@WriteOutofTime
I wrote it based on 400 Lux and Ribs by Lorde. Just wondering people's impression of it, especially the dialogue, descriptions, and overall structure. Thanks!
“Got a lot to do today,” Jada said, “or not.” Her honey brown eyes shone passionate with nonchalance. She didn’t crack a crooked toothed smile, but grimaced, crooked teeth, cracked lips. She was part of the backdrop, Kyle noticed, a shady silhouette, with western orange sunlight highlighting her hair yellow and casting all the mid class houses in hues of red and orange.
He turned his gaze from her, tracing the cracks in the concrete with the tip of his nail. “I have stuff to do,” he said. He hadn’t said anything yet, but he felt like he was lying. Mouth full of cotton and lead.
“Oh yeah?” The grimace made crevices in her hollow cheeks.
“Yeah,” he said, “got an assignment due soon. An,” he swallowed lead, “an essay.”
“English? Honors English?” She didn’t have an essay. Her eyes began to constrict, eyelids eclipsing, clouds over the sun, sun setting in the west.
Mouth full of cotton. “No,” he said, “for a different class.” Now he was lying. “APUSH.” Why was he still talking?
“Sucks!” She was suddenly a lot louder. “I am so glad to be stupid.” She managed to be on her feet before he replied, her feet on his skateboard before she’d gotten her footing. She launched forward, steady for a breath, and then lost her balance. Her knees took the fall for her, gladly kissing the pavement, the skin peeling backwards and throbbing angry red. “Fuck!”
Kyle got to her once she’d sat up, her legs spread out, blood dripping down her thigh and up her shorts. She was laughing, bright eyes made brighter. “I’m fine,” she said, pumping a fist. “Cuts like these show that you’re still alive. On some highway my knee wouldn’t get scratched, too fuckin’ smooth, or a car would have hit me. I love these roads where the cars go slow.”
“Highways aren’t smooth,” he replied, holding out a hand. “They’d skin you up just as quick.” She took his hand, rough hand in smooth, pale hand in dark, and pulled herself up. “Ready to go?”
She took another look at the setting sun, her hand still gripping his, and flashed a smile. Her teeth were stained yellow, like the highlights in her hair, like the sunlight. “I love these roads!” she shouted.
In his car, she propped her booted feet on his dash, to keep the blood on her knees from staining his cushions. Lukewarm air hissed through the vents and blasted them in the face, doing precious little to cool the space. He draped his wrists over the wheel, driving along at a careful 20, watching for the suburbia’s kids with their crooked teeth and golden retrievers, or the suburbia’s moms with headphones and joggers, or the suburbia’s shirtless dads on lawn mowers.
Jada rolled down her window and stuck her head out, her hair whipping in the wind as though they were moving at 60, but they’d never move at 60. “Hi, Ms. Stacy,” she yelled, waving at one of the jogging mothers. The mother waved back, smiling, a mechanical motion that was definitively ingrained in the woman’s routine. Jada laughed, pulling herself back into the car. “She’s lost, like, a ton of weight. Good for her!”
“Yeah, she’s at least ten pounds lighter,” he agreed absentmindedly, turning on the radio. It was just static. “Wait, is it weird for me to talk about her weight? Like, as a guy?”
She leaned her head out the window again. “Kyle says you look skinny!” They were out of range, but he still laughed, and soon her giggles joined his. What were they even talking about? He loved laughing with her, loved the way her eyes disappeared and her breathing got heavy. Loved the way his ribs ached after.
In his kitchen, the last few rays of sunlight split and reflected off of their half-drank beer bottles. She rummaged through his fridge. “Your parents left you home again?”
“They’re less worried now, since we got Companion,” he said, scratching the dog behind the ears. “Guess I’m old enough.”
She rolled her eyes, shutting the fridge with her foot and drinking orange juice from the carton. “Companion? What the hell kind of name is that?”
“My mom wanted to name him after the dog on Parks and Rec,” he said, “but that’s—”
“Champion.”
“Yeah, Champion. He won’t answer to Champion.”
Mundane. The dog, with brown fur, the orange juice he was allergic to, the band-aids on the counter, the half-drank beer bottles. And Jada, in his kitchen, the last few rays of the western sun still highlighting her hair. The hours flew by and more beer bottles piled up and they ended up in his bedroom, feet against the wall, staring up at the stars on his ceiling. The closeness was mundane, her touch made special only by the alcohol, they reveled in the other’s familiarity.
“I have to tell you something, Jada,” he said, tongue heavy with lead but loose with beer but not held down with cotton. “I have something –I’m saying something.”
She turned over, mascara smudged eyes and messy hair. Teeth still crooked, still yellow, still pulled in that nonchalant grimace. “What’s up.”
“I got…I’m…what are you doing,” he said, words tripping over words, “I –we graduate next month, what are you gonna do?”
She didn’t notice he was being weird, or maybe she didn’t care. “I figured we’d get jobs.” We, we, we. “I like the café downtown, but my mom offered us both a place at the hospital if you want. Or I figured we’d take some time and just kick it. I know you like studying or whatever, so if you want we can enroll in some of the classes at the campus, or—”
“I got into Georgetown,” he blurted. “I got in, I don’t know if I’m going. I’m writing an essay for Tulane. I’m waitlisted at NYU.” He got into the state school, too.
She stared at him blankly for a long moment, her nonchalance suddenly becoming prominent, the thoughts in her head seemingly calm. “Cool, man.” She closed her eyes. “I’m proud of you. Why didn’t you tell me you were applying?”
“I thought you’d think I was abandoning you,” he admitted.
“Aren’t you?” She cracked a smile.
“I don’t know.”
“You never stopped dreaming of leaving this town.”
“No.”
“I never stopped dreaming of us staying here til we died.”
He said nothing, shifted closer to her, the newness of their contention bringing interest back into her embrace. He wasn’t even sure if they were fighting. He felt like they were growing older by years every minute they were quiet. He wanted to break the silence, in the game they were playing it was his turn, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know what to say.
“You bought me orange juice,” she said finally. “Thanks.”
The sun set, and suddenly it was winter. Flurries of snow drifted against his windshield, swat, wipers streaked the ice across and distorted the city lights. He was almost home. City lights became neighborhood lights and he pulled up to her house, where she was already waiting by the driveway. Her hair was still brown, teeth still crooked, highlights from the sun disappearing in the midnight darkness, and that nonchalant grin was still on her face.
“Hey,” she said, sitting in the passenger seat, bringing her booted feet onto the dash, her scarred knees peeking through the rips in her jeans.
“Hi,” he said. He handed her a bottle of Sunny D, which she took wordlessly. “How’s it been?”
“Same old, same old,” she said. “I started taking classes at the community college, but I failed em. Wasn’t really into it. I was never smart like you.” She took a breath and a sip of orange juice. Swallowed. “You look really old.”
He felt old. “Did you miss me?”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” she laughed, “let’s just do what we always do.”
But neither of them could remember what that was.
