A First Time for Everything

A First Time for Everything

Kristina Ludwig

A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING. Copyrigh
t©
2013 by Kristina Ludwig. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author.

Dedication:

To Mom, Dad, and Steve, for being my constant support system throughout an entire lifetime of “firsts,” and to Antonio, for encouraging me to experience even more of them. 

“Tell me again why we’re moving?” I ask my dad.

I gaze out the airplane window at the weird desert-land adjacent to San Diego: mountainous, sandy terrain with strange, scrubby black trees grasping for life. It looks as desolate as I feel.

“Olivia.” My dad clenches his eyes shut in exasperation. “We’ve been over this before. San Diego is your stepmother’s home. It has the most temperate climate on earth. And my new job there pays twice my current salary.”

“Yeah Dad,” I say. “We
have
been over this before. And it still sounds the same to me. What I want to know is where I fit into all this. It’s all about you and Essie. What I want doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does,” my dad says. “This is all about you. My new job means more of the ‘cool’ stuff you ‘have to’ have…and better colleges in a few years.” His eyes go dreamy as he adds, “We’ll be able to afford to send you anywhere.”

“Daaaaa-aaaad,” I protest. “I’m only fourteen. And I don’t want to move so far away. We’ve never moved before!”

“Come on O, it’ll be fun,” Essie yells from the aisle across from me. I wince; I hadn’t realized she’d been eavesdropping. “Moving’s not so bad. Besides, there’s a first time for everything!”

I roll my eyes. “That’s a lame-o cliché.”

As far as I’m concerned, Essie has no right to preach to me about moving. She’s not the one leaving her home and her friends; she made my dad and me do that.
And furthermore, I
hate
when she calls me “O.” That was my mom’s nickname for me. Everyone else calls me Olivia or Livi.

“You know what they say about clichés,” my dad says, winking.

“That they’re used by people with no creativity,” I suggest.

“Hey! Watch your mouth!” Essie exclaims, right as my dad says, “No. They were invented for a reason.”

***

I detest Essie’s house. Oh, that’s right,
our
house now. It’s a ginormous, hacienda-inspired disaster, with a maze of bizarre shrubbery out front. Plus, it’s painted this hideous lime-green color. It’s soooo Essie, big and bold with zero class. I have no idea how my dad was ever attracted to her when they met on one of his business trips. I’ll chalk it up to grief over my mom’s passing away--and a healthy dose of mid-life crisis.

I can’t deal with unpacking anymore. My new bedroom is Essie’s “office,” which she valiantly sacrificed for me. At least that’s how she made it sound. I don’t know how I’m going to sleep here. Images of Essie making work calls for the small publishing house she runs, bossing people around just like she does my dad and me, will haunt my dreams.

I need to clear my head, so I decide to go for a jog. I change into my favorite hot pink running shorts and tank top. It’s perfect jogging weather; the golden warmth of the day has mellowed into the slight chill of dusk. I run down the sidewalk, each step taking me further away from my anxiety about this unexpected and unwelcome disruption of my life. I imagine that I’m jogging by my old house, the cute split-level on the wooded lot that is painted white, a
normal
color.

I guess my anger must be obvious as I pound my sneakers against the pavement, because a deep, male voice behind me says, “Easy there, killer.”  

I turn around, and suddenly I can’t speak, I can’t breathe, I can barely even keep running. The voice belongs to a devastating, class-A hottie. And now he’s jogging right next to me!

He looks like a Hollister ad, not unusual for Southern California, but completely unlike anyone I’ve ever seen in real life. His tousled, sun-streaked hair is deliciously undone. Eyes bluer than the Pacific Ocean crinkle at the corners as he smiles to reveal straight, white teeth. His golden-brown skin is dewy with perspiration. Could he be any more gorgeous?

I finally find my voice. I squeak out a high-pitched, “Hi,” the only word I’m currently capable of.

“I’m Justin,” the hottie says. His eyes dance with amusement. “And you are…”

“Olivia. But most people call me Livi.” I feel my cheeks heat up from more than the SoCal air. “I’m from Pennsylvania. I’m new here.”

