To You, Iyla, page 4
“It’s pretty simple, really,” Ambert explained. “All you’ve got to do is make sure you connect the cables to the right terminals.” He pointed to the engine. “But be warned. You have to make sure you do it correctly, otherwise…” He gestured an explosion with his hands. “Boom.”
My eyes grew wide, panic kicking back in as I inadvertently took a step backwards. Did Ambert know what he was doing?
“Should I be worried?” I vocalized my concerned thoughts.
“Not at all.” He shook his head. “I’ve watched a video.”
His words didn’t ease my anxiety any less. I was now desperately hugging myself for comfort and not warmth.
“I’m kidding again.” He laughed, reassuringly touching my arm. “My dad owns an auto shop and would kick my ass if I didn’t know how to boost a car. It’s one of the simplest things in mechanics.”
The wind picked up another cold breeze as my body shuddered beneath his touch, goosebumps forming all over.
“You’re cold.” He pulled his hand away. “Let me grab you a sweater. I have one in my car.
Before I could protest, he’d jogged back over to his car, pulled a sweater out of his backseat, and walked back over to me. “It might be a little big on you.”
I looked down, questioning if I was really going to put on this stranger’s sweater. But before I could further debate that thought, another cold breeze hit my skin, prompting me to slip the sweater over my head.
Ambert wasn’t wrong. The length of the fabric fell inches past my jean shorts, creating the illusion that I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
Great.
“A little big?” I joked as I peered up at him.
“It looks good on you.” He smirked. “Blue is your color.”
I paused yet again, unsure how to process the compliment, until eventually deciding that letting the conversation fall flat was the easiest choice.
“I overheard you telling Vic that you’re new here.” He continued the conversation for me. “Are you going to UCLA this fall?”
“I am, actually. My best friend and I just drove from Ohio to get to campus early. I mean, we haven’t just driven down all day. We stopped along the way. It took us almost three days to get here,” I rambled, cursing myself internally as I awkwardly toyed with the cuffs of his sweater.
“I get it.” He leaned against his car, folding his arms across his chest as he studied me.
The blood rushed to my cheeks under his gaze as I asked him a question in return. “So, are you a UCLA student?”
He pointed to the sweater on my chest, where a massive UCLA logo was embroidered. I had to fight not to place my head in my hands.
This was getting worse and worse.
“Soon to be,” he added, sparing me from my embarrassment. “But hey, almost everyone around here is rocking that sweater. Even people that don’t go to UCLA. So, it’s a valid question.”
I tried to find some humor in my awkwardness as I picked some imaginary lint off my sleeve. “What will you be studying?”
“History.” He surprised me with his response. “But who knows? I’m still undecided on what I want to do in life, if I’m being honest. You?”
“Pre-law.” I found some confidence as I spoke. “My goal is to go to Stanford afterwards.”
“Stanford, eh?” His voice sounded skeptical, and instantly, I felt offended.
“What’s wrong with Stanford?” I questioned defensively.
“Nothing, nothing.” He raised both of his hands up with a chuckle. “I’m just not the type that likes planning too far ahead. It’s hard to know what the future holds for us. So, I kind of let life come as it will. I mean, I didn’t think that I would be boosting a stranger’s car tonight. Nor did I imagine giving my sweater to one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen.”
If my cheeks were pink the whole time, they were now, without a doubt, the darkest possible shade of red.
“But here we are.” He lifted his hands to the sky lightheartedly. “Sometimes life has a funny way of making things happen.”
I shied away with a smile, brushing a strand of hair out of my face as I felt his momentary stare.
“That should’ve been enough time.” He broke the silence and looked down at the watch on his wrist. “Let’s see if it worked.” He walked back over to his car and ignited the engine. “Give yours a try.”
I followed his instructions. As I twisted the keys into the ignition this time, the car’s engine roared like it usually did. Well, as much as a hatchback could roar. “Oh my God, you’re a lifesaver!” I sighed in relief, a grin spreading across my face. “I really—”
The jingles of a door stopped me mid-sentence as I turned my head to the entrance of the shop, seeing Hallie making her way over to the car. Her brown eyes were fixated on Ambert’s unfamiliar face before she shot me a suggestive smirk and pursed her lips in excitement as if to say who is that?
Uh oh.
I drew my eyes away from Hallie and back over to Ambert, who had already disconnected the cables from our car, wrapped them up neatly, and tossed them into his backseat. “Well, I’ll see you around,” he told me, closing the hood and opening his driver’s door.
“Wait!” I stopped him. “Don’t forget your sweater.” I lifted the soft material over my head, taking in the scent of the cologne one last time.
“It’s all good. You can keep it. Besides…” Ambert stepped into his car and rolled down his window. “It’ll give me an excuse to find you on campus. Good night, Iyla.”
As his taillights disappeared into the distance, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d just met someone who would do much more in my life than boost my car.
“Two questions…” Hallie finally reached me. “What the hell just happened to my car? But more importantly, who the hell was that?”
