as he fumbles with his keys to get them into the ignition.

                I had a few classes with him freshman year and obviously we have History this year. I watched him. Not in a creepy, Norman Bates through the peephole watching, but the way I observed everyone in each class while I hid in the back refusing to speak.

                He’s not shy or awkward. Which leaves me to wonder… Do I of all people have this effect on him? 

Reviews

[Lalochezia]

I can't stress it sufficiently: I admire your style and the way you infuse a scene with details whenever they are needed, like in Adam's wiping off Candy's tears.
Also, you have developed Candy really well and she is always consistent in her self-deprecating reflections.

A few errors I spotted - it might have been here or in a previous chapter:
to raise = to lift up
to rise = to go up
Therefore eyebrows would be rising but not raising.

to lie = to be in a resting position
to lay down = to lower oneself into a resting position
Therefore the mother should be 'LYING in that chair with a bottle of cheap beer'.

[Cyndy Robinson]

This is a really good portrayal of teenage awkwardness. And the characterization is very good.