A Thousand Reasons Page 3

  4

  Leela

  Because I’m wearing my younger sister, Luna’s, shoes, I have to take shorter steps to ensure my feet don’t slip from the heels that are a size too big. They were the only pair I could find that didn’t make me look either middle-aged or like a hooker in the short denim skirt that I paired with a tank top, which I borrowed from Jasmine.

  I nearly didn’t come tonight. I learned at a young age that while money doesn’t always create issues, it can certainly cause substantial differences and those are sometimes very difficult to overlook. It’s easier to be friends with Jasmine and others from our neighborhood who also can’t afford much and need for less.

  Wes opens the back door and I’m faced with a loud blonde group, laughing and yelling over one another. Out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of my hair, which glows in contrast. My skin seems nearly fluorescent to their tanned faces. My clothes are suddenly less appropriate and shabby in contrast to their outfits, which all look as though they came off the pages of the latest fashion magazine. None of the patterns match, yet they tie together like they were designed to be paired. I know without a doubt that I would never be able to pull off their wardrobes. I don’t have the confidence for it.

  “Guys!” Wes calls out.

  The man nearest us turns, a wide smile making him appear friendly and slightly tipsy. He turns to the blonde girl in front of him and motions with a finger to look our way. As she does, others begin to turn as well, drawing more attention to me and how ill-fitting my clothes and I are here at this party.

  “Guys, this is Leela,” Wes announces, smiling.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” the man who had drawn the attention to us asks, still wearing a wide smile.

  I look across their faces, wondering how long they’ve known each other and whether they can tell how nervous I am. I’m certain they do.

  “Leela, this is moron one,” Wes says, pointing to the guy who’s requested the introductions. He laughs raucously in response. “That over there.” Wes points to where Max is sitting in a lawn chair. “Is moron two.”

  The laughter spreads, expressing their familiarity and friendship.

  “Hey, Leela,” Max calls, standing from his seat. He wraps an arm around the blonde, standing beside his chair. They walk side-by-side to where Wes and I stand with Landon still behind us, making me feel trapped. “Ace, this is Leela. Leela, this is my girlfriend, Ace.”

  I recognize her, but pretend I don’t as I extend my hand to her, offering just my fingers. One thing I have learned is that people like her don’t shake with their full hands—as if it’s too masculine. She accepts my hand, and though she smiles, it doesn’t feel warm or inviting.

  “And he,” Max points to the guy Wes had referred to as moron one, “...is Jameson, and his girlfriend, Kendall.”

  “You got all that, right?” Landon asks, smiling.

  I have a memory that has been trained to remember far more details than the names of five people, but I smile, knowing that’s the expectation.

  Several hours later, I make my way to get something to eat at the far end of the yard. I’ve only managed to eat a few chips because the focus has been on me, even while I’ve worked to detour the conversation to the others. The party isn’t what I had expected. Wes isn’t the superficial guy I had feared he might be. It leaves me both curious and nervous.

  I’m used to being surrounded by highly intelligent people. My academia has assured me of it, however, this group is my personal definition of intimidating. They’re well-cultured, well-traveled, well-dressed, well-educated, and come from families who don’t know shortage or loss. I doubt any of them have had to decide between which pair of jeans they can afford, let alone which utility bill to pay for the month.

  “I’m glad you could make it,” Ace says with a smile as she approaches where I stand beside the long table still filled with enough food to feed my family for a week. I work to reciprocate the friendly expression, but know I’m failing. Something about her just makes me uneasy. I look across the yard for Wes. He disappeared inside with Landon to get drinks several minutes ago.

  “Are you from California or did you move here for school?” she asks.

  “Born and raised,” I say, lifting my chin a bit higher.

  “Me too.” She smiles again, but this time it fades quickly. “And you’re a sophomore in med school?”

  I nod. “I am.”

  The edges of her eyes narrow as she looks at me, and I have to fight the urge to glare at her like I do with my little sister, Luna, when she’s asking too many questions. I take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down and ask, “Are you in college?”

  Ace nods. “I’ve just declared my major as an obstetrician, so I have several years left and medical school.” She forces a laugh—one I recognize because I make the same polite sound when someone asks me questions about how I don’t go crazy sitting in a classroom for so many years. “What sort of medicine are you studying?”

  “I want to be an ER doctor.” My cheeks heat. Not because I’m embarrassed for telling her my goal, but because I haven’t prefaced my future with the words ‘I want’ in over a decade. It might be silly, but it’s not something I want to do—it’s what I need to do. Who I am.

  “I have all the respect in the world for you,” she tells me. “I don’t think I could handle all the stress and wide range of medical issues.”

  I shrug, my defense walls raised. She’s right, of course. An emergency room is the very definition of unpredictable. The number of people who come in and the issues they’re coming for range widely, yet her words or maybe her raised eyebrows feel like judgement. Like she assumes I can’t do it.

  Before I can respond, Wes appears beside me and the air is perfumed with his scent, a calming mixture of soap and spice that makes me take deeper breaths. “Hey,” he says, handing me a half-filled glass of something in a red plastic cup. His smile broadens as he looks between me and Ace. “You guys having a good time?”

