Mikayla Alexander: Thursday Afternoon

“What are you thinking about?” Cici asked Paul. I tried once again to try and read him. Useless. Nothing. I liked not knowing what he was thinking all the time, but sometimes I wish I could know.

Yeah right you’re thinking about nothing with that goofy grin on your face. Probably thinking about her.

What was Cici thinking? Who was ‘her’ and why would Paul be thinking about this person? “Um,” I was flustered. My friend had made me flustered. I hated being flustered but even more I hated feeling like I didn’t know what was going on.

“I thought you liked the guy?” Paul asked after my motor mouth worked on its own. I don’t even know how I function sometimes—I mean my mouth just starts spewing out words while I’m internalizing thoughts. It’s really something amazing, at least I think so.

“I do, but do you realize what will happen if they become serious?” I asked, because really I did like the guy. He’s been the best boyfriend to my mother—he is the best boyfriend at least from all her previous ones. So don’t get me wrong, the guy is the nicest man on the planet. The only real things I know about him are that he has three kids and that his wife left him when the third child was only one. Witch. I would call her something else that rhymes with that but my mother hates it when I swear, but even more Paul never swears; he gets angry when Cici does it, so I’ve tried to stop the habit. Not like I’m totally cured. Anyway, where were we?

“What will happen? More importantly, what are you afraid is going to happen?” Paul asked me.

“What if…what if by chance they do get serious—he lives in Kentucky! What, I’m just supposed to move to fu—freakin’ Kentucky?” I was getting upset now—I hated the thought of moving. But more importantly I hated the thought of losing my best friends.

“You wouldn’t lose us, Mickey,” Paul said placing his hand on my shoulder. Why was it that every time he touched me my skin burned underneath his touch? And how was it that he knew what I was feeling? It seems he does that a lot—knows my feelings, I mean. Not all the time, just sometimes, especially when I’m upset. Actually, come to think of it, the only times he really knows exactly how I’m feeling is when I’m upset.

“It’s probably not even what she wants to talk to you about,” Cici tried but failed at calming my nerves. At least I hope it’s not about that; I mean what other important thing would her mom need to talk to Kayla about?

I just looked at Cici—I didn’t even try and argue with her. It was futile. I just nodded then turned my attention back to the one person I couldn’t hear internally. “Give me a ride home?”

“Of course—you know we really need to share the driving responsibility. I’ve driven all this week,” Paul complained even though I knew he was joking. He drove a new 2008 Mustang, black, for god’s sakes! I love his car—I mean it’s my dream car and Paul—my best friend, Paul—drives the damn thing. You want to know what I drive? Actually I don’t want to tell you because it’s silly compared to the Mustang.

“Come on Mickey, your Honda Fit is not that bad.” How did he know that? I’m just going to stop questioning him. Now I know how Cici feels when I vocalize her thoughts.

“I know, but the Mustang is just so awesome—and it’s even more fun when you let me drive it,” I smiled hopefully at him. He gave me a look I couldn’t quite decipher.

“You can drive today.”

I squealed—well what else would you have done—and hugged him before grabbing my bag and taking his hand in mine and pulling him down the hallway.

“Bye Cici—see you tomorrow!” I called back to her.

“Have fun!” I heard her yell. Aw, they’re so cute.

What?

Paul Mannford: Thursday Afternoon

She smiled at me—a smile that reached her eyes. Her eyes twinkle when she smiles like that—when she’s really happy. How could I not let her drive my car? It was rather unfair—I mean it was her dream car.

Before we got our cars last year we used to have to drive my mother’s old mini van. Let’s just say, that didn’t help our popularity. Mickey’s mom knew she wanted a Mustang, but deciding to go with an economically cheaper car that had more miles to the gallon she bought Mickey a Fit. It was a pretty sweet car—I mean it was small, but fast and had all the new and coolest features inside. Anyway, after my mom heard about the Fit she decided to buy me a Mustang—I’m not sure why, maybe she thought Mickey would appreciate at least knowing one of us would have a Mustang. I wanted a BMW. Mickey wouldn’t talk to me for a couple of days. It wasn’t until I told her she could drive it when she wanted and that we could carpool to school, she finally agreed that she was being stubborn.

She squealed and hugged me after I told her she could drive my car—right here in the hallway. It brought me out of my stupor and automatically I smiled—I loved it when she hugged me. She doesn’t do it too often anymore.

She took my hand and began pulling me down the hallway yelling something back to Cici—I was too absorbed in how our hands fit perfectly in the others.

“Keys?” she asked. She dropped my hand and held it out to me. “Paul?”

