The Golden Corset, page 6
"Is everything okay?"
"Oh yes, fine," I said, and I quickly took a seat at the rectangular table next to Clyde; the table was packed, so it was a tight squeeze. Brent sat down next, and I was literally shoulder to shoulder with both of my out-of-this-world dream crushes. The enchantress was right; all of my dreams were coming true. I just hadn't known that the feelings would be so strong, so violent! My new, frail frame couldn't handle all of the tingling. The fire was coming now; I could feel heat radiating from both of their bodies, searing my arms. Happiness crashed over me like a wave, caressing me, making me feel numb!
Okay, calm down Sarah. Breathe.
"Hey, Gwen," Brent said. "This is my friend who dared me to get your number."
No! Say it ain't so! My love, Clyde, had dared this beautiful Brent to ask for my number? Clearly, the stars were not in our favor! What a Shakespearean play this was turning out to be. Suddenly, I realized that Brent's hand wasn't pointing to Clyde, but to the guy across from us with a long face and bangs practically covering his eyes.
Oh, thank you, long-faced guy! I rejoiced. Thank you for your benevolent service!
I smiled. "Nice to meet you."
"Hey, my name is Clyde. Nice to meet you." Clyde turned, holding out a hand. Merlin's beard! Clyde?! Clyde was holding out a hand; his precious hand wanted to shake mine? The hands that had touched my shoulders yesterday and branded a claim on my heart! His emerald-green eyes were piercing my soul.
"H-h-hey," I said. I couldn't breathe, his hand felt so firm and gentle at the same time. He had a trustworthy grip, a handshake that said, I will take you to the moon and back, baby. Come with me, and I will show you the world—our love will be full of passion. We will have days filled with laughter and merriment. We will dance under the stars. We will splash each other at the lake. I will read stories to our children by the fire, teaching them that life is a wonderland filled with magic . . .
Oh yes, oh yes! I screamed internally, Yes, I will embark on this journey with you. Yes, I do!
"Uh, hey, Gwen, uh—where did you say you were from again?" Brent was calling me, beckoning me. I turned at once and stared into his eyes. Those brown, honey-colored eyes. What did they say? They said, Baby, I love you. I will work hard to see that you and the kids are well provided for. I will embrace you, protect you—I won't let any man harm you. I'll build fires, help you wash the dishes, and when you wake up in the morning, I will leave notes and sprinkle you with kisses . . .
The agony! The anguish that was burning a hole in my heart! How was I supposed to choose? To whom would I pledge devotion and faithfulness? My body was splintering, torn between two lovers—but wait, Brent asked a question. I needed to provide him with an answer.
"Um, well, technically, I'm from Norway," I said with a coy smile, "but now I live here."
"Whoa—that's so interesting. How long did you live there?" Clyde asked.
My head whipped back. Yes, darling dearest, what did you ask? "Oh, well, you know, until I was five, so I don't really remember it all that clearly, but, um—I am a native!"
"Do you remember any of the language?"
Like watching a tennis game, my head jerked back to Brent—I was about to get whiplash. What was this? Brent was stretching his arm and lowering it to the back of my seat. I could feel his strong arm graze the back of my shoulders. He had taken a risk, made a statement: I want you. Chills ran up and down my spine.
"N-not really," I said in deep panting breaths. He locked eyes with me, his caramel chocolate gaze held me tight so I wouldn't let go.
"Are you here to stay?" Clyde asked. Stay, Clyde had said, yet Brent's eyes were telling me to stay, stay with him, pleading, but I—but it was so difficult! I had invested so much time in ogling over Clyde. As much as it tore me, I had to look away. I turned again and got a whiff of Clyde's cologne. It smelled heavenly, masculine, clean, and something else . . . something I couldn't place my finger on, ingredient: mystical.
"Yes, I'm here to stay." The words flowed freely from my mouth.
"Hey, are you new here?" said a female voice.
All three of us looked up at once. A trendy-looking, dark-haired girl—another senior I presumed—was staring at me.
"Uh, yes, I'm new," I said a little more confidently.
I was getting this routine down.
