For Crying Out Loud by J. Preston
1Remember Me?
When life gives you lemons, throw them at life… see if it’ll make the same mistake again.
- Jenny
Jenny
Every story must have a beginning. Something catchy to draw you in, something new. I’m not particularly fond of those — new beginnings. All that talk of second chances, being able to meet new people, make new friends, a fresh blank page to fill…
One.
Giant.
Lie.
How would you know, you may ask?
Well, let me explain.
I, Jenny Cowley, a nineteen-year-old who has only ever been kissed once and has a total of zero best friends, have lived in... Let me count. Oh, I don’t know. Try fourteen different countries?
For I, my dear friends, possess the very rare ability to suck at starting over.
New beginnings. Huh.
Being a military brat did me no favours either. Since the ripe age of five, my dad dragged my brother and me all over this planet. Each year, we would live somewhere else. Paris, Warsaw, Sydney, Johannesburg, Berlin, London, Stockholm. You name it and we’ve probably lived there.
Wow, how amazing! I can hear you say.
Wrong!
Oh, so wrong.
Although I’ve picked up a few languages along the way, basically perfected British and Australian, and I got to see and live in some cool places, my childhood and teenage years were kinda lousy, actually.
An introverted, nerdy bookworm trying to make friends and not being able to stay anywhere for longer than a year doesn’t quite go hand in hand. It’s not like I was a hermit. I’ve tried, I really have, but none of my so-called friendships were strong enough to stick.
Hitting your teen years with no friends, no boyfriends, no prospects of said friends or boyfriends, and definitely no action is not a cakewalk. Trust me.
There are only so many things you can talk to your dad and older brother about. Periods not being one of them. Ha! Imagine that conversation.
Naturally, to save myself, and those dearest to me, the embarrassment, in times of need I’d turn to the Mother and Nanny of all — Google. I have learned many gross things from Google, like never looking up what a funny shaped mole might mean or why one has cold feet at night.
The answer will always be imminent death.
A result, which almost always leads to a heart attack or, as the uneducated doctors of the world like to call it, a mild case of hyperventilation.
In time, my requests, no—downright demands—for a trip to the ER upon discovery of suspicious-looking discoloration on my toenail were met with laughter…
What can a teen do to survive such horrors except call upon child services? Well, this teen took matters into her own hands.
I studied hard, aced all my classes, got involved in extracurricular activities, and made it my goal in life to go back to the only place I ever called home.
I counted the years.
Months.
Days.
And now it’s finally here, my last new beginning.
“Starwood, here I come!” I grin to myself, inhaling the crisp air as I walk out of the San Francisco International Airport and into the summer sun.
The eleven-hour flight from Amsterdam, where my dad is stationed at the moment, was a breeze. I fell asleep an hour into it and woke up with just enough time to change into shorts and a t-shirt in the small bathroom.
What wasn’t a breeze was the turbulence halfway through my acrobatic changing clothes act. I may or may not have slipped and stuck my hand in the toilet... Let’s just say I spent a good fifteen minutes scrubbing my left arm.
“Jenny!” A familiar voice calls out as I squint, looking around. My eyes are definitely not used to the brightness with which the Californian sun shines, so I reach into the back pocket of my shorts and pull out my Ray-Ban’s.
Instantly, I spot the tall blonde dude standing to my left with a goofy grin and his arms wide open. Squealing with delight, I torpedo-style run into his embrace.
We’re attracting quite a bit of attention, especially from girls standing in our vicinity, as he picks me up and twirls me around. Not the: Awww, look at these two, so cute! No, more like: What the hell does he see in her? kind… Nothing new there. I’ve had to put up with it most of my life. Jase, my older brother, and I look nothing alike. In fact, people always take a while to believe that we’re actually related. When I was 7, Jase insisted that I was not his actual sister but a ‘stray’ Dad had picked up off the street and brought home one day.
I still think he may have been onto something there.
You see, Jason is gorgeous, objectively speaking, of course. He has that surfer-boy look, which he inherited from our dad. For some reason, girls seem to dig that, which makes him the ultimate chick magnet. His chiselled jaw, messy blond curls, and muscled arms make girls go ‘ga-ga’ for him. As if that wasn’t enough, my brother was also born with a permanent tan and a ‘tall’ gene, which only adds to the things girls go crazy for when they see him.
