Another short story: Presidents & My Pool

It started innocently enough. I was studying for an American History test at the kitchen table, my legs tucked underneath me, biting gently on the tip of my purple Bic pen. Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, John Quincy Adams, I repeated over and over in my head. It seemed ridiculous to have to learn the order of the U.S. presidents. Boring to be sure, but at least history was mostly just memorization, which I could handle. It was math that reduced me to a quivering mess.

Just then my mom and her boyfriend walked in with a bunch of really hot guys, one of them being boyfriend's son off limits and a player. I felt my face flush as I looked down at my dorky plaid uniform skirt and suddenly wished I'd stayed in my room to study. But it was too late.

Mom looked at me and said, "This is my daughter, Bella."

There were some nods and awkward waves as they indroduced themselves. Boyfriend's son was Brian, whom I'd already met several times, and his two friends were Travis and Bill. They wanted to go swimming, so mom had offered up our pool, apparently without thinking to give me a heads up so I could at least pretend I wasn't a junior in high school.

The guys were joking with one another and my mom started handing them cans of beer from our fridge. I wasn't sure, but I guessed they were in their early twenties. I quietly gathered my books and started to sneak out when one of them said, "Hey, where you goin'? You're not gonna swim with us?"  My stomach lurched and I coughed out an excuse about having to study. Then my brilliant mom butted in and said, "Bella, you really should take a break. You've been at it all day and if you just cram...." she dribbled off. Once the guys made their way outside onto the patio mom pulled me aside. "You should go swimming for a little while," she said, and I could see a twinkle in her eye. My insides were doing somersaults, but I figured I had nothing to lose. I sighed and said, "Okay. I'll go." As I turned to head upstairs to change, she called, "Great! I'll turn on the hot tub!" Shit!

Upstairs I put on my black bikini with the polka-dots that I hoped camouflaged my flat chest. I took deep breaths. I told myself it wasn't a big deal. But it was. These guys were older and good looking and I felt like a kid. I shoved the feeling down and wrapped myself in a towel as I headed back downstairs.

When I went outside I was terrified to see them all in our hot tub. The pool is one thing, but sitting in a hot tub with a bunch of guys? More somersaults began. One of them (who turned out later to be Travis) saw me and said, "Hey, come on in!" I quickly dropped my towel and plopped into the water, sinking down with bubbles up to my chin so no one could see me.

We talked and when they questioned me about my test, I reluctantly told them it was for my American History class. Jokes started flying and someone said something like, "Studying? I was never really good at that part," and they all laughed. Travis positioned himself directly across from me and began asking me about myself. How old I was, was I dating anyone, what I liked to do in my spare time, etc. Eventually I relaxed a bit. Someone handed me a beer and I made myself drink it so they wouldn't think I was a total geek. Someone's foot slithered up my leg and I quickly pulled away thinking it was an accident...until it happened again. I felt Travis' eyes on me.

Later when only the backwash of my Bud Light was left, I had to pee and was dreading it, but finally couldn't wait anymore. I stood up, quickly hopped out and hid myself in my towel. "I'll be right back," I said, as I tiptoed towards the door. When I walked in, the air conditioning gave me goosebumps and I left wet footprints down the hall to the bathroom. Just as I'd closed the door behind me, it opened and Travis came in. My heart threatened to jump out of my chest. "What are you doing?" I asked as I gripped my towel with my pruned fingers. He turned and locked the door, pulled me close and said, "Kiss me."

"What?" I asked.

"C'mon, just kiss me!" he pleaded, and I blurted out, "But I really don't know how." Oh my God, did I really say that out loud?

The next thing I knew his lips were on mine and we stood there kissing, me not really knowing what I was doing and him not seeming to mind. He put his hands on my face softly and stepped closer to me. I could feel a puddle of water pooling at my feet and was suddenly embarrassed that the bar of soap next to the sink was the same cruddy bar that had been in there forever. And that my little brother had probably left pee all over the toilet seat. Yet this 23 year-old man was kissing me.

