In the Middle of Nowhere (14 page)

As I turned over in my bed and snuggled
underneath my covers, I thought hard about what had happened. I
remembered bits and pieces of the rest of the night. I think Rocky
took me by the hand as I followed him up a staircase and into a
bedroom, not the bedroom I woke up in, but another one. We sat on
the edge of the bed and talked. He complimented me, said something
about my eyes being pretty.

Rocky had said that I had a nice body, too,
as he felt his way up the inside of my shirt. I remembered
panicking and jumping off the bed. I also remembered telling him I
thought that I was going to throw up. He came back with a small
trashcan and handed it to me. I cringed to myself as I remembered
throwing up violently into the fancy garbage can. When I finally
stopped, I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve and looked
around the room. Rocky had vanished.

I left the room and made my way into the
foyer. I had to get outta there. I wanted to find the basket with
the car keys and drive myself home. What the hell had I been
thinking? Not only did I not know how to drive, I was drunk and
thought nothing of stealing Tessa’s car. No wonder people did
stupid things when they were drunk. Intelligence and common sense
stayed at the bar as soon as you took that very first sip.

I recalled walking, actually stumbling,
around the foyer looking for the keys and being intercepted by Mr.
Johnson. By this time his face was blurry to me, but I remember him
saying that I couldn’t drive home or anywhere, that there were
plenty of beds in the place and to go find one.

That’s how I must have ended up in the flower
room. I was completely mortified once I remembered what had
happened to me. What was I going to do on Monday at school if I ran
into Rocky or any of the other kids who were there? Did anyone else
know what had happened to me? Hopefully, like me, they were all too
gone to remember.

Even if they weren’t, I doubted any one of
them would have cared about my wild night. I hoped this would be
the case and that no one would be gossiping about Tessa or me. If
it were possible, I would have gone back in time and stayed home,
bored and alone, with my brother. I pulled the covers over my head
and wished I could have been stricken with a convenient case of
amnesia for the rest of my life.

CHAPTER
TWENTY

I must have fallen asleep for quite a while.
I woke up to the delicious smell of bacon and maple syrup. Why was
my mom making such an elaborate breakfast, I wondered, or was I
simply in the middle of a dream? James and I usually had to fend
for ourselves and would settle for a quick and easy bowl of
cereal.

I rubbed my sleepy eyes and realized it
wasn’t a dream. My head was still pounding even though I had gotten
up at some point, taken a few aspirin and gulped down a gallon of
water. My whole body ached, too. As I lay there, I was, once again,
horrified and embarrassed about the night before. I couldn’t
believe I went to a party at Rocky Johnson’s house, got groped by
him, threw up in a trash can and passed out somewhere in his
mansion. The whole thing was so unbelievable, I started to
chuckle.

I rolled onto my side and faced my
nightstand. I studied my favorite snapshot of my dad and me. I
remembered posing for the picture. It was at Christmastime and my
father and I wore matching Santa hats. He was so handsome with his
thick, chestnut hair and twinkling, dark blue eyes. I knew the
picture was taken right before he died because it wasn’t until then
that he had grown any facial hair. My mom would tease him and tell
him that when she kissed him, it felt like she was kissing
sandpaper. My dad would laugh and grab her around the waist and try
to rub his goatee all over her face. She would scream and try to
get away while James and I laughed at their silliness.

I decided to get dressed and head downstairs.
Although I was suffering from a hangover, the aroma was too much to
resist. Maybe some greasy and fattening food was what I needed to
feel better.

James, as usual, was parked in front of the
television eating a stack of pancakes. I went into the kitchen and
watched as my mom placed a heaping plate of steaming bacon on the
table. She spotted me.

“Well, good morning, sleepy head!”

Why the heck was she so cheerful? And why was
she all dressed up and wearing her favorite lime-green apron that I
hadn’t seen in years?

“Would you like some pancakes, bacon or
both?” she asked as she poured some batter into a frying pan.

Slowly I sat down. “I’ll have both,
please.”

I was about to ask my mom what the special
occasion was, but didn’t have to. Just then, someone slammed the
bathroom door shut very loudly. My mom and I turned toward the
kitchen doorway just as Brian ducked under it to join us.

“Well, good morning, Willow!” he beamed.

He had a newspaper tucked under his armpit
and looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. Brian was usually
dapper, but his shirt and pants were all wrinkled and his hair was
a complete mess. It quickly dawned on me why my mother was going
through all this trouble to make such a fancy breakfast. I cringed
as the visual filled my mind. I thought I would throw up whatever
contents were left in my shrinking stomach right then and there.
Mr. Brian Roberts had slept over our house, in the same bed, with
my mother!

• • •

Somehow I managed to wolf down a ton of
pancakes and bacon, despite the fact that I had to do it in the
presence of my overly flirtatious mother and her “lover.” Ewww …
just the word “lover” made me want to regurgitate all that I had
just eaten.

My mother stood over the stove. “Bri-Bri,
would you please hand me the spatula?”

Brian grabbed the spatula off the table and
pretended he was going to spank my mom with it.

My mother shot him a look and motioned over
to me. Yeah, yeah, I got it. Brian was into spanking. Ewww … again,
I almost lost it.

