Wishful Thinking (2 page)

My knuckles whitened as I gripped the steering wheel so tight making my way to Summer’s. It was shaping into a crappy morning. I didn’t sleep, and of course, the little fit over my towel was still on my mind.

Fallen Oaks, Maine wasn’t a huge city the population was roughly around sixty-thousand composed of upper middle-class Americans. Closest big city to us was Portland and it was about a half hour west. Summer lived in Wooldridge an even more upscale part of town than Somerset where I lived.

Wooldridge was Fallen Oaks version of Bel Air where the elite lived. There was a security booth just to pass through her neighborhood. Thank god, she gave me the clicker. No security screening today.

Even with my name and picture on a list of approved visitors, I was still probed every time I came over. Scrutinized and questioned, my license scanned and a thumbprint taken along with a thorough pat down before letting me through. Anal alien probing would be less evasive and a lot less painful than the Marshall’s security process.
 

Summer’s family used to live closer to me, about six blocks away to be exact, but after Mr. Marshall’s downtown office caught fire, they moved. It was the most interesting thing to happen in Fallen Oaks in decades and remained unsolved.
 

As a senator, Mr. Marshall received a lot of hate mail and death threats from people that didn’t even live in Maine. Let’s just say he was über conservative and managed to rub a lot of people the wrong way with his opinions on equal rights, and gay marriage. Without being able to say with certainty whether an arsonist attacked from political anger or personal rage—Mr. Marshall also stepped on many backs to get to the top—he enhanced security in every aspect of his life.

I hadn’t even driven up Summer’s drive before she was coming out her front door and down the steps to the driveway edge. Four months of dating her and I still found myself astounded by her hotness. Summer wasn’t on the tall side at five-foot six, but she had curves, curves my hands didn’t getting tired of holding. She rocked Crestview's uniform unlike any other girl on campus.
 

Boys’ uniforms were dull. We had two choices, black or tan slacks and white button down or polo shirt. Girls on the other hand had choices. They had pants, or shorts and polos, polo dresses and my personal favorite, the pleated plaid skirt jumper. The jumper combined elements in girls’ clothes that induced thoughts of naughty schoolgirls asking for spankings while sucking on lollipops.
 

I couldn't tell which outfit Summer had on because her wool coat covered her uniform completely I could only tell she wasn’t wearing pants. Her curly blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail that bounced as she took the stairs two at a time. She winked a hazel eye at me and blew me a kiss before opening the door and getting in. Her light flowery perfume filled up the cab when she shut her door and I couldn't stop smiling. She buckled her belt and dumped her book bag in front of her feet. My Thursday-Monday was looking up.

Her jacket opened giving me a peek at plaid print.
 

Jumper.
 

Sweet.
 

She leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Her cool skin touching mine was like a splash of cold water in the warmth of my Jeep.

 
“Thanks for picking me up, babe,” she said as we drove through her front gate.
 

“Anything for you,” I said hoping to get another kiss on the lips. No luck. She flipped down the visor and started adjusting her make-up.
 

“I got the talk today,” I said.

Summer ran a finger over her lips, “You didn’t know women got pregnant by being stung by bees?” She flipped up the visor and turned to look at me. Her lips wide in a smile.
 

“They don’t?”

She laughed and slapped my leg.
 

Crestview Academy High School was old and looked like a transplant from an Oxford university with its gothic architecture, brick and marble buildings and fancy gardens. Crestview’s campus was laid out like a college with each building housing a different study.
 
There was a dormitory for boarders, and most kids that went there were legacies at the most prestigious colleges in the world.
 

There were no clicks at Crestview, kids who hung out together did so because their parents socialized together, and like so many other things in our lives, our friends were picked for us. Consider it the drawback of a silver spoon in your mouth. So much of your life came predetermined. My group of friends wasn't much different. We hung out because our parents did. Dean was my exception. He and I became friends because of our close proximity—he lived across the street from me. He was my best friend and the only person I could talk to without worry of judgement.
 

Summer held my hand as we walked across campus. When we got to the student union building we parted ways with a kiss—a much too short kiss. Dean's locker was next to mine and he was there rummaging through his books and arguing with himself.
 

“I’m pretty sure yelling at yourself is the first sign of losing it.” I opened my locker, shoved my Pre-Calculus textbook inside, and grabbed a notebook.

Dean slammed his locker shut and banged his head against his locker door then turned to me leaning his head and shoulder against his locker, “I got an A minus on my physics test.”

“Oh, shit,” I said cupping my hand into a fist, putting it to my mouth, and making my eyes go wide. “There goes your bid for president and overlord of the world.”

Dean kicked one of his Cole Haans—complete with tassels—against his locker door. He took a deep breath and straightened his tie making sure his side part didn't have a brown strand out of place. “You’re right, no one checked the Emperor’s transcripts and he designed the Death Star, and we all know I’m smarter than him. Thanks.” He took another deep breath and flipped his briefcase from one hand to the other, “Ready for debate?”

“Always. I think this time I'm going to smoke you.”

Dean slapped my back, “Keep dreaming.”

Of all my classes, Debate was my favorite. Mr. Peters’ topic choices tended to be lame, but I got a chance to argue and for the most part, I won.

Mr. Peters waited at the door. His bow tie was green today and matched the stripes on the edge of his sweater vest. His glasses magnified his eyes giving him a constant look of surprise. He hurried us in wagging his long fingers at us, excited about his latest list of topics. He was positive this would be his day to stump us. He said that before every class, but I admit his excitement was contagious.

