Remember When (Remember Trilogy #1) Page 2

  God, what kind of sadism seminar do teachers attend that encourages torturing the new kid? If I had to get up in front of the whole class and offer some condensed biography of my life, I’d probably die. But New Kid strolled right up to the front of the room without the slightest bit of self-consciousness. And then, because all eyes were on him, I had the excuse to look right at him.

  He had sun-streaked, sandy hair which he wore long on top, but short enough in back that Sister Jean wouldn’t drag him by his ear into her office to shave his head as she’d been rumored to do. I hoped he’d keep on top of it, because it would have been a crime to shave off a beautiful mane such as that.

  He bared a smile of gleaming, white teeth as he slid a hand into his back pocket, making the muscle of his arm strain against the sleeve of his white Oxford.

  My God.

  He mussed the back of his hair with his free hand as Mrs. Mason introduced him to the class as Terrence C. Wilmington the third, which prompted him to immediately correct her with, “Everyone calls me Trip.”

  The smooth tenor of his voice caught me by surprise. Mrs. Mason must have been a little affected too, because she didn’t bristle at being disputed, and merely smiled back at Trip’s direct gaze and charming grin.

  He turned back to our class and started in with the ease of someone who’d had to endure this barbaric ritual many times before. “My name’s Trip,” he said again. “My family just moved here from Indianapolis.”

  I don’t know why, but the phrase cornfed Indiana farmboy came into my head at that moment. Indianapolis is hardly farm country, but I didn’t count anyplace as a city except New York. Everything west of here was amber waves of grain as far as I was concerned. But even though he had the look of someone who’d have been perfectly cast in the role of sexy stableboy, he was way too polished to have been mistaken for a mere farmhand. Regardless of a rural upbringing.

  “Before Indy, we lived in Seattle, Phoenix, L.A. and Chicago, where I was born.”

  Ah, okay. More “cities”.

  Mrs. Mason interrupted his schpiel then. “Is your father in the military, Trip?”

  “Uh, no. He’s in hotels. But I guess I could see why you’d get the impression that I’m an army brat. According to my sister, the brat part sums me up pretty good, though.”

  A few girls started giggling at the little joke which probably would have gone over like a lead balloon if it were told by anyone less gorgeous. I snickered at that thought and hoped it wasn’t loud enough to hear.

  Trip continued with, “My father likes to oversee construction when any one of his new hotels is being built. We normally spend a few years in each city until the grand opening and then we move on to the next one.”

  I felt my heart sink inexplicably, thinking that Trip’s days here were already numbered. I didn’t even know the guy, but I’d been excited by the promise of someone new in this town, someone who hadn’t lived here since birth like the rest of us. Someone who wasn’t in every class picture of mine since kindergarten. Someone, let’s face it, who was pretty easy on the eyes.

  Mrs. Mason asked, “You named a bunch of big cities, there. How is it that you wound up in Norman, New Jersey? We’re hardly a mecca for tourism.”

  That brought a few chuckles from the class as Trip flashed another amazing grin and answered, “Actually, the hotel’s being built in New York. My father says this is his last hotel and he wanted to save it for when he was ready to retire, so I guess we’re here for the long haul. The city’s close enough to Norman and my dad spent his teen years here. I guess he wants that for me, too.”

  My stomach did a quick flip of rejoice. At the time, I was trying to convince myself that all I cared about was an improvement to the scenery of boring old Norman. Trip was like a one man beautification committee just by existing.

  “Well, Trip, welcome to our town. I hope you’ll like it here.”

  I guess Trip took that as his cue to escape, because he started walking toward me, back to his newly assigned desk, but not without saying, “Thanks. I have a feeling I will.” Then he gave my desk a quick tap with his fingertips- which knocked me out- before sliding into the seat behind me.

