Lacey's Arms, Chapter 1: Maria

Chapter 1

I stopped believing in God around September of 2010. I was a senior in high school that year, and like most things, the knowledge that it would come to an end too quickly came with it. Truthfully, I was excited about the year to come. I thought of prom, visits to universities, all-nighters with friends, but most of all, I thought of what I was leaving behind once this was all over. I tried not to think about it while I got ready for school for the first time since May. My hair was precisely curled at the ends, my make-up flawless, and the scent of sweet perfume was dabbed on my wrist. The first day was always the most important, at least to my mother anyway.
“Always look your best on first days,” she’d say. “Then the battle of making a good impression will already be half won.”
I didn’t understand why she thought I needed to make a good impression anymore. Everyone knew who I was, even the teachers. I always made myself look extra nice though, just to get her off my back.
In the early days of August, the gold cross still hung from my neck, and I was proud to wear it. In my mind, it was a sign to the guys who wanted to “score” and the petty girls who wanted to insult me. To the guys, it told them that I was chaste and wouldn’t sleep with them even if I wanted to. To the girls, it said that they’d be wasting their time, since God loved me as I was. I truly believed that too, but sooner or later we all snap out of our dream world.
My house felt more like a marble prison to me than a home I’d lived in my entire life. It was colorless and dull; the same shade of pure white covered almost every surface. A few maids in matching uniforms hurried around, cleaning the already sterile tables and mantles. Maybe prison wasn’t the right word for what my house was. Mental hospital could probably explain it better; it was enough to make a person go insane.
I grabbed my purse and book bag off my bedside table, and hurried out of my room. My heels clicked noisily on the marble floors as I made my way to the stairs. Mother didn’t like or approve of carpet. She said it looked trashy. I walked down the staircase to the front door as if I was being watched. Mother always said that someone always had their eyes on the elite, and I suppose it’d gotten to me as a little kid. No matter how ridiculous I knew it was, I just couldn’t break the habit.
Mother waited by the front door as she always did on the first day of school and special occasions. She said she did it so she could see how pretty I looked, but I knew the truth. She wanted to be sure I wasn’t going to embarrass her by how I dressed. It was a good thing that on normal days, I was able to slip out the door without her noticing me so I could wear what I wanted, but today, I had to endure it.
Mother scrutinized me head to toe with her harsh eyes. She walked all the way around me, the sound of her pumps frightening me slightly. It always felt like I was being judged on every fiber of my being instead of just my clothes. Maybe I was; with mother, you could never tell.
“You look adequate,” Mother said finally. I tried not to sigh with relief. The clothes were half the battle, but now Mother would give me a short speech of what was expected of me, and I would do what was expected of me. There were no exceptions.
“Lacey,” Mother said to me. “With Diana being away at Harvard, you are the one who is left. People expect great things from you. I expect even more from you. Do not disappoint me.”
“Yes, Mother,” I said obediently, as was the required answer. Mother was a very strict woman. Everyone had to know their place with her. My sister, Diane’s role was to be the perfect daughter, and since she excelled at that, she was Mother’s favorite, she got all the attention, and I was on a back burner, but that didn’t stop Mother from giving me orders every now and again. I’d gotten used to it over the years, but I had a feeling that I was be Mother’s center of attention this year. I already couldn’t wait to go away to college.
Mother forced a smile at me, “you’ll be late if you don’t leave now.” She walked away to her office then, saying nothing more. I shook my head and left the house. That was a typical good-bye from my mother.
Outside, there was a circular, white paved drive with a large stone fountain in the center. Directly opposite the house was a lane that led to the road. Browning trees dotted either side of it. My silver Lexus was parked on the curb of the drive, as cars parked directly in front of the house was also dubbed trashy by Mother. I hopped in the car, tossing my purse in the passenger seat. I started the engine, and zoomed away from the house. Once I was on the road, I turned on the radio and allowed myself to relax. Normally, I wasn’t this tense, but something about Mother today made me anxious. Maybe it was the fact that I was now her main focus; the realization that she would be directing me and only me. I felt sick to my stomach.
Once at school, I parked in the closest available space to the school. Kids loitered around the parking lot and the school yard since it was at least 20 minutes before school got in. No one even looked at the Lexus like you might think they would. In my town, a Lexus was a normal car to have. We were all spoiled, rich kids with too much ego.
I hopped out of my car readily, grabbing my stuff. Some of the guys gawked as I did so, probably because I was wearing a mini skirt. I didn’t pay them any mind; the cross always stopped them dead in their tracks.
“Hey, Lacey,” I heard the voice of my best guy friend, Vic, come up behind me.
“Hey,” I said, turning to face him. Vic was leaning against the Lexus, hands in his pockets, an always present black fedora on his head. He was the best guy I’d ever known, drop dead gorgeous, and gay as hell.
“I don’t know if you heard,” he said. “But your ex boy toy is totally still hooked on you.”
I sighed, closing my eyes, “I thought he’d have another girlfriend by now.” During the summer, I dated this guy named Josh Coleman (I know, very stereotypical name). He was the quarterback for the football team, and it was always expected that we’d date. That’s how it goes in the movies, anyway. I’d broken up with him a few days ago, and just like any girl, I figured he’d be over me in a few hours and find some other girl. I guess I was wrong.
“Everyone’s hoping he’d be looking for someone else,” Vic said.
“Even you, huh?”
