Reason to Breathe (6 page)

“Sara, let’s put this into perspective,” I
corrected. “I amuse him. He thinks I’m
interesting
. He
didn’t ask me on a date. He just probably thinks I’m a freak or
something.”

“Well, you are,” Sara said with a playful
smile. “Who else can live with pure evil while still maintaining a
4.0, play three varsity sports, be in what seems like every club
and, to top it all off, be scouted by four colleges. That is pretty
freakish.”

Before I could respond, she continued, “Okay,
let’s just say we don’t know his motives. He already knows you’re a
private person. It sounds like you made that perfectly clear. Why
can’t you give him what he wants and just talk to him? He’s either
genuinely interested and will ask you out, and we’ll deal with that
when it happens. Or he ends up becoming a friend, which isn’t a bad
thing. You have nothing to lose. Come on, the worst thing to happen
is he loses interest, and everything’s back to the way it was
before he moved here.”

She was so compelling. Besides, talking to
him could get him to leave me alone, especially once he realizes
there’s not much to know – which will be the best thing that could
happen, not the worst.

“Fine, I’ll talk to him. So what’s the story?
And I don’t want to lie.” I figured she’d already concocted
something during her silence.

“No lying, sort of. You just leave most of it
out, so it’s omission,” she said smugly, confirming my suspicion.
“You tell him you were adopted by your aunt and uncle after your
father died and your mother became ill. That’s pretty accurate. You
can tell him anything you want about Leyla and Jack since that
won’t affect anything. Explain that your aunt and uncle are very
busy with work and the kids, and that will hopefully be reason
enough why they don’t go to your games.

“He’s definitely going to want to know why
I’m your only friend and why you don’t talk to anyone.”

“He’s already asked that,” I admitted. “I
didn’t answer him.”

“Well, tell him you and I became friends when
you first moved here. That’s true.” She hesitated for a moment to
think about the second part of the question. “Say that you’re the
first in your family to go to college – which is technically true -
and that you have a lot of pressure on you to get a
scholarship.”

“That’s not bad, but why don’t I have more
friends?” I challenged.

“How about, your aunt and uncle are very
overprotective, and have no idea how to raise a teenager so they
tend to be strict. Then you can admit that because you’re so
involved in school activities and sports, and with the early
curfew, you don’t get to go out much. That should work.

“Besides, that’ll be like one conversation,
and then you can talk about anything else. Almost all truthfully –
you know, music, sports, college. You may have a hard time with pop
culture though, but I can bring you magazines so you can catch up
during the rides to school if you want.”

I laughed. “Why is this so important to
you?”

“I don’t know,” she paused, considering the
answer. “These past two days, I’ve seen a fire in your eyes that I
never have before. Granted, it’s mostly anger and frustration, but
it’s still emotion. You keep everything locked up so tight - I’m
afraid someday you’re going to explode.

“This guy’s found a way to get to you unlike
anyone else. You’re different, and I like it. I don’t like seeing
you upset, but I like seeing you
feeling
something. I know
you put your guard down a little with me, but you refuse to show me
the hard stuff. You never get angry or scared, or let me know when
you’re hurt. You don’t want me to see you that way, but I know you
have to feel it, especially with everything Carol puts you
through.

“In the past two days, you’ve been angry,
frustrated and humiliated. I was actually relieved that it didn’t
turn you into dust or a mass murderer. So if it takes this guy to
annoy you to let some of it out, then I want you to keep talking to
him. Sound crazy?”

“It does actually,” I said. She scowled, not
pleased with my honesty. “But I understand what you’re saying.”

After we pulled into her driveway, she shut
off the car and turned toward me.

“What if I like him – that would be horrible.
You’re the only one who knows my secrets and I can’t risk letting
anyone else in right now. Not while I’m still living with them.
It’s too complicated.” I took a deep breath before continuing, “But
I’ll try to talk to him.” This caused a smile to spread on Sara’s
face.

“Besides, he’ll probably continue to
frustrate me, and I’ll end up strangling him. If I murder him,
you’re my accomplice for encouraging it.”

