Distraction (Westbrook Series Book 1) Page 9

  "Let's do something before we go home," he says, as if he is reading my mind. How does he do that?

  A smile breaks out on my face. "What do you have in mind?" I ask.

  "Well, Kyle is going to be gone playing golf for most of the afternoon. He and the guys decided to play a full game after hitting the range. I'm supposed to go with him to some lame party with some old friends from high school tonight, but that won't be until later. I've pretty much got the whole afternoon free."

  I'm a little disappointed that we won't be able to go on our date tonight, but I shouldn't pout. After all, he did bail on Kyle for most of the day, just so he could be with me.

  After some friendly debating, we decide to drive go-karts at the Westbrook Derby, where I haven't been in years. In fact, the last time I was there, it was with both Sam and Kyle. I was fourteen, and it was the summer before I started my freshman year of high school. I wasn't even supposed to be there. Mom called Kyle in a panic because she got held up at work, and couldn't pick me up from my volleyball practice.

  He and Sam had just arrived at the derby when she called. They were on a double date. Reluctantly, Kyle left his date so he could pick me up. I guess it would have been too far for him to drive me home, and then drive back. So, I ended up coming back to the Derby with him. He made me promise to stay in the car until after his date was finished.

  Sam didn't like the fact that I was stuck in the car, though. He came back about ten minutes after Kyle left me, insisting that I come ride in one of the go-karts with him. He knew I was too freaked out to drive my own car.

  I don't think his date was very happy about this, even though I was only fourteen. I felt bad about crashing his date. The girl he was with kept rolling her eyes and sighing because he was paying very little attention to her.

  Sam has always been so good to me. Part of me wonders if he saw me differently even back then. I never would have guessed it, but when you look back, it doesn't seem completely out of the realm of possibility.

  When we walk up to the counter, Sam doesn't even ask me. He pays for one car, grabs my hand, and pulls me towards the racetrack. I remember how light-headed I was sitting so close to him in that tiny car. Never would I have imagined then that I would be on a real date with him, sharing a car yet again, only a few years later.

  Sam drives at full speed the whole time, but we don't even graze the tires that border the track. It is beyond exhilarating to be driving so fast, with our bodies pressed so close to each other. He must be enjoying it too, because he pays for two more rounds without even blinking.

  Afterwards, we share a banana snow cone. It is so hot that the ice melts right into a yellow, syrupy mess, only minutes after we bought it. I stir the lumpy liquid with the red, plastic spoon. I smile because I realize that inside, I am a sloppy, slushy mess just like this snow cone. This is what Sam reduces me to.

  I am relieved when Sam suggests we play a round of miniature golf at Brookfield Lake Park, which is right next to the Derby. He doesn't want our perfect date to end, either. Despite the unbearable heat, we have a great time together, playing, laughing, and holding hands. He insists on paying for everything, which is very sweet. Every once in a while, he pulls me aside to steal a quick kiss, but none of them are like the ones we shared last night. I don't think Sam is big on giving people a show, which is nice.

  As we are driving back, my stomach aches with dread. I don't want our date to end. I also don't want to have to go back to hiding our relationship when we've been so relaxed and carefree all afternoon. I am pulling into our subdivision, when out of nowhere, Sam asks me to pull the car over.

  I park the car next to the curb and look at him with concern. "What's wrong?" I ask, worried he might jump out of the car and bail.

  "Nothing. I just wanted to do this before I wouldn't be able to again."

  He grabs the back of my head and pulls me toward his lips. We kiss eagerly for what seems like days. When Sam's lips are on mine, I don't think about time or really anything else. He seems to have this power over me, where he turns not just my body to mush, but my mind, too. I can't think or speak clearly.

  With the car off, the windows closed, and us "getting hot and heavy", as Avery would put it, it isn't long before it becomes too much. He is sweating. I am sweating. Our cheeks are flushed, and it's really hard to breathe.

  This is our cue to turn the car back on so we can finish the last leg of our short drive home. He keeps his hand covering mine on the center console until we pull into the driveway. The air conditioner forces out gusts of cool air, helping to soothe and dry our warm, damp skin.