  I give a tight jerk of my head to confirm I am, though I’m not. Nothing about this party is comfortable. I am a large bulky wool sock amidst a bunch of polished and expensive high heels.

  Ace’s sister, Kendall, approaches us with a residual laugh. Her hair is cut in long layers and curled to look like she just stepped off a movie set. I wish Jasmine hadn’t had to work tonight so she could have helped me do my hair. “Is Jameson mixing the drinks?” Kendall asks, eyeing my glass.

  Wes nods. “Yeah, that’s why I only filled hers halfway.”

  “Wise choice,” she says before turning her attention to me. “If it’s too strong, there’s beer and other drinks still in the coolers.”

  “She might like it. Careful though, it’ll put hair on your chest,” Landon says as he steps up beside Kendall and drapes an arm around her shoulders.

  My sister, Luna, got drunk for the first time when she was eleven and I was nineteen. I had never had a drink, and though she was in serious trouble, I was angry with her for bypassing my rightful passage and diving right in. A week later, I swallowed my first taste of tequila. It left me gagging for five solid minutes. My throat had burned. My tongue had burned. Even my stomach had felt like it was on fire. I didn’t have any idea how my little sister had managed to drink enough of it to get drunk. My ex, Derrick, and his cousin Garret, laughed at me until they couldn’t stand. I haven’t had another drink since.

  I hand my cup to Landon. “Apparently, hairy chests are out this fall.”

  “She jokes!” Landon says, a smile stretching his lips. He takes the glass and doesn’t hesitate in taking a long drink before grimacing. “I think I’m going to send him to bartending school for his birthday.”

  Wes laughs. “I’ll pitch in.”

  Before I can stop it, I’m smiling along with them. Kendall watches me, a look of amusement and accomplishment lighting her features.

  I find it mildly obnoxious before Wes’s hand on my back distracts me, and t
hen all I can focus on is the warmth of his fingers, the timbre of his voice. I memorize the scent of his cologne and how when his lips smile, his brown eyes do as well.

  “See, we needed this party!” Jameson announces, coming over to us with his own filled cup. “This is why we never should have graduated. In college you get to party every week.”

  “We never partied every week,” Kendall says, a look of disbelief replaces her smile.

  “But we could have,” Jameson says.

  “Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve…” Landon takes another drink.

  “You have to get over the “glory days,”” Kendall says. “Maybe then you’ll realize they weren’t all that glorious.”

  “Are you working this weekend?” Wes ask, looking to Jameson.

  “No. Why? You want to do something?”

  “Maybe, but I was still discussing your deep love affair with college. If you were still going to school, you’d be doing homework this weekend like you did every weekend. Like I’ll be doing this weekend.”

  Landon and Kendall snicker. “He never did homework on the weekends. He stayed up all night doing it the night before class,” Kendall says and Landon nods.

  “See,” Jameson says. “I had my weekends, my parties, days off during the week…”

  “He’s telling you to try and be objective,” Landon cuts him off. “You no longer have to worry about parking on campus or sitting through another lecture and falling asleep. And now, you’re getting paid to use your brain.” Landon reaches forward and musses Jameson’s hair.

  “I am being objective,” Jameson insists.

  “No, you aren’t. You can’t really be objective,” Wes says from beside me.

  “Oh, God. You’ve been talking to Ace.” Kendall groans.

  We look between the sisters, and it becomes even more apparent how closely this group is tied by their shared history and inside jokes.

  Kendall looks at me, the only one who’s confused. “Ace took a philosophy class her sophomore year, and they had discussed all sorts of theories. One of them had been if people can think objectively.” She raises a hand toward Wes as though he’s a product of the discussion. “It was the only topic in the house for a month. I swear.”

  “I hated that class,” Jameson mutters, taking a long drink.

  “I enjoyed the discussion about objectivity, but if anyone ever asks whether the chicken or egg came first again, I’m putting that person in a choke hold until they pass out.” Landon’s eyebrows lift, expressing his threat.

  “Be ready,” Ace says. “My next philosophy class begins Monday.” She smiles and strides away, disappearing into the house.

  Jameson turns, his brow furrowed as he regards the group. “She’s taking another philosophy class? I thought she was settled on going the vagina doctor route?”

  “Stop calling it that!” Kendall winds back and punches Jameson in the arm.

  He laughs before covering the same spot. “I can’t believe they taught you to punch. You have these little fists of fury,” he says. “I just want to know if the plan has changed again.”

  “I’ll believe she’s going to be a doctor after she gets her first job, until then, I’m not holding my breath. This is Ace we’re talking about,” Kendall says.

  “She’s always openly admitted she wasn’t ready to select a major and now she has. This is way different,” Wes says.

  Kendall’s eyes train on him, likely narrowed with the same thought I’m having which is why is he defending her? “Last year she announced her major was going to be in medical science, remember? Oh, no, you can’t because—”

  Landon loudly clears his throat, the act a clear indication for her to stop, and surprisingly, she does.

  I wait for them to continue, intrigued by what happened last year, and why there are so many clear divisions. I also enjoyed learning about them without having to actively participate in the conversation.