"Well, hey, if it's not too much trouble, can I steal you away for a little bit? I have some friends who would like to meet you."
Friends who wanted to meet me? I suddenly wanted to yell at her, At any other time, girl, I would be delighted to meet your 'friends', but can't you see what's going down?! Girl code! Back away and give a woman some space!
Was she trying to steal my man—men? How dare she! My head darted to Clyde—his head was turned and he was talking to the other guy beside him. My head snapped back to Brent—he was stretching again, his arm no longer around my seat and he was looking up. Looking up?! Et tu, Brute? Had both my men forsaken me?
My gaze switched back to the girl. "Sure," I said and scooted out of my chair.
Oh, goddess of love, why did you abandon me? Everything had been working out so perfectly until this dillweed girl had to come over here and shake everything up. Normally, an interference like this would devastate me, but right now, I was mad, furious, overcome with rage!
"You're so pretty," the girl complimented, pushing my shoulder as I followed her.
Yeah, yeah, girl, don't even bother trying to butter me up. You saw what I had and you know you are trying to sabotage me!
"What's your name?"
"Gwen," I said shortly.
"Nice. My name is Stephanie," she said in an artificial-sweet voice.
The girl zipped through the lunchroom until, finally, we approached the table that I assumed we were going to sit at. Terrific—it was a table full of rich, snooty-looking girls. All in designer clothes with leather bags, dark glossy hair, and expensive jewelry. They weren't going to accept me. They were going to tear me to shreds, gossip behind my back, and tell me my outfit was displeasing to the eye! I'd experienced this narrative one too many times.
"Hey, girls," I said reluctantly.
"Hey!" said one of the girls in a high baby voice. "Come sit," she drummed her French-tip nails on an open seat. This was going to be worse than I'd imagined. They were going to try to be my friends, compliment me, and then keep me hostage. I would have to join their cult, change my clothes, do things I didn't feel comfortable doing, then clear up the reputation they had so 'generously' bestowed upon me.
"Oh my gosh, I love your hair."
"Yeah, your hair and skin are so fab."
"You would look so cute with some boots."
"Yeah, some boots and, like, a little hat."
Perfect. It was already happening: they were already rubbing my hands, touching my hair, their fingers pecking my outfit—personal bubble violation!
"So, is there anyone you have a crush on?"
Yep, I called it! They wanted to know who I liked so they could demolish a relationship before it had even begun. "I'm not sure," I shrugged.
Good. I had to keep it vague.
"Oh, well, there is this, like, really cute guy, who is like so nice and so sweet. His name is Mark."
"Oh, yeah, Mark is so sweet! He is so cute, hot actually, and super friendly."
"Friendly for sure. I don't think he is dating anyone, either. So many girls want to date him, but he believes in love at first sight. He is such a hopeless romantic. It is, like, so cute."
"He is so good to his mother, too. Yeah, and he is totally rich."
"Yes, and he loves baby animals as well."
Okay, what was this obsession with this Mark dude and why were they telling me this?
"Oh look, it's Mark. Hey, Mark, come over here," said Stephanie—the girl that introduced me to the group. "This is our friend, Gwen. Gwen, this is Mark."
Holy fish sticks! The dillweed brigade hadn't been lying: Mark is hot! A muscular Latin guy who was wearing a blue, tight-fitted polo. His lips looked puckered and full, and his low-set, angled eyebrows were the perfect thickness. But, most striking of all was that his skin was exceedingly white; it contrasted starkly against his dark hair.
"Hello, my name is Mark," he said with a hint of an accent. "It's good to meet you, Gwen."
No! No! My heart couldn't handle any more surprises! Three gorgeously hunky guys all in one day? How was this even possible? Apparently, being hot somehow invited all of the handsomest men to emerge from obscurity! I couldn't look at him; I had already sold my heart to Brent and Clyde.
But, at that moment, Mark grabbed my hand. No! I was too sensitive to touch. I couldn't have any more spark interests. His cheekbones were so chiseled; his eyes were smoldering.
No! My heart cried. Don't enrapture me with your charm!
"Do you believe in soulmates?" he asked.
No! No! But yes! Yes, I do believe in soulmates!
