The Enemy of Time, page 3
Tap! Tap! Tap! The sound of pink pumps against the cafeteria floor signaled trouble. I wearily tilted my head up—great, the preps. The queen bee, Bethany, stood before our table, arms crossed, her designer tank top wrinkling.
“You should be more careful, new girl. It’s your first day, and you’ve already made a stupid mistake,” Bethany hissed.
Kayla’s eyes narrowed. “And what would that be?”
Bethany’s smirk grew. “Fraternizing with the freaks.”
I stood up, my short frame barely reaching Bethany’s chest. “Back off, Bethany.”
Bethany cupped her ear. “Did you hear that? Sounds like a little mouse in need of another haircut.”
My blood boiled. Bethany had been tormenting me since we were kids. She was the bitch who mangled my hair when I was six, a little demon brat who had grown into the devil. Before I could react, Kayla grabbed Lucas’s lonely chicken salad sandwich, leaped in front of me, and squished the mayonnaise-filled lunch against Bethany’s hot pink beaded top with a satisfying squelch. The absurdity of it all transformed my previous jealousy into pure amusement, and I couldn’t help but laugh. The sound reverberated throughout the room, drawing shocked attention from nearby students. Bethany let out a high-pitched shriek, piercing the air like a fire alarm.
Alerted by the commotion, a teacher approached swiftly. Ms. Martin’s footsteps smacked the tile like the gavel of a judge, and her voice was stern, instantly silencing the crowd. “What on earth is going on here?”
Still in shock and covered in mushed chicken, Bethany pointed a trembling finger at Kayla. “She did this to me! She ruined my top!”
I delivered a pleased grin. “I don’t see it that way. Kayla was embellishing an already nauseating attire. She was making it smell as bad as it looked.”
Kayla faced the teacher calmly, her words measured and composed like lyrics. “Exactly. I was trying to help the poor girl out.”
Ms. Martin’s eyes looked seconds from popping out of her skull. “This is not the way to handle conflicts.” Her stare locked onto mine, her irises matching the pulsing vein on her forehead. “I expect this sort of shenanigans from you, Ms. Jinx.” She turned to Kayla, risking knocking the tight bun off her head. “But Ms. Jones! I hope you’ll reevaluate your choice of friends after this little incident.”
I scoffed at her insinuation. “Always the freak’s fault, never the preps,” I grumbled. For a millisecond, I considered the repercussions of my words, but that never stopped my mouth from moving. “Tell me, what’s it like peaking in high school?”
Her face contorted in shock and offense. Her eyebrows shot up, and her nose flared. “That’s it!” she yelled through gritted teeth. “Alex, Kayla, you’re coming to the principal’s office with me.”
“You owe me ten bucks!” Lucas shot up from his seat like an outraged toddler. “You too, Jamie. Cough it up.”
Jamie bugged his eyes at me. “You couldn’t have waited another day to get sent to the principal’s office? I had my bet on Tuesday.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
As we walked down the hallway toward the principal’s office, I knew I should’ve been nervous—but I couldn’t help striding along with a ridiculous sense of glee. I hadn’t seen Bethany squeal like that since Jamie tripped her in third grade—and honestly, it was beautiful.
Kayla and I sat outside the principal’s office, waiting for our turn to be reprimanded, when she finally broke the silence. “I hope I didn’t get you into too much trouble,” she whispered.
“Nah, it was worth it. Seriously, I feel like I should be throwing you a parade.”
Kayla’s eyes widened. “Good! So, are we okay then? Like friends?”
I pondered this. I had been the only girl in our trio since day one, and honestly, we needed more estrogen to break up all that testosterone. “Sure, why not?”
There was a brief pause, a moment of mutual tolerance during which I entertained the idea that I might not mind this reckless girl’s company. That was until Kayla spoke up again, her words tinged with a hint of embarrassment. “By the way, Alex, I hope you don’t think I’m into Jamie.”
I choked on her words, my throat tightening from the insinuation. “I don’t care.” My voice was high-pitched. “Jamie and I are just friends.”
