Birthday
*Kayla*
September 29, 2015
“You’re actually going to see a movie with Dallas Perkins on Friday night?” Anne asks, walking beside me as we head into the school, hot cups of coffee in our hands. I pick Anne up at her house every morning, and we drive to Starbucks to pick up two Grande Caramel Macchiatos.
Anne typically gets a ride home after school from her boyfriend, Drew. Drew is a nice guy. He has short brown hair and green eyes. He’s bulky and is a defensive lineman for our football team. I think Anne is too good for him, but all in all, he’s not a bad guy. He makes her happy, and that’s all I care about.
“Yes. We’re actually going to see The Martian. Then he’s treating me to dinner afterward,” I say, a small smile forming on my lips. I’m actually excited for Friday, even though I practically suggested the date myself. Whatever is going on with Dallas and me right now, I’m enjoying it.
Dallas surprised me yet again yesterday when he invited me to sit with him at lunch. However, I had to make up a Trigonometry test from when I missed class for Kyle’s funeral. Mr. Hass gave me a week to study for the material, and I had to make it up by yesterday. So I spent my whole lunch hour taking the test.
Otherwise, I would have accepted his invitation. Even if I would have been nervous to sit with Tyler and Mikey. I’m positive that they don’t like me. Tyler always casts me glances, as if he thinks I’m weird. But I sometimes see the way he looks at me.
Mikey altogether ignores my existence. He could run into me in the halls and keep walking as if nothing happened.
If I am going to sit with them, Anne will be dragged by her hair to join me. There’s no way I am going to sit with the basketball stars of Waubonsie without the support of my best friend.
“Are you nervous?” Anne asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. I stop at my locker and dial it open to grab a few books and notebooks. I hold them in the crook of my arm as I clutch my coffee, kicking the locker shut.
We head to Anne’s locker next, and as she goes through it, I lean against the row of lockers and sip my coffee.
“I’m not nervous,” I finally answer. “We’re just going as friends.”
Anne snorts, standing straight with a variety of books in her arms. She nudges her locker shut before she looks me in the eye. Anne is a rare kind of beautiful. She has flame red hair and bright hazel eyes. An assortment of freckles sprinkles her cheeks and nose. She’s taller than me, around five feet ten inches. She is slim and athletic. She’s actually on the girls’ basketball team.
Anne has tried over the last three years to get me to join; however, I prefer to play for myself. I don’t enjoy having an audience watching and judging the way I play.
“I doubt Dallas feels the same.” I furrow my brows, confused with what she means. “He looks at you as if you’re some sort of angel.”
It’s my turn to snort. I shake my head. There is no way Dallas would ever look at me that way. Just a week ago, he shoved me against my car and blamed me for Kyle’s death. I know he apologized for it, but a person can’t go from hating me with a passion to looking at me as if I am an “angel.”
“No way.”
Anne and I walk to our Trigonometry class, arguing about who’s right and wrong. No matter what Anne says or thinks, I know I’m right.
Dallas Perkins likes girls like Ashley Delta. He likes girls who have this obvious beauty with blonde hair and tan skin. He likes girls who will give him what he wants.
And that is definitely not me. I promised my father and God that I would not have sex until I found the right man and I was one hundred percent sure I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. Preferably after I am married.
So if Dallas does end up wanting to date me, his interest will be short-lived when he finds out he can’t gain what I can’t give.
I gnaw on my bottom lip when Mr. Hass slides my test onto my desk. My stomach churns as I grab it and flip it over. I can’t help but feel the urge to throw up as I take in the large red C- on the paper. I look over at Anne, who frowns, shaking her head.
It is surprising to both of us. I never do this bad on tests. Heck, I tutored Kyle mainly in mathematics and I just failed a test?
I take a deep breath and remind myself that one bad test isn’t going drop my grade. I have a high A in the class, and if anything, it’ll drop to a low A.
No big deal…
“Are you sitting with Dallas and his friends today for lunch?” Anne asks, bringing me from my thoughts. I look at her again and nod.
“Yes. And so are you.”
Anne’s protest is cut off by Mr. Hass beginning the lesson.
I have Anne’s slender wrist in a vise grip as I drag her toward Dallas’s table. He had invited me again during Psychology, and I told him I would if Anne was allowed as well.
Dallas said he didn’t mind; there was plenty of room.
Anne digs her heels into the tile of the cafeteria floor, causing me to turn, grasp her arm in both my hands, and pull her along until her Converses slide. “No. No. Noooo.” She shakes her head wildly, her eyes wide. I stifle a laugh as we near the table.
