What's In It For Me (4 page)

The wall beside my bed was reserved for
posters and pictures of things and places that are important to me.
There were my medals and certificates, banners of different schools
and universities, a world map (the places I wanted to visit
highlighted) and other stuffs.

I opened my closet and thought of a
good thing to wear. After what seemed to be hours of decisive
thinking, I settled for a clean pair of jeans and my favorite green
shirt that's the same hue as my eyes. I looked at myself in the
mirror. The girl that has been Kit Emerald Sherlock for eighteen
years was still the same, just the way I liked it. I pulled my hair
up and bound it together with a green scrunchie. I adjusted the
bangs on my forehead then took a deep breath. Tonight will change
everything.

***

I haven't quite parked Reed's Prius
(which he gladly lent me for this occasion) when someone darted in
front of the driveway. I immediately hit the brakes and cursed.
I've never been a calm driver. I jerkily unclasped my seatbelt and
opened my door and found a huge guy I quickly recalled to be
someone in the hockey team lying on the curb beside the car. I
sighed and thank heaven I stepped the breaks just in time. I
haven't hit him; he was just too drunk to get up. I shrugged and
put the car's keys in my front pocket.

I never imagined that I would find this
lot of people in one house. But then again, this is Tara's house.
Everybody who's anybody would be in her party. I remembered when I
threw a sweet sixteen party two years ago; nobody from school came,
except for Winona and (surprise, surprise) Andrew. It was the best
party I had, even if most of the visitors were much younger than me
(Wesley's friends) or much older (my mom's and Reed's
co-workers).

As soon as I entered the house, I was
greeted by a swirling vortex of entropy. There were beer bottles
scattered everywhere, pizza slices strewed across the floor, I
mean, this place was a mess. I walked carefully to make sure that I
wouldn't bump to anyone. Man, I need to see Tara now. I don't know
what to do in a party. I looked around and found a decent spot by
the sofa and sat there. There were, to my surprise, a bunch of
Reader's Digest under the coffee table, so I took one and read it
to pass the time.

By now I was aware of people looking at
me, as if reading a decent magazine like RD was something you're
not supposed to do in a party.

"You're not supposed to read when
you're in a party." I heard Andrew's voice behind me and looked up
to face him.

"Then what am I supposed to do?" I
sighed. He took a seat beside me.

"You shouldn't have agreed to
come."

"Yeah." I hate that I have to agree
with him.

We were silent for a while, with the
noise of the party in the background. A moment later, I heard Tara
Olsen's voice.

"There you are," she sounded
relieved.

I felt Andrew slumped beside me. Then,
it hit me. He has been evading Tara the entire night. I felt like
such a bully agreeing to come just to ruin Andrew's night. He could
be at home now, reading RD or watching the discovery channel. Could
have been the same for me.

Tara was now in front of us. She was
wearing a pink tank top with ruffles on it and jeans with
rhinestones. I wouldn't be caught dead wearing that outfit. She had
her hands on her hips and a smile on her lips.

"Come with me," Tara was tugging
Andrew's arm but he won't budge. He glanced at me and told her,
"Only if she comes."

What is happening here? Tara shrugged
and tugged at my arm too.

"Oh great idea," she said in her
princess -y voice, "there's someone I like her to meet."

Unsure of what else to do, I stood up
and gave in. Tara could be a little more than persistent. Besides,
people like her and Andrew are meant to be together. I could at
least do him some good before I walk out of high school and walk
out of his life, completely and finally. Tara was leading us
upstairs and into a room much larger than mine. I guessed that it
was her room. All the pink and ruffles couldn't just be red
herrings.