  I hoped I didn’t have some noticeably embarrassing shocked look on my face, but my mouth had certainly gone dry and I swallowed hard. This, with my life, led to a very noticeable coughing fit which just got worse the more I tried to stop it. I raised my hand to be excused and Mrs. Mason just wagged her head in the direction of the door. I made a break for it, almost tripping on Mary Ellen Simpky’s oversized Gucci purse on my way out of the room. I high-tailed it down the hall to the water fountain outside the girls’ room and slugged down about a gallon of Norman’s finest before the sputtering fit subsided. Without the luxury of long sleeves to swipe my face (Oh, please. Like everyone doesn’t do it), I cruised into the bathroom in search of a paper towel.

  Penelope Redy and Margie Caputo were standing together in the same open stall amidst a swirl of smoke. They both jumped when I walked in before realizing it was only me and not some teacher coming in to bust them for cutting class and sneaking a cigarette. Damn. I was so distracted that I forgot the cardinal rule of the Girls’ Room, and didn’t say “It’s okay” upon entering.

  We exchanged quick hellos before I turned toward the towel dispenser and they turned back to their conversation.

  “I heard he’s from Indiana,” Penelope said through an exhale.

  Margie spat back, “They don’t make them like that in Indiana. Mount Olympus, maybe. But not Indiana.”

  Clearly, the hot topic of gossip for the next millennium at St. Norman’s High School was going to be about the new kid.

  “Do you think he has a girlfriend, like back home or whatever?”

  Margie threw the butt into the toilet with a sizzle and flushed the incriminating evidence away. “Guys like that always do. Why? You think you have a shot at him? As if.”

  Penelope huffed at her friend’s assessment and made her way over to the sink next to me. “That’s not why I asked. I already have a boyfriend anyway. I was just curious, is all.” Then she directed her next words to me. “Layla!”

  I turned toward her all innocence, as if I hadn’t spent the past minutes chafing my face and hands on the scratchy excuse for a paper towel just so I could eavesdrop.

  Penelope asked, “What do you think? Have you seen him yet?”

  “Who’s that?” I asked unconvincingly.

  She rolled her eyes. “The new kid. Terrence C. Williesomething.”

  Before I could stop myself, I found myself saying, “His name’s Trip,” and then probably blushed twelve different shades of red.

  Penelope raised knowing brows at me as she pumped the dispenser lever of the paper towel holder, tearing off a three-foot length of recycled brown sandpaper.

  I added quickly, “He’s in Mason’s class with me right now.”

  Penelope said, “Yeah. I had him in Biology.”

  “You wish,” Margie piped in.

  Penelope threw her towel in the trashcan, asking, “I wonder what the C stands for.”

  To which a quick-witted Margie shot back, “Hmm. Crumptious?”

  * * *

  When I got back to class, I avoided all eye contact as I tried to slide unnoticed back into my seat. I opened my book to the current page and was trying to concentrate on Capulets and Montagues when there was an electric shock against my shoulder blade; a finger poking me in the back. Trip was apparently trying to get my attention. Like he hadn’t already.

  I snuck a quick glance to make sure Mason was still at the blackboard before twisting around sideways in my seat. If I were Lisa, I could have come up with the perfect thing to say to him. But I was me, so the wittiest remark I could come up with was, “What is it, New Kid?”

  At first, this brought a staggered look to Trip’s face, but then he rewarded my jab with a smirk. Seeing his lip curl into a crooked smile while getting a close-up view of his gorgeous blue eyes f
or the first time made my composure slip just the slightest notch. I guess he didn’t notice, because he simply asked, “You okay?”

  I supposed it shouldn’t have been a big surprise to find out my coughing fit hadn’t gone undetected. “Yeah. Fine, thanks. How about you?”

  Trip furrowed confused brows at me, compelling me to clarify. “The dog-and-pony show Mason forced you into, making you get up there and introduce yourself to the class. Was it awful? It didn’t really seem to bother you.”

  Trip leaned back in his seat, tapping a pencil across his unopened notebook. “Yeah, well. Third time today. Guess I’m getting used to it.”

  I thought about what a nightmare this poor guy’s first day had been. Although, he didn’t seem too fazed by it. I guess it would have just been a nightmare for me. I gave him a sympathetic smile which was interrupted by Mrs. Mason saying, “Layla! Eyes up here, please.”

  I turned to face front, registering the few, sly glances I received from my classmates, busting me for ogling the cute new kid.