  My mom is outside, but she doesn't see us pull in. She is too busy watering the flowers in the flower boxes. Plus, she has her headphones on. When he sees her, Sam quickly retrieves his hand. I notice that Kyle's navy Civic is parked on the curb under the big oak tree out front. I sigh because I know this is officially the end of our alone time.

  Chapter Ten: The Perfect Shade of Bad

  Sam and Kyle are busy playing video games in our basement, while I mope around the house looking for ways to keep myself busy. It's taking everything in me not to go down there. It would probably be a little too suspicious if I did, especially after spending most of the day with Sam.

  Instead, I decide to post some pictures from the party on Instagram. I have to be very careful to crop out any evidence of alcohol. I'm not sure if my parents check my Instagram account regularly, the way some of my friend's parents check Facebook, but they have my password and they easily could.

  I think most parents don't even know what Instagram is yet. It's the main reason why we use it, but you never know. It's getting more and more popular. Regardless, I'm not about to put something incriminating out there. It’s just not worth the risk since it could easily jeopardize someone's future.

  Last year, we were forced to take a mandatory workshop at school. It was all about using social media responsibly. I have to say, it was pretty effective. They pretty much scared the living daylights out of us by giving us real examples of how easily we could destroy our futures, if we weren't careful.

  Mom and Dad always say that they can't even imagine what it must be like, to grow up in this social media zoo that we live in today. They never had to worry about someone pulling out a cell phone to document their every action. I wonder how much more carefree we'd all be if we had that same luxury. Of course, that also meant they grew up during a time where there were no smart phones or even the Internet, and I'm pretty sure that would have been worse.

  I post a cute picture of Avery and me that my mom took before everyone arrived at the party. Well, it's mostly her that is cute. My left eye is squinting more than my right, and I swear my arms look twice as big in this photo. Regardless, I still really like our smiles because they are genuine, not fake and all posed.

  Scrolling through my camera roll, I see a picture of Trevor, Avery and me sitting on the sectional on the patio. I didn't remember having anyone take our picture then, but it's a really cute photo. So, I upload it. I try to make sure there is at least one image posted of each of my friends that were there. There are a couple shots of Devon and me, but I leave them out. Luckily, I have one decent image of Devon with his friends that I am able to post. I don't want any hard feelings between us, even though I know it's probably too late for that.

  As I am uploading the last two images, I notice there are already a few responses from my new posts. It is mostly likes and comments like, "Love, Love, Love this picture!" or "Had a great time!" and "Your house ROCKS!"

  I also notice I have two new friend requests on Facebook. The first one is from Devon. I am surprised he still wants to talk to me. After all, Allie said that he seemed like he was angry about something yesterday.

  The second one is from Trevor Maddox. The moment his picture flashes up on the screen of my iPad, my heart quickens. I accept both requests, but I am immediately scanning Trevor's page in order to find out more about him.

  It
looks like he has a bunch of friends that I don't recognize. They must be from Philadelphia. There are a few pictures of him in his soccer uniform and baseball uniforms. Wow. He is smoking hot in a uniform. I imagine him wearing our school colors for a moment, and it makes my cheeks heat up so much that I have to grab a magazine, just so I can fan myself.

  He seems to be in a bunch of pictures with this same gorgeous brunette with big, brown, doughy eyes. She doesn't appear to wear a lot of makeup. She doesn't need to. She looks very much like your typical girl-next-door, with shiny, long straight hair, and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She has a huge, infectious smile with perfect white teeth. I try to find some minor flaw, but I don't see any. I wonder if she is his girlfriend, or was his girlfriend back home. I can't help but notice how perfect they look together. Similar feelings of jealousy that I had over Avery earlier today are resurfacing.

  Bridget Farrow is her name. Were they high school sweethearts and had to break it off when his family moved? Could they possibly still be together? After all, why would he keep all of those pictures of her out there on his page if they weren't together anymore?

