Complicated

Boyfriend

2

The bell rang, and I strutted, for emphasis, out the door to meet Derek. I threw a glance past a curtain of curls to Josh. He smiled at me, taking off in the opposite direction. Disgusted, I waltzed off. Marshall would find him a good niche. Josh would be settled in soon enough.

It wasn’t time for thinking of such silly babies anyway. Now, it was time for Derek. He sauntered down the white and crowded hall toward me, a stunning, wide grin across his face.

“Hey, Micks,” He called, his voice thick with honey.

“Derek.” I nodded, fluttering my eyelids.

He smiled. “How was Chemistry?”

“Well,” I replied, “we have a new student.”

His eyes sparked in interest. “Anyone worthy?”

I shrugged, frowning. “I doubt it. A mister Joshua West is more the geeky type. Let’s see what Marshall does with him.”

Derek stroked my cheek. “Really? No good? I’m surprised. New boys always catch your eye.”

I rolled my eyes. “No, Derek, the only new boy that has caught my eye was you.”

“And see what I’ve become,” He gestured toward his chest.

I patted his chest contentedly, “The best boy around.”

“Ah,” he said, “you’re biased, Micky.”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

We stopped walking. We had arrived at my next class, Spanish. I turned to face Derek.

“Till lunch, then?” I said, flashing Derek a dazzling smile.

He winked. “Till lunch.”

I didn’t watch him walk away this time. Spanish was waiting. I strode into the classroom and made my way to my seat. I gave my fellow classmates a broad smile. The girl sitting next to my desk leaned toward me and greeted, “Hey, Micky, great party on Saturday.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Sarah. It was pretty good, wasn’t it?”

She flashed straight teeth to the boy on my left and replied, “Yeah, I had a good time.”

I set my book bag on my desk, slung my purse over the back of the chair, and perched myself carefully on the blue plastic chair.

“So we still on for tomorrow?” Sarah asked.

I gave her a puzzled look.

She snickered in disgust. “Shopping? We have a date with the mall.”

I nodded. “Shopping with my girl. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She gave me a coy smile. “How about for Derek?”

I made a face. “Playing hard to get, Sarah. He calls, I’m busy.”

“He’s walking you to class.” She stated.

I shrugged. “Playing somewhat hard to get. I want this, Sarah. I need a man.”

“Don’t we all.” She grinned.

I hid a smile. I liked the way Sarah thought. Her long blond hair was unnaturally straight, but I didn’t hold it against her. She still wore the latest fashion.

The bell rang, and the teacher smoothly slid into the classroom, exclaiming a vibrant hello in Spanish. I shook my head and began discussing the details of my party with Sarah.

The day pretty much carried on in a similar pattern: walk with Derek to class, talk and catch up on gossip during class, ignore the teacher, walk with Derek some more…I may have been at school, but I wasn’t there to learn. It was all about the social life. Today, all the gossip mainly consisted of my party (a really big hoo-ha, it was my sixteenth after all) and Josh. All in all, the day was routine and uninteresting. Derek didn’t ask me out, and Josh wasn’t in any other classes, and I just drifted. It was Monday. Mondays were always boring.

At school anyway. The moment I stepped off the bus, my walls fell. Disappointment coursed through my veins. Derek hadn’t asked me out, Josh didn’t share any more classes, and I had spent the day drifting. Now, I had a buttload of homework. I knew that I badly needed to finish it this time. My grades were beginning to slip. I knew my parents didn’t need something else to yell about.

When the thought of my parents flashed through my head, I tentatively searched for my driveway. My garage door was up, an old Honda Accord sitting quietly and lonely. My mom was home. My father wouldn’t come home until later. That’s when the yelling would begin. For now it was just me and my mom.

My disappointment heightened to sadness. I hated it when I didn’t come home to an empty house. I thought well when I was alone. I needed to think.

A sudden gust of wind blew my neat curls into disarray, reminding me of the cold weather. Georgia usually didn’t get cold, cold until late October-late November. As soon as the cold blew in, there was no telling when a random sunny day of summer-esque heat would turn up. Georgia was known for its bipolar weather. I hated it. It was too unpredictable.

I entered my house through the garage, in the mood for sulking. I didn’t want to talk to my mom, hoping a dark look and hunched shoulders would keep her silent. My mom didn’t seem to notice.

“Hey, Micky!” She flashed a smile. “How was school?”

“Fine,” I grumbled. Turning to head up to my room, I almost missed my mom’s inexplicably bright smile.

“Micky,” my mom called in her I’m-about-to-tell-you-something-important voice, “I got that job offer…the one I applied for online by request of your father.”