I had believed in soulmates ever since I had been a little girl, blowing birthday candles, wishing I would one day find my soulmate! "Er, I don't know?" Yes, vagueness was essential.
"I do," Mark said and kissed my hand. He kissed my hand! Fireworks exploded in the air, lightning struck from on high, band music played in my head. Not so fast! He was too smooth, saying and doing all the right things.
"Hey, Mark," Stephanie broke in. "We are all going to go to the restroom, but we'll see you later. Bye!" At once, all the trendy girls got up and left, taking their possessions with them.
I was alone with Mark.
Wait a darn second—was this a setup? The girls, the compliments, their praise of him? They weren't mean girls—they were just props! My brain was getting sharper and sharper by the minute.
I retracted my hand away from his supple, sumptuous lips, leaned back, cocked my head, and folded my arms. "I'm onto you," I said with a smirk.
"You are onto me?" Mark said innocently. Goodness, why did he have to look so dazzling? Why did they all have to be so breathtaking? I would have been content—over the moon—with just one!
"You were trying to get me all alone. Pull me away from my table. Were those girls hired help? Friends from your classes?" I conjectured, narrowing my eyes and cocking my head. I felt like a detective in one of those old-fashioned movies; we were in a dark room with a light swinging around overhead. Mark was on the other side of the table, nervously shaking, sweat dripping down his face like raindrops. Okay, so he looked perfectly composed, but maybe he was sweating on the inside.
Mark opened his mouth to say something.
"Nuh-uh-uh!!" I interrupted, shaking a finger. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mark, but I have some unfinished business to attend to." With that, I got up and began to stride toward the cafeteria exit doors. Was this really possible? I, Sarah Johnson, had the willpower to walk away from a mega-hot guy who was interested in me? One day of being gorgeous, and now I was already becoming a baller. I wasn't exactly sure what a 'baller' was; however, I knew guys in class said it when they were proud of themselves. Probably like a pro basketball player? Regardless, my confidence seemed to be nearing its peak. Now all I had to do was figure out what business I needed to attend to. I was already out the cafeteria doors and couldn't turn back. Maybe I would go to the bathroom, place down a lot of seat-covering sheets of tissue paper on the toilet, sit down, and not use it. After all, I needed to rest. I'd had too many emotions for one day.
6. TRUE BLISS
When the school day finally ended, I was feeling pretty hot and lightheaded. My head was spinning with thoughts of boys, the admiration in their eyes; girls, how they viewed me with reverence; and newly acquired foes. Oh, how I'd relished seeing the thunderstruck faces of Renna, Tanaya, and Ellie at lunch. It was obvious that they were positively jealous of a girl like me, a girl of my caliber, a girl with my new-found social standing. I giggled inwardly, narrowing my eyes. Wondrous day! I threw my hands up. How wonderfully perfect this day had turned out to be! I felt about as happy and drowsy as a puppy who had just finished nursing from its mother. I smacked my lips. Mmm, that was some good milk.
Oh great—speaking of mothers, mine was calling my cell phone now, painfully ripping me away from my reverie.
"What is it, Mother?" I said with a huff.
"Sarah, Sarah, is that you?"
"Yes, Mother, it is me. Who else would it be?" I practically growled.
"Oh, well, Sarah, I'm still working at the daycare center, but I've been thinking, maybe you shouldn't be walking home today because, well—What I mean is, girls who are extremely pretty sometimes get unsolicited attention from, er, boys. Do you know what I'm saying? Maybe you should wait at the library until 4:00 when I can pick you up. Are you paying attention to what I am telling you? Because usually you interrupt me at this point in a conversation."
But I hadn't processed half the words my mom had said because pulling up right before my very eyes was what looked like a brand-new, electric-blue Lamborghini. Admittedly, I didn't know much about cars, but I had learned a bit while idly ruffling through the pages of my dad's boring car magazines (which had featured women draping on top of the hoods—I liked looking at their faces). I knew enough to realize that this car in front of me was expensive. Very expensive.
The window began to whir down, and I felt a gust of wind blow my hair. I then beheld the striking, puckered-lipped face that belonged to beautiful, Latin prince, Mark.