I, on the other hand, am the exact opposite and a spitting image of our mom. 5’4 on my tiptoes and, on a good day, pale complexion with a heart-shaped face and long brown hair that’s unbelievably hard to tame. The only similarity between us is our sky blue eye color. We both got that from our mom.
“Put me down!” I laugh out loud and wriggle in his arms.
“What? Too old to be seen hugging your brother?” Jase lifts his left eyebrow, hugging me tighter and pouting a little.
“No, you're suffocating me, you dork!” I chuckle as he lowers me to the ground.
“All right, all right!” He scoffs, still pouting. A girl to my left swoons a little. “Where are your bags, Squirt?”
I groan inwardly at his choice of endearment. I have avoided being called squirt for the past year, and that nickname is not making a comeback. Mark my words.
Pointing at Sully O’Sullivan, my monstrous blue suitcase, I lean down to pick up the tote bag I dropped while jumping into Jason’s arms.
“Sooo, where is she?” I ask eagerly, looking around.
“Where is who?” My brother plays with the hem of his t-shirt, not fooling anyone.
“Come on, Jase! You know I'm talking about her. Where is she?”
“She’s waiting in the parking lot…” Jason exhales in a huff and walks off, dragging my suitcase behind. Grumpy much? There’s nothing else for me to do but to follow, so I bounce excitedly behind him.
Shit! The new me doesn’t bounce!
I stop, clear my throat, and start my new way of walking, which I’m sure is akin to a runway walk. Gone are the old ways. I’m concentrating pretty hard, tongue out and all, when suddenly my head snaps up at the sound of my brother, the jerk, bellowing with laughter.
“Are you drunk? You’re walking like Bambi on ice.”
I glare his way and continue past him, reassuring myself that I can be a pro with enough practice.
Then…I spot her.
She’s just as beautiful as I remembered.
Screaming with joy, I dart over to the blue 1964 Mustang Convertible I inherited from Nana. I hug her hood and coo. “Did you miss me, baby? I missed you. Look at you! Did you have a bath? Did Jasypoo give you a bath? He must have ‘cause you're the shiniest baby here!” Jason snorts behind me, making me whirl around and narrow my eyes at his smug mug.
“Do you need some time alone, a fresh pair of underwear, maybe?” Innocently, I walk over to the comedy genius and, just when he least expects it, punch him in the gut.
Holy shit!
He doesn’t falter, smirking at me instead! I cradle my right fist, Clyde in Bonnie, the left one, wishing I had an icepack on hand. Jason clearly has been working out this past year. “Anything else, Squirt?” I clench my teeth, the nickname fuelling my annoyance further.
“Nope, I'm good!” I make a conscious decision to hurt him later rather than further my own injuries at this very moment. I shake Clyde a little, then walk over to Kitt, looking at her adoringly.
Kitt has been Nana’s pride and joy, second after me, of course. I named her that after discovering Nana’s deep love for The Hoff and everything “Knight Rider”. One of the few memories I have from my childhood is of us driving around Starwood, with the Knight Rider theme song blaring out of Kitt’s speakers. I was five, and those were some of the best times I could ever remember. Shortly after my fifth birthday, though, Nana passed away. Dad was heartbroken, first losing his wife when I was born, then losing his mother.
We started moving around a few months after Nana’s funeral…
I think Nana knew that no matter where life took us, Jason and I would always come back to Starwood, our home, and that’s why she left us the house we grew up in. Kitt was always going to be mine.
“Earth to Jenny!” The devil incarnate dangles the car keys in front of my face, making me snap out of my thoughts. “Wanna drive, or can I have my last moment with her?” He asks.
Decisions, decisions, decisions. On one hand, I am itching to hear the Mustang purr under my feet. On the other, I am totally the best sister ever since I know I should probably let them have this one last drive together. I decide on the latter.
“You go ahead.” I smile at him, fishing my iPhone out of my bag. “I’m beat from the flight.”
