A/N: I do not own Girl Meets World, the characters, the locations, the songs, and the quotes mentioned. But I do own this plot.
I put a spell on you
Because you're mine
You better stop the things you do
I tell ya I ain't lyin'
I ain't lyin'
You know I can't stand it
You're runnin' around
You know better daddy
I can't stand it 'cause you put me down
Oh no
- I Put A Spell On You; Annie Lennox
"Wonder is that possession of the mind that enchants the emotions while never surrendering reason. It is a grasp on reality that does not need constant high points in order to be maintained, nor is it made vulnerable by the low points of life's struggle."
- Ravi Zacharias
Chapter Two: Effects
If tension was all that it took for me to become a track star, I should have used that as my motivation back in high school when Riley forced me to try out for sports, saying extracurricular activities in my transcript would seem impressive for college administrators.
As soon as the elevator doors opened on the main floor, I raced towards the wide glass that would lead me to my desired freedom and suddenly I find myself standing in the spotlight of the daylight of New York City. Raising my head, I embraced the warm, polluted air as I tried to ease down the pounding of my heart and think about everything that happened back in the office, every emotion that went through me.
It has been a long time since a man managed to rattle me up in the way that Lucas Friar has, and it bewildered me that it did happen. He wasn't even that interesting to begin with. Yes, he did have green eyes that held an intensity so enticing. Yes, his smile was charming. Yes, he was quite powerful through wealth and intelligence. And yes, he does dress in sharp suits that make him seem tempting, but I've seen men who held some of these traits and I never felt like the wind was knocked out of me like he did.
What the hell is going on with me? Hormones, perhaps? I suppose my period could be coming two weeks sooner now. I tend to be out of whack when my time comes.
I shake my head as a way to gather up my thoughts before I head over to my car.
Riley always said I drove crazily like those NASCAR drivers and I never cared, Surprisingly, a cop never pulled me over for going above the speed limit but I never pushed my luck. I cranked up the radio and listened to my Nirvana album while bobbing my head to the drum beats, ignoring the constant honking horns and obnoxious yelling from the other drivers or pedestrians who were cursing me out.
The engine of my car rattled its way to turn the corner that I use as a shortway to my house and I released a relieved, easy breath. This old, beat-up yet magnificent car still somehow managed to have some juice in her to make quick journeys like this. I would have to send her over to Brandon to check on her and give her a tune up. He thinks I should trash it and buy a new car, perhaps one of the newest models, but he didn't understand that this is one of the many things I have to my father.
Brandon is a mechanic who I went to school with and was my detention buddy. My family met him one afternoon when we left to my work from school and he instantly bonded with Shawn. He hoped that I'd somehow end up together with Brandon since he approved of him already due to his knowledge in cars, technology, and in robotics but it never happened. We tried going out on one date and we realized we could never see each other differently when we tried to kiss goodbye at the end of the night. It was awkward. It felt like incest, is what Brandon said, and I agreed.
We stayed as close friends after that and no complications followed.
As I drove, I decided to take a quick detour and took a sharp right, my tires squealing in delight by the burn of rubber. My stomach was giving me complaining growls. I haven't eaten much this morning. There wasn't a good restaurant nearby within my radius and the only one I could think of that makes some edible meals comes across me on this particular road.
Along the way, I thought about the interview with remorse. I felt foolish and somewhat humiliated with the way I left things with Mr. Friar. That cactus-pete-huckleberry-horseback-riding-ranger-rick. He was so annoying. Everything I said would either amuse him or give him absolute pleasure to see me trying hard to counter him. Then he would be cover it all up with such manners and a polite smile, offering me a tour to his exquisite company building, as if he was the perfect gentlemen, acting like he wasn't getting on my nerves before. I would understand that he has his reasons for being so cocky because he has achieved so much in little time at a young age unlike people like me who have to work in minimum wage and pay college classes out of pocket for the sake of reaching a career goal, but I really wanted to smack his smirk off his face.
But then again, I did manage to throw him off a couple of times when I asked him if he was gay or questioned him of his adoption. I grinned at that small victory but then it slipped once I remembered that his answered were too cryptic for me to take satisfaction out of. I growled in irritation. Damn you, Ranger Rick. Every time I think about his reactions, I feel disgruntled. It wasn't enough to my liking.
I turned the volume up to the max, letting the thumping bass of the drums thrum throughout my car, and I stepped down on the accelerator.
The place was called Nighthawk Diner.
I used to go here when I was a little girl. During those days before I met Riley, I'd sit in the booths on the corner, playing with any loose change I'd find on the floor or folding the napkins in odd shapes I could think of. I would even strike up a conversation with some of the elders who would sit alone in the booth ahead of me or eat at the counter while watching my mother shoot in and out of the kitchen door with the same tray.
It had been a simpler time for the both of us. We didn't live in the best place, we didn't have the best things, and we weren't the best people to be friends with but we somehow made it work to be at ease with the life we were stuck in.
I was parked across from the place and stared at it with sorrowful eyes. This place changed my life drastically. At least for the better. If it weren't for this place, I don't think my mother or I would have gotten to the place where we are. But it doesn't change the fact that it held ghosts from my past that tend to haunt me whenever I pass by it. I don't know why I come back here once in awhile when it gives me this dispiriting effect at the sight of it and those memories come rushing back to me, reminding me of that dark dungeon of helpless hope and gloom I used to reside in.
I sucked in a huge breath before I unbuckled and climbed out of the car. I had to quickly tumble back into the seat when a bicyclist zoomed past me. I grabbed the first thing I reached for, in this case, a used comb from the bottom of my seat, and took aim before I pitched it at his head. I was proud to say that I got the mark; the bicyclist tumbled onto the pavement, his legs tangled with the pedals.
I left him like that with a proud smile and crossed the street to the diner. I clutched on my leather jacket, an instinct for me to pull close something of Shawn to keep me at ease, as my legs carried me through the front door and I was taken back in time to an era where a routine was the only way to live and images defined a person. The diner never changed; it held a 90's vibe with little tables, the red leather stools and chairs, the posters of barbeque meals, a small order window behind the counter and a shelf of dishes beneath it. I could smell the odor of greasy burgers being fried and hear the sound of french fries being made behind that little window. There many locals occupying booths or separate tables. The waitresses were conversing with some of them or with each other by the door to the kitchen.
Some of the men looked up at me upon my entrance and immediately started to murmur to each other while glancing at me from the corner of their eyes as I walked up to the counter. I was used to it. I already know what they're talking about. The one with the ragged beanie is encouraging his friend with the weird afro to come talk to me and try to seduce me to come back to his home. This isn't the first time they tried.