Something in me unraveled. I let go of my towel and it fell to the marble floor. I wrapped my arms around Travis and etched everything in my brain so I'd never forget.

There's so much more to life than studying for a stupid test.

Red Writing Hood --- A Short Story

Today's assignment for The Red Dress Club is:

Write a short piece of fiction about seeing an ex in the grocery store from the first person point-of-view. Instead of writing from the female perspective, we want you to write from the male perspective. Hopefully, this will help us in regards to character development and stepping outside of ourselves as writers. Have fun ladies!
(It's my first time. Go easy on me.)

The Jitney Jungle's automatic doors swooshed open and a welcome blast of Arctic air hit me in the face. I swiped my damp forehead with my sleeve and yanked a cart from the jumble near the entryway. Ignoring the open container of anti-bacterial wipes, I headed straight for the frozen food aisle. I opened the freezer door and stood there for a minute, still recovering from the brutal Mississippi summer heat. It was like a hangover that wouldn't go away. I slumped against the freezer door holding it open with my hip, hands jammed in my pockets, my eyes half closed, in a kind of trance.
 
"Anythin' I can hep ya find?" asked a pudgy employee wearing fuschia lipstick all over her top two front teeth. She looked almost hopeful. I hated to burst the bubble of chewing gum she was working on, but frankly I'm a guy, and aside from sex, my needs are simple.
 
Over the annoying sound of her gum snapping I said, "Nah, I'm okay. Just lookin' for some Hungry Man...Men...whatever," I mumbled, as I felt a reddish hue creep up from my starched collar to my stubbly cheeks.
 
"Right there," she gestured to the door I'd just been shamlessly cooling myself off in front of. Before I had a chance to thank her, she'd turned around to help an elderly woman with a walker who was asking where she could find the prune juice.

Shuddering, I tossed two weeks' worth of frozen dinners into my cart, hurried past the Green Giant vegetables, and strode over to the hygiene aisle to grab some deodorant. After I made sure no one was looking, I sheepishly scooped up several twin packs of Secret Shower Fresh. For some reason it's the only deodorant that works for me. I've tried other kinds before, believe me. And those were the only times I could smell my own special brand of stink. So for now I'll just keep Secret one of my secrets. My bathroom cabinet is full of barely used Right Guard and Old Spice, which are only good for show.

I wandered around Jitney a bit, not quite ready to go back out into the oppressive heat. I ended up throwing some other necessities into the cart---Doritos, Diet Coke, beer, and what the hell, a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts. Once I realized it was in my best interest to head to the checkout, there were only two lanes open and both lines were long. I sighed, opened the bag of Doritos, and munched away as I draped my forearms over the cart's handles.

Suddenly I glimpsed a head of honey-colored hair putting her groceries onto the conveyor belt. The familiar and deliberate tucking of her hair behind the ears, the dimple in her cheek as she smiled at the checkout clerk. My heart started racing and my armpits grew damp. No, no, no. This isn't happening. It can't be.

But it was. Sarah, the girl who had ripped my raw heart out of my chest, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it like she was under the chuppah at a Jewish wedding. I hadn't seen her since the night she told me she "couldn't do it anymore."

"Do what anymore?" I'd asked icily, caught completely off guard.

"This," she'd said with a sad look on her face. "Us. You and me. I just feel like I don't really know you, like you're hiding things."

I threw my arms up in the air. "What things?" I snapped, with clenched jaws.

"Why haven't I met your family after all this time?" she shot back, eyes blazing.

There it was. The secret of all secrets, rolled out like the red carpet. Only I didn't dare step on it. The secret I couldn't seem to share with anyone, not even my own girlfriend of a year. Because my dad is gay and lives with his lover, I answered her in my head. Because my mom's best friends are her box of Franzia wine in the fridge and her bottle of Prozac. Because you have the perfect little family and no one has any problems, while we can barely keep up with our psychotherapy bills. But I couldn't speak. Couldn't say one word of any of this. Fear had taken its hold of me again.

She detested my silence. "See?" she said and walked out, slamming the door behind her.