GIVING IN STONEVIEW STORIES (BOOK 1)

Jamie I don’t realize that the bus enters Stoneview. I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes trying to follow the text argument the girl in front of me is having with her boyfriend. I am one hundred percent out of line since I don’t know who she is, but my curiosity is almost an illness. If I could control it, I would, but I can’t. Mom loves repeating the story that my first steps were to walk over to our living room window to follow a heated conversation one of our neighbors was having with the mailman. I don’t do it to gossip, I do it because I find everyone’s life so interesting, especially compared to mine. I feel like everyone could be the main character of a film or a good book. When I finally notice that we’re parking, I’m the first one ready to hop off the bus. Thinking again, I’m probably the only one getting off in Stoneview. “Alright, let me park young lady.” I hear the driver. I can’t reply, I’m just too excited to see my mom. Spending the summer at Harvard Summer school was exciting, especially since the city paid for it, but I’m buzzing to be at home again, eat my mom’s cooking, and just be with her and my best friend in general. The doors open and I jump out, my backpack hitting against my back in the process. I take a deep breath, simply happy to be back in Stoneview, Maryland. The air is not as hot and heavy as when I left seven weeks ago. I spot my mom right away and run into her arms. She grabs me tight as I push on my toes so my head rests on her shoulder. “I missed you so much,” she says, her face in my hair. “I missed you too.” My voice is overwhelmed by the happiness of smelling her strong perfume and feeling her soft skin. For a second I’m five again and she’s cuddling me after kissing my booboo. Mom and I share this special bond. The kind when you have only one parent left, and she has only one child left. The kind of bond where you have to have been hurting an enormous amount of pain together to know that you need the other to survive. That you are all you both have left. She grabs my backpack off my shoulders, and I run back to the bus to grab my small suitcase. We throw my stuff in our old red pickup and I hop in the passenger side. In the car back to the house, mom tells me all the gossip I missed while I watch the huge mansions as we drive past them. Stoneview is…wealthy. That’s the least I can say. Only the elite of the elite makes it to this town. And by elite, I mean footballers or their freshly divorced wives, politicians, CEO’s, founders of billion-dollar-companies, senators, ambassadors and so on. Naturally, they come with their lovely ‘I’ve never been refused anything in my life’ children. And these children go to school with me at Stoneview Prep. I am surrounded by people who wear $800 dollar uniforms during the week and snort cocaine on Chanel powder palettes throughout the weekend. They always make sure to cut their powder with their black amex. The lifestyle of the rich and famous. The only reason I’m in Stoneview Prep, or that we’re still living in Stoneview at all, is because dad was the Sheriff and the town pays for the children’s education up to five years after the Sheriff passes away. Mom works at a café on main street and that pays for the rest of our lives. It’s not much but once we relocated to a two-bedroom house it turned out to be enough for rent, food on the table, and a trip to the movies every now and then. That’s all we need. Stoneview is not only wealthy but also small. Not too small, because we still have to drive pretty much everywhere, but small enough to know who you’re talking about when you mention a last name. Like, who the parents are, what they do, how many kids, what they do, their reputation. Mom is currently updating me on the Joly’s. Judge Hope Joly, her husband – who owns one of the biggest law firms on the East Coast – Carl Joly, and Emily, my best friend, their one and only ‘miracle’ child. Just as she starts telling me about Carl and Hope’s latest parade of Emily at a summer junior debutante, I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket and pull it out to see a text from my friend. Emily: Please come get me. This is what they want me to wear for the Christmas ball. She’s attached a picture of herself in a long white dress. She doesn’t look terrible but it’s definitely hiding her gorgeous curves. Emily’s parents are working hard on getting her an invite to the International Debutante Ball in New York for next year and she hates it. She is the furthest thing from a debutante. Whatever the opposite of a debutante is, that is Emily. Her passions are all about sports and exercise. She dances, cheers, runs, gyms...anything that has to do with being fit, developing your muscle and looking the opposite of those poor starved girls on a juice cleanse that parade during the debutante balls. The only sport Em hasn’t picked up in our school is lacrosse. This one is my jurisdiction. She’s always there to support me on the