“Do you promise to tell me everything?” Sara
asked, glowing.

“Of course!” I replied with a grin as I
rolled my eyes. “If I don’t tell you, then it’s like it never
happened. And besides, who’s going to help me bury his body when I
bludgeon him for patronizing me?”

She laughed and hugged me again. Feeling my
body tense, she pulled back. “Sorry.”

I followed Sara into her enormous house. Her
family lived in a newer home compared to the historic Colonials and
Victorians in the center of town. The development used to be
farmland at one point, and was now broken up into expansive lots to
showcase huge homes.

I could never get used to Sara’s set up as we
neared the top of the stairs. Sara was an only child, so she had a
lot of room to herself in the three story house - actually, she had
the entire third floor. The bathroom was larger than my entire
bedroom, with its granite double sinks, Jacuzzi tub and separate
shower. To the right of the landing, it opened into a game room
with white walls leading up to the cathedral ceilings, accented by
a hot pink racing stripe around the perimeter, and black electric
guitars mounted on the walls.

There was a plush white couch with a matching
recliner and love seat in front of a home theatre system that
included a giant flat-screen mounted to the wall on the far side of
the room. It was hooked up to several gaming systems that were set
on a console beneath it.

Behind the couch was a reading area with
built-in bookshelves that extended to the ceiling, with a sliding
ladder attached to reach the higher shelves. Oversized pillows
lined the floor beneath the bookcases, creating the perfect place
to get lost in the pages. In the corner, opposite of the library,
were air hockey and foosball tables.

Sara touched the screen of the built in music
dock on one of the walls, releasing an Indie artist declaring what
she expected from a guy. The rhythmic guitar strums filled the
entire floor through the inset speakers in the ceiling. I followed
Sara into her bedroom on the other side of the stairs.

“Are you ready to be pampered?” Sara asked,
jumping onto one of her two queen-sized beds adorned with pink and
orange pillows.

“Sure,” I answered, hesitantly walking past
the door that opened into her office with its walls covered with
pictures of friends, record covers and celebrities torn from
magazines with a clean glass desktop displaying Sara’s Mac and
printer, furnished with a bright pink chair. The room was small,
but still large enough to squeeze in a full-sized, black vinyl
couch. I sat down on the identical bed next to Sara’s.

“I have the perfect sweater for you to wear
with the best pair of jeans,” she declared, bouncing off the other
side of the bed and entering her walk-in closet.

This room - and I say room, not closet - was
as large as my bedroom with two long walls lined with shelves and
bars storing folded and hung clothes. At the end of the closet were
racks of shoes in every color and style. Visiting Sara was like
taking a break from reality – everyone’s reality.

“Sara, you’re five ten – there’s no way I’m
going to fit into your jeans,” I argued.

“You’re not that much shorter than me,” she
retorted.

“You have a good three inches on me. Besides,
I brought a pair of jeans.”

She paused, trying to decide if my jeans were
acceptable.

“Okay. You can take a shower up here, and
I’ll use my parents’ bathroom,” she instructed handing me a scooped
neck white shirt, paired with a light pink cashmere sweater with a
square neckline.

“Two shirts?” I inquired.

“Well, it’s supposed to be cold tonight and
you can’t wear a jacket that will hide the sweater, so… layers,”
she explained simply.

I raised my eyebrows and slowly nodded my
head. It was obvious that she was loving this, and my lack of
fashion savvy was not going to keep her from treating me like a
life-sized Barbie doll. I couldn’t imagine what else she had in
store, or maybe I didn’t want to.

“Listen,” she said, trying to put me at ease.
“I know you never make a big deal over clothes or any of that, but
it’s because you can’t, not because you don’t want to. I know they
don’t let you shop, so let me do this for one night, okay?”