We slide into the car, and Jason puts Kitt’s top down as he grins at me. I plug my phone into the upgraded sound system. The first notes of California by Phantom Planet blare out of the speakers as he wraps his right arm around me and hugs me to his chest, kissing the top of my head.
“Welcome home, Jenny.” He says, and I sigh happily as we pull out of the airport.
* * *
The drive is pleasant and, sooner than expected, we arrive at our house on Columbia Street, just off campus. Stumbling out of the car, I trip over my legs and run to the porch, jumping on the same porch swing Jason and I used to swing on when we were kids. Sighing with content, I lean back, swinging with one foot and studying the swaying sky.
“Want to see your room, Squirt?” Jason asks as I move my gaze from the sky to his face. He’s standing next to the swing, right where my leg is. Wrong move bro! I swing my leg out and kick him in the shin. Ha!
“Ouch! What was that for?” He asks, rubbing his shin.
“You should have learned by now that calling me Squirt comes with dire consequences, such as the wrath of Jen the Man!” I grin, hopping off the swing while Jason huffs.
As we walk into the house, I’m pleasantly surprised. Jason hasn’t changed much apart from adding new sofas and putting up a sixty inch TV in the living room. I run to the bookshelves by the window and kneel over, digging into my old hiding spot. Soon enough, I find what I’m looking for. An old copy of The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry that Nana used to read to me every night before bed. I clutch the tattered paperback to my chest and follow Jason to my old room, hoping that he had the decency to change my old unicorn wallpaper.
To my surprise, we walked past my old door and headed towards the master bedroom.
“I thought you might prefer the big room.” Jason smiles tentatively. My eyes widened with astonishment. This used to be Nana’s old room. It looked completely different now. He painted the walls a warm hue of white and stripped the floors of the old, shaggy carpet, revealing dark stained wood. In the middle of the room there’s a massive bed frame with two nightstands next to it. There’s an enormous wardrobe, a chest of drawers in one corner of the room and a wide desk by the window, looking out into the backyard and pool. “It’s the only one with its own bathroom,” Jason continues as I look around in awe. All the furniture is painted soft, distressed white, giving it a French country style, and there are soft grey and pastel pink accents scattered around the room.
“You like?” Jason asks.
“I love!” I exclaim, realizing it’s the same furniture that always used to be in this room, but no longer the awful poo-brown color. “Did you do it all yourself?”
“Aide helped me…”
“Aide?” I raise my eyebrow questioningly.
“I rented your old room,” Jason exhales. “I was here all on my own, which wasn’t fun, especially after my injury. Plus, it was nice to have the extra cash to run the house and buy groceries.” I nod, not wanting to bring up what must have been one of the toughest years for my brother. After he broke his knee during a collision with a goalie, Jason’s dream of becoming a professional soccer player was put on hold. He withdrew completely and made it clear that he was fine on his own. I’d missed him this past year, especially since I was so far away.
“I get it. Quite clever actually.” I smile, mesmerised by my surroundings. Then it hits me. “My old room?” I chuckle, thinking of the unicorns.
“Calm down, the unicorns are gone.” The mind reader answers.
“Shame. It would have been funny.” Grinning, I slide past him towards the kitchen.
When I get in, I zero in on the fridge and open it in search of something to drink.
“Jason…” I groan. “Have you ever heard of this thing called food? You know you ingest it; it gives you energy then you poop it out?” I inquire mockingly. The fridge is empty, bar 15 cans of beer. Yup, boys live here. That much is clear. “We need to stop by a grocery store,” I say, digging around the back of the fridge and fishing out a can of Cola. Score! “So who is this Aide guy, anyway?” I ask, turning around and closing the fridge. Jason is standing behind me with a stupid look on his face. So, basically looking like Jason.
“He’s my friend from International Studies.”
“Aaand?” I probe, opening the can and taking a large swig.
“You probably don’t remember him, but he went to the same school we did when we were fourteen or something...”
“Cool,” I say. Jason clearly isn’t up to discussing our flatmate. Deep down inside, I am excited at the prospect of having someone else here. Jason is great, but too much of each other and things can turn brutal. “Do you want to go shopping then?” I change the subject. “We can get some food, and I want to get some stuff for the room. You know, bedding, curtains, cushions.” I trail off, making a mental list.
