Boy in a Band (A Morgan Mallory story) (10 page)

             
“Listen, you two, I’m fucking tired of it. If you want me to stay, you better keep the inside jokes to yourselves.”

             
After that we sat and drank beer and talked. I learned that Mathew and Bobby had both tried cigarettes and pot. Pot they liked, cigarettes not. We had all experimented with alcohol. I left my pot experience out. We talked about parents and finally, girls. Both Mathew and Bobby told me about girls they liked. Because the three of us went to different schools, the names meant nothing to me, but I imagined them as great beauties. No doubt the popular girls. Adults told me I was beautiful, but I didn't feel that way around my peers, especially these two. Straight blonde hair was beautiful, what the boys seemed to like, not crazy curly hair. I had the tall, thin part going for me. Boobs had finally started,
thank god
. Still, the boys didn’t seem attracted. I envied those girls who were getting boys to notice them.

“Mathew, play something
,” I demanded.

             
“You want another beer?” he asked.

             
“Sure.”

             
He handed me another one and picked up his guitar. I leaned my elbows back against a log that was by the fire to listen, relaxing as I watched the firelight dance across his face and hair. I loved to watch his hands, his fingers moving, hitting the chords. As he played, my heart let some of the resentment go. He played three songs before he set it down.

             
“Thanks,” I said when he stopped. “Something about a fire, guitar, and the ocean.”

             
“I think you’ve got a fan,” Bobby said.

             
“Had one,” I said and caught myself.

Mathew smiled.

              “Morgan, we’ve been talking about girls. Is there a guy you like?” Mathew asked.

             
I pushed up off my elbows, sitting upright.
Did he know?
I looked him straight in the eye.

              “No, I haven’t found anyone worthy yet,” I said, challenging him slightly.

Bobby motioned his head toward Mathew
. Mathew caught Bobby’s movement and looked at Bobby and then straight at me. Our eyes locked for a moment, and then I laughed.

             
“No,” I protested, laughing, wondering if the two of them were digging or only Mathew.

I
didn’t want to know, so I changed the subject.

             
“Play one more, will you?”

             
Mathew played another song. Bobby and Mathew had another beer, and I started to get a clearer picture of what they were really doing while they were MIA, partying. Mathew plucked at his guitar a little more. Just chords, not a complete song. It was getting late, and as much as I wanted to stay, I knew I should be getting back.

             
“I should go,” I said.

             
“I’ll walk you back,” Mathew said.

             
“That’s okay. It’s just right there,” I motioned.

             
He stood up and started in the direction of the house.

             
“Bye, Bobby,” I said, getting up and dusting the sand off my pants.

             
“See ya, Morgan,” Bobby said.

             
I hurried behind Mathew and slowed when I was walking by his side. Maybe Mathew could tell the conversation had turned to a topic I didn’t want to discuss. Maybe he knew I was a little unnerved. Whatever it was, he felt the need to walk with me in the cooling sand. We were barefoot and I could feel the sand slip up between my toes.

             
“I’m glad you came,” he said.

             
“I wanted to hear you play,” I said, trying to minimize my reasons.

             
“You can go back now,” I said, as we got closer to the house.

             
He took my hand and pulled my arm down and towards him, making me falter sideways. My free hand shot out and landed on his chest in order to balance myself. He had shorts on and a shirt, which hung open, the sleeves rolled up. His skin felt soft and warm.

              “What was that?” I asked, looking up at him.

             
His eyes searched mine. My hand was still on his chest, and I dropped it, looking down to avoid his eyes. My mind raced, and I remembered our fireside conversation.
What was he doing?
He had a thing for some girl named Debbie. I didn’t move. It seemed like a long time we stood that way when finally he took my face in his hands and raised it to look at him. He moved toward me and kissed me lightly on the lips. My body melted. He kissed me again firmer, longer. My heart was beating rapidly and the butterflies were tumbling in my chest. Then he pulled back.

“Friends?” h
e asked.

             
I looked into his eyes and was confused at what I saw.

             
“Yeah, friends,” I answered, pulling away from him, confused.

He dropped his hands to his side
. I wanted more, more kissing, more than friends.
Friends
screamed in my head. I turned away from him and walked toward the house. I could see people still in the pool room. I focused on that so I wouldn’t turn around.
What just happened?
I wondered if Bobby had seen us. I wondered if they would just laugh about it over another beer. I wondered why. We were friends. Friends didn’t kiss friends. Not that kind of kiss. His lips had been so soft. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I purposely avoided Mathew and Bobby the last two days at the beach
. I concentrated on having a good time with the girls while trying to persuade myself I didn’t really like Mathew at all. The harder I tried to avoid him, the more he seemed to get in my space. Unlike the first part of the week, now he made me feel his presence. The more I tried to understand it, the less I did.