Despite this, I didn't let it get to me. One of the waitresses acknowledged me and let me know she would be over in a couple of minutes. I opened the ripped, plastic menu and perused the choices even though I already know what I want. I always order the same thing every time.
When the waitress came over, she gave me a forced smile, her lips covered in a gloss too glittery. Her hair was multi-colored, tied in a high ponytail, and her uniform was the same teal color when my mother used to wear it except this girl's shirt was too tight enough to rival against Dolly Parton. I wasn't judgemental but that doesn't mean I didn't like her choice to wear it and I smiled back either way.
"What can I get you?" she asked.
"I'll just get a tuna melt," I said.
"Sure thing," she said, scribbling it down on her notepad. She poured me a glass of water and hurried off to the small window.
I flipped open a New York Daily News I saw abandoned on the stool beside me while I waited and looked at the entertainment section. I don't really like reading the news or watching it because there is always something drastic and depressing going on but it is a lot better than reading the unnecessary high school drama of celebrities and Hollywood in general. I could never understand why they need to put their personal issues to the media or why people need to expose people's privacy like that. I don't understand why Riley is studying journalism if it means being a sleaze.
I flipped the page and I almost ripped it in two at the image; it was Lucas Friar taking up two pages for a full body picture. He wasn't smiling - he was more like smoldering. He was wearing a fancy suit with an expensive Rolex shining in bright silver and his brown-blonde hair groomed neatly, and the light of the photography really lets his tan skin glisten well. Then there is his eyes. His very, very, very green eyes. They were staring directly at the camera with an impassive glint, his emotions an enigma to me.
I bit my lip. Even though I see him as a pompous douche, it doesn't change the fact that he is utterly gorgeous. No wonder he was voted most eligible bachelor four years straight. He probably knows the advantage he has, being rich and handsome, so I can imagine how many women flung themselves at them and he would bring them home. He does seem like the kind of guy to do that but then the way how he was be cordial with me at times would shatter that image I have for him.
I flipped the page again and perused through the sports section, trying to distract myself from my progressing thoughts about a pretentious billionaire. Another waitress came back with my food then. As I tossed the newspaper to the side and she set the plate down in front of me, I saw her eyeing me speculatively.
"You okay, hun?" she asked.
"I'm fine," I told her as I gathered the sandwich from the plastic plate and took a large bite. I savored the taste of tuna, onion, mayonnaise, and celery - it is just like the way I remembered. I could even taste the cheddar cheese in the mix.
The waitress flipped a towel over her shoulder and leaned against the counter. "Now, you know I don't believe that, Maya. You don't normally come here unless you got something in your mind. Is it your father again?"
"You know I haven't spoken to that bastard in years, Heather," I murmured.
"Then does it have to do with Riley?" she asked. "How she been?"
"She caught the flu," I said. "I had to fill in for her today for an interview she's been working on months to arrange."
"You want me to make some of my famous tomato-chicken soup?" she insisted politely. "You know that used to help you get better in a nick of time and you'd ask for more because it was that damn good. I remember your mother used to always ask me for the recipe."
"If you could make a quick batch, I'd really appreciate it," I said. "She's been hacking her lungs out all morning and I'd really like not to have to see her breakfast the second time around."
Heather laughed. "Alright, sweetheart."
She turned and left to the kitchen again, leaving me alone in my thoughts once more as I continued to eat my tuna melt. It helped keep my nerves calm. It hardly mattered it was diner food. It certainly didn't beat Topanga's home cooked meals but it was something I've grown addicted to from my childhood. So I ate it ravenously.
Unfortunately, my moment of paradise soon ended as the same guy with the weird afro came to sit on the stool next to me and gave me, in what he thinks in his mind to be, a suggestive grin but it made me roll my eyes and kept on finishing my sandwich.
"So, come around here often, beautiful?" he asked.
"You should know," I snorted. "You and your buddy over there always watch me when I come here."
He tried to do a husky chuckle, though, it sounded like a choked gurgle. I rolled my eyes and took a sip of my water before I continued to eat my sandwich. The guy seemed put off by my lack of reaction to his so-called laughter and cleared his throat as he inched closer to me. If he dares to touch my hand, I'll bend his fingers over his knuckles.
"So, I was thinking," he started with a sly grin, his tone suggestive. Oh, he has a brain to think with. That's a shocker.
"Maybe you and I could go to this nice bar I know and share a couple of drinks. It's not too far from here."
Translation: Let's go to the bar where I can get you drunk enough to not seem me slip you a rohypnol and take advantage of you in bed so I can tell my obnoxious friends that I got to smash you like I'm some sort of legend. I snorted. Men. One of the many things I hated most in my old neighborhood - all the guys here are like little hungover boys who like to think they're grown men. Their poor pea brains.
"No thanks," I said.
"C'mon baby," he urged, moving his stool closer to me to have our arms brushing and shoulders grazing. "I promise to give you a good time."
I continued to ignore him. I was more focused on the tuna melt. It gives me more satisfaction than this guy thinks he could. It makes me happy. I take another bite out of it to enjoy that bliss.
"So what do you say?" he persisted.
He did the worst and reached over to try to take my hand in his and it made me drop my sandwich, causing all the contents inside to spill out onto my shirt. On. My. Leather. Jacket.
Silence fell over the diner. Conversations halted as heads turned and eyes settled on us. Some of them were dumbfounded while others were staring at the guy in dread. Some of them must know about my history. Their stares made the tension reach newer heights and I could feel my temper begin to boil.
I gasped in dread and quickly reached for the napkins to clean it off before it leaves a stain on the material.
"Whoa!" He quickly standing from the stool to avoid some of the dripping contents and swipe the tiny breadcrumbs from his pants.
Once I was sure that there was nothing left on the jacket and my other clothes, I tossed the napkin aside and glared up at the guy. It must have been the most heinous thing he's seen because he visibly cringed and took a step back out of fear. I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt before he had a chance to flee and tugged him forward, the tips of our noses grazed against each other. I nearly retched on the spot when I could smell the garlic scent on his breath. If this guy managed to get girls in his bed, I am ashamed to be in the same species as those women.
"Listen to me, you piece of rat shit. I don't want to have sex with you, I will never have sex with you. Knowing you thought you could even seduce me to have sex with you and dared to come over here to pursue me is the most pathetic thing you've ever done. So I suggest you leave me alone unless you want me to leave you emotionally damaged when you walk out of here. Understand?"