“Aide should be here soon, let’s wait for him and then we can all go together,” Jason replies. I guess the two of them are attached at the hip.
“Fine, I’m going to unpack then. Let me know when he gets here so we can set off.” I smile and turn around. As I walk to my room, I pull out the phone from my back pocket and send a quick text to Dad.
ME:Arrived safe and sound. Jason picked me up from the airport. Kitt sends her love xx
Before I can put my phone away, I get a reply.
DAD:Glad to hear you’re ok. I guess Jason managed not to burn the house down yet. Yay! Take care of him, munchkin, and be careful. XXX Dad
ME:I will. Need to unpack now, then going to get groceries. Miss you x
DAD:Miss you too. XXX Dad
Setting the phone on my nightstand, I walk over to the large window and open it. The backyard and pool look so inviting that I briefly consider fishing out my bikini and going for a quick dive. But I decide against it, torture first, fun later.
I sigh and ogle Sully, which is leaning against the bed. Unpacking is the bane of my existence, and I toy with the idea of paying Jason twenty bucks to unpack it for me but quickly change my mind when I think of how he would make fun of my new clothes and underwear.
All my life I’ve been a bit of a tomboy. Not by choice, might I add. I was always in boys’ clothes that were too big, courtesy of my brother, the giant. This last year, I invested in underwear that actually fit me—thank you, Victoria’s Secret—and clothes that didn’t make me look like a small boy. I was now in the possession of a few sundresses and a couple of jean skirts. Small steps.
Groaning, I unzip Sully and start pulling out my clothes, throwing them in random drawers. Some things never change, and I. Am. A. Mess. with a capital M.
Later, I’ll sort them later, I decide as I zip Sully up.
I look at my handiwork, quite satisfied with the results, and proceed to stuff Sully under the bed, huffing on all fours, butt in the air, channeling my inner Grace Kelly with all that grace.
“You’ve got a killer arse.” I startle at the British voice, banging my head on the bed in the process, and whirl around to face the offender. A tall guy is leaning on my door frame, smirking at me. He is hot, like seriously H.O.T. He must be at least 6’3, has messy brown hair and the most amazing green eyes I have ever seen.
I narrow my eyes. Killer ass? Is this a new way to greet strangers? I didn’t get the memo. No matter how hot this guy is, he is not talking to me like that. No more miss nice and quiet Jenny.
“Keep staring and you can say bye-bye to your small balls,” I sneer, eyeing him closer.
“Oooh, feisty. I forgot how entertaining you could be…sometimes.” He smirks at me as the feeling of dread slowly creeps up on me. British accent... London... I clench my fists, trying to stop myself from pouncing on him and showing him just how feisty I can be.
“Who the hell are you?” I bark at him. He smirks and lazily looks me up and down. I silently pray. Not him! Please God, not him. I’ll give you my spleen, should you ever need it! Just. NOT. Him!
“Don’t you remember me, Slobbery Jenny?” My jaw drops in horror. Only one person could call me this. Aiden.
The asshole who stole my first kiss back when I was thirteen, salivated all over my face, called me Slobbery Jenny, and told everyone that I was the one who couldn’t kiss. Granted, I didn’t know what I was doing, but he sure as hell didn’t know either. I’m pretty sure he would have kept on traumatising me by drooling all over my face if I hadn’t stopped him by punching him in the stomach and running away. Real brave, I know.
I look closer and sure enough, he looks familiar. He is much taller now, has muscles he definitely didn’t have when he was fourteen, and has an aura of confidence about him which just spells ‘jerk’. This is definitely Aiden Vaughn or Aiden Von Schmuck as I called him ever since The Kiss. He used to be skinny, gangly and as big a nerd as I was. He definitely changed. If I wasn’t before, I am definitely, truly, madly pissed off now that I know who he is.
This dude stole my first kiss, did a shit job of it too, and now he is commenting on my ass? Oh, he is going to get sucker-punched again. I decided to give him a chance for an out.
“If I were you, I'd keep my sicko thoughts to myself and slowly walk away.” I keep my voice level and take a deep breath, trying to control myself. I count to ten, real slow. One. Two. Three. Four...