  Kill. Me. Now.

  The class’s attentions went back to Mason’s chalk diagrams, but my thoughts were entirely elsewhere. It didn’t help matters when I heard Trip give a snicker and whisper, “Layla... Nice.”

  * * *

  I met up with Lisa in the halls on our way to the gymnasium. Before I could even fill her in on the day’s drama, she launched right in. “Oh my God, Layla! I can’t believe I haven’t talked to you all day. Did you see him?”

  With the girls in the bathroom, I felt the need to play it cool. But this was Lisa, my best friend in the entire world, so there was no need to be coy. “Yes. He’s in Mason’s class with me.”

  Lisa pulled the heavy wooden gym doors open. “Holy crap. He is sooo cute. Damn. I wonder what the C stands for. I hope he’s in our gym class, I’ll bet he looks great in a pair of gym shorts. You know how I just love a guy that has strong legs and a gorgeous guy like that has just got to have strong legs. I mean, when I saw him walk into the cafeteria, I just about spit up my Diet Coke. Where were you? You totally missed it. I overheard Rymer and those guys sizing him up from the lunch line. They were all talk, of course, because as soon as he walked into the room, they were making a spot for him at our table. Which, you know, is good, because I guess we’ll see him around a lot if he’s going to be hanging with our guys. Oh, you know what?”

  I was trying to keep a mental log of the twelve different topics my friend had just brought up in order to respond accordingly once she finally broke for air. Most of the time, Lisa is pretty high-strung to begin with. But forget about getting a word in edgewise when she’s really excited about something. Although, I guess I was getting a little excited, too. I didn’t realize Trip had our same lunch period until Lisa just told me about it. I had grabbed a soft pretzel and a soda on my way down to the art room, skipping lunch period that day like I sometimes did in favor of some extra studio time.

  “Hellooo, Layla. You in there? Are you even listening?”

  No.

  “Yes. Hanging around our guys. Got it.”

  Lisa sat herself down on a bench in the locker room and slipped her blouse off over her head. “No, Dippy. I said Rymer’s having a party this weekend because his parents are going down to Cape May for three whole days. Sargento’s brother already said he’d get us a keg. Do you think he’ll be there? What are you going to wear?”

  This, of course, was a loaded question if there ever was one. I have learned over the years that whatever I said in answer would be met with Lisa’s crinkled nose and unsolicited input. So, after a while, I just stopped answering it seriously. “MC Hammer pants and my Schoolhouse Rock T-shirt. You?”

  Lisa had finished getting her gym clothes on and was checking out her hair in the mirror. I couldn’t imagine why she’d feel the need to make adjustments considering the amount of gel, mousse and hairspray keeping that bouffant in check. A mere costume change wasn’t going to be enough to ruffle that ‘do. I mean, we all had big hair, but Lisa’s was usually tornado-proof.

  She turned from the mirror and retied the shoelace on her pink, Reebok hightops before answering. “Very funny.”

  Before Lisa could offer her opinion on a more appropriate party ensemble, Coach Lorenzo started blowing her whistle, signaling the start of class.

  Chapter 3

  GOODFELLAS

  The next day, I woke up earlier than usual. I had set my alarm to go off twenty minutes before my normal wakeup time so that I could piece together an appropriate job-hunting outfit to change into after school. Had I not procrastinated the night before (I couldn’t put Catcher in the Rye down and passed out sometime during Holden’s duck fixation), I could have lain something out ahead of time. As it was, I was determined to make the right first impression on any potential employers and I didn’t think my uniform was going to cut it.

  Once I was satisfied with the results of my closet foray, I grabbed a towel off the doorknob and started to head off into the bathroom. I took a quick peek out my window toward the front of our house... and right at that very second I saw Trip jogging by! My heart slammed into my stomach, but I immediately turned off my bedroom light and continued spying from behind the safety of my mini-blinds. I was just able to catch him as he turned off my street and made his way up Cedar Drive.

  When Lisa picked me up an hour later, I was still feeling a little flustered. I slipped into the passenger seat, listening to her babble about lordonlyknows when I guess the look on my face made her stop mid-sentence to ask, “What’s with you?”

