Perfectly Messy (8 page)

“That’s me,” she says with an aunt-like grin.

“Wow. Very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” The way she says it sends goosebumps down my spine. Weird. The computer chick from the film was so hot. Jessie laughs as she pulls out yarn and needles from her purse.

“The industry calls her The Siren,” Carl explains. “Her voice draws everyone in. Men identify it as sexy and women find it confident and comforting, like a wise older sister.” He clasps Jessie’s shoulder and smiles. “As you can see, I’ve brought in my best to make you look good, Justin.”

I nod, still amazed at how that voice comes from such a regular, obsessed-with-knitting type woman. A voice like that shouldn’t be legal.

“Shall we get started, Justin?” She shifts her glasses down as she counts the rows she’s placed on her needle, then she looks up and smiles at me, like a friendly librarian.

“I’d love to.”

“Tell us about yourself. Where do you live? Who’s in your family?”

So I do. I tell her a ton, even about Jackson. Carl’s right; she is a siren. I find myself spilling way more information than intended with each new question. She’s too easy to talk to. I’m telling everyone it’s because of the cat on her sweater, not her voice. Crazy cat ladies are easy to talk to, right?

Jessie clears her throat. “Last question, Justin. How would you describe your perfect girl?”

Lucy’s name almost slips off my tongue. I close it, swallowing the urge to explain I already have a girlfriend. “My perfect girl?”

“Yes. What type of girl do you want to spend the rest of your life with?”

Without hesitation, I look into the camera and define Lucy. “She’s strong, brave, beautiful and, although she doesn’t intend it, she’s really funny. She also must be able to survive a tornado.”

“Survive a tornado? That’s pretty specific.”

I nod, remembering my freak encounter with Lucy and a tornado last summer. The camera to my left moves closer, the lens changing for a close-up. “I guess I know what I’m looking for.”

“I hope you’ll find it.”

“I’m pretty sure I will.”

***

“Justin, wake up,” Jennifer says as she snaps in my face. My eyes fly open and the room’s a blur. Clarification comes with a few blinks, however that exit sign in the front of the lecture hall is still fuzzy. Crap, I’ll need glasses soon. My first sign of aging and I’m not even eighteen.
Sweet.

“He’s starting the review for midterm. Don’t miss this.” She hands me her coffee cup.

“I’m not going to take your drink. I’ll survive.” Truth? I’ve yet to acquire the taste of that addictive muck.

“Seriously, drink it. Or do you want to miss your only chance to review after you blew me off last week?”

Fine. With a huge swig, I burn a blister to the roof of my mouth. The exit sign instantly clears though… So that’s how coffee works.

“Thanks,” I say, handing the paper cup back.

“Justin, you’ve got to give something up. You’re killing yourself.” She waits for me to answer, so I throw her a shrug. It’s not like I have a choice. My calendar’s full, I’m dealing with it.

“I’m serious. Be careful.”

“Jen,” I nod toward the little Calc II professor who just said something about integrals involving trig functions, “the review?”

She purses her lips, refocusing on her own notes.

I focus on mine too, but the example problems just aren’t making sense. Calc was never this difficult to understand. Of all years, why does math decide to kick my ass now? Jennifer’s notes and numbers flow perfectly down her page. She nods along with the professor, sometimes working ahead. The woman’s a saint for agreeing to take post-secondary classes with me. When we get back to school for History, I’m picking her brain about integral functions and whatever that sign means that the professor keeps flashing on the projection up front.

Jen taps my hand, and I find my eyes closed
again
. “It’s over. Come on,” she holds out her hand, backpack already slung over her shoulders. She pulls me out of my seat. “Justin, your life is killing you.”

“Naw. I’ve got the situation under control. Jack Bauer style. Don’t worry, I’m good.”

“Doesn’t he get near killed and tortured in every episode?”

“
Touché.
”

“What if I decide it’s morally wrong for me to help you study?”

“Well,” I take her backpack from her as we climb the lecture hall stairs for the back exit, “then I’d be screwed.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m pretty awesome.”

“That’s true.”

“Okay, hand over your schedule. Let’s see where you can squeeze some study time in with me.” Her voice is full of snark, but I give her my phone anyway as I duck into the car. I need her help and I can cope with attitude. My schedule isn’t
that
bad. She’s overreacting. If I shifted my Psych project to later Thursday night, we could study after school, before basketball practice. Then after practice, I’ll swing on over to the second to last campaign dinner. Absolutely do-able.

“Whoa, Justin.” She grows silent, scrolling through my hourly schedule and my list of to do’s. “I was joking before, but are you kidding? This is crazy. If your parents knew you were this swamped, they’d never ask you to help with the campaign.”

“They don’t need to know. I’m keeping up with everything. It’s fine.” I point to the blue slot on Thursday, after school. “How about then? I’ll bump the Psych project later. No big deal.”

“Works fine for me.” She taps my arm as I pull onto the highway. “Justin, be honest with yourself. No one can keep this type of schedule up forever. Something will give. Be smart, okay?”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“I know you’re concerned, and I get it. But I’m used to it. I’m doing fine.” I turn the radio on. “So, how’s everything going with Trish? Still good?”

“Yeah, she’s great. It’s hard being in different schools. But easier in a way too. We have coffee dates on Tuesdays and Thursdays and make sure to have at least one date night on the weekend.”

“You see her that much?” My gut turns and the pain of being away from Lucy rears. God, I miss her.

“How often do you get to see Lucy?”

“I saw her four days ago for thirty-six minutes.”

“That’s it? Is she cool with that?”