  Curiously, I check his status and sure enough, it says he is single. This completely baffles me. I remind myself that he may not go on Facebook that often. After all, we mainly use Instagram now, too. Regardless, I'm starting to feel kind of like a stalker because I want to know more about him and his relationship with this mysterious girl. There is so much about Trevor that intrigues me.

  My iPad beeps to let me know there are new comments from my latest Instagram posts. I also see a comment and some new posts from Avery.

  I absolutely LOVE this picture of us, BFF! Thanks for sharing. Had so much fun last night! xoxo. :)

  It takes everything in me not to follow Trevor on Instagram, too. Part of me wonders if that Bridget girl will be everywhere like she was on his Facebook page. Maybe it's better if I don't know. Instead I move on to Avery's latest Instagram posts, deciding I had done enough Trevor-stalking. Trevor, who is supposed to be my friend . . . who is going on a date with my best friend . . . tonight. The uneasiness I had earlier is slowly creeping its way back in.

  The first couple of shots are pictures of Avery and me with Trevor, from the beginning of the night. I can't help but notice how close Trevor is standing to me in both pictures. I hold my fingers over the photo to create fake crop marks so I can block out Avery. We really kind of do look good together. I am no Bridget Farrow, but standing next to Trevor, I am not quite as hideous as I thought I would be. This makes me smile.

  Like a hard smack in the face, the next one catches my attention. It's almost as if the photo itself, is screaming at me, "Wake up, you idiot." Avery and Trevor are together in an intimate pose. It's the kind of shot that couples are often seen in. He is standing behind her with one of his arms wrapped snugly around her waist. The other one is stretched out in front of them, as if he was taking the photo himself. It's a good picture. Their cheeks are pressed together, and they are both grinning like fools, fools who are in love or could be falling in love.

  I immediately feel stupid for thinking that Trevor and I look good as a couple. I really need to see Sam, so I can remember who I am with, and forget all of this crap that seems to swirl up into my mind every time I think about Trevor.

  I find Kyle and Sam lounging on the big, fluffy sectional in our finished basement. There are about a hundred throw pillows scattered all around in between them. I'm not sure why Mom puts so many pillows on the couch. I mean, it does look good when they are all where they are supposed to be, but then there isn't enough room for anyone to actually sit on it. My mom tends to decorate our house as if it is a display home, where nobody is expected to really live.

  Kyle doesn't even notice I've joined them, even though I've been sitting here for a full five minutes, watching them play Call of Duty on the Xbox. Sam glances up and flashes me a quick smile right away, but he does not retreat from the game.

  I have never really understood the appeal of most video games. I mean, I've played them before, and they aren't exactly boring or anything. I just can think of about a hundred other things I would rather be doing than wasting hours of my day, locked away in the basement, with my hands glued to a plastic controller. Now, give me a good book in a quiet room, and I could get lost in it for the whole day. Maybe, that is what I should do tonight.

  Even though I secretly am a little excited about reading, I realize how completely pathetic it is for me to be stuck at home, reading, the second Saturday night after school lets out. I can just imagine the snarky comments I'd get, if I were to post a picture of myself reading on Instagram.

  It's funny how social media sites, like Facebook and Instagram, can be such a narrow reflection of who we really are in life. It's like the outermost shell of ourselves that we carefully paint in a certain way, so we appear to be however we want others to see us. You can easily delete photos, post comments, and manipulate the appearance of your life with a few simple clicks.

  I can't help but wonder how very different it would be if people were more honest with themselves on it. The truth is, it probably wouldn't be nearly as popular. It's so much easier to look at the fluffy, perfect reflection of your life, the one that you carefully construct. Who would want the hard truth glaring back at you, constantly reminding you of all of the things you'd rather just forget?

  "Eat that, sucker!" Kyle shouts, before he lets out an obnoxious round of laughter. He tosses the controller onto the couch, and does a quick victory dance. "I gotta take a pit stop, bro." He scurries off to the bathroom without so much as an acknowledgement. How very Kyle of him it is to ignore me like that.