sideline, though. I smile and shoot her a quick response about helping her tear the dress to pieces with her dad’s shredder. “...anyway, needless to say Hope wasn’t pleased with her when she signed up for that Triathlon. I say she needs to let the kid do whatever she wants,” Mom keeps going. I’ve missed half of the conversation. Mom notices and changes the topic quickly: “School is going to start quicker than you think, ‘Me.” Mom’s voice is always soft when she uses the strange nickname I’ve come to love. “Have you thought of how you’re going to train your team this year?” My team. I like the sound of that. I’ve been elected lacrosse team captain for the second year in a row. Not that the team actually likes me, but I’m good. Last year, I took us to the top of the mid-Atlantic top ten, so I was made captain again this year despite being completely unpopular at school. Now, have I thought of how I’m going to take us to national number one this year? Of course I have, I’m surprised mom even has to ask. She knows I am the kind with plans A, B, C to Z. I’m not ‘work hard, play hard’, I’m ‘work hard, then work harder’. I’m top of the school, ready for college, and captain of the team. I don’t need popularity; I need to meet the conditions for my scholarship to UPenn. I want to become a surgeon, not miss America. “‘Course,” I reply to mom with a smile. “Hey, so I applied for a scholarship to Harvard when I was there.” “Oh, Did you? Change of mind?” She turns to me for one second with a raised brow. “No, but it can’t hurt, right? They insisted.” “Of course, ‘Me.” I can hear the smile in her tone. She was never good at school; she didn’t go to college and she never wanted to. My mom was always about livingon the wild side until she met my dad. Now she has a daughter who was offered multiple scholarships from the colleges close to us, one full ride to UPenn, and possibly to Harvard. “I probably won’t get it but still-” “Oh please,” she cuts me off, “I hate when you do this. I hope you don’t do this at school.” I can’t help a laugh. I do do this at school. To my defense, I truly think I’ve always done my worst at a test even when everyone around me knows I’ve done fine. I keep my expectations low to avoid disappointment. Call me pessimistic. This uncontrollable behavior and my respect for every single rule have earned me the nickname ‘Goody’ for goody two shoes. I don’t care though, like I said, I’m not there to be the most popular. I’ve got Em and Mom and that’s all I need. We park by our small cottage and I get my suitcase while mom brings my backpack inside. I bring the suitcase up the four steps leading to the tiny porch and pull the screen. After a long journey, I finally push the door, and enter our humble home. I breathe in the smell of Filipino food coming from the kitchen as I pass the door. Dad’s parents were from the Philippines and although mom is not the best cook, she does her best to learn the dishes I miss since he passed. “God mom, that smells so good.” Our front door opens straight into our living room that also serves as a dining room and any other room other than a bathroom or bedroom. Our house isn’t big, to say the least. From the door I can see the small open plan kitchen separated by a short counter with two stools around it. The sofa is a few steps to the right when you walk in, facing the wall perpendicular to the doorway. I walk in, past the entrance shelves with old pictures of when we were a full family and turn left to anarrow hallway leading to the two bedrooms and the one bathroom. After showering and throwing my dirty clothes in the laundry basket I join mom back in the kitchen. “Where’s my souvenir?” She asks as she puts rice on two plates. “Ha. Do you know how much anything costs in the Harvard university shop? I don’t even study there for real. You’ll get a UPenn sweater shipped to you if you’re sweet.” Mom laughs and adds chicken adobo to complete our plates. “It probably won’t taste like anything close to your dad’s, but I do my best,” she says as she passes me my plate. We settle on the sofa and put some reality TV on. Our dirty little secret is our obsession with anything reality TV. From the Kardashians to the Real Housewives, we’ve watched them all. I think it definitely is linked to my toxic curiosity with other people’s lives. Maybe I’m that unhappy with mine that I can’t stop looking at others. Apart from Em, no one knows my vice and for some reason, I like to keep it that way rather than fit in with all the other girls at my school that watch them. Weirdly, I like keeping this image of miss perfect. Probably because that couldn’t be further from the truth. ◆◆◆ The next day, mom wakes me up early for my shift at the café. I should really work somewhere else if I want to be able to afford anything or save any money. The Bakers pay next to nothing. “‘Me, I’m going to need help behind the counter,” mom says as I’m wiping a table. “It’s overwhelming at this time of the day”. “Sure,” I shoot back. I hurry and pull an apron from behind