“What about you? Do you want pictures, too?” I ask Saint.
“No, there’s only one girl that I want.”
Lo and Micah exchange looks. It’s no secret that Saint wants me to be his girlfriend, but I’m not interested in him that way. It has put a strain on our friendship. I love him, but it’ll only ever be in a platonic way. He’s like a brother to me. He’s been in a somber mood ever since I told him of my pending move, and he took the news the hardest. Saint is the wide receiver on the school’s football team. I don’t like football, but I do know the basics since I’m a cheerleader. He doesn’t want female attention.
Saint is of Mexican descent. He stands around 5’10 with Micah being just a little taller. He has a Mario Lopez look… dimples, black hair, and dark eyes. Saint has an early birthday, so he’s already eighteen, but Lo, Micah, and I are still seventeen. The girls can’t resist his sex appeal, especially when he returned from Christmas break last year with a beautiful blue Suzuki Hayabusa purchased by his parents. It’s the world’s fastest production sports bike, and after this year it’ll be discontinued. Because of him, I’m addicted to motorcycle rides. I have to admit, he looks sexy as hell in his fitted black t-shirt and distressed faded jeans.
“Why do you keep denying what’s between us?” Saint asks.
“Saint, I don’t want to argue with you on my last night here. Please, just drop it.”
“I don’t want to drop it,” Saint yells as he slams his fist on the table. He stands then walks over to the sliding glass door to enter the kitchen.
“Would it hurt you to try with him?” asks Lo.
The strain between Saint and I is hurting Lo and Micah, too.
“I don’t feel that way about him. Shouldn’t my feelings be taken into consideration? Fuck what I want, huh?”
“You know I love you girl, but I think it’s good you’re leaving. I think Saint will stop obsessing over you and give other girls a chance.”
I stand but avoid walking into the kitchen because I don’t want to risk running into Saint, so I walk around the side of the house to sit on the front porch. I don’t want to leave Los Angeles with a rift between Saint and me that would hurt too badly. Every time I’ve had a boyfriend, Saint would distance himself from me. I’m going to sit here until I calm down, then go search for him.
I turn my head when the front door opens, Saint joins me on the porch. He takes a seat beside me.
“I hate this,” he says.
“Me too.”
“I don‘t want you to leave with things left between us like this.”
“Me either,” I say as I lay my head on Saint’s shoulder.
“Come on, I’m going to take you on a ride.”
That’s Saint’s way of apologizing.
We walk over to his motorcycle.
Saint hands me a helmet then places one over his head. After he settles on his motorcycle, I follow. When he starts the engine, adrenaline races through my veins. The hum and vibration of the engine are therapeutic to me. Saint takes off. I close my eyes and lose myself in the sensation of the wind caressing my skin. I’ll miss motorcycle rides with him when I move to West Virginia.
For the most part, I’ve stayed in for the last two days to unpack, while my mom and Michael attend orientation, preparing for the start of the school year. Though they’re employed at two different schools, orientation is the same week. Montgomery, West Virginia is just so boring. I’m used to the fast pace of city life, so living here is going to take some getting used to. I’m experiencing a culture shock. Sure, I’m still living in the United States, but the people here are so different from the people in Los Angeles. Our cars finally arrived yesterday, so today I might do a little sightseeing and apply for jobs.
The plus side is that Charleston, West Virginia is a big city that’s about an hour and a half drive away, so I won’t have to completely give up my city life. Even though it’s not an easy distance, I’m willing to travel there to get my city life fix. The few people I’ve met so far seem nice, but this town lacks diversity and that’s not something I’m used to; I don’t feel too good about that. Los Angeles has people of different shapes, sizes, and colors.
Michael’s house is big and spacious, which means more privacy for me; four bedrooms, four bathrooms, a basement, and an attic—lots of room for storage. The houses here are large and spread apart. The nearest neighbor is probably a mile away. Woods are at the sides and back of the house. Two of the bedrooms are upstairs, with one bathroom in the hallway and the other in the master bedroom. My bedroom is on the first floor, and lucky me, I have a bathroom, too. Thank God for small favors. I don’t want to hear my mom and Michael doing the nasty. I’d be traumatized forever. That’s definitely a disturbing thought. I like to think of them reading the bible at night and abstaining from all sexual activity. The last bedroom is in the basement, with a bathroom next to it.
I fell in love with my room on sight. It’s bigger than my room in Los Angeles. My new ivory-colored bedroom set with pink bedding screams girly. My room consists of a queen-size bed, nightstand, dresser, closet, armoire, and vanity with mirror. I also have a little table and a chair in the corner, where I can complete my homework. My Mac laptop is lying on top of the table. It was a surprise gift from Michael. He said all students attending the school are required to have one.
According to Michael, this town eats, sleeps, and breathes football. Every Friday night, that’s where most of the locals can be found. It’s a big thing, so it’s either go big or go home. I haven’t met anyone my age yet, maybe that will change on my excursion today. I’m listening to Rihanna’s“Love on the Brain”as I unpack the last box in my room. Once the box is empty, I break it up to be recycled later.
As I’m about to head into the bathroom, I hear my phone ding, indicating I just received a text message.
Lo: How are the local country bumpkins treating you?
Me: Fine, I guess. I really haven’t met that many people, and no high school students at all, but I’m about to hop in the shower and then do some sightseeing.
Lo: Be careful. I heard those country boys will knock you over the head and drag you to their cave by your hair to rut.