“Huh?” I was flustered! “Oh, right.” –how lame was that?– I pulled out my keys and gave them to her. We walked up to the car and put our stuff in the back then both climbed inside.

She turned the car on and before doing anything else she began to shuffle through my CD’s. “Mickey, what are you doing?” I knew what she was doing—looking for the CD mix she had made and put in my car. It had her favorites on it.

“Where’s my CD mix I keep in your car—I don’t know how you can listen to some of these CD’s.”

“Just because you like country and pop doesn’t mean I can’t like classical and jazz.”

“I like classical too, but I need a beat right now and Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’ is not going to give it to me.”

“Your CD is still in the player,” I conceded. I knew when I was defeated. Besides it wasn’t a bad mix.

“Wait, did you say still in there?” she looked at me.

“Yes.” What else was I supposed to do?

“You like it,” she teased. “You like my CD mix.”

“Just because it’s still in the machine doesn’t mean I was listening to it.”

“Paul, you dropped me off yesterday at the store. You hate not listening to something while you drive.”

“Fine,” I was frustrated. She caught me. “I like it. It’s hard not to when I hear it so often.”

“You like my songs—you like my mix,” she smiled and turned on the CD player, “I’m going to have to make you another one.”

I tried to hide my smile. I liked to think the songs she chose for the first mix had a hidden meaning behind them and that the new mix she would make me would somehow be similar. I know it’s stupid. I can dream, though, can’t I?

And yes, before you call me a pansy or anything else that may start with the letter ‘P’—I am a hopeless romantic. A girl thing, right? I know, but it’s not my fault I have this amazing ability to pick up on others feelings. My mother was—well still is I think—a romantic. Nana too, she loves talking about things her husband did for her while they were married. I never knew Grandpa Jones, but I’ve heard plenty of stories to feel like I knew him.

So when I say I’m a hopeless romantic—it’s true. I really am hopeless. I’ve been around people who are romantics too long to try and not be one. It’s in me now, no turning back.

“I love this song,” Mikayla exclaimed when Taylor Swift’s “Our Song” came on. I turned to look at her and smiled as she sang along. She had a gorgeous voice—even if she thought differently. I loved this song too, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

“Come on, Paul, sing with me. I know you know the words,” she laughed.

“Mickey, it’s a girl song. I’m not going to sing with you.”

“You have a wonderful voice. I love hearing you sing,” she said and I couldn’t fight the smile that appeared on my face.

“You know, you aren’t bad either—I like listening to you,” I finally said.

“Fine,” she sighed but smiled as she began to sing the last verse and chorus. I couldn’t help but laugh when she turned and started singing to me.

“Are you laughing at me Paul Lukas Mannford?” she laughed too.

“No, you’re cute is all—I mean when you do that,” I stumbled over my words.

She smiled at me and just as the song finished we pulled into my driveway.

“Thanks for letting me drive,” she said getting out of the car.

I followed suit and stepped out with my backpack. She tossed the keys to me and I just barely caught them. “Yeah, sure. Anytime, remember?”

“Tomorrow?”

“You want to drive my car or yours?”

“Um, let’s take yours—I want to drive the cool car for the last day of classes before we go on spring break.”

“Sure, sounds good. Just try to be a little earlier than today.”

“We had plenty of time. It’s not my fault that after dropping me off you had to speed back home to get your physics homework.”

I shook my head and waved back to her as she turned back towards her house and walked away.

Mikayla Grace Alexander: Thursday Afternoon

He shook his head at me. I couldn’t tell if he was frustrated at me or just playing with me, so I turned around and walked across the street to my house. I didn’t even bother waving back—I mean I would see him tomorrow anyway.

Besides I was too worried about what my mother wanted to talk to me about. I opened the front door and took my shoes off—family rule.

“Honey, is that you?” my mother called. She was in the downstairs office—or at least what was supposed to be an office. We used it mostly for storage. I wondered what she was doing in there. “Mikayla can you come in here—I’m in the office.”

I set my backpack down and walked to the room at my mother’s request. “What are you doing in here, mom?”

“Trying to clear the room out.”

“What, why?” I didn’t understand.

“Nana’s going to move in here.”

“Why? She’s perfectly happy in the master bedroom.” I really didn’t understand now. Nana had always been in the master bedroom. After my father died, Nana moved in with us. My mother insisted that Nana stay downstairs so she wouldn’t have to trek up and down the stairs. My mother moved upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms—I mean we had four rooms upstairs.

“Honey, that’s what I want to talk to you about. Let’s go into the living room.”

