Page 66 of Something Rad
“No ma’am,” I blurt, shoving the pens back into the cup and setting it upright. “No hot dates for me.”
“Awe, I don’t believe that. But, either way, have a nice weekend.”
I nod at her. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Roper walks towards the door to leave, and I immediately go back inside my head.
No more. No more thinking about this. About him. About even the idea of Robbie–
“Summers!”
“Wha–what?” I nearly choke.
Mr. Ritter’s head pokes around the corner of a display at the front of the store. “Sara,” he says, “the summer movies are still out in front. Remember we talked about switching the summers out for the fall themed movies?”
My unhinged jaw slowly reattaches itself.
Summers.As in the summer movies. Not as in…
Got it.
I run a hand through my hair. “Right, Mr. Ritter. I remember that now.” I come around the side of the counter, heading in his direction. “I’ll get those switched out right now.”
I let out a happy sigh, thrilled to be distracted by anything else.
I just reach the display section Mr. Ritter is talking about when the song playing over the radio in the store fades out and the next one begins.
Sledgehammerby Peter Gabriel.
I groan, my forehead falling against the shelf.
* * *
When I get home, I flop straight down on my bed and stare at the ceiling. After a long time, I robotically get up to change out of my work clothes and get ready for bed. Then I flop back down on my bed and stare at the ceiling some more.
It’s not until I hear the front door clicking open with my mom getting home from work that I realize my lamp is still on. I reach over and switch it off without looking at it just before my bedroom door creaks open. I shut my eyes just long enough for my mom to think I’m asleep, then I let them snap back open the moment the door closes.
Then I continue to stare at the ceiling some more.
I don’t remember when I stopped staring at the ceiling and allowed myself to drift off to sleep, but when my alarm goes off, I’m suddenly staring at it again, not remembering a moment of dreams or feeling like I got a single hour of rest. I let out a sigh, reaching over and shutting off the alarm, then swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit up.
“I’m not doing it,” I say out loud to nobody.
I push off of my bed and pad next door to the bathroom. I splash the coldest water I can on my face, then reach for a hairbrush, running it roughly through my extra tangled copper strands of hair that I neglected to brush last night. By the time I begin brushing my teeth, the backs of my eyes start to feel like they’re burning. I cup water in my hands, bringing them up to my mouth to rinse. Once I finish, I meet my own gaze in the mirror, the grays of my eyes noticeably darker than usual.
“What are you so afraid of?” I ask the question to myself, not sure where it came from or why it was the one of many thoughts racing through my head that decided to make its way out of my mouth.
I think hard about the answer to my own question.
What am I so afraid of?
I shake my head, walking back into my room.
Discomfort. Laughter. Judgment. Embarrassment. Humiliation.
The attention. Nobody believing it. Looking like a fool.
Making a deal with the devil. Spending a month with my enemy.