With wide, fearful eyes, the guy nodded his head rapidly, a light whimper escaping from his trembling lips. I smirked delightfully. Men. They boast out in pride until someone grabs them below the belt and makes them their bitch. I roughly shoved him to where his terrified friend is watching, almost tipping over their table, and I go back to cleaning up the mess of a sandwich that I am now mourning over. It was no ordinary sandwich - it was a perfect sandwich. I could hear the two imbeciles sputtering and later took off out of the diner.
A few minutes later, Heather came back from the kitchen, holding a bag, and she stopped on the spot when she saw me gathering the pieces of the sandwich onto the plate with a huff.
"What the hell happened here?" she asked as she placed the bag on the counter and took the plate from me.
"A fuckboy incident," I grumbled. I eyed the bag. "Is that the soup?"
"Yes." She pushed it towards me and I took it. "There's two containers in there. Tell Riley to take two small bowls a day and to heat it under thirty-five seconds. It should help her clear up within forty-eight hours."
"Thanks. She'll appreciate it."
I reached in my pocket to leave her the amount I owe but Heather just shook her head and held up her hand.
"Don't worry about it," she said. "It's on the house. Think of it as your reward for scaring away another idiotic customer."
"Thanks." I smirked. I still reached in my pocket and left her a twenty-dollar tip. I know she needed the money way more than I do now.
I turned and walked out of the diner without another word. I really wanted to get home and forget about this day.
Riley and I live in a unique apartment that we're lucky to find suitable and within our budget. We were lucky - the landlord was a client to Riley's mother, Topanga, for a case where he thought he was going to lose his position due to a manipulative tenant and when he learned that Riley needed a place to stay for college, he was kind to lower the price for two. With my job and Riley's, we're practically paying with pebbles and gum so it was a lifesaver for us. The place turned out to be a nice home for the past four years. But it won't top our last home with the Matthews because it held a lot of memories that are irreplaceable and also with the infamous Bay Window.
That was the only thing we were worried about but we made a misshapen Bay Window in the living room that was enough for us. It wasn't like the original, but it was manageable.
I dragged my hand over my face, pushing it through my hair. I drove through the calmer streets of Greenwich Village, breathing a sigh of relief as I parallel-parked in the corner closest and looked up at the apartment building after I killed the engine. It was decent; the building was timeless, graceful, and seemed a thousand years old. The soft, deep brown brick wall was faded but it was still in well-proportion. Every window looked the same, all from the original structure, except the one that stood out the most with vines and flower pots decorated in the balcony.
Only Riley would make sure it is springtime anytime.
The night was closing in slowly, the fewer stars were coming out, and the streetlights were turning on. After locking my car, I hugged my jacket closer to my body as I walked up the stoned steps of the complex, hearing an irritated screech of an alley cat nearby, and stopped at the porch to rub warmth into my shivering arms before I press the buzzer for Apartment 420. The buzzer to mine was broken and we have to wait for a new maintenance man to be hired since the landlord had to fire the last one for smuggling contraband.
On the fourth floor, Mama Arroyo, a kind, Puerto Rican elderly lady who seem to have been taken by me and Riley, and took care of us in the first few years after we moved here, had offered to be my way into the building. I never got an explanation why she is so caring of us but I accepted it nonetheless because she was great company for when I was lonely and Riley needed to work an extra shift or the other way around.
A loud buzz came after I pressed the button and waited patiently. It was a minute later that I heard the familiar Spanish accent flow through the speaker.
"Hola, Maya."
I smiled and chuckled. She always seems to know it is me.
"Hola, Mama Arroyo," I said fluently. I had taken two years of Spanish in high school. "Lo siento si te desperté."
"No te preocupes, chica," she said. "Hice un poco de arroz con dulce como tú y Riley les gustan. Se lo di a la loca. Oí que estaba enferma. Si se lo comió todo, todavía tengo un poco de sobras si todavía quieres algo."
The smile grew widely. One of the many reasons why I take pleasure in spending the night in her apartment is because of the dishes she always has prepared. The hallway would always smell delicious of freshly baked sweets and traditional meals from her homeland. She would always make many for everyone in the hallways; we call her Mama Arroyo because of this. She took in the role of a pseudo mother who makes sure we are fed well for the day - no one knows she gives extra to me and Riley.
"¿Has hecho mofongo hoy?" I asked curiously. I couldn't help myself. Mofongo is my favorite dish, third to tuna melt.
"Claro!" she answered enthusiastically. "Date prisa para que pueda comer un poco."
The door buzzed and I was quick to enter the foyer. On my right was an empty reception desk, which doesn't surprise me, and inside the door behind it, I could see shadows moving rapidly and noises. I shivered but tried to not think what the landlord could be doing in there. Whenever his wife comes to visit him at work to 'drop off his lunch' I tend to avoid any uncomfortable encounters. Poor Riley had to walk in on them when she needed someone to fix the buzzer.
The main floor showed a welcoming vibe. Though, it is flawed in some. The small hallway only had a rusty elevator that would break down from time to time and there is a creaky staircase that would shake with the smallest of movements. Not too far from the elevator is a doorway to the waiting room where there is worn couches, a dusty television set that doesn't even work, and a table covered in magazines.
As I walk past it, I was not taken aback to see a group of children laughing constantly while causing a fiasco with silly string and mushes of food as they tossed it across the room, staining their clothes or getting stuck in their hair. The building calls them, The Little Rascals, who were always doing some mischievous stunt in the building because they know when the landlord is preoccupied with his wife.
"Ah!" I gasped when one of the boys, Alfie, had accidentally squirted an amount of syrup across the room and made contact with my face, forcing me to close my eyes to not go blind. Then I glanced at my clothes to see it completely drenched in syrup and smell of pancakes.
I blinked my eyes as I wiped the stickiness away from my eyes then glanced over at the kids with a hard glare and I was pleased to see everyone has stopped their rebellious food fight with a look of fright as they noticed me. They seem to also be trembling as they dropped their mushed food and cans, their eyes widening comically while I took a threatening step towards them.
"Uh oh," said the redhead, Rachel, in fear. Good. She should be. "I-it's Maya!"
"Hello children," I said sweetly with a calm smile. I may have a reputation in my neighborhood from my past as a rebellious delinquent and, although time has passed since I've done anything reckless, it seems to still be remembered even with the younger ones. I always remind these kids nearly every time they cross paths with me and they weirdly admire that too. I never get children.
"W-w-we're so s-sorry, Maya!" squeaked Mitchell. "It...it was an a-accident!"
"Please don't hurt us mentally or emotionally!" added Susan.
I stood there for a moment, increasing the tension and fear in the room for my sick amusement and guilty pleasure, until I crossed my arms and put my weight on one legs as I raised a dangerous brow. A smirk formed when I heard their intake of breath and sensed their discomfort before I said in a low, dangerous voice, "Run."