“I still think Daryl would win,” I hear someone say. My ears perk at the sound of my favorite Walking Dead character. I release Anne and turn to see Tyler delivering an excellent argument.
“You’re so daft. Aragorn would win! We’ve been through this!” Mikey growls at his friend.
Dallas has his back to me right now, so I can’t see if he’s finding this argument amusing or annoying. Tyler is directly across from Dallas, and his expression is desperate and determined. Mikey is at Tyler’s left. He’s frustrated.
“Fine. What about Ragnar against Aragorn? Who then?” Tyler counters, arching an eyebrow.
I approach the table, coming up beside Dallas’s right so I’m across from Mikey. “Ragnar would win,” I answer, sinking beside Dallas. He looks over at me, his light blue eyes meeting my dark hazel ones. He smiles.
“Agreed,” Dallas says.
I look over at Mikey and Tyler hesitantly. Are they okay with me sitting here with them? Do they think it’s weird? I think it’s kind of weird.
“Boom!” Tyler exclaims, slapping his hands to his chest once before he throws his arms open in victory. That was what he did every time he made a basket in basketball. I smirk when he looks over and sends me a wink. “The girl has spoken.”
I can’t help but wonder if Tyler doesn’t know my name but shrug it off. It’s not a big deal if he doesn’t.
“What does she know about Aragorn and Ragnar?” Mikey asks, leaning forward on the table in challenge.
Ha. He thinks I just read romance novels, doesn’t he?
“Aragorn is Dúnedain. He is the only heir to Isildur and the rightful king of Gondor. He’s selfless and strong enough to pass the Ring’s test. Ragnar is a Viking who rose from farmer to earl to king by his own determination. He invaded Paris and somehow returned home alive. Ragnar Lothbrok would most definitely win,” I say, throwing out small facts to prove that I do indeed watch my movies and TV shows.
I’m not some measly little bookworm.
“Ragnar is also the hottest man known to women.” I look over my shoulder at Anne, who walks over to sit beside me. I chuckle, a large smile on my face.
Mikey’s eyes meet her instantly, and I see something flicker across his face. Interest? “Oh yeah? Clearly you haven’t gotten a good look at me,” Mikey says, leaning back to motion toward his body.
I let out a snort and quickly place a hand over my mouth in an attempt to cover it up. Mikey flashes me a glare.
“Just because Dallas has you dazed by his charm does not mean he’s the hottest man in this room. It’s just his talent, being able to fool every girl into falling in love with him,” Mikey comments. I arch an eyebrow.
Even though they’re best friends, it’s obvious Mikey is envious of Dallas.
Tyler lets out a low whistle, and I look over to see Dallas shooting daggers at Mikey. “You’re full of shit,” Dallas grinds out, running a hand through his hair. “I never trick girls into doing anything. They know what they sign up for. They come to me willingly. I don’t hypnotize them.”
I am taken back by Dallas’s words. Yes, I always knew the routine with Dallas and his girls. They are typically on his arm for a good week before he takes a break and finds someone else. But to hear him talk about how they are basically an object to him is a major letdown. This is not the Dallas who was talking to me in Psychology the last two days.
“No. You’re full of shit! When will you learn that this lifestyle will get you nowhere? That even though you’re banging the hottest chick in school, you’re still going to only be a student who is half as good as his father in basketball. You don’t have a chance at the NBA. Time to dream a little smaller, Dally.” Mikey is blowing me away, too. Aren’t they best friends?
I feel sick to my stomach as I want to leave this situation pronto.
“Yeah? Well, at least I’m guaranteed a future! You’re just a mediocre shooting guard with grades that rival an illiterate moron.” Mikey stands to his feet so fast it makes me gasp.
“What are you doing with her? You hated her. And now you want to be friends? You listen here. She’s not another one of your girls. You leave Kayla the hell out of your messed-up life, understood?” Mikey snaps, his eyes brutal as he points a finger at me.
What? Why is he protecting me?
“Oh, you’d like to know what I’m doing with her, wouldn’t you?” Excuse me? I look over at Dallas in alarm and open my mouth to put a word in; however, he only glares at Mikey.
Then, very slowly, a smile inches across Dallas’s face. I jerk my head back to Mikey to see him grinning like an idiot before he barks out in laughter.
What is going on?
“Explain,” I say, looking over at Dallas, who is chuckling as well. I snap my head to Anne, who shares the same mask of horror.
“Welcome to the Idiot Table,” Tyler mumbles, causing my eyes to transfix on him.
“That was some sort of initiation?” I proclaim, completely baffled. Dallas continues to laugh as Mikey takes his seat, his face turning red from lack of oxygen.
