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console. I could feel the heat of the day just emanating off of him and smell the crisp, clean scent of
his skin just inches from my own body.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, even to this very day, is why I completely fall apart whenever I hear
even a single note from Paradise City .
I was trying to play it cool- tapping my hands against my knees to the music, looking absently out
the window- but I was actually a trembling mess inside. I mean shit! I was riding shotgun in Trip s
truck! For the second time in less than a week! But this time, I had him all to myself for the next two,
maybe three, hours. How the hell was I going to hold it together all that time?
I grabbed my purse off the floor and started rifling through it, looking for nothing in particular
except a way to occupy my hands.
Damn, you re fidgety.
That caught me off guard. What?
Trip turned down the radio and said, I don t think you ve stopped bopping around once since
getting in my truck.
I always fidget when I m nervous. Not really the smoothest habit, but at least it was better than
Charlene Henderson s nervous cheerleader tick. You could always tell when she was feeling even
slightly uncomfortable when the poor girl started in with regimented clapping.
Oh. I was just looking for... some gum! Here it is. Wanna slice?
Slice?
Yeah. It s Juicy Fruit. I held a piece in his direction. See? It s a slice. Want one?
This made Trip smile. Yeah, sure. Unwrap it for me?
So I did. I thought about sliding over to the driver s side and feeding it to him all 9 1/2 Weeks, but
then wimped out and just passed it over.
Thanks.
I was such a dork that I found myself sneaking looks at him as he chewed a stupid piece of gum. But
just watching his jaw clench up with every chomp was enough to make my palms all sweaty. I tried to
look inconspicuous as I wiped them against my polyester skirt.
As we pulled up in front of my house, I realized that I had never even given Trip the address. It was
pretty cool that he had obviously done some recon and found out on his own. Then again- and I got the
worst, most panicky feeling in my chest when I thought this- maybe he knew where I lived because
he d seen me spying out my window at him every morning. Could God be that cruel?
My fears were laid to rest when Trip said, This is your house, right? Funny. I run through this
neighborhood sometimes.
And I thought, Yes, you do. Every day so far except Sunday.
But I said, Oh yeah? Guess I ll have to alert the Neighborhood Watch. They don t appreciate
riffraff roaming around on their streets.
Trip grinned as he let me out of the truck. Yeah. Just try it, Dummy.
I gave him a light backhand on his arm in answer.
Before I led him up our front walk, I jumped up and grabbed a leaf off the tree at the curb. It was
something I d done a million times, but I couldn t believe I hadn t thought to skip that little ritual for
one, stupid day. I was a little embarrassed as I shrugged and offered a brief explanation to Trip.
Sorry. Superstition.
He laughed. You do that often? he asked. Maul trees in your spare time?
Just that one, I answered, before playfully admitting, Every day, actually!
Even though I was laughing, I was feeling pretty skittish at the thought of being alone with Trip for
the next few hours. My father usually didn t come home from work until dinnertime and Bruce had
freshman football practice every day. Knowing this, I had made a point to do a quick cleanup before
leaving for school that morning in order to make sure the house would be presentable in the afternoon.
Living with two men is a constant study in maintainable hygienics. My father wasn t so bad, but Bruce
was an absolute slob. After he split for the bus stop, I was met with a destroyed bathroom- soaking wet
towels and clothes all over the floor. Hello? Ever hear of a hamper?
Thank God I d taken care of Bruce s discarded boxer shorts, however, because Trip hit the bathroom
the second we were inside the door. I utilized the time during his absence to pull a couple of Cokes out
of the fridge and settle myself at the kitchen table.
I had my English notebook lain out and was tapping my pen against the page in front of me as I read
the booklet of requirements for the project. Basically, we were supposed to give a report on our
assigned scene in a style of our choosing . We were to focus on the motivations of each character and
interpret Shakespeare s language into our present-day vernacular.
Here are the questions we needed to answer in our report:
·ð What do your characters want? What are they trying to say? How do they go about achieving
their goals?
·ð How are you like/unlike your assigned characters? What traits do you share? What traits are
completely opposite from you? Would people who know you agree with your assessment?
·ð How would your characters like living in Norman, NJ? How would your characters dress and
speak differently if they were living here today? (Please utilize a visual aid for this portion of
your project.)
I was pondering investing in some posterboard for the visual aid aspect of our presentation when I
realized Trip was taking an awfully long time in the bathroom.
Oh, dear God. Please tell me he s not pooping in there.
My suspicions turned out to be unfounded when I heard a noise coming from down the hall.
I moved down the hallway to my bedroom where I saw Trip standing at my dresser, giving the once-
over to all of my things.
Thank God I made my bed that morning, but what if he d gone snooping through my dressers or
something? I had a brief recollection of the set of pink, flowery, days-of-the-week cotton panties that
were shoved to the back of my undies drawer. I never wore them, but couldn t bring myself to throw
them away. They were a gift the past Christmas from my Aunt Eleanor, who always used the excuse of
having four sons to buy the cutesiest, girliest things possible for me. They were so, so, so very uncool.
My reputation would have been destroyed.
What are you doing?
He looked up just then and smiled. Just checking out your room. It s the best way to get to know
someone, don t you think?
Yeah, I guess. Or, you know, maybe you could just ask them stuff.
I watched as he ignored me and picked up one of my glass atomizers. He gave a quick squirt of
Anais Anais in the air and took a sniff. Nice. He put the bottle down and rifled through a dish of
change, coming up with a guitar pick. He held it up, impressed. This yours?
Yeah, right. My cousin Jack tried to teach me only a million times, but I was a total sped. I could
never get my fingers to bend just the right way and it got so frustrating that I decided it just wasn t
worth it. Nope. My cousin s.
He tossed the pick back into the dish before noticing my jewelry box. He ran a finger across the
intricate lid, saying, This is pretty awesome, all the carvings. It looks old.
It is. I don t know what prompted me to continue, but I added, It was my mother s.
Trip s hand stopped over the engraved surface. He didn t look up as he asked, Was?
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