“Especially me,” he said, walking with me toward the school buildings. “Honey, you have no idea how lucky you were to have that boy wrapped around your little manicured nails. He’s beautiful.” He gazed at the sky dreamily.
“Why are you so queer?” I asked him jokingly.
“I was born this way, baby,” he answered, making a sexy face.
“Oh god, don’t start quoting Lady Gaga.”
“You like Mother Monster.”
“Only when I’m drunk,” I said. That was a true statement.
“Fine,” Vic said. “Who’s your homeroom?”
“Hemingway, I think.”
“Damn, I have Fischer. I was hoping I could cause some mayhem with you again like last year.” The idiots with the school gave Vic and me the same homeroom last year. The poor teacher didn’t stand a chance at getting us to shut up.
“Those were good times,” I said.
“So, what’re you gonna do about Josh?” he asked.
“Nothing right now,” I said.
“Why not?” Vic, who lived for other people’s drama, whined.
“He hasn’t even come to me yet,” I said.
“So?”
“So what? Do you want me to kick his ass or something?”
“That would be amusing,” he pondered. “I bet you could do it too.”
“Funny,” I said.
The bell rang, and people started shuffling in the school doors.
“I’d walk with you,” he said. “But Fisher is on the opposite side of the school from Hemingway. Say ‘hi’ to Lindsay for me if you see her.” Lindsay was another friend of ours.
“Will do,” I called after him.
I pulled my backpack higher up on my shoulders and made my way to homeroom. We couldn’t buy lockers for another few days, and I wasn’t looking forward to waiting, since often it felt like my backpack weighed at least 20 pounds.
Vic’s words were still dancing through my head. Your ex boy toy is totally still hooked on you. I became a little nervous, as if he would pop out of nowhere. I wasn’t avoiding him; I just didn’t want to deal with him this early in the morning.
I walked into Mrs. Hemingway’s class a few minutes later and took my seat toward the back of the room, placing my book bag and purse alongside me. The desks were already half filled with students who either glanced at me or waved. I hoped Josh wasn’t in this class, in fact I prayed then specifically for that reason.
I looked up after that request to God and watched Mrs. Hemingway write her name on the board. I wonder if she knew that we already knew her name. It was on our schedules. No one said anything, and I certainly wasn’t about to. Not without Vic here, anyway.
Lindsay (the girl Vic wanted me to say “hi” to) walked in the room then, glancing around uneasily. She was a little on the shy side. She noticed me almost instantly, however, and hurried over, sitting directly in front of me.
“Hey,” she said, tucking some strands of her bleach blonde hair behind her ear.
“Hey,” I said back, happy to not be in the silence anymore.
“I’m sure you’ve heard about Josh by now, huh,” she said.
“Yeah, I heard from Vic.”
“I swear, he always makes it to you before I do,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Why is that?”
“Because I see him in the parking lot every morning unlike you who gets dropped off in a big ass limo right before the bell,” I teased.
“Someone has to get dropped off in style around here,” she said. “Do you have a plan to get rid of Josh?”
“I don’t want to get rid of him, Lindsay.”
“Whatever. He needs to understand it’s over. It is over isn’t it?” She was making sure I wasn’t having second thoughts.
“Definitely,” I thought of how clingy he’d been and shuddered.
“But you don’t have a plan,” she guessed.
“Not yet,” I confessed.
“I’ll help you,” she said before turning around to face the front of the room. Mrs. Hemingway started to talk (or drone) to us, taking attendance. She was nearly finished when the door opened, and a beautiful girl walked into my life.
She looked like something out of a picture. Her hair was a rich brown and reached the base of her back. Her skin was tan, her eyes deep brown. She wore a form fitting green top and comfortable jeans. She smiled nervously at Mrs. Hemingway, who asked her, “are you Maria Rodriguez?”
“Yes ma’am,” the girl said, batting her eyelashes a few times unconsciously.
“Tardiness won’t be tolerated in the future, Miss Rodriguez,” Mrs. Hemingway told her, making me narrow my eyes in anger for a moment before I came to my senses.
“Have a seat,” Mrs. Hemingway told her before starting her rant all over again.
Maria walked to the only empty seat in the room: the one directly next to me. A hint of a blush colored her cheeks as she sat down, unaware of me.
I felt…strange. Anxiety welled up in my stomach causing my heart to beat faster. I crossed my legs, hoping to calm myself a bit. She hadn’t even looked at me before, but a part of me wanted them to. I’d never had this kind of reaction to anyone before, and it was starting to scare me a bit.
Her eyes scanned the room once more, and before I could look away, they met mine, lingering. Her eyes were even prettier then I originally thought. I knew it was ridiculous to stare, but it felt like neither one of us could look away from each other. My heart beat even faster; my palms and feet began to sweat. It was like a beautiful trance, looking at her.
“Miss Montgomery,” Mrs. Hemingway snapped us both out of it.
“Yes?” I asked, a little startled.
“Answer the question,” she said.
I paused, “and what might that be?”
“Pay attention, Miss Montgomery,” she said before moving on to some other victim.
I rested my head in my palms, sliding my fingers through my hair. What the hell was that? I put a hand on my heart and took a deep breath, glancing toward Maria to see how she was reacting to what just happened.
She was clutching her necklace in one hand, holding her stomach with the other. She looked like she was having trouble processing something.
I looked away toward the front of the room again, promising myself I wouldn’t look at her again. I broke my own promise.