“Just tell me, mom. I can handle it. I mean we’re not moving or anything so I can handle anything else you throw at me.”

“Well, it’s just that…the thing is—Honey, John asked me to marry him.”

I looked at her for a good minute, just starring.

“Honey, say something.”

“But…but you just said Nana was moving into the study—we can’t be moving!”

“I never said we were moving, Mikayla. And yes, I did say Nana was moving in here. Kayla,” she said more tenderly. “John proposed and I accepted.”

“But…but…” I was at a loss for words. “What does this mean?” I finally managed.

“We talked about it and decided that it would be easier for his family to relocate here. His children are home schooled and his house is smaller than ours and I have the store to think about.”

“But…I…when?”

My mother looked down at the box she was looking through—she didn’t even look at me. Oh my god—that only meant one thing. “Next week.”

I nearly fainted on the spot. Mind you, I’ve never actually fainted before. I’ve always wanted to though. I know that if I ever do, it’s going to be one of those not so graceful faints where I land smack dab on the ground—with no prince charming to catch me when I fall. I’d probably end up with a concussion or something; maybe even a broken bone or two.

“Honey, what are you thinking? Tell me. I want to know.”

“Next week!” I screamed. I mean I didn’t mean to scream it just sort of came out that way. “Next week! Are you crazy? They’re coming next week?!”

“Actually they arrive in two days—,”

“Two days!” My mother and her boyfriend—no her fiancé—were crazy. “You’re crazy! Two days—how do you suppose we are going to fit? Two days!” I was still caught up on the two days part—if you couldn’t tell. I mean seriously—who decides to get married and then move their whole family in two days. Okay, so maybe they had started planning while she was still there, but to just notify me two days prior is crazy. You do not just spring this upon a person. You let that person adjust to the idea first—especially if that person happens to be me. I’m not that emotional, but when I do get emotional all hell breaks loose. This is probably why my mom didn’t want to tell me over the phone. And probably why she shouldn’t have just sprung this on me two days before—forgive me for saying—the circus arrived.

“Honey, calm down—,” Oh no, that was not the right thing to say to me—even Paul knows not to say this to me. “I didn’t mean that, Mikayla.”

“Calm down? Calm down? I am not going to calm down. You spring this on me two days before they are going to move in—two days, mother—and you’re asking me to calm down?” I didn’t know what else to do so I screamed.

“Mikayla Grace Alexander you will stop that this instant!” she yelled over my screaming. By this time Nana had arrived on the scene.

“What’s all the ruckus?” she asked when I finally stopped screaming.

“You’re grand daughter is being childish about this.”

“Dear, you tell your daughter you are getting married and that they are moving in two days from now—did you even mention that the wedding was next Saturday?”

“What?” I practically screamed again. “Next Saturday? How can you have a fucking wedding in seven days? You’re crazy—John’s crazy! You’re all crazy!” I yelled.

“I guess you hadn’t mentioned that. Well, Patricia—you asked for this when you decided to say yes to the man.”

“When did he even propose to you?” I asked. I couldn’t think of anything else. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know what she was going to say. “When?” I demanded.

My mother looked away again. Oh god. She always looked away from me when she was trying to tell me something difficult or something she knew would make me upset. Like the time she told me about my father. She looked away. “Two months ago.”

“What? You fucking accepted two months ago?”

“Mikayla, please refrain from swearing.”

“You want me to refrain from swearing when you have been fucking lying to me for two months. You have to be shitting me! Seriously mother—what were you thinking? What in hell were you thinking?” Okay I have to admit I was just laying it on thick because she told me to stop swearing. I wouldn’t have been so vulgar had she refrained from making her comment.

“Alright, I deserve this,”

“Damn right you do—I hate this fucking situation. Am I even going to have my own room? Do I have to share it with one of his damn children?”

“John’s children are very sweet—I will not tolerate you referring to anyone in such a way.”

“I hate this! Dammit!”

“Mikayla, stop it!” She said harshly.

That was the last straw. Did she really expect me to listen to her? How could I, she had just told me my whole world was going to change and in a matter of only two days! So I screamed again. “I hate this! I hate you!” I screamed and knocked one of the large boxes to the ground it landed with a loud crash and I ran out of the room and up the stairs to my room. I could care less about the boxes in the downstairs study. They were all things from before my father died. I didn’t care. I didn’t. Besides I took the things I really wanted when my mom first packed them away. Now the only thing on my mind was the fact that our house would be filled with people I didn’t even know in two days…that I was expected to like them, that they were going to be my new step-family by Saturday.

I thought things couldn’t get worse—but I was wrong, like I always am.