“Pennsylvania,” Justin repeats. “That’s pretty far away. Do you know anyone here?”

Normally, I don’t talk much to strangers, especially ones who are super-humanly gorgeous, but something about Justin puts me at ease. “No. Just my dad and my ridiculous step-mom. And now you.”

“A ridiculous step-mom. Ouch.” Justin winces. “I have a step-mom, too. Non-ridiculous. I’m sure you’ve got a lot of heavy stuff going on right now, but I’ve been there. It sucks at first, but I can tell you it’ll get better.”

Doubtful. But I have to admire his compassion. He’s focused on my face and seems genuinely interested in me, but I can’t tell whether he likes me or just feels sorry for me because of my “heavy stuff.” I nearly trip over a crack in the sidewalk because I’m so mesmerized by his eyes. Their color is cool like water, but their spark of kindness is warm as sunshine. 

We jog along in companionable silence, and I realize we’ve almost looped the entire neighborhood. As we round a corner, the garish green of Essie’s dream house assaults my eyeballs. OMG. I do
not
want Justin knowing I live there.

“So that’s your house, right?” Justin points, unfortunately, to the correct one. “I saw you heading out when you first started jogging.” He raises an eyebrow. “Pretty bright.”

I shrug. There’s no escape. “Too bright.”

Don’t judge me, I add mentally.

“Well, I live in the much less interesting one four doors down.” Justin points to a sprawling white ranch. Plain white and normal looking; his family would probably get along with my dad--or they would have, pre-Essie. “So we’re neighbors. We should jog again sometime. You’re a great runner.”

“Thanks.” I feel my heart racing faster than our feet hit the pavement. Maybe he does like me; he noticed me before I noticed him, and now he’s complimenting me. “I’d love to do this again. I jog almost every day anyway.”    

I slow my pace a bit as we reach the end of his driveway. I expect him to jog up the driveway, but he keeps running straight.

“You’re not winded yet?” I ask, impressed. We’ve already run at least three miles, and I’m ready for a break.

Justin grins. “Yeah, I kind of am. But I figured I’d ‘walk’ you home. If that’s cool with you, of course.” His voice cracks at the end of his sentence, and he covers it up with a hasty throat clearing.

Okay, he definitely likes me. A guy’s voice doesn’t crack at embarrassing times unless he likes a girl. It’s almost refreshing that he’s not
completely
perfect. 

“Sure,” I say. My cushiony New Balances feel even more airy than usual as I practically float down the sidewalk next to Justin.

And when we reach my front door, Justin says, “See you soon, neighbor,” with a little wink.

See you soon. That has to be a good thing. If he’d said something vague and generic like, “It was nice meeting you,” I’d be worried. But, “See you soon,”
has
to mean he’s into me, right?

I realize that Justin is watching me, probably awaiting my response, so I quickly say, “Definitely.”

My stomach churns, swirling with crush-nerves, as I wave goodbye to Justin. I push open the heavy wooden double doors, and Essie immediately ambushes me, telling me it’s dinnertime.

“Be down soon, I’m going to shower,” I call behind me as I charge upstairs. My head is screaming, “Justin likes me!”

Well okay, Justin
might
like me. Or he could just think I’m a good runner. We’ll see. But regardless, I find myself humming, something I haven’t done in years. Right now, even Essie can’t ruin my mood.

***

Two days later, after we’re all unpacked and organized, my dad announces we’re going on a “family” hike to celebrate.

“You love hiking,” he says after I make a face. “Don’t tell me you’re outgrowing it. Last summer, you were begging to go to the Allegheny National Forest every weekend.”

I corner him in the kitchen, and tell him that I’m fine with the hiking part, but not the family part, since Essie is
not
my family.

He says, through clenched teeth, that she technically is and we’re all going to find some unity while I’m still on summer vacation if it kills us.

I tell him it just might.

“Not if I kill you first.” My dad laughs, but I think he’s only half joking.

“How’s that for unity?”

My dad pretends to come after me with a fork, and I giggle and duck out of the room.

“I’m going to get changed now,” I yell over my shoulder.