  Max and Ace return together, and the mood shifts. Everyone is suddenly smiling again.

  “Ace, tell me from an objective stance, did you enjoy your first week as a senior?” Jameson asks.

  She looks to Max and the two share a silent conversation that makes my heart envious before she looks back to Jameson with a grin. “I think I need some more of your special punch to answer that question objectively.”

  “Done!” Jameson heads toward the house again with everyone but Wes and me following.

  “How are you doing? Are you feeling overwhelmed or having a good time?” he asks.

  Attempting to look convincing, I smile. “I’m having a good time.”

  Wes nods, and the relieved look on his face makes my belly flip.

  “What happened last year?” I ask.

  His brown eyes trace over me, and then he glances toward the house and shrugs. “Nothing, really.”

  It shouldn’t bother me that he’s not telling me. He doesn’t know me, so how can I expect him to trust me with his friends’ history—his history? But still it makes the flipping in my stomach slow and for me to wonder if I should go home.

  “Are you hungry? Want to get a burger? You’ve barely eaten.” He looks at me, and I see the distinct differences with this pass. His eyes seek something far simpler than whether or not to share something significant with me. Now his attention is focused, his brown eyes warm and patient as though genuinely interested.

  “Sure,” I say because I am hungry, and I’ve been regretting not getting a burger earlier.

  “I have to be honest with you,” Wes says, releasing a deep breath. “Kendall told me she was concerned I didn’t have any game, and I’m beginning to think she might be right.”

  My lips tug into an automatic smile, appreciating his honesty. “That’s kind of a relief. I feel like too many people are trying to be something they aren’t.”

  “I didn’t say I was trying to be fake. I just was hoping to be able to impress you a bit more. Dazzle you. Charm you. You know, seem undeniably irresistible and awesome.”

  My smile grows wider.

  “Apparently, med school doesn’t teach much when it comes to improving your social skills.”

  My reasons for coming seem to grow as we sit together, our conversation easy. Those same reasons slowly begin flirting with the reservations I had for coming, until I can’t remember why I don’t fit in or how this might not be a good idea. After all, I’ve worked my ass off in school and want to believe I am as smart as they are—or at least close. I might not have the social knowledge, or political knowledge, or have any clue when it comes to expensive labels, but I do know a lot about overcoming obstacles and perseverance.

  5

  Wes

  While I’m not surprised that Leela is the first to leave, disappointment lingers in my thoughts, distracting me as I sit on the couch after helping the others pack up the leftovers.

  “Leela seemed nice,” Ace says, sitting beside me. She gathers her long hair and pulls it into an elastic, and I notice her lack of a smile, and the tightness at the edges of her brown eyes. It’s taken me two years of knowing her—one of which she was mostly absent for—and a tragedy to learn when she’s lying. The signs are so subtle it’s often difficult to know if I’m truly seeing something or merely imagining it.

  “You don’t like her,” I venture.

  She snaps her head back, her eyes rounding. “She didn’t like me.”

  I scoff. “You guys barely talked. Why would she not like you?”

  “I could tell.”

  “This isn’t like you. Why don’t you like her?”

  “I don’t dislike her. I don’t know her to dislike her.” There’s an edge to her voice, one that sends warning bells off, but is difficult for me to truly decipher because she still appears so calm.

  Sitting back, I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “She liked you.”

  Ace looks at me with raised eyebrows expressing her disbelief.

  Max pushes away from the kitchen counter and stalks toward us.
Ace looks at him and smiles, but doesn’t move. She doesn’t read his jealousy—one of the many ways I know our friendship is solid and unwavering, and another attribute of hers I like so well.

  “What do you think, babe?” she asks. “Did you like Leela?”

  Max smiles, one of relief and adoration. “Yeah. I met her last year. She’s always nice to everyone, and she’s hella smart.”

  Ace turns to me as though satisfied with his response. “I’m glad you like her.” Her voice is somber and genuine. My relationship with Ace began before she knew it, back during her sophomore year when I was a junior taking a philosophy class as a filler. I’d noticed her the first day. I began paying attention to her and the answers she gave in class which created further intrigue. One morning after I woke too early because my then dumbass roommate was throwing up in our kitchen sink—I discovered Ace at the track and began changing my routine so I’d see her there, too. I even told Max about her without using her name because it seemed trivial since there was no way he would know her. He had been obsessed with his new girlfriend and didn’t seem to care at all when I’d briefly mentioned her. Then, just like you never see a left cross coming, I was blindsided with learning she was the girl my best friend was obsessed with.

  Ace sits up, looking ready to stand. “Well, maybe I was off tonight. Or maybe she likes all of you guys and just doesn’t care for me, whichever, I just want you to be happy.” She stands and goes to Max’s side, hooking an arm around his waist before looking back over to me. “You’re staying, right?”

  Max picks up a white throw pillow from the chair beside him and nails me with it. “He’s like our new indoor lawn ornament.”

  “You don’t have to feed lawn ornaments,” Landon says as he strides past us.

  Ace laughs. “I’m pretty sure he buys more groceries than the rest of us.”

  “True. We’ll keep him!” Landon shouts before closing his bedroom door.