She was trying to jog a memory of which I was already perfectly aware. My mom had been laid off of work, so she had looked unsuccessfully through newspapers before reluctantly turning to the internet—my dad’s idea.

My mom was a realtor. She sold office space. Loads of excitement, right? Still, I was thrilled that she got the job. The sudden loss of income was extremely hard for us. My father was on the edge of losing his job, too, his bosses cheating him of his pay. He still received a small salary, but all of his benefits were disappearing and life was increasing in difficulty.

I forced a smile. “That’s great, Mom.” I tried to sound positively ecstatic about the good news, knowing she needed to hear the optimism.

“I start tomorrow at the office.” She seemed worried about it. Nerves?

“Mom,” I said comfortingly, “it will be all right. You’ll blow these guys away and in no time you’ll be selling new office space like the pro you are.”

Her worried look eased a little—a very little. “Oh, I know, honey, it’s you I worry about. You’ll be on your own so much more.”

I smiled crookedly, amused by her concern. “Mom, I’m sixteen, a junior in high school. I can take care of myself. I know how to cook, do laundry, drive…Not without you, of course, on the driving thing, but I will be able to soon. I’ll be fine. You should worry more about you…and Dad.”

My mom’s eyes flickered to the computer screen she had been staring at before I walked in the house. They flicked back to me and crinkled as she smiled. “I know.” She said quietly.

I patted her shoulder. “I’m gonna go work on my homework now.”

“Sure thing,” she said, “Dinner will be ready around six, just so you know.”

I nodded and headed upstairs. I went to the end of the hallway, passing my parents’ bedroom. Okay, well, I passed my mom’s room, the master bedroom suite. My father slept in the guest bedroom, which I also passed on my way to my room. My mom had kicked my dad out of the master bedroom when the fighting got really rough. Dad moved into the guest bedroom, filling the closet with his junk, piling the desk with papers and work-related stuff—I don’t know what else. I never go in there. All I know is that the guest bedroom is Dad’s room.

My bedroom was a fairly spacious, square room at the end of the beige-walled hallway. My room was painted a soft lavender. Butterflies covered the curtains, lamp shades, bedspreads, and the circular rug sandwiched between the two twin beds. My mom had chosen the design, arguing butterflies were a good match. I don’t really care—it’s just better than the boring beige the walls used to be.

I dropped my backpack on the floor. Homework time. I dug out my chemistry book, notebook, and a Ticonderoga pencil. Sitting at the wooden desk in my bedroom, I pushed the papers out of my way, placed my school junk in the cleared space, and hit the power button for my desktop with my elbow, flipping my stereo on with the remote kept on the desk.

I flipped to the stoichiometry chapter, waiting impatiently for my computer to bring up the log-in page. As I doodled in my notebook, I remembered with a sinking feeling that I had seven questions using Bloom’s Taxonomy about Alas, Babylon due by Thursday. I sighed. So much homework, so little time. My computer finally brought up the homepage, and I clicked on Outlook Express, checking my email. My computer automatically signed me in for instant messaging.
No new mail. No new messages. I sighed again and started on my homework, keeping both browsers open. Someone was bound to talk to me. As I struggled through the Chemistry homework, a message popped up. I paused in stoichiometry and clicked on the message. It was from Derek.

         agentjameson_rox: hey micks. wassup?

I smiled. Getting his message sent a jolt of buzzing energy down my spine. I hurriedly responded.

         mcb2010: nothin much. you?

A few seconds later:

         agentjameson_rox: same. so watcha up to?

         mcb2010: homework. stoichiometry. ick.

         agentjameson_rox: haha ;) i know wat u mean

         mcb2010: u any good?

         agentjameson_rox: well…i have a 98

         mcb2010: 84

         agentjameson_rox: u want help?

         mcb2010: would be nice

         agentjameson_rox: wats the q?

I smiled and typed in the equation balancing problem. The next twenty minutes were spent with Derek helping my through the chemistry homework. Once I had made it through, I asked him how the rest of his homework was coming. He replied:

         agentjameson_rox: u kno, ur dif outside school

         mcb2010: and?

         agentjameson_rox: i like it

I sighed with sweet relief.

         agentjameson_rox: so…

         mcb2010: so wat?

         agentjameson_rox: im not real good w/words, micks

         mcb2010: yea?

         agentjameson_rox: and i hate beating around the bush…

My heart fluttered.

         mcb2010: yea?