“Make sure you wear comfortable shoes,” Essie calls from the living room, and I pretend I don’t hear her.

Half an hour later, I’m at Torrey Pines on the Ocean Hiking Trail, a relatively easy trek compared to some of the raw, untamed forests I’ve hiked in Pennsylvania. The path cuts through sun-drenched golden hills blanketed with strange dark shrubbery, and overlooks the shimmering blue-green waters of the Pacific Ocean. It would be paradise if I could figure out a way to escape the hyper powerhouse that is Essie.

“Here, O, have some trail mix.” Essie thrusts over a bag of weird homemade stuff that looks like tree bark. 

“No thanks,” I say. We ate breakfast an hour ago, and the trail isn’t even long. Besides, I have an aversion to eating anything I can’t identify.

My dad reaches in and grabs a huge handful. “This is delicious,” he says, making a production of devouring every last bit. My dad, who used to eat cool food like Habanero BBQ almonds and potato chips on our hikes, before he was dominated by--er, married to--Essie. 

“Have some sunscreen, O. You need to protect yourself.” Essie pulls some SPF 30 out of her bag and starts misting my shoulders before I can even reply. She sprays some on my chest, and a gust of wind blows it right into my mouth.

“Aaaaah!” I exclaim, coughing and sputtering. I wonder if I ingested enough sunscreen to be poisoned. At this point, I would actually prefer a solitary hospital bed to the company of my manic stepmother.

“Need some water?” Essie asks. I shout a hasty, “No thanks,” over my shoulder, waving my own water bottle as I race ahead of her and my dad. It looks like she’s now attempting to poison him with the out-of-control spray-on sunscreen, but I guess he’s old enough to fend for himself.

I climb to the apex of the hill, and close my eyes. The West Coast breeze caresses my cheeks and blows stray wisps of fine, honey-blond hair out of my eyes. Essie’s mere presence puts me on edge, but now, I feel tranquil for the first time since I met Justin. I wonder what he’s doing now. Jogging? Enjoying the perfect weather? What else does he do, anyway? 

“There you are, O!” Essie says, bursting my bubble of serenity with a supersonic pop. She’s panting up the hill with my dad in tow. “We thought we’d lost you. You shouldn’t wander off alone. You could get bitten by a snake, or kidnapped--”

“I’m okay,” I interrupt. Does she not understand that I’m fourteen? Which is, by definition, not a baby? And since when is she an authority over me anyway?

“Don’t worry about Livi,” my dad says, his eyes shining with pride. “She’s a veteran hiker.”

I smile at him, happy that he’s backing me up, while Essie glowers at us both.

We’re silent for a while as Essie sulks and my dad and I admire the seascape. I decide that mad-Essie is definitely more tolerable than happy-Essie. With Essie finally quiet, I can concentrate on the sheer awesomeness of the landscape, the brilliant, cloudless sky, and the crystalline waters. And I can’t stop thinking about how the ocean is exactly the same color as Justin’s eyes.

But the reprieve doesn’t last long. “Are you two ready to go?” Essie asks.  “I think we’ve worked up an appetite. I’m not used to climbing all these hills. I could really go for some Mexican food right now.”

“Mexican food?” my dad says. “It tastes great, but it always has my stomach saying
ay caramba
.”

I roll my eyes as he and Essie explode into laughter. Essie brings out his cheesiest side.

“Oh, come on,” Essie says, punching his arm playfully. “Give it a chance. You’ll love the place I’m taking you.”

“O-kay,” my dad says. “How about it, Livi?”

I groan inwardly. I detest Mexican food. Not that I’ve had a lot of it in my life. Growing up in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, my Mexican food experience was pretty limited. But I’ve had Taco Bell and Mad Mex, and both experiences were disaster. Come to think of it, Mexican food always has my stomach saying
ay caramba,
too. It must be genetic. So, I just shrug and mumble, “I’ve never had any good experiences with Mexican food.”

But then again, I’ve never had any good experiences with Essie either, and here I am spending an entire day with her.

“Come on, O, you’ll love this place. Everyone does!” Essie says. “Besides, you know what they say? There’s a first time for everything!”
              I groan again, this time out loud.

***