Kayla rolled her eyes. “Really?” She raised a single judgmental brow at me. “Is that why you looked at me like you were gonna take my head off when I sat at your table? Because you’re ‘just friends?’”
I gasped. “I truly have no idea what you could be insinuating.”
“Whatever you say, Ms. Denial.”
I had never thought of Jamie as anything more than just a friend—my best friend, my other half, the person I had no doubt I would spend the rest of my life with. But when I saw him look at Kayla with that flicker of intrigue, that gleam of curiosity, I realized I wanted Jamie to look at me that way.
I didn’t know what I wanted until I couldn’t have it.
Chapter four
Memories are not always facts.
Facts are not always true.
So, what is real?
What is fake?
True and false don’t give; they take.
6:00 p.m.
Lucas stood frozen like a victim of Medusa, his eyes scanning Kayla as if he thought words were forming on his lips. Their relationship was more complicated than untangling a box of Christmas lights, but I had no interest in delving into that mess. I refused to waste another second contemplating Kayla’s questionable life choices.
The rapid scuff of shoes hurried toward us, stopping abruptly where the kitchen tile met the hallway’s wooden floor. My mom’s eyes darted between our trio: Kayla, looking like a child being punished; Lucas, wearing a giant W of confusion; and me, no doubt turning a shade of red that could rival the apple peelings in the pie before us.
“Kayla, dear.” My mom’s voice wavered as she painted on a smile. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I hope I’m not too early.” Kayla sounded as nervous as she looked.
The clinking of silverware against pots and pans played like a discordant symphony as Lucas fidgeted with his dishes. His face was flushed, possibly from the stove’s heat or the burning tension in the room. “You’re never too early. I’m just finishing up.” His black eyes always seemed brighter when they met Kayla’s. What used to be sweet had turned sad. “Why don’t you help Alex set the table?”
Leaning against the kitchen island, I locked eyes with Kayla, who stood on the opposite side of the counter—a safety barrier between my nails and her eyes. I spoke at her, not to her, as if she were nothing more than an obstruction. “Are we just going to ignore the backstabbing bitch in the room?”
My mother gasped. “Alexandria!”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Was that rude of me?” I feigned shock. “I thought ‘bitch’ was the nicest word I could use. Want me to try again? Jackass Judas, serpent slut, heretic whore?”
Lucas threw a dish towel over his shoulder and crossed his arms. “How biblical of you.”
Why was he protecting her? Kayla had screwed him over as badly as she had screwed me. Yet, he still shielded her like a loyal guard dog.
Kayla’s voice broke my glare at Lucas. “At least that English degree is paying off for you, Alex.”
“I spent $45,000 a year. I’d have to write The Hobbit for it to pay off.” I scoffed.
Lucas snorted. “Nerd.”
Kayla took two steps towards Lucas, mimicking his crossed-armed stance. “Says the grown man with a Star Wars action figure collection.”
He gasped. “How’d you know I still have that?”
Kayla smirked. “Because you just admitted it.”
“Nicely played.” I nodded at Kayla, swiping my finger across the sticky sugar residue on the pie bowl.
“I learned from the best.”
I licked the pie guts off my finger. “True. I was an excellent Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
“See this!” My mom pointed between us. “This is why I invited Kayla! You guys need this!”
I pushed off the counter and stomped my foot, trying to assert dominance, but I likely ended up looking like a toddler in a tantrum. “The pleasantries were a reflex. I don’t need her in my life.”
My mother matched my stomps, her hair flicking behind her. “What life? You don’t have a life.”
I readied a response, but the truth of her words silenced me.
Lucas cupped his mouth. “Ouch, burned by Monica. That’s gotta sting.”
Mom turned her piercing gaze to him. “And when was the last time you talked to anyone who wasn’t from work?”
“HA!” I spat. “She got you, too.”
Lucas narrowed his eyes at me, his lip twitching. He wouldn’t dare. “Alex got fired.”
Mom whipped around to face me. “You what?”
“Lucas’s girlfriend broke up with him!”
