The Enemy of Time, page 4
August 4th, 2013:
I came to understand that moments are like reflections on water—disturb them too soon, and the truth vanishes in the ripples. Looking back, I should’ve waited for the surface to settle. Instead, I threw a stone and watched the image slip away.
The first Sunday of August 2013 marked the final day of our town’s two-month-long carnival. I had managed to avoid that forsaken funhouse for over a month, dodging Kayla’s and Lucas’s pleas and Jamie’s smooth attempts to drag me there. I hated loud noises, screaming children, sticky cotton candy, and flashy carnival games. The funnel cake, however, was the only redeeming quality.
I had been as skillful as a spy in my attempts to dodge this year's carnival, but when August fourth came, my efforts crumbled. Jamie had spent every night at my house the week leading up to that dreaded evening. My parents no longer allowed sleepovers after we turned thirteen due to “hormones,” but Jamie needed an escape from his house. Jamie’s home life was never a Leave It to Beaver reality, but on the days his dad was living at the bottom of a bottle, it was safer for Jamie to be elsewhere.
I never understood why his mom stayed in that house of horrors. She moved from a Hopi Reservation in northeastern Arizona to Massachusetts with some girlfriends when she was eighteen. She was a very kind woman, always smiling and baking cookies for school events. On the surface, she seemed perfect: hair meticulously curled, nails glossy red, dress ironed to a crisp. You would never know she lived with an abusive, drug-dealing alcoholic in Raymond Hills trailer park.
The week before the carnival closed, Jamie’s dad reached a new level of jackass. One of his errand runners split with a “package,” costing him the rent money. Instead of getting a job, Jamie’s dad did what he always did: participated in nightly bar fights and screamed at Jamie’s mom for not working more shifts. Jamie learned at a young age not to intervene, though it took four black eyes and a gash from a broken beer bottle for the lesson to sink in. By thirteen, he had stopped trying to protect someone he couldn’t save.
Jamie was always a restless sleeper, kicking and elbowing in his sleep. But that week, the kicking stopped, replaced by something far worse. He screamed and cried in the dead of night, his voice raw with pain. When I finally got him to open up, his words broke me. Every night, he said, a new terror gripped him, each one ending the same way—with the image of his mom’s lifeless body. He told me this with tears in his eyes, like he was still there, trapped in the nightmare, unable to wake up.
The sun hung low, casting a golden hue over the carnival grounds. Laughter and chatter filled the air, mingling with the scent of overcooked popcorn and candy-coated caramel apples, creating a sweet and slightly burnt aroma. The carnival lights blazed, casting a neon glow over the scene. I walked between Kayla and Jamie, their chatter blending with the chaos around us. The Ferris wheel loomed in the distance, its rotating lights mesmerizing as carnival music boomed.
Jamie punched his elbow into my shoulder. “Ready to puke your guts out on the Tilt-A-Whirl?”
I replied with a smirk. “Oh yes, it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Thanks for forcing me into this child-polluted loony bin.” Our feet shuffled on the muddy grass as we continued ahead.
“You’re welcome.” Jamie’s self-enjoyment was palpable. He lowered his head to mine, which just six months ago was at my same level—damn teenage boy growth hormones. “Technically, you’re a child too.” He chuckled.
“I prefer ‘underdeveloped short person,’” I quipped back.
Jamie’s eyes scanned my body, landing just below my chin and above my ribs. With a cocky raise of one eyebrow and a curl to his lips, he tilted his head. “Not so underdeveloped now ...”
I slapped his chest. “Perv! You’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”
“Oh, please.” He rolled his eyes. “You love me in your bed.”
My heart quickened, my tongue-tied, and my stomach flipped. Jamie and I always talked like this—flirting, fighting, finishing each other’s sentences. We were an old married couple without sex. But that summer, his smug smiles were besting me, sending butterflies dancing in my stomach and making my heart flutter.
Kayla’s heels dug into the mud beside me, coming to a screeching halt. “I’d love to continue this episode of One Tree Hill, but we should probably find Lucas.” She crossed her arms over her baby blue tank. Kayla appeared less excited about today than I was. Lucas had invited his new girlfriend, Becky, and her friends, which was likely what was causing a permanent scowl to stain Kayla’s face.
