Fall ❈ Benny Rodriguez

v. be my baby

CHAPTER FIVE!
BE MY BABY　THE RONETTES

　

　

JORDAN PHILLIPS' ROOM was surprisingly clean. The carpet and walls were pristine white, almost blindingly so when the curtains were open—and they were. In one corner, a desk was nearly littered with all things baseball: a signed baseball, a worn glove, rare cards and a beaten Yankees cap.

　His room, I couldn't help but thinking, was not quite as impressive as Benny's, not when it came to the decorations. Before I had left, Benny had destroyed his room, had ripped the things from his walls and shelves. Together we had rebuilt the room. To me, his room was mine.

　Jordan and I had spent our time lazing on his enormous bed, speaking of our time apart. He had gotten a girlfriend, but had broken up with her a month before my arrival. He had ditched his summer baseball team—his father was not too pleased with this, but Jordan was becoming his own man.

　My story was not as interesting. Despite the interest of others, I had not dated anyone else. I'd stayed to myself, had gotten a job, and I had worked on liking myself. Jordan had then told me that he had always liked me—only to blush and say he needed a shower.

　The pounding of water sounded in the next room. It became a steady, low song to my ears as I messed on my phone. Sadly, I found myself on Benny's hardly-used Instagram; in his tagged photos, I found photos I hadn't seen before, of him and Brandy.

　It broke my heart to look at these images, yet I could not force myself away. And it felt so terribly wrong to look at Brandy in Benny's lap. A deep sadness had just begun to settle upon me—and then I heard a woman's voice from downstairs:

　"Jordan? Honey?"

　A coat of ice immediately pricked my skin. Jordan was an only child; there was no older sister to call for him with such familiarity. He hardly had any real friends, and no female friends who would simply show up at his house. He had one uncle in the area—no aunts at all.

　There was only one person this woman could be. And Jordan was grounded. And there was a girl on his bed.

　Moved by surprise, I darted quietly for his bedroom door. After peaking downstairs and finding the shadow of his mother approaching the staircase, I moved across the hall and into the bathroom.

　The door closed too loudly behind me. I winced, freezing against the door. A moment later, Jordan's head popped into the open, his body hidden by the light shower curtain. His eyes had widened in surprise.

　"Um," I breathed, voice much higher pitched than I'd expected, "is your mom supposed to be here?"

　"No?" Jordan's voice rose in utter confusion. "What are you—?"

　Just then, the woman's voice rang out again, much louder this time. She was ascending the steps, growing nearer and nearer, and my back was still pressed against the door. A certain fear had been injected into my veins, and my skin buzzed with it. Jordan's parents seemed so strict, I was quite afraid to be caught by them while he was still grounded.

　Jordan's face had gone pale. Steam rose and spilled over, fogging the long mirror to my right. His hair, damp and falling over his eyes, was darkened with the water. But now was not the time—

　A knock sounded at the door and vibrated on my skin, and I froze in shock and terror

　"Jordan," his mother called. "I heard you close the door. Are you—"

　"Mom!" Jordan's voice had risen an octave and shook slightly. "I'm—I'm in the shower—"

　"Honey, whose shoes are in your room?" The words were a warning, one that quite terrified me, because the shoes, of course, were mine.