Graded in Red

Chapter Two

"Hey! Do you need any help with that?!" Someone across the street yelled as I was heroically carrying three boxes from the moving truck.

"No! I'm good! You know women's rights and feminism and all that!" I hollered back, straining under the weight of the boxes. Seriously, who in their right mind owns this many books? Maggie, you read them once, donate them, sell them, move on!

Amidst my struggle, I heard an exasperated sigh from behind me, signaling an impending lecture from the mystery helper.

"Seriously, I don't mind helping. I promise, I will still view you as the womanly woman behind those boxes. The kind who doesn't mind asking for help. Unless you're cool with tripping over that next step, face planting, and becoming a toothless feminist who carries heavy boxes alone."

Trying to move forward, I was blocked by an immovable object. It was the pesky voice morphing into a solid figure, hindering my entrance into my parent's basement apartment.

I attempted to sidestep the intruder, maneuvering left and then right, but the box was unexpectedly lifted from my grasp. As the load in my arms lightened, the sun abruptly pierced my shaded face. It was this stranger who liberated one of the boxes from my arms.

"Listen, I get it. You're a gentleman trying to help the lady across the street. But I specifically said I did not need any help. Now, I have pepper spray in my pocket and I'm not afraid to use it. Put the box down and step away slowly. No one will get hurt," I threatened, bluffing about my readiness, although I had left my pepper spray back in the city. But this guy didn't need to know that.

As my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I couldn't believe who stood before me. Jake, the neighborhood troublemaker and once-close friend, now teasingly blocked my way with my box of books.

"Margaret Turee, still as stubborn as ever about accepting help," Jake playfully chided.

"Jake Peterson, still as pushy and overbearing, I see. And it's Maggie, always has been Maggie," I retorted, pushing past Jake, but not without a graceless trip over the threshold.

Jake, blatantly ignoring my wishes, followed me down the stairs and placed the other box on my counter.

"Maggie, Mags, when are you going to get over what happened? That was 10 years ago. I came to help you out, I'm not the same person I was when I was 18. Are you?"

I blew the hair out of my eyes, looking up at Jake. At 5'7'', I wasn't short, but Jake had matured into his body. The gangly boy from high school had vanished. The man standing before me was not only breathtakingly handsome but looked like he could lift a hundred boxes with his massive biceps and not break a sweat.

"Of course, I'm not the same person I was at 18. Would you have seen me move back home?" I snapped, sweat threatening to drip into my eyes. The Oklahoma heat in July was unrelenting, like being slapped by a wet oven mitt. Stepping outside meant being smacked with a wall of humid fire.

"Maggie, my dear!" My mom's voice echoed down the basement staircase.

"Yes, Mom! What is it?" I shouted back. Jake squinted, covering his ears at my response. In our family, screaming conversations across the house was standard practice.

"I just made a fresh batch of sweet tea! It's hotter than a whore in church out there. You're going to overheat!" My mom continued bellowing down the stairs.

My mom, Heather, was a special woman. Unapologetically herself, she cussed like a sailor and didn't care what others thought. The opposite of my dad, Paul, who was shy, rarely spoke out, and had the best sense of humor.

Walking to the stairs, I saw my mom at the top, "I'm good, Mom! I don't need anything, thank you!" I hollered, shooing her away with a dismissive wave.

"Oh! You want me to leave?! Who's down there with you? A boy!? Paul! Maggie has a boy in her room!" My mom shrieked into the living room, where I knew my dad was watching some sports game.

"I'll come down and see who's here!" My mom announced as she descended into the apartment. "Oh, Jake! It's so good to see you! Need some yard work done? I've got cash!" Mom rummaged through her pockets and pulled out a crumpled twenty dollar bill.

"I'm sure this will cover both chores. Come up for tea, Jake. If she wants to die of dehydration like a cowboy in the Sahara Desert chasing a mirage, that's her choice. I want to make sure you don't keel over while tending to the yard," Mom said, walking away, with Jake reluctantly trailing after her.

I felt a slight urge to rescue him from my mom's chatter, but then I remembered what happened ten years ago. Let this be his punishment. Mom could talk the paint off the walls. I loved her, but there was a limit to listening to the same stories before your eyes start rolling.

It was time to unpack. A new chapter was starting, and meeting Victoria this evening was on the agenda to discuss my new job at the high school. A quick rinse, change into something cooler, and off to the pub on Main Street.