the bar. I put my apron on and call the next person without looking as I try to tie it around my waist. “Hey, what can I get you?” My problem here is that being the progeniture between a small Filipino man and a tiny Southern Belle with a ballet dancer’s body, I ended up being a five-foot creature that still fits in children’s clothes at soon-to-be eighteen years old and I’m having a real struggle with this apron. Two times around the waist is leaving way too much string and it doesn’t fit three, so I have to choose between looking ridiculous or stop breathing for the rest of the day. “Do you need help over there?” A voice asks as I still try to tie the apron. I settle on two times around the waist, so I don’t pass out during the day, and finally look up just to be met with the most heart-melting honey eyes. My gaze locks with his for a moment before I drag my eyes to the boy’s beautiful caramel hair with slight curls that almost reach his ears. He runs a hand through it, pushing it back, and smiles at me with his gorgeous shy grin. His slightly chipped front tooth has always made my gaze linger on his smile. Christopher Murray. Six foot four of pure perfection. My ideal man, my childhood crush that has turned into something way too hot to be a boy anymore. The most perfect thing about him is that the personality that accompanies his manly body is kind, intelligent, and respectful. I know he is smart because he is my main competition at being this year’s valedictorian. And I know he is kind because we’ve known each other since pre-school, he’s always been good to me, has never called me ‘Goody’ and has never succumbed to the peer pressure of not talking to me because I’m not cool enough to fit in. Until seventh grade, we were good friends. Not best friends but at least friends. Then one day he showed up with the twins and we slowly drifted apart. Nonetheless, he’s always been nice to me. Christopher is everything I want, or at least wanted. In fourth grade, I declared my undying love for him in a letter I put on his desk in class. He didn’t love me back but at least he had the balls to come to me and say it to my face. And this is the story of how I know that Christopher Murray is everything I want but I’m most definitely not everything he wants. It’s a good thing now I guess because the height difference that has progressed over the years would have been awkward. You go, Jamie, keep telling yourself that to make yourself feel better. “Jamie? Are you okay?” His voice suddenly brings me back down to earth and I shake my head to push away the memory of the ten-year-old me getting her heartbroken by Christopher Murray. “Oh my God, I totally zoned out. Hey Chris,” I reply feeling the embarrassment creep up my chest. A laugh escapes his lips and he shakes his head slowly. “I said, how was Harvard summer school? I also asked if I could have two black coffees but I’m more interested in your summer.” I smile at him, because his laugh just does that to me, and start preparing two coffees. “It was amazing, thank you. Now I’m even more sure I want to go to UPenn, but it was a great experience.” “That’s good to hear.” I look behind him for the rest of his gang. Chris is always surrounded by his friends, you rarely see them apart. Meaning wherever Chris goes, Luke and the twins go and wherever the twins go, trouble follows. I turn my confused look back to him. “Have you managed to get rid of the twins during the summer? Do you need help hiding the bodies?” I ask half-joking as I put the two coffees on the counter. He gives me a cheeky smile, drops money and grabs the cups. “You’ll never guess where they are,” he says. “Jail?” He laughs but manages to answer, “School.” “School? Why?” It’s impossible to hide the surprise in my voice. “They’ve been offered to skip a grade. They didn’t care until they realized they would be sharing classes with Luke and me, so they accepted. Late, but they finally accepted. My parents took them to school this morning to finalize it.” “What?” I almost choke on my own spit. Chris and I share pretty much every class. I don’t want the twins there. They’re noisy and disrespectful. Add Luke to the mix and they’re unbearable. “Gonna be a fun year, huh?” he jokes. I know he doesn’t believe a single word he’s just said because he doesn’t find their troublemaking fun. He finds it annoying but loves them too much to do anything about it. I stay shocked at his statement as he turns around. I notice the amount of cash he left on the counter. There’s enough to pay for ten coffees on here. “Chris that’s way too much ch–” “See you on Monday!” He shouts, facing the door and waving a hand in the air. I watch him meet with Luke outside. Well, I can only assume it’s Luke, judging by the blond, almost white, hair reflecting the sun and blinding me. This conversation leaves me with an uneasy feeling settling in my stomach. I don’t think the twins skipping a grade is going to make my year fun. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s the opposite.