Inside the room, there were several
other people. They were sitting on the floor forming a perfect
circle. I thought it was some form of a cult but then I realized it
was something more dangerous when some girl put out an empty
bottle. Tara, Andrew and I took our places in the circle and I got
a closer look of the other people. The girl with the empty bottle
was Jaden Kirst, we had History and Math back in our sophomore
year. Ollie Ander, Jaden's part-Aussie boyfriend, was present too.
There was Shenola Bayer, the olive-skinned cheerleader. I gave a
kind nod to Grace Thomas, who was living in Lakeview but was
studying in Greenvale, and she smiled back. Next to her was, I gave
a loud gasp at this, Jason Bland. He was keeping his eyes away from
me. I don't care. I'm too good for him, anyway.

Tara put her perfectly manicured hands
on the empty bottle on the center of the circle.

"What am I doing here?" I whispered at
Andrew, who was next to me.

"This is the classic game of
spin-the-bottle," he whispered back, "it's a kissing
game."

"A WHAT?" I forgot to lower my voice
due to extreme shock. I could feel eyes on me. Andrew put a hand on
mine, which was pressed on the floor.

"You'll survive, Sherlock," he said
quite mockingly. I glared at him.

Tara eagerly flicked the bottle and it
spun just as enthusiastically. Tara bit her lip as everybody looked
intently at the bottle. I could see her stealing glances at Andrew,
as if she's secretly wishing the bottle to point at him. To her
dismay, however, the bottle pointed at Jason. I bet Tara Olsen was
just Jason Bland's type.

She rested her hands on Jason's
shoulders, who was still sitting on the floor, and closed her eyes
as they locked lips. Their kiss lasted for about more or less five
seconds. I could say Jason liked it, but I know Tara was not
completely satisfied.

"Okay," she said after she sat down on
her spot, "who's next?" She looked around and found me.
"Kit?"

I shrugged my head but noticed the
other people looking at me. I wrote a whole report about the
psychology of peer pressure back when I was in middle school. I
just know peer pressure too much not to recognize it.

"You scared, Sherlock?" Andrew smiled
crookedly. I glared at him again.

"I'm not scared of anything, Alleyn." I
swiped the bottle from Tara. "Gimme that."

I breathed deeply, conscious that I was
shaking mildly, and placed the bottle on the center. I spun the
bottle half-heartedly. I put so little enthusiasm on the bottle
that it only took three whole spins then started to slow down. My
heart skipped when I thought it was going to point at me, in which
case I would not have to kiss anybody. But it just barely pointed
at me, because it was pointing at someone else entirely. I almost
melted on the spot when I realized the bottle was pointing at
Andrew Alleyn.

I heard Tara gasp. Even Shelona and
Jaden. Of all the girls, it was only Grace who appeared to be
excited. My head spun. I cannot believe I'm going to waste my first
kiss on this guy who I've hated so darn much.

"Well?" Grace inquired. She was waiting
for me to do what Tara just did and kiss a guy I barely
knew.

"You have to be fair, Kit." Ollie Ander
spoke up in a weird accent, which was pretty much surprising for he
barely even talks.

I put on my bravest face and looked at
Andrew. His expression was as unreadable as ever. I inched in
closer. Even closer until all I could see was his deep, deep blue
eyes. Our lips weren't touching yet. Not yet. At that brief moment
I thought of the time in my room, when I made the prophecy that
this night will change everything. I was just about to kiss Andrew
Alleyn, something that I didn't think of doing even in my dreams,
when we heard a loud thud downstairs. The spell has been broken and
now I'm free. The noise was now getting louder and louder,
accompanied by rowdy cheering.

Tara immediately stood up and went
downstairs; it was her home after all. Being the responsible person
that I am, (or am I just finding ways to escape) I followed her. A
crowd was gathered in the living room so I have to push my way
(oops, sorry) to the center of the commotion. It turned out Bruce
Benet and Joe Faulkner, the captain from Jackson High, was having a
fist fight. Ugh. Guys and their stupid androgen-powered fights. I
caught a glimpse of Tara on the side, dialing on her phone. She
must be calling the authorities. Now I've officially confirmed that
I knew better than her, because by the time the police get here,
Bruce and Joe must have killed each other already.