  I just turned to her and said. “You were right.”

  She crinkled up her nose and asked, “About what?”

  I bit my bottom lip in anticipation of the reaction I was about to provoke and replied, “About Trip in a pair of shorts.”

  * * *

  I spent my morning going about my usual routine, counting down the minutes until lunch. Sitting in World History and listening to Mr. Sasso drone on and on tried my patience more than usual as I watched the clock barely ticking away the time. Who could concentrate on Tiananmen Square when the promise of sharing a lunch table with Terrence C. Wilmington III was only minutes away?

  After an eternity, the bell finally rang. I shoved my way through the throng of students rushing to their next class and ducked into the ladies’ room for a quick hair check and lipstick application. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I also knew that my confidence always shot up a couple notches whenever I felt like I looked okay.

  Inside the cafeteria, Lisa was already at our table. My shining red lips didn’t escape her notice, but best friend that she is, she didn’t call me out for it and merely smirked as I sat down. She patted my shoulder as she got up, explaining through a smile, “I’m going to grab us a couple sodas. Be right back.”

  I sat there and concentrated on trying to look cool and unaffected, hoping to strike just the right note of blasé for when Trip finally sat down.

  Greg Rymer and Mike Sargento sidled down with their lunch trays completely piled with food as usual. Rymer ripped half the paper off his straw and blew the remaining wrapper off the end of it toward me, jolting me out of my trance. “What’s up, Warren? Not eating today?”

  Shit. I forgot about having to eat in front of Trip. I’m no Scarlett O’Hara or anything, but the thought of chewing like some common cow in front of the cute new guy was beyond horrifying. But sitting there sipping demurely on a Diet Coke like some salad-eating girly-girl was not the image I was hoping to portray either. Besides, the last thing I needed was for my stomach to start growling in the middle of English Lit. I resigned myself to the prospect of having to eat something as I joined Lisa in the lunch line.

  Eyeing up the prospective meals offered in your average, high-school cafeteria is daunting enough. The menus aren’t exactly being considered for worldwide culinary acclaim. But trying to find something edible and dainty was like navigating a minefield.

  Meatball sub was too sloppy, spaghetti was
right out. Oh, curse you, Italian Tuesday!

  I settled on my usual mid-day selection: a big, soft pretzel with yellow mustard. Normally, I’d grab an apple or something, too, but I was feeling self-conscious enough as it was. I figured whatever tidbits I managed to scarf down my throat would have to provide enough sustenance for the day.

  I bypassed a tray and pulled a few napkins out of the dispenser on my way back to the table.

  Lisa was already there, sitting with Rymer, Sargento, Cooper Benedict... and Trip. I slid inconspicuously into the seat next to Lisa and cracked my can of soda. The guys were busy talking about their plans for the weekend.

  “So, Coop,” Rymer started in, “Tell your hot sister to come to my party on Saturday night.”

  Coop gave Rymer a warning look. “Dude. If you fuckin’ say one more thing about my sister...”

  Rymer ignored the threat and continued by twisting the knife. “What? She’s hot. I think she’s got a little crush on me, too.” He elbowed Sargento before continuing, “You see the way she was sweatin’ me last week when she picked us up from practice? Man, I thought she was gonna kick you two out of the car and jump me right there in the parking lot.” He took a huge bite out of his sub before adding, “Trip, you gotta see this girl. Total bitch, but black hair, great ass and tits bigger than DeSanto’s.” This earned Rymer a shove from Coop and a meatball to the chest from Lisa, which made us all crack up.

  I’d been ripping little pieces off my pretzel and trying to pop them unnoticed into my mouth. I was mid-chew when Rymer reached across the table to grab my stack of napkins. Cleaning sauce off his Oxford, he suddenly decided to switch subjects. “Oh, hey Warren! You meet Trip yet?”

  I was caught off guard enough to almost choke, but luckily, I caught myself. I still had a mouthful of food, so I shielded my lips with my hand and answered as best I could. “Uh huh. We’re in Mason’s together.” Then, I swallowed and was able to nod in Trip’s direction to add casually, “How’s it going?”