I guess I can't escape from him all too quickly, I thought with a panting breath.
"Hello, Gwen," he said in his silky accent. "Do you need a ride home today?"
Another pant escaped my mouth, and I could almost hear euphoric music playing in my head, a glorious crescendo reaching higher and higher. Oh yes, oh yes!
Calmeth downth! I scolded my ever-fluttering heart—my stupid, adolescent, hummingbird heart.
"Is that all right?" he said with a passionate look of concern. "Only if you feel comfortable."
I gulped, then giggled nervously.
"Sarah, Sarah," I could hear my mom's voice crackling in the background. "Are you still there? Oh, and don't forget when your brother gets home to—"
"Yes, yes, Mom, everything is all right. I don't need a ride home—got one from a friend," I hissed into the phone, ending the call with a click. But what I really meant to say was that I was really getting a ride from a lover.
"Si, mi amigo," I said dramatically, hearing Latin trumpet music sounding in the back of my head.
With the speed of a cheetah, I hopped into the car and slammed the door, my eyes staring deep into my lover's eyes. His eyes smoldered back into mine like a panther, and I heard Latin music play again—Oh wait, no, not in my head, it was playing in his car the whole time.
"We shall be off, then," he whispered. "Just direct me to your home." My stomach constricted instantly—those sneaky little butterflies in my belly weren't butterflies after all, they were masquerading—as fireflies!
Immediately, we zoomed off away from the school.
Oh goodness, the inside of Mark's car smelled irresistible, too irresistible—utterly intoxicating! As if I hadn't already been dizzy enough, now I was sure I was about to pass out from either the excitement or the overpowering fragrance. I wouldn't be surprised if Mark had emptied an entire bottle of $300 cologne in this car. I was onto Mark; he was too suave, too debonair. Maybe this was a tactic of his: get girls into his car, get them to faint, and then take them home to his man cave.
Not today, muchacho! I thought, reaching into my pocket and gripping my pepper spray—though to him, this spray might taste like mild flavoring for a meal. Maybe he would just open his mouth and enjoy the spray like a taquito!
No, Sarah! Do not stereotype, and be realistic! Assess the situation.
"So, Gwen," said Mark's liquidy voice, "what are your hopes, dreams . . . passions?"
Just like that, I wanted to giggle like a little schoolgirl again. Was Mark actually interested in getting to know about my dreams? No, Sarah! Snap out of it! Oh, he was good, so very good.
"I know what you're doing, Mark," I said, folding my arms.
"You have said that once before. What is it that I am doing?"
Great—he was giving me another heart-palpitating-causing, innocent look. And he seemed perceptive, too. How was I going to win this chess match? I wasn't even a chess player—rather, a novice at the game of love!
"You know exactly what you are doing," I said, staring at the road. I had to look away from his beauty.
"I just want to get to know you, understand you," he said painfully, and instantly it felt like a two-by-four rammed into my chest, knocking out all the air. He really wanted to get to know me?
No! No! Lies—Yes. He's a master puppeteer. Don't fall for it, girl!
"Oh, really?" I said, shooting him a look.
"Yes," he said, his eyes drifted to me, then back to the road. "The moment I saw you . . . I knew you were unique."
"Of course," I blurted, "the moment you saw me. It was based solely on my looks."
"No." Mark shook his head back and forth. "It was more than your looks. Yes, you are beautiful, but there was something about you—your energy, your aura. Something inside of you that compelled me to watch. You intrigued me."
Really?! I intrigued him? My aura, my soul, the real me, Sarah intrigued him? It wasn't Gwen's physicality—it was me, Sarah. It was obvious we were soulmates. Kindred spirits. Lovers!
No! Shut up! Shut up! He never noticed Sarah's energy before Gwen showed up!
I was right—I was being naïve, a fly aiming straight for his web. Only one day of being beautiful and I had already gained so much knowledge and perspective. I knew how persuasive this body was. Oh, the curse that I was living with! The cross that only I could bear! A little smile formed on my lips, and I shook my head slowly back and forth.
"You . . . are silent," Mark said. "Did I say something to offend you? It's so hard for me to figure you out."