Luckily I was able to keep my food down and
felt better almost instantly. My headache subsided and I had a
little more energy. I cleared my place at the table, excused myself
and headed upstairs to my room. I was going to spend the day in
bed, catching up on my homework and also on my sleep.

I emptied my backpack and spread my books and
folders all over my bed. I decided I would take a nap after I
finished up my Social Studies paper. I grabbed my computer and was
about to type up my bibliography, but decided I would quickly sign
onto my MyWeb account and check out other people’s pages. Tessa’s
didn’t show any activity from the night before, but there was a
link posted on her wall with new photos.

I clicked on the link and immediately
recognized that the pictures had been taken at Rocky’s on Saturday
night and were posted by one his friends, Josh. I wasn’t friends
with Josh, but was still able to view the photos.

They were mainly of him and his buddies doing
stupid things like pouring beer into each other’s mouths while
standing on top of the bar. I was thankful that I wasn’t in any of
the pictures. I clicked on a few more and was just about to sign
off when I noticed that I had an unread message in my mailbox. It
must be new, I figured. Unfortunately, I didn’t check to see whom
it came from first. I opened the message and never could have
imagined the impact of its three simple words: “Happy Belated.
Michael.”

• • •

Why was Michael wishing me a happy birthday,
now, a week after the fact? For that matter, why was he wishing me
a happy birthday at all? I hadn’t seen him since Thanksgiving nor
heard from him since Christmas. Initially, I had thought about
sending him a message thanking him for the cryptic Christmas card,
but decided not to. What would I have said in the note; thanks for
the card with the puzzling message, thanks for never calling me or
making an effort to see me in person?

By this point, I had moved on with my life.
Tessa and I were becoming better friends and I had just been to my
first real party at the house of the hottest guy in high school. I
had no need for Michael or his mysteriousness anymore.

I almost deleted the message, but thought
that I at least owed him a response one last time. “Thanks,” I
typed back.

I forced myself to sign off the Internet
because I had to finish my paper if I was going to nap at all. I
found the rough draft of my bibliography and started typing. I was
just about to finish when my phone rang. I picked up my cell and
read the caller ID. It said that the call was restricted so I
wasn’t able to tell whom it was. Who the heck could it be, I
wondered? Curiosity got the best of me and I picked up.

“Hello?”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re welcome?” I was confused. “For what?
Who is this?”

“It’s me. Michael. I said “you’re welcome”
because you thanked me for the belated birthday wish.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry it was belated. I didn’t realize it
was your birthday until afterward.”

Michael coughed, but continued. “How was your
birthday, by the way?”

“Good,” was all I could muster. What did this
kid want from me?

“So, what’s going on?” he asked.

I couldn’t hide the annoyance in my voice.
“Why did you call me restricted?”

“’Cause I wanted you to answer and I didn’t
think you would if you knew it was me.”

So I wasn’t overreacting about him. He must
have felt badly, after all, for the way we left things back in
November.

“I sent you a Christmas card. Did you ever
get it?” he asked.

“Yeah, I did, but I didn’t know what to do
about it. I couldn’t have sent one back to you even I wanted to. I
don’t have your address, I don’t know where you live, I don’t know
why you don’t go to school, I don’t know anything about you,
Michael Cooper. So why would I bother with you at all?”

I couldn’t believe what I had just said to
him, but I couldn’t help myself. These feelings had been bottled up
for so long and I finally got them out, to the person who needed to
hear them. To be quite honest, I felt a sense of relief after I
said it.

I could hear Michael breathing on the other
end, but he didn’t respond. I didn’t care. I was not going to
apologize for telling him the truth about how I felt. Bottom line,
they were my feelings and I was entitled to them.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You’re right.
I’ve acted like an idiot and I’m sorry.”

What was I to say back to him? He was
apologizing and I could hear the sincerity in his voice. “Please
forgive me.”

Without warning, I responded, “It’s okay.
You’re not an idiot, an enigma maybe, but not an idiot.”

Michael laughed. I did, too.

“Listen, Willow. I will tell you all about
myself, if you’d like, in person, next weekend.”

I paused. I didn’t know what to say.

He continued. “I completely understand if you
don’t want to see me. But think about it and if you do, meet me at
my house on the island, at 161 Shoreline Drive, next Saturday night
at five.”

I still couldn’t speak.

“Say you’ll be there.”

I shook my head and mumbled. “I don’t
know.”

“That’s fine. Just think about it. In the
meantime, I’ll wish it upon a star.”

I could hear my mother’s footsteps coming
down the hall.

“I’ve gotta go, Michael.”

“Okay. ’Til then,” he said and hung up.

My mother knocked on my door and opened
it.

“Willow, Brian and I are gonna head over to
the mainland for a few hours. Can you stay here with James?”

I nodded my head. “Sure.” As usual, I had
nothing better to do anyway.

“Thanks, dear,” she said before closing my
door.

I was completely baffled by my conversation
with Michael. What the hell was I going to do; meet with him next
Saturday or completely ditch him? I was so utterly confused. My
head began throbbing and I started to feel as if I was in the
throes of a debilitating hangover all over again. I pushed my books
off my bed, crept under the covers and closed my eyes, hoping to
wake up and realize that the past twenty-four hours had been
nothing more than a terrible nightmare.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE