Stupid Girl
It was the last Saturday in January. It was bitterly cold out and I was on my way back to my car. I'd driven far from the center of town, to a more secluded area. I'd gone to a run down little gypsy shop to find a gift for my mother's birthday. I'd gotten her an anhk necklace; it was sort of a like a cross only with a circle for a top. It was an Egyptian symbol of eternal life and protection. My grandmother was obsessed with them, and I knew my mother and I would get a laugh out of it. She'd probably like it too.
There was no parking in front of the store, so I'd been forced to park in the lot in front of an old warehouse across the street. I was almost across the street when I heard thoughts approaching. Malicious, self-centered, selfish thoughts. Male thoughts, obviously. Accompanied by three male voices.
I wasn't in the mood to deal with people like that, so I quickened my pace to get to my car. I wasn't running, because I was too dignified to run, but I was going a little faster then was typical for me. I was almost to my car when they approached, wandering around the corner. I considered running but decided it was better to ignore them. I slowed my pace to appear casual.
I heard their new thoughts and knew what they were saying in their hushed voices. They could tell that I had money on me. Based on my expensive looking clothes, bag, and car. One thought it would be fun to just casually mug me so they could buy more beer.
I wasn't a stupid girl, but I was too proud. My muscles told me to run for my car, surely I could make it, but my brain wouldn't let me. I was too proud to run away like some frightened little girl. I'd rather put up a fight, even if it meant they got my money in the end. When fight or flight syndrome kicked in, for me, the choice was always fight. No matter the obstacle.
I proceeded to my car with deliberate, even strides and my head held high. I kept my eyes on my car about twenty feet away. Even when one called to me.
"Hey sweetheart!" he yelled. I didn't look at him. They were just five feet away now.
He crossed the distance between us easily, using his long athletic legs. He grabbed my arm.
"Hey," he snarled, "I'm talking to you dollface."
I pulled my arm out of his hand immediately. "Were you now?" I snarled sharply. I gave him a glare and his thoughts conveyed that he found it only slightly intimidating. He wasn't afraid of me. I was small afterall, not to mention a girl.
"Yeah I was," he growled. His name was Rick.
"Hey hey Rick," said another guy named Milo, stepping forward, "There's no need to harass such a . . . lovely young lady."
He was a smooth talker, I knew. Well if he really thought he could weasel money out of me willingly, then he was just stupid.
"Then why don't you three . . . lovely little motherfuckers leave me the hell alone?" I suggested in a sweet tone.
"She's got a mouth on her," the third guy, Paul, said, stepping forward, "I could put that to good use."
I clenched my fists at his thoughts. I would first beat myself senseless with a hot waffle iron. Or better yet, beat him with it.
"Now now now Paul," Milo said smoothly with a sinister smirk, putting a hand on Paul's chest, "Let's not be vulgar. We just wanted to know if the lovely lady would like to buy us all some drinks."
"You've got to be kidding me," I said, giving them a challenging look. This guy was even worse then the other two. He actually thought I would hand over my money willingly out of fear. No way in hell.
"Not at all," he said, smiling maliciously, "Just give us some money and nobody gets hurt."
"Oh somebody's getting hurt," I snarled, "But it isn't going to be me."
"You wanna bet?" Rick snarled in my face, grabbing my arm roughly.
I glared up at him with icy hatred. "Yes I do," I hissed, "I'll bet you all the money in my purse that I could walk away after a fight with all of you. And you three would crawl away. . . If you could that is."
Since moving to Hollow Creek, I hadn't been as creepy and hostile as I used to be. I had it better here then in most places. But that didn't mean I was like a normal girl. I was still cynical, and I still kept Cold Amunet in the back of my mind . . . Ready to unleash her on anyone who fucked with me.
"You've got yourself a bet dollface," Rick snarled, about to push me. I moved out of the way at the last second and waked him over the head with my purse when he stumbled. He howled and clutched at his head. I knew it would hurt. I kept a rock in there at all times; it might be heavier but it made a hell of a weapon during times like this.
Paul reached to grab my arm and I dodged swiftly, even when Milo reached for me a second late. They all kept coming at me, again and again, in succession. Their efforts were futile. I knew exactly what they would do before they even did it. They got in a few lucky shots, but nothing that would faze me.
But that didn't mean I held all the cards. I was still outnumbered. And when Paul came for me and I leaped away, inadvertently slipping on black ice, the odds shifted slightly. While I tried to steady myself, Milo grabbed my purse. I didn't let go, although I should've. But if I did, then they won. And that was unacceptable.
So I held on for dear life. Even as Milo used it to swing me into the side of my car. If only I had the alarm on. Or it was unlocked, but the keys were in my bag. Milo pinned me there, staring down at me and panting, his thoughts swimming with malice at having trapped me.
"You put up a nice fight little girl. But how about you just let go of the bag and nobody gets hurt, huh?" he offered, breathing down my neck literally.
"How about you gauge your own eyes out with a rusty fork?" I suggested sweetly.
"She's impossible. I say we take what we want," Paul joined in, looking at me over Milo's shoulder with a twisted grin, "By force."
"Bite me," I snapped.
"Where?" he asked, the twisted grin growing.
"In your dreams," I snarled at him.
"That's it," Rick said, coming up behind Milo, "Give us the fucking purse before I fucking pound you into the pavement."
"Looks like somebody has anger issues," I muttered.
"Okay now that is fucking it," he growled, "I'm gonna make her regret not giving us the fucking money!"
"I'm gonna make her regret being such a bad little girl," Paul chimed in, smirking.
"I'd like to see you try," I hissed, "If you ask me, you're just a group of whiny little pussies who have to target 'defensless' teenage girls at night to make you feels like badasses."
"Alright, I've had enough. Have at it," Milo said, releasing me and stepping back.
"You brought this on yourself," he thought.
Paul and Rick closed in on me and I prepared myself to bludgeon them with my purse. But then a blaring sound rang through the night. It was my car alarm. But that didn't make sense. It wasn't set to go off unless someone managed to open the door when it was locked . . .
"Aw fuck!" Paul yelled.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Rick exclaimed, covering his ears.
"Come on idiots!" Milo shouted, "Before someone comes running!"
The other two took off but he hesitated, oddly enough. He looked at something above my head and made a face. He pulled his lips back from his teeth at whatever he saw, before running off as well. The blaring noise made it impossible to get a read on his thoughts.
Confused and surprised and creeped out all at the same time, I fumbled in my purse for my keys. I shut off the alarm before somebody came out to investigate. I sighed once the aggravating noise stopped, and leaned back heavily against the car for a second.
"Not the best night for a stroll is it?"
Nearly having a fucking heart attack, I jumped away from the car and spun around. Standing on top of my car was Will. He didn't seem high at all, and it wasn't that surprising. For the last three weeks, he'd been coming to school sober at least once, sometimes even twice a week. The entire school was baffled by it; most of the student body hadn't seen him sober since seventh grade. I however was more baffled by how the fuck he got on top of my car.
"What the fuck are you doing up there?" I demanded.
"The question is Nettie, what are you doing here?" he said, "It's not a very nice neighborhood you know."
I'd noticed.
"What the fuck are you doing on top of my car?" I repeated my question, editing it slightly.
"I just thought I'd drop by and you know, save your ass," he said. One thing I'd noticed, Will was a lot more closed off and sarcastic when he was sober.
I ignored that. "How the fuck did you get on top of my car?" I demanded.
He didn't answer me. He just rolled his eyes and jumped off the car. Not the kind of graceful movement you expected from the Will the klutzy stoner.
"Okay, what the fuck is going on here?" I exclaimed, "Is this some kind of fucking joke?"
"Are you trying to include the word 'fuck' in every single sentence?" he wondered, "Or is it just a happy accident?"
"Stop being all mysterious," I snapped, "It's fucking annoying."
"There's that word again. Anyway, let's see what we have here," he said, giving me a once over, "No blood . . . Those marks on your arm are going to bruise though. You're lips are starting to turn blue. You've been out in the cold too long. C'mon, get in the car. Give me the keys."
I was indigdant. What did he think he was doing? Bossing me around? Telling me to give him my keys? But he'd been right about me being cold. I was freezing actually, now that I had a chance to think about it. I desperately wanted to get in my car where it was warm. I also wanted to drive myself home, but my body felt sore. Those bastards had gotten in a few lucky shots.
"But you can't drive," I stammered out through my chattering teeth. I hated myself for it.
"Yes I can," he said.
"You don't have a licence," I insisted, "You don't even have a permit."
"I know that," he said, "That doesn't mean I can't drive."
"Wha . . . " I trailed off, barely finishing the word.
"C'mon. Just give me the keys and I'll take you back to my dad's house to warm up," he promised.
"No. Take me home," I partially succumbed.
"My dad's house is closer. Besides, aren't you hungry?" he asked.
Now that he mentioned it . . .
"So?" I asked.
"Isn't your mother away on a business trip?" he asked. He only knew that because I'd mentioned it at lunch. I was surprised he remembered.
"So?" I said again.
"So don't you want to eat?" he said, "Come on. We both know you can't cook for your life."
Well when he's right, he's right. Even though I hate to admit it.
"And you can?" I snapped, avoiding the question.
"Actually yes," he said, "Now c'mon."
"Oh fine," I said finally, handing him my keys, "But only cause I'm fucking tired."
"If you say so . . . " he trailed off, getting in the driver seat. I got in the passenger seat. Now it might seem stupid to get into a car with someone who you knew didn't have a licence. But somehow I believed that he knew how to drive. He was probably just too damn lazy to get his license.
He started the car and turned the heat on before backing out of the parking lot with ease. When we got on the road, he continued to drive smoothly. He stopped at all the stop signs, obeyed all speed limits, and had his hands on ten and two at all times. I was shocked to say the least.
There was no conversation at first. I was too busy waiting for the heat to kick in, clutching my purse protectively in my lap. But once the heat started to warm me up, I thought of something. Why had my car alarm gone off before? It shouldn't have unless . . .
"You set off the alarm, didn't you?" I realized.
He looked at me briefly out of the corner of his eye. "Well somebody had to," he said wryly.
"How did you do it?" I demanded.
"I've told you before Nettie," he said, "I'm not as much of an idiot when I'm sober."
"You're fucking creepy when you're sober," I informed him.
He rolled his eyes. "I know you don't really think that."
"Oh are you suddenly a mind reader too?" I thought bitterly.
"Now do you?" I snapped aloud.
He didn't say anything but proceeded to pull off into a driveway in front of a nice house. It wasn't big. Small actually. It looked like the second floor was probably only half a floor. But it was still surprisingly nice. A quaint little porch out front, a stone path leading to it, a shiny red Traverse parked in the driveway. It wasn't a palace. But much nicer then I expected. I felt guilty for thinking it, but I'd always imagined Will living in a dump.
"Nobody's home," he told me as he parked my car, "My dad took my stepmom out to dinner. My stepbrothers out ruining somebody else's day by now too. So you don't have to worry."
I was relieved but I didn't let it show. "Why would I?" I snapped.
He rolled his eyes for the millionth time. I was getting kind of annoyed. He didn't have the right to roll his eyes at anybody. Most of the time he acted like the energizer body on crystal meth. But on the rare occasions when he wasn't high, he was very . . . strange. Closed off, creepy, cryptic. Anybody who'd only seen Will high before would think this grim kid must be a different person.
He got out of the car and I followed. He began walking towards the stone path, locking the car without looking back. I followed after him.
"So where'd you hit your head that time when you slipped?" I asked, recalling that he'd gotten a concussion after falling out here a few weeks ago.
"There," he said immediately, pointing to a random spot as he passed it.
I didn't say anything. I just silently followed him up the stone path to the front door. He paused for the briefest of seconds before opening the door.
"You don't lock the door when you go out?" I asked, indignant. What a stupid thing to do . . .
"What makes you think we don't lock it?" he asked, stepping inside the house.
He'd officially just surpassed me on the creepy scale . . . And that was saying something.
Inside, the house was nice. Cozy and normal. No extravagant furniture, no signs of poverty. It was perfectly middle class. Unlike my house, it looked like people actually lived there. There was a coat rack with various coats on it next to the door. We were in the living room and there was a heap of folded blankets on the couch and two empty glasses on the coffee.
Will closed the door behind us without locking it. But I could hear the tumblers moving inside the door as if he had. I jumped. Will didn't seem to notice anything strange. He casually hung up his Northface jacket, leaving his shoes on. I kept my jacket on. Will didn't comment.
"C'mon," he said and I followed him through an archway to a quaint looking kitchen.
"Sit," he told me, gesturing at the table.
Snorting, I gave him a challenging look.
He returned the look impressively well. "You just gonna stand there?"
"Where's the bathroom?" I asked, ignoring him.
"First door on the left," he told me, pointing in the general direction, turning away to get items out of the fridge.
"Thanks," I said before I realized what I was actually doing. Thanking Will . . . Oh God what had gotten into me?
"I'm making you eggs," he said. Telling, not asking.
I followed his directions to the bathroom and locked the door behind me. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Good God, I looked horrible. My cheeks were flushed, my nose red, my lips pale, my hair half out of it's bun. Sighing, I took the rest of my hair out of the bun. I put the clip back in my back and ran my fingers through my hair to to settle it. I took off my glasses and cleaned the lenses on the bottom of my shirt before putting them back on.
Making a distasteful sound in the back of my throat, I left the bathroom and returned to the kitchen. Will was at the counter, whisking eggs with a fork. I knew all the terms for cooking from listening to my mother's thoughts, but for some reason I just couldn't remember recipes to save my life. It was like my brain didn't want to be stereotypical woman, so it made it impossible for me to cook.
"Sit," he told me without turning around. Rolling my eyes, I complied. I watched Will prepare the meal with an odd feeling. Sitting in such a cozy kitchen, the only sound being the hum of the fridge and the sound of Will cooking . . . It gave me a nice . . . homey feeling. One I wasn't used to. My mother and I were always rattling around our big, lonely house.
"Orange juice or milk?" he asked aloud before answering it himself, "Orange juice."
"How'd you know. . ." I trailed off.
"Intuition," he said, pouring a glass of orange juice. He placed a plate of eggs and the glass in front of me. He sat down across from me without any food and stared at me.
"You're not going to eat?" I asked, staring down at my eggs.
"It's eleven o'clock at night . . . I already ate," he said simply.
I avoided meeting his eyes and just ate my eggs. They weren't burned or anything, like I expected Will's food to be. It was okay actually.
It was silent between us for a while. Sober Will didn't seem to be inclined much to speak unless he had something to say. As opposed to high Will who just rambled like crazy about random shit until somebody smacked him.
"Don't you ever wonder about the things you can do . . ." Will trailed off.
I froze with the fork halfway to my mouth. He couldn't possibly know . . .
"What . . . I can . . . do?" I stammered out in shock.
He gave me an intolerant look through his sooty lashes. "Don't be stupid Nettie," he said.
Despite my shock, I still had the capacity to be outraged. "I am not stupid!" I exclaimed.
He rolled his eyes. "I'm aware," he said.
I stared at him wide-eyed. There was no way he could know that I could read minds . . .
"Haven't you ever wondered how it was possible," he went on.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I insisted.
He gave me another one of his intolerant looks. "Suit yourself. But haven't you ever wished their was someone else like you?"
"There's nobody like me," I practically snarled. I wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.
He smirked at me. "You are one of a kind Nettie," he agreed.
"That's right," I growled.
"But that doesn't mean you're the only one of your kind," he went on.
"My kind?" I demanded, "Is that like a racist thing? Cause I never met anyone prejudiced against Egyptians . . ."
He exhaled in exasperation. "Not at all what I meant," he said and suddenly an annoying whistling sound went off.
Startled, I looked up at the sound of the noise. The whistling was coming from the teapot on the stove. Only the stove hadn't been on when I looked over there a minute ago.
"Wha . . ." I trailed off, looking at Will expectantly.
Will smirked back at me and raised his eyebrows challengingly.
"Did you . . ." I asked in shock, "Did you . . . do that?"
His smirk grew. "Now, how could I possibly do that?"
"You're fucking creeping me out," I told him.
He ignored me. "Feeling better now?" he asked.
"I was until you started speaking again," I informed him.
"Maybe it would be a good idea to you go home now," he said, "My dad's going to be home soon. Somehow I doubt you want to stick around for that."
"You're right," I snapped, grabbing my purse and standing up, "Thank you for the meal William. That was very kind of you, but now I will be returning home."
"Make sure you lock your doors," he told me casually without getting up.
I looked at him, huffed in impatience, and stomped out.
He was fucking creeping me out, and that takes a lot.