“Oh, yeah?” He interrupts me. Dude has a death wish. I used to dream of this moment, you know? Finding him one day and punching the living shit out of him. Fair payment for all the hurt he caused me, right? I know that’s not very mature, but I am certain that it will make me feel better. He was never this hot in my dreams, but that just made the stakes higher. I shall enjoy messing up that pretty face of his. “And what exactly will you do if I don’t?”
There it is. That smirk. I wonder if he realizes it will cost him his pretty boy teeth. I smirk back.
“Meet my best friends asshole, Bonnie and Clyde,” I growl, clenching my fists and literally jump on him, Bonnie and Clyde are ready to show him a good time. He doesn’t expect the ferocity with which I lunge at him, and with an oomph escaping his chest, we end up on the floor in a pile. I quickly scramble up and start throwing punches at his chest. This should be more fun than the punching bag at the gym. As my fist connects with his stomach, we both wince in pain. Jesus effing Christ. Did Jason and this sad excuse for a guy live in the gym or something? His abs are so hard it feels like I’m punching the floor. I do not falter though and throw more punches his way, connecting with his shoulder, chest, and stomach. My aim is a bit off balance as the punches land all over the place.
“Ouch!” He winces. And I smile inwardly, happy that at least he feels some pain. “Stop it, you psycho! I was only joking!” he says through gritted teeth. His face ducks my punch, and he grabs my wrists, holding them tight to his chest.
I guess I am angrier with him than I thought since, in the heat of the fight, I yell, “You lied to the entire school about me!”
“What are you on about?” Oh hell. He doesn’t remember? He ruined my first kiss, he ruined all kisses for the rest of eternity and he doesn’t even have the decency to remember?
Shit. I am acting like a lunatic. Aren’t I?
Hold your horses! I narrow my eyes at him. That lying piece of scum!
“You just called me Slobbery Jenny, you know exactly what I’m on about!” I snarl, trying to wriggle my wrists from the iron hold he has on them.
“All right, jeeez. Just calm down. I was only joking.” Joking my ass! I’ll show you joking! I take advantage of the position I am in and knee him in his jewels with all the force I have. He groans in pain, and I swear his eyes are tearing up. Ha! Eat this Hulk’s prettier and less green brother!
“I hope it’s the last time you joke about ruining kissing for me, asshole. Do you realize that after the disgusting kiss from you, I couldn’t bring myself to let anyone kiss me ever again? It was THAT horrible and THAT traumatizing!” He stills, and his eyes grow wide. Shiiiiiiiiiit. Shit. Shit. Shit!
“I was your only kiss?” he whispers in astonishment, his forest green eyes searching mine for confirmation. I clench my jaw tight and look at a dark spot on a floor near his stupid ear. I’ve already said too much.
“What the hell?” Jason yells from behind. Arms wrap around me, pulling me off Aiden. Ok... So this might look sketchy from an innocent passersby perspective. “Jenny, why were you on top of Aide?”
“Errrr... No reason?” I ask, rather than state. My eyes dart around, looking for a lifeline. I obviously will not tell my brother the whole story.
“Yeah, no reason…” Aiden slowly gets up, his eyes stay fixed on me. “She slipped and I tried to catch her, but we both fell in the process?” He answers questioningly. So we are both terrible liars. No biggie. I’m sure Jason will buy it. Not.
“Right…” Jason slowly looks from me to Aiden, then back at me again. “Riiight.”
“So shall we go to the store?” I ask innocently, changing the subject. Yup, I am that smooth. Sheer talent, ladies and gentlemen.
“That’s why I sent Aiden to get you and say ‘hi’, actually.” Oooh, so ‘you’ve got a killer ass’ does translate to ‘hi’. Good to know.
“Let’s go then. I’m driving!” I grin at Jason as if nothing is wrong and start for the front door.
“Actually, we’re taking my jeep,” Aiden interrupts my exit, and I turn around to glare at him. “We need the boot space, but you can ride up front and be in charge of the radio?” He looks at me apologetically. I stop glaring and try to figure out what his game is. I can take advantage of this situation.
“Fine,” I smirk. I’ve got some torture music in mind. Maybe some N’sync, or better yet, yodelling! Short stick, you conniving little jerk. Short stick.