I pictured him taking a deep breath before typing his next response.

         agentjameson_rox: how would u like 2 b my gf?

         mcb2010:…..thinking….JK! OMG! DEREK I SO ACCEPT!!!!!!! :D

         agentjameson_rox: ;) im glad

         mcb2010: ur dif 2 ya kno X)

         agentjameson_rox: :) us behind the masks eh?

         mcb2010: yea

         agentjameson_rox: well…not 2 make it look like i signed on just to ask u out :) but i gtg…lil bro has a bball game. cant miss

         mcb2010: sweet. c u tmw

                   agentjameson_rox has signed off

I suddenly realized I had been holding my breath. It left me with a whoosh. Excitement was buzzing throughout my entire body. I had to tell someone!

Sarah.

         mcb2010: OMG SARAH!

I impatiently waited a couple of minutes.

         qtbug: wat?!

         mcb2010: guess who just askd me out?

         qtbug: no way!!!!!!!

I smiled to myself.

         mcb2010: yup :)

         qtbug: aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!

         mcb2010: i know

We spent the next half hour talking about boys and who Sarah needed. Double dating was a must. I was sad when Sarah had to sign off. Before she did, though, she threw me a curve ball.

         qtbug: josh is super smart

         mcb2010: who?

         qtbug: josh the new kid

         mcb2010: oh right

         qtbug: yea…he got a 100 on the pop quiz in precal

         mcb2010: so?

         qtbug: wat did u get?

         mcb2010: ......74

         qtbug: 68

We both paused. I was slightly curious now. First he’s a genius at Chemistry and now at Precalculus…What next?

         qtbug: well…gtg…c u tmw

                   qtbug has signed off

I sat back in my chair, lost in my thoughts. A sudden door slamming made me realize that my dad was home. I glanced at my computer’s clock. It read four thirty. He was way early.

Crap! If he caught me messing around on the computer instead of doing homework, I was dead. With reluctant haste, I closed all the windows, logged off, and shut my desktop down. I flung the novel Alas, Babylon open and began composing a suitable question for the Socratic seminar we had in language arts class this Friday. I frowned. What were the four upper levels of Bloom’s Taxonomy again?

I leaned over my armrests and pulled my English binder out of my backpack. I was rereading the same sentence over and over again about the Synthesis level when it started. I inwardly groaned and wished I could just block it out. When my dad began ranting, nothing—not even the pillow I was eyeing—could impede the murderous thunder that was now shaking the house. My mom was yelling back.

It took a long time for my parents to get to this stage, constantly screaming at each other and putting one another down. The first time I remembered my father yelling at my mother was when I hit sixth grade. He came home one night, unusually grumpy. My mother had politely asked him what was wrong. That’s what set him off. An accident, that’s all. My mom hadn’t meant to upset him. My father had exploded all over our kitchen, spewing words to the winds. His bosses hated him. Spiteful little devils.

If you ask me, that gave him no right to take it out on my unsuspecting my mother. My mother’s face had flushed a deep red. Her upper lip had curled in defiance, and suddenly just as accusatory words were flowing from her mouth. That upset my father even more. Soon, they were screaming at one another—for a sixth grader, it was pretty scary.

If you also ask me, my father probably deserved a little detestation at work. He could have a quick temper, impatience, and low tolerance level to idiocy—although I didn’t blame him on that last one. It’s just that, my father’s definition of idiocy is much harsher than the book definition. If someone slowed him down or didn’t work as fast as he did, then they must be idiots.

These characteristics made him hard to work with sometimes, but, nonetheless, the unreasonable yelling and arguments grew in frequency and volume. They became routine. And that was the scariest part of their fighting—it was part of life.

Now, my father was screaming about our fifteen year-old Honda Accord. The transmission was giving out—and apparently my mother had driven the car to pick up groceries. The short drive didn’t and couldn’t have harmed the car, but my father didn’t care. It was still a stupid thing to do. What else was my mother supposed to do? My father had the only other car. No one cared. Ding, ding, ding—fighting match number 2623 began.

I kept my computer off the rest of the night, completed my English assignment before dinner, reluctantly ate dinner, got ready for bed, plugged my headphones into my mp3 player, cranked up the volume, and tuned out the still on-going match. It was impossible to tell, but around midnight my parents, whispering their last snide remarks, went separate ways and left the poor house silent. I fell asleep shortly thereafter, not caring that I had to get up a little less than six hours later.

All that mattered was that Derek was my boyfriend (something I had kept from my parents so far) and that no one but he knew that my life was just an act. I had to keep it that way. If anyone were to find out, my image would literally dissolve.

Relieved by the temporary peace, I slept restlessly and dreamlessly, not ready for the morrow on the horizon.