When they scattered, they looked like a couple of roaches scurrying away from the light and I laughed at how easy they are to scare. Consider me a sick person for finding joy in this.
I later started to climb up the shaky staircase after I heard the noises in the back room abruptly stop - I did not want to be stuck in the elevators for hours again - and because I really wanted to eat some of Mama Arroyo's food. Each floor had an open door or no door at all and I can hear every family or couple talking loudly, some even laughing loudly, probably consumed in alcohol. The night is still young.
Opening the door to the fourth floor, I had to quickly move to the side when a bunch of tittering toddlers came barreling through and were followed by their mother yelling at them with a sandal in hand. Seems like someone is going to get the slap of their childhood. A little bit of Spanish music is heard blaring through the corridors, and some people were seen dancing along with the beats perfectly with their partner, some playing a game of dominoes, and others lounging around drinking bottles of beer.
I observed them as I headed to Apartment 420. These people are staying in such a mediocre place but they live in it like it was their mansion, their palace, with these nightly festivities and get-togethers. On the holidays they would go full out with the traditional food, rum-mixed beverages, games, dances, and jokes. They make it seem like it is not bad to be part of this neighborhood; everybody knew everybody, whether it is from history, family friends, or from encounters. There is hardly bad blood or horrible conflicts between these people - everyone just seem to accept each other easily.
"Mira quien volvió!" a husky voice said gruffly on my left, causing me to smile and playfully roll my eyes as I turned to him. "Maya Papaya!"
"Luis," I greeted with a nod. "How are you?"
Luis Ruiz is one of the kindest men I met in this building. He was in his mid-sixties, widowed, and, despite him denying it, he is starting to show a bit of grey hair. He is always seen sitting on a chair outside of his door and reading a novel. Nobody questioned why he couldn't read inside his home where he could be in peace and quiet from all the ruckus in the hallway - I assume it is because he is lonely and likes it when people greet him or have a small conversation with him.
Luis closed his book after bending the corner of a page he was on and smiled warmly at me. "I've been doing good. How about you? I can see the Rascals got to you again."
I glanced down at the syrup stains and scowled. "Yeah. I let them off easily for now. I'll get back at them when I see them next time."
Luis snickered. "They're just being kids. Remember you used to be like them when you were their age?"
"I was worse," I smirked. I went to lean against the wall next to his chair and stuffed my hands in the pocket of my jacket.
"Oh don't say that," said Luis. "You were just misguided, that's all."
"If you say so," I shrugged. "So what book are you reading this time?"
"It's a nice novel by Stephen Chbosky," he answered, handing me the green novel. "The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Very good book."
"Sounds depressing," I said as I flipped through the pages. "Don't you ever get tired of reading so much? I get a headache just by looking at so many words."
"I assure you that the book is far from depressing, Papaya," he replied, ignoring my question altogether; I guess he doesn't. "It really does change your perspective in how you see things in life. The way how you look at other people won't be the same again. I can honestly say your mindset would be changed."
"I find that unlikely," I snorted as I held the book back to him.
Luis held a hand. "No, you keep it. I read it more than twenty times I could be the narrator of the story. Besides you seem like you need a good book to read tonight - you seem to have a rough night."
"No I haven't."
"Maya, the vein in your forehead says otherwise. It looks like its about to pop any second now."
My hand instantly went up to my face and I can feel the throbbing sensation in my temples. I never knew my frustration could be an open book to others. Perhaps I have been during my walk back home without noticing.
"Rough night?" Luis asked.
I nodded. "The worst so far."
"You want to talk about it?"
I immediately shook my head. I was never good at opening up to other people about my problems or feelings aside from Riley. She is a really good listener and the light in her eyes are what makes me break down my walls around her easily because that was the sign of genuine care and true concern over me.
"I just want to go to bed and sleep it off," I said. "Thank you for the offer."
Luis didn't seem convinced yet he nodded kindly and opened his arms. I silently entered them and laid my head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around me, rubbing my back in a soothing manner that nearly made me tear up a bit. Last time I was close to having a hug from a man was from Riley's pseudo uncle and my stepfather, Shawn Hunter, and I haven't seen him in a while.
"Keep the book, Maya Papaya," Luis whispered in his ear while still rubbing my back. "It might help you in ways you never know."
I pulled back from him, sniffling slightly and gave him a grateful smile as I hugged the book closer to me. "Gracias, Luis. Have a good night."
Luis waved after me as I walked away from him and ventured off to Mama Arroyo's apartment. I had to avoid some of the people who were dancing to the salsa music playing from Apartment 427 and was welcomed back from the other neighbors in sight whilst they watched their children having fun. I kept my gaze down on my feet to avoid theirs in hopes I won't give away my frustration and fiddled with the corners of the book cover. Strands of my hair have fallen forward to conceal my face.
The walk wasn't long until I reached my destination. I went into the apartment like I owned it because the door was open, letting out a whiff of mouth-watery aroma that made my stomach rumble like thunder, and I could see some of the regular neighbors are loitering around the living room, watching an NBA game on television. The apartment still looked the same as the other times I visited; the first door on the right in the hallway leads to Mama Arroyo's bedroom, the kitchen was an opened view with a small, round dining table in the right corner large enough to fit five people. At the back on the left of the kitchen was the laundry room.
I spent so much time in this apartment. It was a second home to me before the Matthew's came into my life.
I walked into the kitchen and saw Mama Arroyo walking around, searching through different ingredients as the skillet on the hot stove sizzled loudly, the steam containing the wonderful scent of many dishes being cooked. I leaned against the doorframe while I watched her in amusement, a lazy grin never leaving my face as she raced around the kitchen, oblivious of my presence. Even though my stomach was pleading for food, I couldn't help from watching her scatter - this is the only time I can see someone cook in my side of the city.
The bitter and emotional atmosphere left outside of these walls, tucking me away safely within them and now I was embracing the freedom of the live area, my mood lightened slightly as the weight of the dreadful interview was somewhat lifted from my shoulders. It was still around me, in the back of my mind, and I knew I still had much to discuss, to figure out, later on, but I was enjoying the moment of normalcy.
"Hola, Maya," said Mama Arroyo, shocking me at the fact she even knew I was there to begin with and because she had her back facing me the entire time. "Espero que tengas un gran apetito. Hice unos deliciosos platos de pasteles y tembleque. El mofongo y el arroz con dulce es en el microonda."
"¿Cómo sabías que yo estaba aquí?" I asked as I walked closer to her and gave her a hug around her shoulders from behind then gave her a peck on the cheek. "Casi hice ruido."
"Tu perfume," she answered. "Ha comido?"
"Un poco en el restaurante."
"Come más. No voy a dejar que te quedas con la mitad de un estómago."
Mama Arroyo pointed her spatula towards the microwave and gave me a stern raised eyebrow over her shoulder. She meant well whenever she gave me that look; she usually uses it when I am being unhealthy and difficult.
I laughed lightly then went to get my food out of the microwave and sat down at the dining table. At the first bite of the mofongo, I moaned in delight at the flavor melting all over my tongue and the thunder of my stomach ceased as I continued to shovel more food into my mouth.
"Desde cuando lees libros?" Mama Arroyo asked over the sizzling of the skillet and howling of the living room. I glanced at the book she was referring to next to my plate before I went back to my dinner.
"Es de Luis," I answered after I swallowed. "Él me lo presto a leer pero creo que lo voy a regresar a él más tarde. No soy mucho de una persona de lectura. Yo prefiero los libros con fotos."
Mama Arroyo paused from watching over the stove to approach me at the table and took the book, observing the cover thoroughly. Then she chuckled humorlessly, shaking her head with an amused smile before she settled the book back down.
"Las ventajas de ser tímido. Ai, ese Luis," she sighed. "Siempre ha leído las novelas extraños que encuentra. ¿Por qué se le da a este uno en particular?"
"En realidad, no se," I shrugged. "Dijo que me ayudaría."
Mama Ortiz raised a quizzical brow. "¿Tiene problemas?"
I waved her off. "No hay nada que no puedo manejar."
"Será mejor que no estar en problemas tan serio. Usted vino muy lejos de la forma que estaba cuando salía con esas chicas terribles," she stated as she went back to her stove when the sizzling has simmered down.
I stopped from shoving another mouthful of mofongo in my mouth when she mentioned that and I stayed frozen in dismay at the fact that she could easily mention about my past friendships like it was yesterday. I stared at her back wondering if she thought I could effortlessly revert back to my old habits if I wanted to and if I should take her fear in consideration about myself.
I wanted to ask Mama Arroyo whether she thought the change of me to be possible, whether I could be the same way I used to be, and if she really is scared that I will be that way ever again. But I couldn't; a loud commotion was heard coming from the living room and Mama Arroyo was already stomping her way in there with a spatula in hand and shouting out words that would make anyone blush in embarrassment. It certainly made me do it.
So I quietly kept eating, lost in my thoughts, cringing at the loud scolding going on behind me, and along the way, I couldn't stop staring at the book Luis lend me. As I chewed I held it in front of me, pondering why he even gave it to me. What affect would this book give me? Books never interested me, Luis knew that, yet he thought this one would pique mine. I suppose it has since I am curious about it and want to know what it is about that has him reading it so much. From the title, it sounds like the most dull and depressing story written in all of mankind but Luis is a good man and he lives his life without a regret in his day so I doubt the book is what I think it is.
Just because something is wrapped up all pretty, doesn't mean it is, I could hear Matthew's voice recite the same words he said during the Ancient Greece lesson back in middle school. Perhaps I should give the book a quick peek before I judge. But not tonight - I just want a warm bath and a deep sleep. I have a big migraine.
So I took a couple more bites of my dinner, threw away the scraps in the garbage, and cleaned the dishes before I left the apartment after bidding a farewell to Mama Arroyo and thanking her for the meal. Mine was not far from hers. It was a couple of feet away from the tiny party so I know the noises won't bother me in my sleep. I jiggled the doorknob a little then turned and pushed the door open.
I spotted Riley sitting in the couch. She was still wearing her baggy pink flannel pajamas with purple hats wearing fedora hats, the kind she has reserved for movie nights, ill days, and lazy weekends. She was also surrounded by mountains of books. She was obviously cramming in for her finals.
"Honey, I'm home!" I announced. "And I brought the cure!"
"Peaches! You're back!"
Riley literally dropped everything she was doing to hop over the back of the couch and bounds up to me to capture me in a tight hug.
"I thought you'd be back sooner. I was getting worried."
"Trust me, I tried to get over with that interview."
I handed her the bag containing all of her stuff and made my way to the kitchen to place the bag on the counter. Riley followed me and spilled out the contents from the bag, letting out a squeal of delight as she went through the notes I had written down for her and hearing the interview in the recorder.
"Maya, thank you so much for doing this. I love you - I love you - I love you - I love you so much, you know!" she cheered; she went back to the couch to gather up her pen and notebook then came back to the kitchen to start frantically scribbling in her transcribed version of it all. "This is great!"
As she spoke, I approached her from the other side of the counter and started to place my hand on her face to measure her temperature. She felt less hot now. Based on how she looked prior to this morning, the color of her cheeks returned and she seemed peppier than usual. She was more Riley-peppy.
"Have you been taking your medicine?" I said. "I stopped on the way and got some soup that will get you better by tomorrow."
"My nose isn't as stuffy as it was and it doesn't hurt to sneeze anymore," she answered, still writing down the interview.
"Make sure to take some more before you go to bed tonight. Or I'll force feed you."
I went to place the containers in the fridge and then went to the laundry room. Once I got the washing machine started, I slowly shrug off my leather jacket and mournfully looked at it in my hands with a pout. It has been spattered and splashed on by ignorant little boys. I stuffed it in the washing machine, slammed the lid closed, and pressed the START button, hoping that all the stains of this unlikely day would be gone.
I went back to the fridge to pull out an aluminum foil-covered plate, which I assume to be more of Mama Arroyo's dish, and placed it in the microwave to heat it up. Thirty-seven seconds later, I was sitting on a stool by the counter, eating a recently hot place of Puerto Rican delights and flipped through any magazine we got in the mail today. I shuffled through the pile until I found mine - Aesthetica. There is nothing better than European art. Most of other magazines are Elle, Vogue, Cosmopolitan, and Seventeen - these were Riley's.
I couldn't concentrate on the article because I could hear Riley muttering under her breath, commenting once in a while about the interview, and I couldn't drown myself in Ricardo Bofill's inspiring purpose on La Muralla Roja knowing Riley was hearing every word of what I said considered disrespectful to the Lucas Friar and which I might get an earful for later. It made me cringe thinking about it. I peered up at her, watching her reaction.
"I wish you could have taken photos," she sighed as she continued to write what she deemed worthy for her project. "Having a fresh photo would make it seem more authentic instead of the constantly used ones from the Internet."
Photos? You couldn't pay me all the money in the world to take a snap of him. Which is weird considering photography is one of the many classes I am taking for my major. But the difference is I can choose what I should take a picture of with a passion as endless as the sky and doing a photoshoot with Lucas Friar would be the end of my patience. The interview was as infuriating enough. Just the thought of taking extra time of my youth to waste it on him makes me want to rip my hair out. I just wish I could erase the image of those gorgeous green emerald eyes staring at me from the back of my head.
"Wow, you even asked him things I didn't even think about - good thinking, Maya," she praised before adding, "Although, was it necessary to ask him if he was gay?"
"Like you weren't wondering," I grunted.
Riley paused on the recorder yet continued to write. "It is a nice information to learn but not really a necessity for the article." She bit her lip. "Judging from his way of speaking, he sounds charming as he looks but he also sounds a little...um…presumptuous."
Oh no - I know eventually her curiosity would get the better of her. I decided to play the dumb blonde card and pretend that I didn't hear her as I flipped through the magazine pages. Then I closed it abruptly and tossed it to the side. Even if I focused on abstract or body art, I couldn't shake the thought of him. It was pathetic. He wasn't anything special. Just some big top businessman who thinks he's the king of the world and the man of every woman's dream. Sounds like all the boys I come across with except this one is actually successful.
"Maya! Earth to Maya!" Riley was waving her hands in the air. By practically living under the same roof as her since childhood, it was hard to avoid bubbly and persistent attitude. "Can you hear me or are you deep in the heart of Mayaville?"
"Too close," I mumbled as I pushed her back into her chair.
"How was it? What was he like?" she eagerly urged on.
"He was just a guy, Riles," I shrugged. "I don't know what else you want me to say."
"He has to be more than just a guy."
"They're never more than just a guy." I rolled my eyes. I took my plate of mofongo and carried it over to the couch. I slumped into the cushions and kicked my feet up on the coffee table, pushing back some of the books.
It didn't take long for Riley to trail after me. "Okay, but what kind of guy is he? Is he cordial? Is he not? Is he what everything people thought he was?"
"He's young and rich." I pointed my fork at her. "Which, by the way, I am so getting back at you for not giving me a biography about him. I have never been so humiliated by a guy before, let alone an ass like him. Just know I did my justice in that recording."
Riley grimaced. "I'm so sorry, Peaches. I should have briefed you but I was in such a panic. This interview was important and I was more focused on getting someone there. I promise I'll back it up to you."
"You better," I huffed.
Riley nudged against my shoulder. "But seriously, tell me what he was like."
I rolled my eyes and let out an aggravated sigh, "He was an ass but he was also polite and okay, I guess. He's powerful and he's impossible to break. He's everything to be expected from a businessman of the upper side. He definitely doesn't talk much like a twenty-something guy. How old is he?"
"Hmm, my research says he was born in November 24, 2000 so he's actually a year older than us."
"Mmm, and while you were doing this research, did you by any chance happen to come across where he used to study?" I ran my fork around the food while looking at her with a raised eyebrow. "Like where he studied?"
"I found that he went to one of the most prestigious schools in New York," she answered. "He went to Horace Mann School. That school has been ranked the number one school in New York for seven years. He was an honor student - only took AP classes - captain of any sports team he tried out - and he got a scholarship to Oxford University. The impressive part is that he applied for Harvard University but Oxford went looking for him."
"Yeah, I know he studied Psychology and stuff in college," I said. "I'm talking about before high school. Do you recognize him at all? Or even find him familiar back then?"
"Hmm." Riley knitted her brows together. "No, not really. Anything before high school isn't really considered relevant since college scouts focus from ninth grade and up. What are you going on, Maya?"
"He told me he went to John Quincy Adams. Our old middle school."
"What?" Riley blinked incredulously. "There's no way! I don't remember a Lucas Friar going to that school with us. I think I would have remembered somebody like him."
I held up my hands. "Hey, don't look at me. That's what he said. It's all in the recording."
"That's just not possible," she murmured, mostly to herself rather than to me. She has a concentrated expression on her face and I know it would be a while for me to get through to her when she is in thinking mode. "I know everybody from our graduating class. I'm still in contact with them through Facebook and Instagram. I just Kik'd Yogi yesterday to see if he and Darby are in town this week so we could all hang out."
"Maybe he wasn't in our grade," I insisted.
Riley hopped off the couch so suddenly, startling me to nearly knocking the plate off my lap, and she leapt over my legs to race into her room. I rolled my eyes and continued to eat as I watched the television. I reached for the remote and flicked the channel away from that chic program Riley tortured herself to watch into a more interesting show with a true plot, Stranger Things. I snuggled into the cushions and let out a satisfied sight. This is better.
"I don't see why you're so hung up in this?" I called over my shoulder as I hear rummages and things knocking over coming from her room. "It's not like it's going to change history!"
A couple of more noises are heard and eventually I was beginning to think that she might be stuck in a pile of her belongings when I heard her sprinting towards my direction so I shuffled to the side as she hurdled over the couch, only to get tangled with the quilt and landed on the cushions face-first beside me, her hair flaring over her. I casually tilt to the side to lean against her, using her as my personal pillow.
"How many times have I told you to not jump over the couch when you know you end up falling flat on your face?" I reminded. "You're lucky you didn't fall on the floor this time. Next time you might not be so lucky."
I get off of her so she could maneuver herself into a more upright position and once she was sitting, crossed-legged, she held a book in her hands. I let out a disgruntled moan. It was our middle school yearbook. It was evidence of what we looked like before puberty hit us and actually blessed us with a second chance at life.
"I thought you burned that," I said.
Riley didn't respond; she was busy going through the pages and I pouted sorrowfully. I don't want to reminded of anything from the past. Too many memories with a thousand feelings I've struggled to keep buried. To see those old photographs of clubs, school events, and other social activities brought an unbearable pang in my chest that made me shift my weight uncomfortably and place the plate on the coffee table, my appetite suddenly disappeared as my stomach churned uneasily.
"Aha!" Riley cheered happily. "Found him!"
"What?" I was quick to slide to her side and hover over her shoulder as she held up the page to me. "There's no way!"
"I'm not kidding," she said. "That's him, isn't it? That has to be him."
I took the yearbook from her hands and stared intently at the pictures in the page, my eyes settling on the same person. There is no way that little boy is him. He looked nothing like that tempting man I talked to hours ago. This one actually looked innocent; he had obvious baby-smooth skin, his dark blonde hair a short mop, and he held a gentle smile that could possibly make any girl swoon and weak at the knees like a Southern Belle. As I flipped the pages, I can see he was involved in a lot of clubs too. Sports team, debate team, drama club, and science club.
"I don't remember him," I murmured.
"Neither do I," Riley added. "You'd think we'd remember someone who was in so much. He's almost in every page."
"You probably but I wouldn't," I retorted. "Half of the things he's in I don't care about."
"That's not true," she countered. "You used to be in the drama club and you loved it. He was in it too."
"But I don't remember him. And what about the debate team? You were in it with Dave and you can't remember him either."
Riley shivered. "Ugh, Cornchip Dave. Don't remind me about him. He was such a sweetheart but he had an unhealthy obsession with corn chips. I worried about him."
"Not to mention he had a major crush on you for two years."
Riley grimaced. I laughed.
She was always awkward around guys who are interested in her. Ever since her last serious relationship with Evan Dawson, a member of from her old debate club, she had put off dating for a while.
A part of me wondered if she still held feelings for the rebellious dropout because they had only broken nine months ago and as soon as the news was heard that she was a newly single woman, boys from our campus came asking her out left and right but she'd always reject them stating that 'she wasn't looking for a relationship' and that honestly worried me.
Riley didn't seem upset nowadays but she was open to try new. She never told me in what terms she and Evan ended in. She wouldn't tell me when I used to persist her about it and eventually I let it go, but the thought never escaped. It's still there lodged in the back of my mind. I just don't mention it anymore until she cracked.
Then, as it was called for it, a knock came on the front door. Riley climbed out of the couch and approached the door. I dumped the yearbook to the side and watched her over the couch with a smile. This happens every time.
"Who is it?" asked Riley as she stretched onto her toes and peered in the peephole, her hand already unlatching the chain. "Are you a criminal?"
"You ask that every time he comes over," I said. "Just let the boy in!"
Riley giggled giddily before she turned the lock, twisted the knob, and flung the door open. Standing there in the hallway, holding a bottle of red wine was Charlie Gardner.
He is an old friend from middle school. I wasn't particularly close to him to consider him a best friend but he was tolerable enough to have around as company. He would visit us once in a while when he had the time to do so since his campus, Columbia University, isn't too far away from ours. He is one of the many few of our friends from our graduating class that we would see mostly while the others are living their lives in other states or countries.
He would claim he loves seeing how his old classmates are doing - Riley would accept it, thinking he was being a nice guy. But I'm not stupid. I know, for a fact, that he has a terrible crush on Riley. I might even exaggerate enough to say he was in love with the clueless brunette and that he probably does know the minor to major details about Riley as much as me. I couldn't be wrong about this. If he visits us to see how we are doing, he would give us a call or message us once in a while, not using his time to take the subway to come to our noisy apartment just to spend a few short hours with us before he leaves home late and wake up early tired because he didn't have enough sleep.
I don't think Riley will ever see Charlie as more than an old friend but I know she has noticed the change in him as much as I did. Back then he used to have that short, spikey haircut and wear bummy clothes like he just woke up on a lazy Sunday afternoon but once his voice switched a little, his appearance apparently did also. I still have a hard time swallowing in the fact that the shy, quiet guy who would sit in the corner of the classroom actually turned out to be one of the most attractive men I've seen in New York.
But there he was. It was still a surprising reminder.
It was nothing fancy; just a simple black V-neck shirt and some khaki loose-fitting cargo pants, but it showed off his muscular yet lean physique much better than his ragged flannel shirts ever did. It doesn't impress me that much since he used to be in the track team back in high school but it isn't a sore sight to see the details.
And the glasses. That is the only change about him that I will never get used to. He never wore them before but I'm glad that he does now. The glasses gave him an air of intelligence yet his lopsided grin breaks through it and keeps his playfulness intact. Then with his hair, now longer to have the tips touching his shoulders and fluffy enough to want to have my fingers buried in it, leaning the lenses give him a somewhat inviting aura.
In other words - puberty blessed Charlie Gardner.
"Hey, I thought I stop by," he said, holding up a bottle. "I brought wine."
I sprung up. "What kind?"
Riley rolled her eyes as she held the door open wide to allow Charlie to step through the threshold and shut it tight, slipping the chain back in place. Charlie slipped off his coat and hung it on the rack nearby the door before he followed into the kitchen. I grabbed the yearbook and swung over the back of the couch to join them at the counter.
"Maya, have some hospitality," she scolded lightly as she pulled out three wine glasses. "Charlie is a guest, not our delivery boy."
"I can see you missed me since my last visit, Maya," grinned Charlie.
"Couldn't miss you even if I tried, Gardner. You visited us three days ago.",I said as I snatched the wine bottle from his hands and inspected it all around. "Ooh, Château Bastor-Lamontagne. Very vintage, Cheese Souffle. Se sentant très français ce soir?"
I believe I forgot to mention that I had taken French for two years in middle school. That is where I met Charlie. We were partnered up for multiple projects and assignments.
"Seulement pour des occasions spéciales," he answered with a shrug.
I raised a brow. "Ou est-ce une autre tentative de balayer chaque pied Riley."
Charlie immediately went silent and lowered his head to hide his face but I could still see the pink patches on his cheek. I chuckled amusingly at him and bumped his shoulder with mine, making him smile slightly.
"So Charlie, what's with the wine?" asked Riley as she placed the glasses in a row and took the bottle from my hand to uncork it then started to pour one glass at a time. She passed them out to us.
"Can't a friend bring some wine for his friends without it being a special occasion?" he asked in false astonishment.
"Nope."
Charlie laughed. "Well, I do have some news."
"Oh, shocker," I gasped in mock shock. I swirled the liquid for a minute before I took a tentative sip and hummed in delight. Delicious. Nothing is better than fine wine.
"Maya," Riley said sternly.
"Sowwy, Chalwe" I mumbled in a baby voice.
"Anyway," Riley turned her attention to him. "What's the news?"
Charlie took a quick swing of his drink before placing his glass down and folded his hands on his lap. "Well, you girls remember that meeting I had with my headmaster? The one about my short film?"
Charlie was studying film production and I admit he was the best director I've seen in our age. He has done multiple short stories for class presentations or school videos for the website and pep rallies or did the senior class video. Anything that has to do with editing or directing, the teachers would go to Charlie to do the job. He even worked in GameStop and Best Buy to be near videos with a good plotline.
He was good at it - he was passionate about it.
"What about it?" asked Riley enthusiastically.
I merely took another sip of my wine. Riley was the half of our friendship who expresses enough excitement for the both of us. Charlie had a huge grin breaking out of his face, the tips nearly reaching his ears.
"Well, it turns out he had arranged an interview for me as an assistant to Francis Ford Coppola!" he announced merrily. If it were humanly possible, I think his smile grew.
"Charlie, that's amazing!" squealed Riley as she scurried around the counter and engulfed him in a tight hug, her face buried in the crook of his neck, hidden within his tresses, her short arms barely able to sling over his broad shoulders. She was too delighted by the news that she didn't realize her actions are causing Charlie's face to light up bright red.
"Way to go, Charles!" I said. "When's the big day?"
"It's not until next week," he answered. "Mr. Coppola is out directing a new Chris Evans movie somewhere in Rios, I think. Mr. Martin said that he'll send out all of my information to him through email and that he'll call me when he's back to schedule for an interview."
"We need to celebrate," said Riley. "This is huge. We need to do a get-together. Bring all of your classmates and we'll bring ours. We'll have snacks and drinks and -"
"No parties," I grumbled. "Last time we had a party was for your twentieth birthday and that ended up a disaster. I don't want a repeat of seeing Yogi's genitals again." I shuddered in disgust. "No. Never again."
"But it won't be like last time," Riley said with a pout. "I'll make sure nobody brings any lewd frat boys or any crazy sorority girls that you despise so much. I'm sure Charlie will do the same. It will be a small gathering with friends, acting like a bunch of grown ups as we should be."
"No."
"What's up with you today, Maya?" Charlie inquired. "Normally you'd be all about parties. You'll be the one to try to convince us to go to a party you hear about and drag us against our will."
Riley sighed. "Maya had a rough day. I was way too sick earlier today and I couldn't go to an interview I've been working on for months and needed someone to fill in for me. Maya was kind enough to go and...well...I guess her meeting with Lucas Friar wasn't exactly pleasant."
I scoffed. "Pleasant? It was a nightmare." I took my glass and the bottle of wine with me as I walked over to the couch. "The guy was a total ass."
"Isn't Lucas Friar some sort of big shot with a huge company?" asked Charlie. I wonder if he noticed that his and Riley's arms are still around each other. "Friar International Trading Inc?"
"That's the one." I fell into the couch and kicked up my feet on the table again. "Mr. Big Shot who thinks he's Midas with a golden touch and rules the world with his stick shoved up so deep in his ass he could taste his own shit."
"Whoa."
Riley lets out a sigh and removed herself from Charlie's arms to sit next to me in the couch. She slung her legs over my lap and leaned back against armrest with her arms crossed as she stared at me with a smile. Charlie came to lean against the back of the couch behind me. I ignored them both and downed my glass before I poured in another round.
"Was he that bad?" he pondered.
"You should hear the recording," added Riley. "You know how Maya is. She finds joy in the discomfort she puts on others but I think she might have met her match. She couldn't break him."
I glowered at her but Riley remained unaffected. Clearly she would be. She had to live with me unofficially for thirteen years before we moved in together.
"Really?" Charlie laughed in disbelief.
"Not really," I growled. "He just got lucky, that's all. Next time I see him, he won't be."
"Next time?" Riley raised an eyebrow. "How are you so sure there's a next time? I figured after today you won't want to see him again."
"I don't!" I groaned in annoyance. "But if I do somehow see him, I'll break him so hard, his future grandchildren will feel it."
"Ouch." Charlie winced. "I felt it."
I smirked deviously. "Good."
Riley crossed her legs and leaned forward, a look of speculation glazed over her doe brown eyes. I stared back at her, a brow arched, as I casually sipped on my wine and licking the red liquid off my lips. I ponder on what she is trying to find. She only ever stays this quiet when she is reading me, trying to see if she could find something about me that I don't know I'm giving off.
"Why didn't you take up his offer to show you around?" she asked.
"Because I'm not going to pretend I'm being swooned by his so-called empire and all of his shiny new toys."
"I don't think that's what he was trying to do." Riley's lips twitched at the corner. "He sounded like he wanted to spend some time with you."
I snorted, although, I could feel my face burn up from all the blood rushing into my head as my heart rate increases as if I had finished running a marathon. Sometimes I do get embarrassed by Riley's perspective in other people; she is a hopeless romantic and always finds little actions to be signs of love blooming. I always say that the story of her parents had influenced her greatly because in middle school she was heavily crushing on Brandon and he had been the only serious boyfriend she had. He was her first in everything but that is all that he ended up being - her first, not her forever. She had grown out of it since then but she still held the hope for other people.
"You have been watching way too many romantic comedies, honey," I said.
"He seemed taken by you," Riley remarked. "A guy like Lucas Friar doesn't just make time for anyone. He's a very busy man so for him to offer a tour to his place to you. And he wasn't offended by your...opinions."
"Sure," I said sarcastically before I tipped my head back to gulp down the wine.
Taken by me? Now Riley is being ridiculous. I did have to admit, though, every word that Riley is saying is sparking my interest. Deep down, my stomach twisted in an exciting knot for the possibility but I was realistic so I killed the idea. A man like that high-class Ranger Rick businessman being taken by a street rat like me would probably be the first sign to the destruction of the universe coming soon.
"You like him," Riley stated casually.
I sputtered the wine onto my shirt and lap. Charlie and Riley leaned back as I placed the glass on the table and started to pat at my clothes even though I know it was officially stained.
"What? No!" I yelped while staring at her incredulously.
"Charlie?" Riley turned to him expectantly.
With a frightful expression, Charlie held up his hands. "Hey, leave me out of it. I don't even know the guy."
"Peaches," Riley reached forward to take my hands in her. "I know you don't want to admit it but you find him attractive. Even you couldn't be immune to the way he looks. He is quite handsome."
I leaned forward to look at her directly in her eyes. "Yes, Honey, I'll admit he's attractive - really attractive - but he's still an ass. He's just a piece of meat waiting to get pounced on."
"Is that how you see us?" gawked Charlie. "A piece of meat?"
"That's not how I see you but that's how you guy tend to present yourselves to us women," I retorted.
I slipped my hands out of hers and got off the couch, stretching my arms over my head with a light whine. Then I let out a yawn, realizing that his conversation has me mentally worn out. Or perhaps I'm finally entering a much needed food coma.
"I'm gonna go to bed," I declared. "You two young kids better behave while mama is sleeping. I better not hear things I disapprove of."
"Maya!" squeaked Riley in disbelief while Charlie's face was like a red lightbulb.
I stuck my tongue out at her before I made my way through the clutter of books to my bedroom, yearning for the sleep to take over me. I changed out of my heavy clothes and into a comfortable loose shirt that is far too big on me but it is the musky scent is so heavenly to me that I didn't mind. I don't like wearing any pants when I sleep so I just turned on the faded LED lights I have installed in the ceiling and crawled into bed.
That night I had an unusual dream; a pair of green eyes luring me into a dark, alluring me to disappear in the darkness. Then an echo of a smooth voice lightly calling my name with a slight husk to it, I became bewitched and I aimlessly followed those two beautiful pairs of green crystals without a second thought.