SAVING ZACHARY TUCKER

2. OLIVIA

|OLIVIA|
'What does it mean to mean something to someone?'

Reword the question and it becomes a topic at which I could write a dissertation.

(What does it mean to mean nothing to someone?)

I sit, it's early August and the sun's out, sometimes it feels like it's out forever.

An eternity under the sun. that's what it's like in Hamilton, forever summer. This town's three months in drought and yet everyone wakes up bright an early to water their lawns.
Welcome to Hamilton.

My porch is my bus stop, though now as I check my phone for the time I'm starting to think riding the school bus would be better.

Zach is always late.
For everything.
He'd be late to his own funeral.

"C'mon, Zach..." I hum under my breath, tapping my fingers against the wood of the floor board underneath me.

The longer I'd have to sit here, the longer I'd have to watch.

As of right now I was looking out into yet another green lawn, past my own was the Hardy's.

They live across the street, I idol them or more so their relationship.

Mrs. Hardy tends to her garden every morning and right before Mr. Hardy leaves for work, he kisses her like he won't see her again. Like she means the world to him.

It hasn't happened yet and I was hopping Zach would be here to peel me away from indulging in the lives of my neighbors.

But he wasn't.
Like usual.

I sigh, checking the time again.

Mrs. hardy walks out of her front door, "HI OLIVIA!" She shouts over from across the way, a glow to her smile, a sing-song to her voice, she was happy.

Here we go.

"HI MRS. HARDY!" I wave back, she bends to her garden, a water hose in her hand and a sun hat on her head.

What does it mean to mean something to someone?

Mr. Hardy walks out the door, brief case- people don't carry brief cases anymore but he does, perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect wife, he's happy.

Walking out onto the lawn to meet his wife, she stands to meet his gaze, they exchange a few words, a laugh here and there, and there it is, the kiss.

Happy. What does it mean to mean something to someone? It's a means to be happy.

That's my answer, I'm sticking to it.

It sounded right.
I check the time, again.

I call him, "You better pick up." I hum. Voicemail. "Fuck, Zach." I shoot agitatedly.

"One more tardy Miss. Waymont and that's a weeks worth of detention." Mrs. Morris's voice rings in my head. She was old, bitter, and senile. More importantly she hated me.

This was my last strike.

I stand up quickly, grabbing my bag from the stoop and rushing out onto the side walk.

If I walked- if I run to school, I could make it there before the late bell.

Of course, I'd be sweaty, and the half an hour it takes to straighten my hair would be for nothing, my makeup would get dewy, and more importantly I was in heels. Could I really make it before the late bell?

No.

I check the time again, the suns beating down hard and it's only 7:15.

Forever summer.

My eyes divert to a little boy and his mother, a house or two down from my own, he was bald and she kissed that bald head with tightly closed eyes and puckered lips that said it all, 'you mean the world to me,' before sending him on his way.

What does it mean to mean something to someone?

He climbed on a bike, rode on the sidewalk where I now stopped short, "hey kid." I say calmly.

"Do I know you?" He shoots, kicking a leg over the bike.

"5 dollars if I can ride in that basket." I reason, pointing to the brown weaved basket sitting on the handle bars.

"5 dollars isn't going to fill my gas tank," he replies. I fold my arms, how desperate am I?

"10 dollars."

Very desperate.

He smiles, obviously happy with the amount. "Hop on!"

I'm riding in the basket of a 6th graders bike to school, it's no match for Zach's car but it was getting me to school and on time for that matter.

The first chance he gets, he swerves off the sidewalk and into the street, "hey, these roads are busy." I offer up, looking slightly over my shoulder.

My hair was flying in my face, the sun was blinding, and the basket was uncomfortable.

"Hey, did you hear me, It's not safe to ride in the street," I deem, sternly.

He's not listening to me.

"Stop." I shoot.

"STOP THIS BIKE RIGHT NOW." I demand, seeing the 'Welcome To Hamilton High School' sign in view.

"KID, YOU BETTER-" I begin before my heart begins to race and instincts kick in and all of a sudden the bike comes to a fast yield.

My hands let go of the handle bars to catch my fall, I'm flying out of the basket and right in front of a car that had previously came to screeching stop as well, all while thinking

I laid there for a second longer than I should have, my face pressed against the hot asphalt of the road, and then a breeze.

Oh
No.
Oh.
No
Oh
No no no no no no.

My skirts up, like up over my ass, up.

I shoot up quickly, stumbling to get up right on my feet. A girl stands in the door of the car I had landed in front of.

"Hey. Don't ride in the street."
She shoots.

I slam my hands down hard on the roof of her car, "how about you watch where your going. Goodness this is a school passing zone." I shoot back.

I turn over my shoulder to look at baldy, "get out of here, kid." I shoot.

"But my 10 dol-" he begins.

I pick up my bag, smooth down my skirt then my hair, and then I walk for the school yard.

Not daring to look back, not daring to give either one of them any more of my time.

"That's why I saw your ass!" The kid exclaims from behind me.

Don't. Turn. Around. Olivia.

Don't.

I do.

Because I need the last word. Always.

"And you better remember it you little shit, because with a hair cut like that you won't be seeing any ass that often." I shoot.

He's quiet.
Real quiet.

The girl at her car stares in pure amazement. Or disgust.

She snarls before climbing back into her red Volvo.

I feel a slight pain in my knee, I look down to blood rolling down my leg, a small scrape emerges on my knee.

Great.