Through the Break in Her Hair

Chapter 13

I stood there waiting on the black top for a few minutes after my mom left, trying to decide what I should do first. Should I go looking for Van or for Lindsey? The game would be starting any second, now that the announcer was introducing each team.

A cold wind blew from the west, rustling the longer strands of my hair against my forehead. Mom needed to run me up to Santino's before it got any boy band-er. I just could not get the hang of that style, not without looking like I stuck my finger in a light socket anyway. My hair was just too wild, too haphazard.

"What took you so long?" Van sidled up next to me, making me jump.

Crapping and or wetting myself was not on the original agenda I set for the night but now, thanks to Van, I'd just have to deal with a little dampness of pants. "Gosh dangit, now look what you made me do!" I grouched, swatting at the front of my jeans. Like wiping would make them dry faster?! "And to answer your question, I had to finish my homework first."

My effort to conceal my little accident just made things worse. The tiny pin prick "shadow" was spreading out, stretching its little body until it formed a very visible blob. "Crap!" I yelled, watching it grow. "I hate you, Van."

If you would permit me to speak inside your brain more often, we wouldn't be discussing your incontinence, we'd be discussing your girl...

"You do it all the time without my permission! What stopped you that time?!" I roared. My frustration was doubled by the fact that I'd have to see "my girl" while wearing wet shorts. That was not exactly the topic of discussion I wanted to carry on with Lindsey tonight. Or ever for that matter.

"Only if others are around. When we are alone, like we are now," he said, motioning to the near empty parking lot—the nearest person was at least six cars down and two rows deep. No way would he be able to hear us. "I speak out loud, for your comfort."

The sneeringly smug look on his face bothered me. He might as well have said, "Told ya so!" That's what he meant. I knew better than to believe that Van ever tried making me comfortable. He loved watching me squirm too much for that kindness.

But, since I couldn't think of a time where he bent that rule, I had no proof of him operating out of spite this time, and had to drop it. "Whatever man. Just tell me what to do."

Van's head jutted backwards, his eyes softening as he clutched his chest. "But how am I supposed to know what to do? It's your girlfriend," he said in a tone that feigned innocence. I could have punched him. I'm serious. I could have punched him square in the jaw and not felt a hint of guilt about it.

My eyes narrowed and my lips curled into one another. "Because you know everything. That's your gift, isn't it?"

Van laughed, his dark eyes lost in the ever darkening night's sky. "You're right. It is. I just like hearing you say it. And yes, I do know everything. For example, if you continue to scowl that way, not only will you accumulate double the amount of creases in your forehead, aging you by five or more years, you will also not gain the affection of a certain young lady walking toward us this very moment," he said, pointing to a spot over my shoulder.

I froze, going completely blank—deer in the headlights—and spun around on my heels. My 180 had me seeing double, double the amount of cars and double stadium, but still, no amount of blurring or dizziness could deter me from recognizing her. That petite, pixie figure walking my way could be none other than Lindsey Sumners.

Her arms were so tiny that they looked like tree branches swaying in the wind. Her feet, soft and graceful, hardly made a noise though there was gravel scattered across the path. Every other person's footsteps sound like firecrackers, hers left the earth and came back down again with no indication that she was there at all—a wisp, a figment of imagination.