“Ambert,” I shyly answered the only significant part of her question.
“Hmm…” Her eyes dropped down onto the sweater I was wearing. “What did I tell you?” she handed me my drink. “We’ve only just arrived, and I’ve already got a date for tomorrow night, and you’ve got a guy to catch.”
I grabbed the iced coffee from her hand. “Just get in the car. You said you’d be five minutes.”
“And it looks like you didn’t mind the delay.”
Copyright Kate Lauren 2023 thewriterkate1@gmail.com
The
Third Entry
C E L E S T E
June 28
Here’s a question: if you learned that something significant would happen to you, would you want to know what it was?
If you had asked me before spring break, the answer would’ve been yes. 100% yes.
Why wouldn’t I have wanted to know? If something was going to end badly, I would’ve gotten myself out of there immediately.
But that’s the point, isn’t it? I would’ve left, and this story would’ve never taken place.
If you were to ask me that same question as I’m writing this entry now, knowing what I know, the answer would be no. Because sometimes the best things in life come unexpectedly.
By the time we arrived at Junipero Beach, the sun had started to set. Claire had sought golden hour as the perfect opportunity to snap a million pictures of anything and everything.
“Excuse me?” She stopped a group of men that were walking in the opposite direction of us. “Would you mind taking a picture
of us?”
“Claire!” I elbowed her as the group enthusiastically agreed.
“What?” she propped her hands on her hips.
“You couldn’t have picked a sketchier group of people?” I subtly cocked my head in the direction of the four boys, all of whom wore ridiculously baggy jeans, white tanks, and some oversized jackets.
“Sorry!” she snickered as she handed them her camera and guided us toward the rails that led up to the beach.
“Alright, let’s see a big smile, ladies!” the guys hooted and hollered, holding the camera out in front of them.
As Claire gave them a series of poses to work from, I stood there as if it was picture day—forcing a smile so fake that I knew she would scold me the second she got the photos developed.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough!” she said after a moment as she ran back over to the group to retrieve her camera. “You’re going to use up all my space.”
As a collective, the guys ranged in size and height and weren’t unattractive by any means. In fact, it wasn’t their appearance that turned me off of them at all. It was the protruding stench of cigarettes and booze.
Claire had always described my taste in men as quite “vanilla.” I’ll admit, every guy I’d ever liked or dated had been unexciting, dull, and predictable.
But what was wrong with that?
“Why isn’t a conventional, average guy enough?” I’d asked her.
Claire had stopped in her tracks and looked me dead in the eyes. “CeCe, let me ask you a question. What was your favorite ice cream flavor when you were a kid?”
Confused yet curious as to where she was going with this, I answered honestly. “Strawberry.”
“Okay, gross.” Disgust washed over her face. “But I’ll continue. What’s your favorite flavor now?”
“Strawberry,” I repeated the same answer.
She smacked her hand against her forehead. “You seriously make it so difficult to be philosophical at times.”
“What’s your point?” I dared to ask.
“The point is, yeah, when you’re a kid, you like stuff that’s, you know, simple. But once you taste another flavor, the strawberry becomes boring. You’ve got to sample different things and see what you like. How will you ever know if you always stick to the same thing?”
“So, what you’re saying is that men are like ice cream?” I mocked her with a teasing grin.
“What I’m saying is that you need to switch it up, try something new for once. These goodie-two-shoe guys you go after are clearly not working out.”
The term “guys” referred to a small but modest share of men I’d dated or been seeing, where things hadn’t worked out. This was partly because in high school, I never did have time to spend with anyone outside of class—nor did I want to invite anyone back to Sharlene’s. At that time, the fortitudes of my past had remained unspoken, and I intended to keep it that way. Once I began college, my only love interest was UCLA and my career. An “apathetic love connection,” as Claire described it.
In everything I’ve written so far, it may come across that I’m a dull soul and that Claire is an untameable, wild one at UCLA. One of the two is true. I’ve always been quite plain, simplistic, and kind of an old woman at heart.
But Claire has always been the relationship type. She’s always valued having someone emotionally and intimately available. However, she’s also very selective about the guys she dates. One mistake, and they’re out of there. She’d always told me that second chances are for boys. Men get it right the first time.
Claire had broken up with her last boyfriend a few months before we’d left for spring break. I was never entirely sure why, but I knew she was pretty upset about it. She’d informed me that the next guy she’d be with would be “Mr. Right.”
In other words, every guy was now a potential candidate, including the ones Claire had now opted to break into conversation with. God, I hoped that none of them would pass the test. Not just for my sake but for hers, too.
My prayers were answered a minute later once the group finally headed down the boardwalk and Claire walked back over to me.
“Satisfied now?” I asked.
With her camera in hand and a smile on her face, she scanned through some of the pictures. “Very,” she responded smugly.
“Any of them Mr. Right?” I pried teasingly, more interested in her recent interactions than the photos.