Jamie shoved his fingers in his jeans’ pockets. “He said he’d meet us at the pretzel stand.”
Kayla rolled her eyes. “We’ve been here, what, five minutes? And I’ve already seen seven pretzel stands.” Her hands shot to her hips after flicking her blanket of braided hair over her shoulder. “This is why the girls plan the outings; boy brains can’t handle fundamental details!”
I glared around the crowd. “Just listen for the sound of air leaving somebody’s head.”
Jamie’s eyes scrunched up. “What? Why?”
“Oh, there you silly geese are!” An ear-piercing voice cut through the crowd like a manic baby bird. Becky’s red curls bounced as she skipped over, her fingers intertwined with Lucas’s.
“That’s why,” I said to Jamie.
“What does silly geese mean?” he whispered. The brush of his lips against my ear sent shivers down my spine.
“It means she flunked English.” I chuckled.
“At least I’m not the only one.”
Jamie could take apart a truck engine and rebuild it in an afternoon, but when it came to school, he was a fish out of water.
“You didn’t fail. You got a D. There’s a difference.”
Jamie’s mouth was dangerously close to mine. “I only got a D because I sat next to you.”
I turned slightly closer to him, the heat of his breath gracing my face. “And you were smart enough to cheat. That qualifies you for at least a C.”
Kayla stepped forward to meet Becky. “Hey, glad you made it too.” Her voice was sweet yet carried a bite.
Becky’s porcelain face twitched like a smiling robot short-circuiting. “Oh, hey, Kayla. Lucas didn’t mention you were coming.” Yes, he did. I heard them arguing about it on the phone last night.
Kayla’s cheeks flushed. “It’s Kayla, actually,” she snapped. “Really?” Becky tilted her head. “It sounds like a misprint.”
My spine stiffened. “Hey Becky, I like the new red hair color.” I turned my attention to my brother. “I didn’t know you had a thing for Woody Woodpecker, Lucas.”
Lucas flinched. “Alex. Be nice.”
Jamie almost choked on his laugh. “That’s a tall order. Lower your request.”
Lucas’s jaw clenched. “How about being less hostile?”
I shook my head in response. “You know I can’t make any promises regarding bodily harm.”
Lucas stepped toward me, but Becky laid her hand on his chest. “It’s all good, Lucas. Us girls are just joking around.”
“Oh yeah, I’m a real Heath Ledger,” I mocked.
Lucas wrapped his arm around Becky’s waist. “Let’s go meet everyone else before the hair-pulling starts.”
Becky’s group, the theatre kids, awaited us. They were loud, obnoxious, drama-possessed, and believed every day was a play and they were the stars. Thanks to my lovesick brother, I had to spend the night with them.
As we followed Lucas through the carnival, lights flashed, music pounded, and children giggled. Finally, we reached a row of tents featuring stuffed animals and games.
The aroma of sugary funnel cakes and motor oil from the bumper cars filled the air. Becky’s group stood by the Dunk Tank, imprisoning a depressed-looking clown: Brandon was a quiet guy with blonde curls and freckles, while Carter resembled a pocket-sized Peter Parker. Then there was Meghan, the drama teacher’s daughter, who always landed the lead role and the lead guy.
We scattered into mini-groups, each drawn to a game. Lucas and Becky headed to the Balloon Pop, while Carter and Meghan went to the Basketball Toss. Kayla dashed off with Brandon to the Water Gun Race. I chose to hide by the Whack-a-Mole. The solid grip of the mallet in my hand, combined with the tuneful thud of plastic mole-beating, created a unique blend of delight.
“Remind me never to let you own a bat.” Jamie chuckled. “I’m gonna grab some food. Want anything?”
“Funnel cake!” I grinned like a possessed doll as I bounced the mallet from target to target.
Jamie grinned. “I told you you’d have fun.”
I pointed the mallet at him. “Careful, boy, I’m armed.”
Jamie laughed. “Those are two words that should never come out of your mouth.” He backed away, disappearing into the crowd.
I continued smashing moles until a tap on my shoulder made me swing around, mallet in hand.
“Whoa, careful,” Megan squealed, jumping back.