I forced myself between Bruce and Joe
and put out my hands on each muscular chest. Bruce was surprised to
see me but Joe was still violent. He must have drunk, what, ten
cans of beer? I don't even think he recognizes anyone anymore. Joe
pushed me aside and I stumbled over several bottles of beer. All I
sensed next was the sound of beer bottles shattering, a single
large shard piercing my skin and the voice of Andrew Alleyn as he
pushed his way out of the crowd. Joe and Bruce were still fighting,
as if I was not there, trying to stop their senseless brawl, and as
if I am not here, with my palm bleeding and all. I did not cry,
however. I was never the cry-baby type. I'm stronger than
that.

Andrew angrily stopped the fight
somehow. I was paying more attention to my palm and was slowly
pulling out the shard. I bit my lip to prevent myself from crying.
When I finally pulled out the shard completely, my palm bled like
hell. It turned out to be a pretty wretched night. I cannot help
thinking of my home, where my family's probably having mom's
all-famous lasagna while watching Justice League Unlimited in the
living room. And when things were about to get worse, that's when I
felt Andrew close to me, even closer than we were back in Virginia.
He was whispering soothing words, to help ease the pain I'm
feeling. When I could not take anything anymore, I stood up and
escaped from it all. Because that was just me, Kit Sherlock, the
great escape artist.

I heard people muttering and Andrew
saying in that president voice of his, "...the school and your
parents will hear of this," and then, probably to Tara, "there were
minors drinking in this party..."

That was all I heard of what I left
behind. By the door, someone was kind enough to hand me a roll of
bandage. Imagine my surprise when I saw that it was Jason Bland.
But I left him too, which practically didn't matter, for after I
took the bandage, he had his back turned against me.

I ran to Reed's Prius and leaned on the
passenger seat door. I quickly unrolled the bandage and covered my
palm wound with it. I squeezed my eyes shut to fight back tears.
I'm on the verge of crying. I can tell that because my vision's
suddenly became blurry. I didn't even realize that it was Andrew
who was running after me until I wiped the moisture from my
eyes.

"Hey," he said in his low and
comforting voice, far from the one I knew.

"I'm fine," I said dismissively but
shakily. I hated the way it sounded, as if I'm almost about to
cry.

"No you're not." His voice was still
firm. "Let me see the gash."

I hesitantly held out my bleeding hand.
He shook his head. "This is not how you bandage it."

He removed the bandage and took some
from the roll I have on the other hand. He gently wrapped my
damaged hand with it without saying another word. All I could do
was stare at him the whole time he's doing it. This short moment
will remain as the most surreal point in the story of my
life.

"That should do it." he said when he
finished.

I took my hand back. "Thanks." I
mumbled.

He leaned on the car next to me. "No
one's stopping you from crying, you know."

I snapped. That does it. He can't just
walk right to me and talk to me like he knows me, because he
doesn't. He cannot tell me what or what's not to do as if I'm too
dumb to know it myself. All my life I've been living behind the
shadow of Andrew Alleyn and now he's taking control of
me.

"I won't cry if that's what you want,"
I retorted. "I'm not weak. I'm not a damsel in distress that needs
rescuing. Stop thinking that I'm spineless, Alleyn."

I fought back tears harder. I felt that
I would cry more because of hatred than of the pain I'm feeling on
my hand. To my surprise, Andrew was not angry at me for yelling at
him. He was calm and considerate, and I'm beginning to understand
why he was president two years and running.

"I don't think you're weak," he said,
then added with a short comforting laugh, "I don't think you're
weak at all. But even the strongest person in the world should cry.
Otherwise they'll end up crazy. Do you want that?"

I was now starting to cry. I sniffled.
"I bet you don't cry."

He dug his hands in his pockets and
sighed. He was still leaning on the car next to me. "Hate to break
it to you, Sherlock, but I do cry."

I looked at him in disbelief. "Humor
me."

"Well," he put his hand on the back of
his neck and I guessed this would have something to do with his
parents, "the last time I cried was the night of my birthday, about
three months ago."