I finally came to the conclusion there were two Mathews
: one I liked, the other one I didn’t.

Chapter 1
2

“Wh
at does that mean?” Gayle asked.

I was sitting at the desk in our kitchen
on the phone. I had been talking to her for days about the beach trip.

             
“It means that he can be so different, Gayle. I don’t know. Like when I’m alone with him at his house: we talk, we're friends. He plays his guitar and I listen. At the beach, most of the time he made me feel like I had some fucking disease until I tried to avoid him, then he wanted to be around. He’s never kissed me. Why kiss me and say
friends
? Friends don’t do that. Not like that anyway.”

             
“He’s a boy. He doesn’t know what he wants.”

             
“Maybe it was just the beer,” I said, hoping things would change between Mathew and me.

             
“Maybe just be his friend. Forget about anything else,” she suggested.

             
“I wish I could,” I said. “I wish I could make my feelings for him disappear.”

Summer ended and school began. The O’Conner’s bought the lot in Almaden and were in the process of building a house. We started to see them even more frequently. Mathew and I were thrown together regardless, so we talked, and he played his guitar for me. He was unhappy about the thought of moving. He was unhappy about having to start in a new school. His dad was pressuring him to get more involved in sports and less in music. I could tell he was having a hard time with the changes, so I became a good listener. I listened more than I talked, and he grew even more comfortable with me and me with him. Much to my disappointment, he hadn’t tried to kiss me again.

In February
, the same group that had gone to the beach planned a snow skiing trip to Lake Tahoe for a week. Mathew and Bobby would be there, palling around, and I was sure I would not be included. Despite Mathew's and my growing friendship, I knew from the beach what I could expect. I decided it would be best for me to stay out of their way this trip, avoid them. I felt like I was growing up and getting a better handle on my feelings for him. I had managed to rein in most of my desperate feelings. I didn’t want to concern myself with their actions or motives. I didn’t want Mathew working his way under my skin so that I cared even a little.

The drive to Tahoe had been long
, and we arrived late afternoon while it was still light. I could tell it was cold by how the snow crunched under the tires as we pulled into the complex.

             
“Everyone getting here today?” I asked.

             
“Should be,” my mom answered. “Dinner is at the O’Conner’s, at least that’s what we planned. Everyone is meeting at their condo.”

             
Oh good
I thought miserably as I stepped out of the car, throw me right in Mathew’s path. I paused and exhaled, grinning at the ability to see my breath.

“S
omeone has a fire going,” I said, smelling it in the air. Fire, it was good wherever it was.

             
“Morgan, come help me make this salad,” my mom said after we’d gotten settled in.

As she washed the lettuce
, I cut up tomatoes and onions.

             
“You excited about seeing the gang?” she asked.

             
“I guess. I’m excited to ski for sure,” I answered.

             
I’d seen Mathew just last week at the construction site. He'd been nice, but I wasn’t expecting that same treatment this week. I didn’t want to be disappointed, have my feelings hurt.

             
“Done,” she said as we finished the salad and put it into the refrigerator. “We’re due over there about six thirty. So you and Pat have about forty-five minutes.”

I went upstairs and unpacked my things into the loft where Pat and I would be sleeping
. I changed from my T-shirt into an off-white sweater, tight, clingy, accentuated my boobs and went downstairs to use the bathroom and check my makeup. I wanted to look good for me. We walked two buildings down to the O’Conner’s unit. Ann took the salad from my mom and kissed her cheek when we walked in.

“Thanks for making the salad
. Kids are upstairs,” Ann said to Pat and me. “Patty, Steve, what can I get you to drink?”

             
Pat and I moved toward the staircase as they continued to talk. Their condo was larger than ours and had actual bedrooms upstairs with a second living area. A group of kids sat watching TV while Mathew sat plucking at his guitar much to Sara’s irritation.

             
“Hey guys,” she said as we entered.

“Hey
,” I answered.

Mathew looked up, realized who it was, and gave me the once
-over.
Okay, don’t start that shit already
. Feeling self-conscious, I crossed my arms in front of my chest, which made him smile. I could feel my temperature rise, a little irritation, a little glad he’d looked. Pat and I moved into the room and took a spot on the floor. It wasn’t long before Bobby and his family arrived, and Mathew and Bobby took off. As much as I didn’t want it to, it bothered me that Mathew treated me differently when we weren’t alone. Bobby definitely changed the dynamics of our relationship.