I put the mallet down. “Do you need something?” Politeness was wasted on Megan.
“Are you and Jamie a thing?”
I couldn't stop my eyes from widening. “No.”
Megan leaned against the Whack-a-Mole machine. “Are you sure? You two are always together. Everyone assumes.”
Every school has a girl who talks in backstabbing riddles. Megan was that girl.
“Tell anyone who cares that Jamie and I are the poster children for Platonic Friendships.”
“Oh, good,” Megan perked up. “I think Jamie’s cute. I was going to ask him out, but didn’t want to step on toes.” Her breath hung on mine as if my discomfort were a drug to her.
I imagined Megan’s head as a plastic mole. “Aren’t you dating Carter?”
“At the moment, yes. But I was thinking about Jamie for after.”
Just as my anger erupted, Jamie reappeared with funnel cakes.
“Alex, let’s go do the ring toss?” Jamie glanced at Megan. “Oh, hey, you can come too.”
I pushed between them. “Let’s ride the Ferris wheel.”
Jamie frowned. “But you hate heights.”
Meghan chimed in. “I love heights! I can go with Jamie.”
“That’s a nice offer, but I’m fine,” I said, matching her fake smile.
Jamie finally noticed the tension. “Why don’t we all go? I’ll get Lucas and Kayla. Meghan, you grab Carter and Brandon.”
Annoyance flickered in Meghan’s eyes as she stomped away.
Jamie handed me my funnel cake. “What was that about?”
I stuffed a chunk in my mouth. “Nothing.”
Everyone gathered in line for the Ferris wheel, and apparently, I wasn’t the only person uncomfortable. I watched as Lucas stood stiffly near Becky, but his attention was entirely elsewhere. His eyes darted to Kayla and Brandon, his fists clenching every time they talked. When the operator called for the first pair, Lucas and Becky climbed into the swinging bucket seat. Even as the bar locked them in, Lucas's gaze lingered on Kayla and Brandon, his stare almost daring Brandon to look back.
Kayla had gone out with plenty of boys over the summer, always keeping things quick and casual, treating dating like a game she was always sure to win. She would flirt, have her fun, and move on without a second thought—always in control, always unbothered. But something about Brandon was different. I could see it in the way her laughter lingered just a little too long or how her cheeks flushed when he spoke. It was almost like, for the first time, the rules of her game didn’t quite apply.
Lucas noticed, too. He kept cutting into their conversations, making sarcastic remarks, or physically stepping between them like an overzealous bodyguard. Jealousy was an understatement when it came to Lucas and Kayla.
Finally, it was Jamie's and my turn. The operator seated us and locked the lap bar. I gripped it tightly.
“Are you sure about this?” Jamie asked.
“Yeah, what’s not to be sure about? It’s just two tons of metal moved from town to town. Totally safe.”
The ride jolted forward, and I tensed, gripping the seat so tightly my nails chipped the red paint covering the metal bar.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Jamie comforted, covering my hand. “You’re safe. This ride’s been spinning all day. There’s nothing to fear.”
“Murphy’s law …” I choked out.
“What?” Jamie chuckled.
“Murphy’s law. Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.”
Jamie squeezed my hand. “You know all that anxiety will give you a heart attack one day.”
“Or an aneurysm. Fifty/fifty chance.”
I opened one eye and gasped.
Jamie turned my face to his. “Just look at me.”
For a brief second, I was transfixed by his eyes, the way they gleamed into mine so effortlessly and longingly. His cheeks blushed a deep red.
My heart raced, but not from fear. I didn’t intend to move forward, but somehow, I did. He did too. We stopped just short of each other, close enough that the space between us seemed to vanish.
I gave the tiniest nod, and Jamie responded to my silent request. His lips brushed against mine, gentle and unsure at first. Then, with a bit more certainty, he kissed me again. I could barely breathe. His hand caressed my neck before sliding into my hair, drawing me closer, as if we were something delicate and secret.
And just like that, he pulled back, his eyes wide as he searched mine, as if he wasn’t sure it had really happened either.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wanted to do that tonight.”
My head was dizzy. “Why?”