After everyone was seated, Mr. Peters looked over his roster. He pointed to Ronald, “Should the legal drinking age be lowered to eighteen or abolished altogether? You have three minutes to come up with your argument for it,” he turned to Dean, “and Dean I want you to come up with the argument against it.”
 

Dean grabbed his notebook and furiously started writing. Mr. Peters pulled a timer out of his drawer and set it down on top of his desk when this girl walked in. A girl I'd never seen before, and with a student body of about three hundred, you got to know most of the faces. She stood in the doorway for a moment running a hand through her dark wavy hair and adjusted the stack of books in her arms.
 

Mr. Peters pushed up from his desk, “Can I help you?”

“Is this Debate?” Her accent was thick. I placed it as either southern Jersey or Boston.

“Yes,” Mr. Peters said, “come in.”

She hurried over to Mr. Peters and handed him a piece of paper which he took his time reading over—he was a stickler for details. Her eyes glanced around stopping on me. She gave a small smile and looked back at Mr. Peters. I pretended not to notice, because, first rule of meeting a hot girl is never let them catch you eyeing them. Not that I was in the market, or even interested, but it's always a good idea to keep your options open, just in case.
 

Mr. Peters handed her form back and turned to the class, “Meet our newest student Claudia Monroe. Let’s make her feel welcome. Take the empty seat next to Warren,” he said pointing to a seat directly across the aisle from me. As she settled into her seat I noticed her blue eyes glance at me a few more times. I won't lie, I found myself staring at her. Something about her felt familiar, like I’d met her before.

“I’ll go over the rules real quick,” Mr. Peters said digging around in his desk. He pulled out the class rubric and handed it to new girl. I say new girl because remembering her name might bring up drama with Summer later.
 

Know this; chicks keep a running tally of the girls name that pass your lips, and how many times you say it. Then they bring that shit up at the weirdest moments like, during a movie, “Are you in love with Amy because you've talked about her all day today?” It’s dumbfounding, how does watching Rambo segue into having a crush on Amy? Not to mention Amy is the school counselor and old enough to be your grandmother.
 

Mr. Peters continued, “Everyone must come up with at least three points to support their stance. You have three minutes to come up with your argument and one minute to give your presentation. I'll time you with this—” he held up the kitchen timer, “—when this sounds your time is up, after which a rebuttal argument will be made. While students are giving their presentations there is no interrupting or talking of any kind. You get one warning, a second warning and you’re out of class for a day. Four warnings in a semester and you’re out permanently. You wait until the presenter is finished and raise your hand. Any questions?”

New girl shook her head no.
 

Mr. Peters went back to his desk, “Ronald’s topic is reducing the drinking age to eighteen and he is for it.” He started the timer, “Go.”

The rest of my morning was uneventful. Not that new girl made for an event or anything, but anytime someone new starts at Crestview they become topic of conversation for a while. They bring with them questions that need to be answered; who are their parents, who’s in their network, what's their income, etcetera. In a school that grooms future leaders you are nothing if not for your connections.
 

By lunchtime the clouds took shelter giving the sun dominance and warming up my day. Don't get me wrong it was still cold but I didn't need two jackets. On my way to find my friends, I stopped at the cafeteria and grabbed a hoagie and a bag of chips.
 

Kyle and Dean were seated at one of a handful of picnic tables under full sunlight. Kyle sat on the edge of the table, his feet dangling while he threw pistachio shells on the ground. Dean sat on the bench seat, and surprise, surprise his nose was in a book. His mouth moved as he read and he kept patting his side part with his hand, his tell-tell nervous habit. Something was eating at him. After practice I could ask him about it, maybe.
 

Unfortunately, Emily was sitting at the other end of the bench texting and picking at a salad. Kyle and Emily noticed me at the same time. Kyle threw a pistachio shell at me and Emily scowled, rolled her green eyes and turned her attention back to her phone. I startled Dean when I tossed my bag next to him and sat down.
 

“Hey,” he said then went back to reading.
 

“You see the new girl?" Kyle asked drop-kicking a pistachio away.
 

“Yeah, she's in Debate with us,” Dean said snapping his book closed and fidgeting with his tie.
 

“Damn you guys have a class with her. Shit, I saw her in the hall and was late to Mrs. Rory's class because I had to follow that. She's hot.”

Emily chimed into the conversation then, like I knew she would. “James has a girlfriend,” she said.
 

I sighed and took a bite of my hoagie. Kyle turned his sights on her. “Emily, I didn't think I was talking to you. What the fuck's having a girlfriend have to do with anything, did he go blind because he has one?"

"Not that guys like James cares if they have a girlfriend, but he shouldn't be looking, is my point," Emily snapped.
 

"My boy hold up your hand," Kyle said snapping his fingers at me.

I held them up flipping them back and forth, "Why am I doing this?"

"See, my boy doesn't have a ring on his finger, and nooses don't count." Kyle started laughing.

Emily rolled her eyes, "You're an idiot."

"Hey, hey if you like it then you should have put a ring on it," Kyle singsonged.

"Nobody wants to put a ring on it," Emily said and flipped her black curly hair behind her shoulders. Emily was half-Asian half-black which gave her a very exotic look that made even her bitchiest looks hot. And even though I only had eyes for Summer, I still sometimes fantasized about her. Okay most of those fantasies involved her and Summer.
 

"Of course, that's how you'd feel because you can't hold onto a guy."

"Why would I want to? The guys at this school aren't worth keeping," she responded and glanced at me.