I yank on my hair. “Yeah, I dunno, I hope? It’s not like I want it this way. Hell, it’s two more days until I can see her again. And that’s at her basketball game. But,” I shrug, “at least I’ll finally get to see her play.”

“How come she doesn’t go to the fancy campaign luncheons or go door-to-door with you? Is it because of that interview?”

I cringe. Great question for which I have horrid answers. One: I’m too embarrassed about how sleazy everything is now. Risking exposing Lucy to that world again isn’t worth it. It’s absurd. She could decide she doesn’t want to be part of it, and I’m stuck in it. I don’t have a choice. Two: That Carl dude won’t leave me alone. Everything’s gotten so much worse since I did that interview. I’ve had to attend online Twitter parties, our local paper did two stories on the interview, and some of the guys on the team won’t stop talking about all the
action
I’ll get if I do the show. And three: I can’t be myself at all. Paul’s always over my shoulder, watching and directing every move. I don’t want Lucy to see me acting like a robotic version of me.

“Protecting her from that stress is important to me,” I say instead. My words may as well have been a bumper sticker slapped on my forehead that says “Ballless.” Pretty sure I’m the worst boyfriend ever for using “protection” as my excuse. The truth is, I suck.

She rolls her lips in and crosses her arms.

“Jen, don’t worry. I’ll see her more, you more, everyone more. My priorities aren’t backwards. The campaign just needs to end. Only one week more until election day. I can do it.”

“I know,” Jen finally replies. “But should you?”

I pull into the school lot. Jen hands my phone back as she steps out of the car without another word. Okay, that was a bit dramatic. However, it’s clear that post campaign, I’ll have a lot of repairing to do.

Lucy

Three steady knocks on the door and a hoot. Our secret code. I close my laptop as Eric peeks his head in. It’s amazing how much he’s grown in just a few months. Thankfully, he’s still my little brother. It’s going to suck when my little brother suddenly becomes my big brother. I wonder how our dynamic will switch.

“What’s up, bud?” I ask as I open the door all the way.

“Want to play trucks with me?” He nods toward the duffel bag that he started using last week to haul
all
of his vehicles,
all
the time. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him without it.

“Absolutely. That sounds fun.”

A goofy look overtakes his face as he unzips the giant bag, taking out a new fire truck.

“Whoa, where’d you get that one from?”

“The library.”

“They let you check out toys?”

“Only if it comes with a book. It’s boring though.” He crawls up on my bed and moves my pillow to build a ramp.

“I see.”

“Zoom,” he says and the fire truck flies off the edge of my bed.

“Be careful with that, Eric,” Mom says from the other side of the doorway. “If that gets broken…”

Eric holds up his palm. “Okay, Mom. I get it.” Whoa. Attitude.

Mom’s eyes widen. “I did not teach him that,” I say.

“Unfortunately, in the last few weeks he’s developed a bit of an attitude. I suspect it has to do with being moved to a new classroom.”

Eric ignores her, finding another truck of his own to fling off my bed. Mom taps the doorframe. Her lips roll in then part slightly. If I wasn’t looking for it, I would have missed her brief head shake. She plasters a smile on her face for me though. Something’s definitely on her mind.

“What’s up, Mom?”

“Did you watch Justin’s interview yet?”

“Yeah…” My insides squirm. The interview was fine, but I’ve been dreading Mom’s reaction to it.

“Justin did well,” she says flatly.

“Okay, Mom. Out with it. What’s wrong?”

“He shouldn’t be doing that interview at all.”

“Yeah, I told you that he didn’t want to.”

“It’s not only that, Lucy. He’s dating you.”

“He doesn’t have a choice at the moment. It’s a way to help out his dad.”

“I think his dad is taking liberties where he shouldn’t. Justin should have refused.”

“Well,” I bite the inside of my cheek, “that’s your opinion. I see Justin as helping his dad. Him doing the interview didn’t bother me. I’m sorry that it bothered you, but Justin made the choice and I support that.”

Mom nods. “Okay, but be careful, Lucy. I don’t want a hidden life for you. After hearing about how his parents blew you off, I worry. Family dynamics are difficult enough. Add politics and now a reality show?”

“He’s not doing the show. He did one interview to help promote it as a
potential
candidate.”

“Lucy, listen,” her voice gets that edge and I clamp down on my tongue… Eight, nine, ten. Deep breath. I will not lose it unless what she says is completely off the wall. And even then, somehow I’ll maintain control.

“Yes?” I finally respond.

“I’m entitled to share my feelings.”

“Okay.”

“Right now, I’m feeling like this is too much for you. It’s not fair to you.”

I catch another truck that Eric’s flung at me from the bed. “Mom, I’m not breaking up with him for this. It’s a stressful time. It’ll pass.”

“He never sees you. This isn’t want you want.”

“No, it’s not what
you
want for me. Right now, it is what it is. We’ll get through it and things will get better.”

She sucks her cheeks in. “Okay, well at least you know my opinion.”

“Why share it though? Just so you can say
I told you so
?” The moment the line leaves my mouth, I know I’ve gone too far.

“I shared it because I care about you,” she says. “If you valued my parenting skills, you’d consider it.”

Ooo, sting. Responding to that one has minefield written all over it. So I hold my tongue.

“Consider it,” she reemphasizes as she pulls my door closed.

“Zoom!” A black car crashes into my shoulder. Then a red one. I recover the red one, chasing Eric around on the bed, ramming into his socked feet, distracting myself from my anger.

She had no right to say that to me. I was fine with the interview before. Now? I don’t know. I want to write her words off, but she pinpointed exactly what I’ve been trying to ignore— Justin
did
have a choice and he didn’t say no.