Of course she knew that I appreciated the
latest trends, as we often flipped through the fashion magazines
together during lunch. But I was only allowed to go shopping twice
a year – at the beginning of the school year and again in the
spring. I had to get the most out of my bi-annual clothing stipends
and buy items that could easily mix and match, so it wasn’t obvious
when I rotated them every few weeks. This practicality didn’t allow
me to shop in the trendy stores in the mall or the boutiques in the
city like most of my classmates. It meant going to the discount
chains in the plazas. I never let it mean that much to me - it
wasn’t worth it.

However, to have access to Sara McKinley’s
wardrobe for one night would be any girl’s dream, so I wasn’t about
to refuse it. I knew she had clothes in that closet that still had
tags on them. I took the tops, grabbed my tote and headed to the
bathroom. Sara ran out of her room before I closed the door.

“Oh, I have this lotion I bought last week
that I think you’d like. I was going to save it for a Christmas
gift, but you should use it tonight,” she offered, handing me a
bottle of lotion with pink flowers drawn on the label.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the bottle before I
closed the door. It was great to take a long, hot shower without
fear of
the knock
on the door, signaling the end of my
allotted five minutes. It gave me time to think about the past
couple of days and how different today felt. I was actually looking
forward to the game, despite how awkward it was going to be. If I
could get through the game, then I should be able to get through
the party. I shut off the water with a new conviction – how long it
would last was another story.

I flipped the top of the bottle and took in
the soft floral scent. After dressing, I opened the door to find
Sara on the stairs, with a towel wrapped around her head. She wore
a flattering light blue angora sweater. Sara had no problem with
tops that hugged her modelesque body. Sara looked amazing, even
with the towel on her head. Conversely, I tugged and pulled at the
pink sweater that felt like a second layer of skin, despite the
layer beneath.

“Oh. That sweater looks great. You should
wear more clothes that fit you like that instead of hiding your
figure.” I dismissed her with a shrug. She smiled before asking,
“Are you ready for the next step?”

We were interrupted when her mom called up
that the pizza was here.

“We’ll eat and then finish getting ready,”
Sara decided, and turned to descend the stairs.

“I heard you scored three goals yesterday,”
Anna said from the refrigerator where she was pouring us glasses of
diet soda. “Sara also told me about the scouts. You must be so
excited, Emma.”

“I am,” I replied with a small smile. I was
horrible at carrying on a conversation with my peers, forget about
trying to say something worthwhile to an adult. The only adults I
spoke to on a regular basis were my teachers, my coach, and my aunt
and uncle. I only discussed my assignments with my teachers; coach
was all about soccer - so that was easy. George hardly said a word,
or maybe he couldn’t get a word in over Carol’s rambling about how
difficult it was to be her. Then of course the interactions I had
with Carol were one-sided, usually reprimands about how useless and
pathetic I was. So I didn’t have a lot of practice. Anna recognized
my conversational ineptitude, so she didn’t push.

“Congratulations,” she added walking towards
the stairs. She paused to tell Sara, “I’m going upstairs to change
for dinner. Your dad and I are going out to eat with the
Richardson’s and we’ve invited the Mathews to come along since
they’re new in town.”

“Okay, mom,” Sara said only half listening.
My heart stopped when she said their name.

“Your parents are going to dinner with Evan’s
parents?” I whispered in disbelief.

Sara shrugged, “My parents have to know
everyone in town. You know, they’re like Weslyn’s unofficial
welcoming committee. My father is the ultimate politician.”

Then she added with a grin, “Do you want me
to get some dirt on Evan and his family for you?”

“Sara!” I exclaimed in shock. “Of course not.
I’m really not that interested in him. I’m just going to talk to
him so he’ll leave me alone.”

“Sure,” she said with a knowing smile. I
tried to ignore her and took a bite of the pizza slice.

“What’s next?” I asked, needing to not talk
about Evan any more.

“I was hoping you’d let me cut your hair,”
she said with a cautious smile. My hair was all one length, hanging
past the middle of my back. There was no way I could get it cut
every eight weeks or whatever was needed to maintain a style, so I
kept it simple and trimmed it myself a few times a year. I usually
wore it up out of my face in a clip or ponytail – again,
simple.