She turned back to him. “Another one?”
“Kayla quit college!” Lucas fumbled.
Mom’s head flipped to her. “Again?”
Kayla gritted her teeth. “Why did you bring me into this?”
Lucas fiddled with the kitchen towel that hung from his shoulder. “I panicked.”
Mom smacked her palms on the counter, sending a shockwave through the pie. “Now, do you believe me? You all screwed up the moment you split. Your group was codependent in high school, and without each other, you’ve regressed into children.”
I rolled my eyes. “Bull—”
“You might be twenty-three, Alexandria Darra Jinx, but don’t think for a second I won’t ground your ass.” My mom’s tone was sharp, and even though she had no real authority to ground me, I wasn’t eager to test her resolve.
“Yes, ma’am.” I backed away as if I were a reluctant bride at the altar.
“Now, set the dinner table before I ground every one of you.” Mom’s jaw clenched so tight I could almost hear her back molar crack.
“Geez, okay! I’ll grab the silverware,” I said.
Kayla darted to the cabinet below the sink. “I’ll get the placemats.”
Lucas, gripping the pot of boiling noodles, hurried to the sink, nearly colliding with Kayla. “I’ll start dishing up the plates.”
Fumbling with the silverware in the drawer, I grabbed a thick stack of forks and knives. The drawer slammed shut, nearly catching my pinky in the process. As I scurried to the dining room, Kayla was right behind me.
“She wouldn’t ground us, right?” Kayla placed the cream placemats on the cherry wood table, her wide eyes meeting mine.
“Remember the morning after prom?” I asked, setting a fork and knife on the worn placemat.
“Yikes … hide the spatula!”
As we finally settled around the table for dinner, I couldn’t shake the feeling of déjà vu—like I’d stepped into a time machine, Marty McFly-style, and landed straight in the past. We sat there, napkins on our laps, each of us in our assigned seats, unchanged since we first formed our little group of misfits. My parents occupied their usual spots, my mother at the head of the table, and Julian at the foot. Kayla sat closest to the living room, her chair’s leather cushion showing signs of wear. Lucas was to her right, and I sat directly in front of her.
It felt like nothing had changed, as if the past five years were just a bad dream, but as I glanced to the left, I snapped back to the present. Jamie’s seat sat empty, a haunting reminder of where his warmth once filled the room, now replaced by the cold grip of solitude.
Silence encased the table like a thick fog, the tension as palpable as the steam rising from the plates of Filipino spaghetti before us. Lucas’s mother, who arrived in America from Mindanao at eighteen, had introduced Julian to this dish on their first date. He hated it but was desperate to impress her, so he ate the noodles covered in hot dog slices and sweet tomato sauce with a smile. After they married, she made it for every occasion, even Christmas. When she passed away, Julian continued the tradition with Lucas. This dish reminded me that even when something is gone, it’s not truly lost.
Julian broke the silence, his voice a beacon in the night. He turned to Kayla, his fork tracing patterns on his plate. “So, Kayla, what have you been doing since you moved to Atlanta?”
Kayla twirled a strand of spaghetti on her fork, her eyes fixed on her plate. “I moved back home last week.”
The room filled with the soft clinking of silverware, a symphony playing tug of war between silence and crescendo.
“That would be your third college, right?” I asked, not because I didn’t know the answer, but because I wanted to see her squirm just a little.
Kayla’s reply was hesitant, still coaxing a strand of spaghetti with her fork. “Fourth. It wasn’t the school; I’ve learned college isn’t for me.”
Julian took a deep swig of red wine. “What are your plans now?”
Kayla’s shoulders were hunched inward. “I’m not sure yet. That’s why I’m staying with my dad until I figure out the life I want to live.” Kayla resembled a Chihuahua in a thunderstorm, shaking and tiny.
The conversation was painfully awkward, yet the urge to pierce the silence was irresistible.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll just steal somebody else’s,” I quipped, twirling my pasta like a cat playing with a ball of yarn.
Lucas’s palms slapped the table, making the plates rattle and the glasses quiver. “Can’t you let the past die?”