“Nope.” She sighed in defeat. “But they told me about this club they’re headed to, and it sounds fun. What do you think? Should we go?”
“A club?” I repeated back to her with a frown. “I don’t think so. We only just got here.”
She tucked her camera back into her bag. “Good point,” she agreed, and for a moment, I was foolish enough to think that she really meant it. “We’ll just go tomorrow instead.” She guided me down the staircase and towards the party on the beach. “When we look hotter.”
“Claire!” I tried to shout over the blaring music and astronomically large frat boys that stood in my way. “I need to go take a breather. I’ll be right back.”
“You’re going down, pretty boy!” Claire smirked over to the shirtless guy on her right with rock-hard abs and a backwards baseball cap.
“Oh yeah?” he heckled her back as the countdown to what appeared to be a shotgun competition kicked off. “We’ll see about That.”
“Three…two…one…go!”
It took Claire a few seconds to down the contents of the liquid before she lifted the empty can into the air, forcing the crowd to erupt in cheers and applause. “Ha-ha!” She threw the can into the sand and twirled around as the crowd continued to egg her on.
“Claire!” I attempted once more. “Claire? Can you hear me?”
Her eyes finally found mine in the crowd despite her drunken state. “Yeah…okay.” She nodded. “Go, be free!” She caught the attention of onlookers as she casually pulled off her shirt, revealing the bikini top she’d so conveniently worn underneath.
“Claire! Claire! Claire!” I heard everyone chant as I made my way back up the steps. A few hours of partying, loud music and drunken adults was all it took for me to become desperate enough to break away from it all.
A yawn escaped my mouth, reminding me it was far beyond my bedtime.
Bedtime?
Gosh, I’m embarrassed even writing that down.
After a few minutes of solitude, I stood up and brushed off some sand that clung to my skirt. By now, the boardwalk was quiet. Everyone had either found refuge inside one of the bars or joined the party below.
The cool ocean breeze washed over my body, reminding me of the sense of peace that California had always offered me. It was a peace that I’d never known before.
“Shut up. You’re the idiot that got us kicked out,” an aggravated voice called out, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Me?! It wasn’t my fault! It was his fault,” another voice called out combatively, causing me to turn my head towards a group of men, all of whom were pointing fingers at one another.
“It was Jerry.”
“No, it was Stevie!”
“It was all of us, idiots!” one of them finally shouted. As I got a closer look, the group’s familiarity suddenly struck me. This was the same group of guys from earlier—the ones who had snapped the pictures of Claire and me. Now, they were extraordinarily drunk and causing a great deal of chaos.
The words “Club Affinity” illuminated the space above their heads. I guessed this was the club they’d mentioned to Claire earlier.
“You know what?” one of them snapped. “Fuck that guy. We’re going back inside.” He gestured towards the entrance.
From afar, their interactions with one another looked like a sad attempt at a high school pep rally— if the crowd was a bunch of sweaty middle-aged men and not a group of underclassmen.
“I told you all to get the fuck moving. Don’t make me tell you again.” A tall frame dressed in all black suddenly blocked the group from taking another step inside.
“Ah, c’mon, Z man.” One of them drunkenly smacked his chest as I winced in response. “We were only just having some fun. We won’t cause you any more trouble.”
Before I knew it, the mysterious frame had pushed the man’s hand off his chest and pinned him to the floor. I couldn’t help but gasp as their bodies made contact with the concrete below. I knew the man, seemingly the club’s security guard, would retaliate. Still, I didn’t think he’d be able to displace the guy so quickly. So swiftly. So effortlessly.
My hand stayed glued over my mouth as “Z-man” momentarily peered his head up and spotted my frame along the boardwalk.
I promptly turned the other way and pretended I hadn’t seen everything that had just transpired.
At this point, a normal person might’ve walked away or, better yet, re-joined the party. But I, a not-so-normal person, allowed compulsion to take over and turned back around just a moment later, intrigued by what would happen next.
“Now, get the fuck out of here,” Z-man snarled as he brought the man back up and onto his feet. “And don’t ever think about coming back.” He pushed him into his group of friends.
Fearful, the group caught their buddy and scurried down the opposite end of the boardwalk. As they disappeared out of range, I finally caught a proper look at “Z man.” I assumed that nickname insinuated that his name started with a Z.
His piercing green eyes were full of curiosity as he peered over at me for a second time—unlike the rest of his face, which possessed a deep-rooted sense of anger. His brows furrowed as he tilted his head to get what I assumed was a better look at me. His dark locks cascaded down his forehead and over his ear, casting a shadow over his face that sent a shiver down my spine.
His all- black ensemble made him difficult to make out, yet his biceps and tan skin were incredibly hard to miss. I stared at them for a brief second, taking in how he’d effortlessly slammed an easily 250-pound guy to the floor. That alone should’ve scared me and caused me to turn back towards the party, but instead, I found myself returning his intent gaze and yearning to be closer to him.