             
Every day we skied, and at night we would rotate whose condo was hosting dinner. I skied with a group of girls all week. At night, I couldn't avoid seeing Mathew. We exchanged the usual pleasantries: hello, goodbye, how was skiing, but that was it. Mathew and Bobby skied together and hung out at night as I expected. No doubt drinking or smoking pot.

The hot tub
was outside and under the stars at the back edge of the complex, and it became a nightly ritual for most of us teens. It gave us a place to hang out and talk, and it helped our sore muscles.

“Oh, did you see that
!?” I exclaimed as I jerked upright to watch a shooting star blaze across the sky.

Mathew flashed into my head as I looked at the moon.
Little green men
I smiled to myself. I settled back against the wooden edge of the tub and absorbed the smell of chlorine mixed with the scent of moist wood as steam from the water rose into the still, cold air.  When it was just the girls, we talked shit about boys. When the boys were around, we talked about everything but boys. Seems we spent a lot of time on things we couldn’t change, like rules and parents.

Mid
-week, I ran into Mathew at the lodge while we were getting lunch. I was on my way back to the table with a tray of food, and he approached me.

“Why are you avoiding me?” h
e asked.

             
“I’m not avoiding you,” I said with a chuckle. “Isn’t it the other way around?”

“Really?” h
e questioned.

             
“Yes, really. And what makes you so self-important that I would make any effort to avoid you?” I asked, feeling the fight.

He cocked his head
and smiled in the way he always did when he was really questioning me. I could feel the anger rising in me.

“You’re right
,” he said finally and walked away.

             
I watched as he made his way to where Bobby was sitting. Bobby caught my eye. He said something to Mathew, and Mathew turned to look at me. I turned away and proceeded with my tray back to the girls. Mathew and Bobby were advanced skiers, and even if I had been invited, I couldn’t have kept up with them or wanted to.
Why was I so angry?
I had promised myself: no caring. I took a deep breath and thought
get over it
.

That night when I was in the hot tub with Melanie
and Sheryl, Mathew and Bobby showed up. Again, I had an unexpected flash of anger.
What the hell? Why hadn’t I gotten a better handle on my emotions?
Although anger was better than longing I supposed.

             
“How’s it going?” Mathew addressed me while he lowered himself into the hot tub next to me.

             
“Fine,” I answered, not looking directly at him.

I had found if I didn’t look into his eyes I had a better chance of not letting my emotions rule.
I fell silent while conversation continued around me. I watched the steam rise, and I wanted to vanish into the air with it. When I finally looked at Mathew, he smiled, his kind smile, and some of my irritation subsided. I tried to pinpoint the reason for my feelings. He hadn’t done anything to me except not include me.

Maybe I was a moody teen like my mom often called me. Maybe it was the memory of the beach. Maybe it was Mathew’s ability to get to me when I swore he couldn’t. As I was talking myself through it in my head, Mathew put his hand on my thigh and gave me a squeeze.
Screw you
I thought
don’t give him a reaction
. I cautiously scanned the others in the tub to see if anyone had noticed. It appeared not.

It was dark outside
, and we were up to our necks in water. I could feel my skin get hot where his hand rested.
What?
The thought screamed in my head.
What is he doing? What is his point?
He let his hand linger. Then he rubbed up my thigh, coming very close to my crotch, and I had to concentrate hard not to react. What I had previously felt as a tingling suddenly felt like a fire between my legs. I could feel some of the emotions and feelings for him come rushing back, swelling up into my chest; flooding me like water.

“So skiing was good today?” h
e asked, leaning forward moving into my sight.

             
His hand? Why was his hand on my leg?
I looked into his blue eyes, searching. It was as if he had spoken a foreign language. I knew the words, but they weren’t registering. I stared at him, my body giving way to all my strong thoughts. As I sat there, mute, Melanie finally answered for me.

“Yeah
, we had a great day.”

I had to leave
. No amount of searching his face was going to give me an answer. I had to distance myself from him, before I slapped him or kissed him. And I knew both were a bad idea.

“Gotta go
,” I said, taking his hand and slowly pushing it away, not wanting to call attention to us.

I pushed myself up out of the hot tub
—I could tell he was watching me. I quickly wrapped my towel around me, and slipped my wet feet into my shoes, not stopping to dry them.

             
“What’s the hurry?” Mathew asked.

             
“No hurry. I’ve had enough hot tub,” I babbled. “See you tomorrow.”

             
I headed toward the condo, and Melanie and Sheryl quickly caught up to me.

“What’s wrong?” Melanie asked.

“Nothing, I think I’m just tired.”

             
“Is it Mathew?”

             
“No,” I answered tersely.

“It has nothing to do with Mathew
,” I lied.