“No.” The wine glass pressed to my lips, the sour grapes mirroring the bitterness in the room. “I don’t make amends with boyfriend thieves.”
Kayla threw her napkin on the table. “I didn’t steal him from you! You don’t even know the whole story!” Her voice reached a new, annoying pitch.
A scoff and a smile played on my lips. “I think seeing you naked on his bed painted a good picture.”
“We should let them talk about this.” Julian motioned for my mom to follow him out of the dining room, but not without first grabbing his plate of food. My mom shook her head at us one last time before following him.
With her face turning red, either from embarrassment or anger, Kayla clenched her fork tightly. “Fine, you think you know everything? Stop pretending you’re innocent! You could have fought for him, but instead, you cut us all out. You lost Jamie. That’s on you! But you’ll never admit you were wrong because you can’t admit when you’ve screwed up! Stop playing the victim!”
Lucas tried to mediate, waving his hands like a conductor calming an unruly orchestra. “Kayla—”
I catapulted from my chair, sending it crashing into the china cabinet behind me. “Me? I’m playing the victim? Name one time I ever did anything to you!” My voice sliced the air.
Kayla’s breath quickened, her eyes searching for the next jab, her lips nervous with tension. “You stole my first kiss!”
Not to throw myself under the bus, but there were several things she could have jabbed back at me. This was absurd. “What?”
Kayla huffed. “The summer before high school at the town carnival.”
Lucas turned in his chair, angling his shoulders at Kayla, his face just as confused as mine. “That’s what you’re arguing? The freshman carnival? There are so many better options. Like when Alex—”
“Don’t help her!” I snapped at him, my voice octaves higher than intended.
Kayla stabbed her fork into her spaghetti, sending bits of tomato sauce flying onto the placemats.
“You grabbed Brandon and kissed him right after he won me that stuffed bear!” Kayla said.
“Okay? So, I kissed a boy. What’s the big deal? You didn’t even like him.”
“Yes, I did! And you would have known that if you hadn’t gotten jealous when you saw Jamie kiss Meghan Townsend and stole my date to get back at him.”
Memories started to flood back, but I wasn’t ready to admit defeat. “First, I wasn’t jealous; second, he wasn’t your date!”
“Yes, he was! That night, we all paired up: Lucas with his annoying girlfriend, Meghan with Carter Hitch, you with Jamie, and I with Brandon. But when Carter got sick on the Ferris wheel, Meghan snatched Jamie, and you retaliated by kissing Brandon."
My brain spun like a hamster on a wheel, getting nowhere. Technically, Kayla was right, but not factually. “You’re delusional! You’re twisting the story. You’re the boyfriend stealer here, not me!”
Kayla’s face flushed with anger. In a split second, she plunged her hand into the tomato-covered pasta, gripped the slippery noodles, and flung them at my head.
A faint whistle punctuated by a wet thud echoed as the food slapped my cheek, noodles sliding down my face. Kayla’s eyes widened, likely in shock at her actions. After five years apart, this was her attempt at making amends. My hands dug into my meal, the noodles feeling like worms between my fingers. I launched the spaghetti at her, sauce splattering across the table. Half the noodles landed on Kayla’s face, the rest ricocheting onto Lucas’s shoulder.
Lucas flicked a piece of hot dog off his chest, his initial shock giving way to a mischievous glint. He grabbed a handful of butter and flung it in my direction. Lukewarm dairy smacked my neck and slid down my shirt like a slug on a slip-and-slide. Perhaps Mom was right—we had indeed regressed to toddlers.
My mom screamed as she entered the dining room. “You three are cleaning this up!”
I had thought about that carnival night a thousand times—my first kiss, my first heartbreak—but never through Kayla’s eyes. How could two people see the same night so differently? Who was right? Who was wrong? I guess it doesn’t matter. In the end, memories are only true for the one who lived them.
Chapter five
Your eyes can lie to you.
Your mouth can curse you.
Your heart can betray you.
Your brain can fool you.