“I wanted to be the first. High school starts in a week, and life will move fast. It’ll be like blinking, and when we open our eyes, it’ll be graduation, and everyone will leave. You’ll leave. I might not have you forever, but now I can be your first forever. That counts for something, right?”
Jamie seemed frozen, waiting for my response.
“Everything,” I said. “It counts for everything.”
As if my words were mouth to mouth, he sucked in a breath and smiled.
If only the night had ended there. When we got off the Ferris wheel, Carter had gotten sick, and I offered to wait with him until his mom came to pick him up. Then I went back to find the others. They were gathered around the High-Striker game. Jamie hit the mallet as I approached, causing a bell to shriek and lights to start flashing. Meghan wrapped her arms around Jamie's neck and pulled him in, shoving her mouth against his, but he didn’t pull away.
I should’ve walked away. I should’ve swallowed the humiliation, turned on my heel, and left without another glance. But instead, I stood there, watching, the pain throbbing in my chest like a wound I couldn’t stop poking. Jamie kissed her back as if nothing that had happened between us mattered.
My legs moved before I could stop them, carrying me towards the group. Jamie's lips were still on hers, but his eyes flicked up when I approached. For a split second, our gaze met. His expression twisted, shock, maybe guilt, or panic, but I didn't wait for him to speak or explain.
Instead, I snapped. I didn’t think. I couldn’t think. I reached out and grabbed the nearest body. The boy's startled expression barely registered before I pressed my lips to his. The kiss was messy and rushed, his lips tasting of hot dogs and cheap mustard. I wanted to scream, to cry, to run, but mostly, I wanted to make Jamie feel the same ache.
I pulled away quickly, my heart racing. The air felt heavy, and everyone was staring. Kayla's face swam into focus, her mouth slightly open, her expression between shock and betrayal. When I looked at Jamie, expecting hurt or anger, there was nothing. No emotion, no reaction. His face was unreadable, his eyes cold and unyielding. And somehow, that was worse.
Back then, I thought I knew what heartbreak was. But I was wrong. True heartbreak is when your legs betray your body, and you’re left lying on the floor. When your lungs shrivel to sand, and you’re left gasping for breath. When your brain melts to nothing, and you are left without a word. True heartbreak is when every second of every day feels like an eternity lost in the dark.
I would trade everything and anything for the simple sting of a fourteen-year-old's heartbreak.
Chapter six
Growing old doesn’t mean you’ve grown up.
Growing up doesn’t mean you’ve grown old.
6:50 p.m.
The top of my skull smacked the rusty faucet as I leaned my head under the running tap. Cold water drenched my hair as I attempted to wash away the remaining spaghetti and butter that coated my roots after the food fight moments ago. Maybe I should consider therapy ...
Kayla, who had been unusually quiet, stood beside me at the double sink vanity. Her guilt-filled eyes met mine as I turned off the faucet. I was aware that fifty percent of the incident downstairs was my fault. I provoked the situation and thus received a spaghetti-filled eardrum, but I didn't throw the first noodle. Hell, I wasn't the one who cheated! I admit I played a part in ruining Kayla's first kiss, but a peck on the wrong lips is far different from walking in on your best friend naked on your boyfriend's bed.
“Are you just going to keep staring at me, or are you going to open your big mouth and apologize?” I asked Kayla, then yanked a green towel next to the shower off its hook.
Kayla gathered her bundle of tiny braids to one side and squeezed them tightly. A cascade of dirty water and hot dog particles flowed from the tips of her hair into the sink, her eyes glued to the water instead of mine. “I’m sorry for throwing food at you.”
“And ...?” My voice gritted.
Kayla smacked her hands on the counter, her acrylic nails almost chipping from the force. “What do you want me to say?”
“Are you genuinely asking? Or have you lost brain cells in the last five years?”
Kayla folded her arms over her sauce-stained shirt. “I’ve been apologizing to you nonstop over what happened with Jamie. I’ve called you a hundred times, written you dozens of letters, and even showed up at your dorm room, but still, you won’t forgive me. I don’t know what else to say or do to make you understand how much I wish I could take that day back.” Water coated the corners of Kayla’s eyes. I expected this to fill me with pleasure, but instead, my intestines twisted.