  Sam grabs my hand and leads us over to the bar behind the couch. He presses my back up against the edge of the bar and kisses me hard. When his lips find mine, it is almost like being wrapped in a warm, fresh-out-of-the-dryer blanket, after spending hours outside in the cold rain. It erases all of the uneasiness I was feeling before. This is exactly what I need right now.

  Sam pulls away, and heads back over to the couch when we hear the toilet flush. I am just standing here like an idiot, gripping the edges of the bar tightly, as if I am unable to stand on my own. When my head clears enough, I settle back down into the armchair, and wait for my breathing to return to a somewhat normal pace.

  "What's up with you, red cheeks?" Kyle asks me, as he bounces over the couch, Dukes of Hazard style.

  We used to watch old reruns of Dukes of Hazard with our parents when we were little. It's this really cheesy, car-chasing show from the ’80s that is so very ’80s, but I really like it. Afterwards, we would pretend to be the characters from the show. Kyle was always Bo, and Sam was always Duke, while I got stuck being the clumsy, foolish cop. Every once in a while, Sam would talk Kyle into letting me be Daisy Duke, but Kyle hated it. "Come on Sam. She is way too hot for my sister to be her," Kyle would complain.

  Sometimes when I was the cop, Kyle would make me wear Dad's old, navy Cub Scout shirt, with the embroidered patches on the sleeves. He said it looked a little bit like an old-school police uniform. Even though I did get to be Daisy a few times, I had always longed to be one of the guys. I wanted to be driving the cool orange car that is always racing away, with squealing tires that kick up a fresh crop of dirt. I wonder how much extra dirt they had to truck in, to get those scenes just right.

  I never fought it too much, though, because I knew that Kyle probably wouldn't let me play with them if I did. I guess that is just what happens when you are the youngest sibling. You get stuck playing whatever roles are left over, and you don't argue about it, because you know you are lucky that your older brother and his friend are bothering to play with you in the first place.

  "Seriously Laila? What is up? You seem like you are a thousand miles away. What do you even want?" Kyle asks, as if he is suddenly annoyed by my presence. I glance at Sam, trying to think of a good reason for me to be down here with them, but I can't come up with
anything that sounds even remotely legit. Luckily, Sam saves me before Kyle becomes too suspicious.

  "She was telling me, while you were in the bathroom, that she has to write a story for the school newspaper about what everyone does during their summer breaks. Since most guys play video games, and we are playing, she wanted to see what the fuss is all about, right Laila?"

  I nod quickly and mouth, "Thank you," to Sam when I know Kyle isn't looking. I sigh with relief as Kyle slips back into his video game trance.

  "Yeah." I don't say much. After all, I am a terrible liar, and Kyle is usually far more perceptive. However, when he is playing video games, everything and everyone around him becomes invisible. I usually find this rather annoying, but today I appreciate it.

  "So, lil sis, what are you doing tonight?" Sam attempts to change the subject, since I have clearly chosen not to elaborate on this fake news story.

  "Not sure. Avery has a date, and Allie is stuck babysitting her nieces tonight."

  Kyle's eyebrows pop up with interest. "Avery has a date?" he asks.

  That sure seemed to get his attention. So, he really is listening after all.

  "Yep. She wants me to go over to her house to help her get ready." I roll my eyes as I say this, as if it is the last thing in the world I want to do. The truth is, it really is the last thing in the world I want to do, because it would force me to think about her with Trevor, and that is why I am down here in the first place. I'm supposed to be scrubbing Trevor Maddox from my mind.

  "Since when does Avery date?" Kyle asks, with a strange smirk on his face. He yanks the controller back, pounding on the buttons repeatedly.

  "I guess, since now. I think it is actually her first real date."

  Kyle's eyebrows furrow a little, but he doesn't stop playing the game. Nobody says anything for a couple of minutes. The sound of shooting guns, echoes all around us. The little black speakers mounted on the ceiling are new. I bet Dad installed them when he set up the outdoor speakers. Movie nights are going to be even better. It's too bad the girls couldn't come over tonight.