“You should have seen your face!” Mikey gasps out, letting out a coughing laugh again. Even though their laughter is infectious and I want to join in, I’m still hung up on the fact that they just pulled a prank on us.
Dallas reaches over to grab my hand and my attention. “You looked like you were about to run for the hills.” He breaks out into another fit of laughter, and I yank my hand away, glaring at Tyler, who is just smirking at the two idiots.
“It wasn’t funny,” I mutter, crossing my arms as if I’m a toddler throwing a fit.
When the laughter finally calms down, I grab a handful of grapes from my homemade lunch and toss them in my mouth, munching silently as everyone returns to their food. There is small talk between Tyler, Mikey, Dallas, and sometimes even Anne. I keep quiet, embarrassed that the two goons were able to pull that on me.
I watch as Dallas interacts with his friends, and I’m glad his loss is finally lifting off his shoulders. He deserves to be happy. Kyle would want him to be happy.
The thought of Kyle reminds me that I wanted to ask Dallas something. “Dallas,” I say quietly.
He turns his attention away from the group and looks at me. “Hmm?”
“Kyle thought I’m a great basketball player. And clearly, you’re not too bad yourself. So I was wondering if you wanted to settle this Thursday night? You know, see who’s the best?” I ask, a smirk forming on my lips.
Dallas’s eyes brighten with mischief before a melancholy expression adorns his features. What did I say?
“What’s Thursday?” he asks.
“October first. Why?” The table grows quiet, and I look over to see Tyler and Mikey frowning, a glum look on both their faces.
One would think I just killed their goldfishes.
“Kyle’s birthday,” Dallas mutters.
Gah. I’m an idiot. How could I forget that?
I gnaw on my bottom lip. “Dallas…” I begin to apologize, but he shakes his head, lifting his eyes to meet mine.
“He’d want us to play,” he says. My heart flutters softly with hope. I know Kyle would want us to play, but the fact that Dallas is realizing this is huge. “Thursday at seven.”
And it is set.
Even though we, or should I say I, invited Tyler and Mikey to join us, they kindly refused. It was something that had to be done between the two of us.
It will be the first time either of us has played on the courts since September twelfth. Perhaps it’s best we’re doing this together.
I dressed up in green spandex shorts and a loose t-shirt, something easy to move around in. I’m wearing Nike basketball shoes as well with my hair sitting up in a high ponytail. Dallas arrives wearing black basketball shorts and a black t-shirt. He’s also wearing Nike basketball shoes.
We’re the real deal. He tosses me a water bottle, and I gladly take a swig before setting it on the edge of the court. He tosses me a smirk, and I notice his hair is shorter.
“Can’t focus if my hair is flapping around in my eyes,” he explains when I ask him about it. He cut it so we could play tonight. I try to contain my butterflies in my stomach.
Once we are ready to play, we line up at center circle, where Dallas checks the ball to me. I check it back, and we begin playing.
I always knew Dallas was a great player. I made him promise not to go easy on me, and he kept to his word. It’s a workout to keep up with him, but I hold my own pretty well.
We are neck and neck the whole game.
Dallas is great at three-pointers. He’s excellent at it, actually. It’s what gets me every time. I’m primarily talented at lay-ups and two-pointers. But those are easier to deflect.
I don’t allow myself to get frustrated, even when Dallas grabs the ball in the air and throws it to the ground, interfering with my two-pointer. He lets out a grunt and pounds his chest as I glare harshly at him.
He shoots me a wink, and I try to remember it’s all for fun. I don’t care if he beats me. I’m just happy to see him play again.
“Not cool, bro. You need to let Kayla score every now and then,” I hear from behind me. I tense, my eyes finding Dallas as I desperately seek an explanation.
But he doesn’t look at me; his eyes are transfixed behind me, wide with awe and disbelief. He stumbles back a step as he shakes his head, tears brimming his eyes.
Oh my.
I spin around and let out a sharp gasp as my eyes meet bright blue ones, staring up at me from five feet away. The smile plastered on his face is wide and all so recognizable. Chills run up my spine, and even though I’m all sweaty from playing basketball, I suddenly feel cold.
I stagger to stand beside Dallas, grabbing his arm. He doesn’t seem to register me as he continues to stare at the boy.
“What? Don’t let me interrupt. I’ve been waiting for this to happen for a long time,” the boy says. That voice. I close my eyes as I feel a tear roll down my left cheek.
It couldn’t be possible that he’s standing here, wearing dark jeans and a red t-shirt. His light brown hair is gelled up, revealing his smooth forehead. His freckles are noticeable even in the dark. But when Dallas breathes one single word to prove that we are in fact seeing the same person, all rationality seems to leave my mind.
“Kyle.”