Page 13 of Crash into me
I nod. “Yeah.” Will I be returning? “I go to Mi—”
“Crestview,” Mom talks over me, loud and laughing, sipping a mimosa.
“Oh, wow!” The hairdresser acts impressed, but I’m sure everyone that comes here has some fanciful story to tell. Especially a place that costs sixty dollars for a trim. That money could be used in so many better ways. “What a prestigious school.”
They may take everything, but I’m staying at Miami State. “Actually, I transferred to Miami … I like their programs better.”
Mom sits back in her seat, a flashback of the first time I told them I was leaving my all-girls private college. “My daughter goes to Miami, it’s a wonderful school,” the lady beside me says. Mom starts chatting with her as the hairdresser puts a cream on my hair to strip out the color.
Forty minutes and a blow out later, I resemble Malibu barbie. “Oh, so much better, Skyler!” Mom fluffs my hair, wanting it to look like a flashback to the eighties. “You ready?”
I don’t respond; I just let her link her arm through mine as we head to the car.
“So, Miami, is it?” She tilts her head towards mine, and I don’t know what to think of her facial expression as I buckle my seat.
I nod. “Yeah, Miami is where I want to stay.”
She drives off, and we approach a red light that leads to the burger joint if you turn. I long for splitting a shake with a certain someone and devouring a cheesy, greasy burger.
My stomach growls. Our fridge at home is stocked full of vegetables, kombucha, and sadness. I want some real, comfort food.
I point to my left. “I’m hungry … Wanna grab a burger with me?” The moment I say it, my heartrate rises. What if Foster’s there? He’s probably not. He doesn't live at the restaurant, after all.
“Burgers?” Mom snorts, “You know that stuff’s no good for you, Skyler. I’ll make us some lettuce wraps when we get home.”
* * *
Back in my room,staring at my reflection, I can’t help the tears that slide down my cheeks. I haven’t been here long, but they’ve managed to strip my identity already.
The shell of the girl I once was is back, wrapping around me like dull, passed down armor that doesn’t protect against shit.
Mom asked me to get changed and meet her by the pool, so that’s what I’m doing. It’s weird; this is the most we’ve interacted in a very, very long time.
Typically, when I swim in the pool or go to the beach, I wear a one-piece to hide my bruises. But now, I’m covered in them and don’t have to hide them.
They’re scars I made on my own, and some may say I’m crazy because I was in a coma due to the crash, but it was my doing, so I’m proud of the scars now.
I dip my hand into the drawer and pull out a black, two-piece bikini.
* * *
“Areyou really wearing pearls at the pool?” I laugh as I lay out an oversized towel on a lounge chair beside the waterfall of the pool. I’ve always loved this spot; I could lay here and listen to the water cascading down, transporting myself somewhere else.
Her fingers skim across the shiny balls. “A woman should never be seen without her jewelry.”
The Miami sun warms my skin, hugging me. “It’s a beautiful day,” I say, attempting to strike a conversation.
She peels her sunglasses down. “It is, isn't it?”
“Better than Fiji?”
A small laugh escapes her. “I don’t know about all that.”
I feel weird, asking her what I typically ask Mrs. Rita. Will she know what I mean behind the question? “When is he coming back?”
She pulls her glasses back up and lays more comfortably in her chair, “Next Saturday we’re having dinner here with the Hollingsworth’s.”
“Oh,” I breathe, a fanciful dinner full of dreadful people is what she means to say. I recall the way Warren and his parents glared at me when I saw them in the city during a date with Foster.