Continuing the Novel Graveyard from yesterday, here is more of Nevada Falls. It is my unedited, unfinished book. Catch up on the story HERE or view all the other Novel Graveyards HERE
NEVADA FALLS-by Suzanne Young
The office secretary stared at us. Becker and I sat shoulder to shoulder (not by choice) on the waiting area couch. Becker was still half-naked. And his blond hair was stained pink, even though he had picked most of the string out of it. We matched.
“Mr. Martinez will be out in a minute,” the secretary called, even though we hadn’t asked.
“Great,” Becker mumbled.
“Hey,” I said to him. “That means you get to show off your pecks a little longer, tough guy.”
“What is your problem, Pierce?” He turned suddenly, startling me. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to continue harassing him. Becker was heaving in breaths and…oh my God. Was he going to cry?
“Are you going to cry?”
“Shut up, Nevada,” he said. I paused. I hadn’t seen him cry since the day he’d come to the hospital. The day of the accident.
My eyes met his and I was surprised by how incredibly sad he looked. There was a tug at my heart. I turned away and stared down at my gloves.
“You’re such a…” He stopped and then crossed his arms and slid away from me.
“Such a what?” I asked. I didn’t know what he thought of me anymore. I hadn’t talked to him in eight months. I hardly even looked at him.
“Nevada? Becker?” Principal Martinez interrupted from his doorway. He wasn’t too bad as far as principals went. At least he didn’t look at me like my teachers did. It probably helped that he was my uncle. My father’s half-brother. Wait. Did that make him my half-uncle?
I stood up, grabbing my pack from the floor near my boots. I could feel Becker behind me. He must have been really uncomfortable. With the whole shirtless thing still going on.
“Rita,” Mr. Martinez said to the secretary as we walked past her. “Can you get a extra shirt from the nurse’s office?”
Becker’s mouth opened. “You had shirts this whole time?”
Mr. Martinez nodded and motioned for us to sit down. Becker scoffed and took the uncomfortable chair on the left. He then scooted it as far away from the other chair as possible. He was being a bit overdramatic if you asked me.
“Baby,” I mumbled as I sat down.
I shot him a look just as my uncle sat at his desk. “Now,” he said, folding his hands in front of him. “Who’d like to start?”
Neither Becker nor I moved. There was a quick knock at the door as the secretary entered. Holding a pink t-shirt.
“Sorry,” she said, looking at Becker. “I only had a large in the female.”
I cracked up.
“I’m not wearing this,” Becker said as he took the shirt from her hands.
“Yes, you are,” Mr. Martinez said. “The district has rules about proper attire. And no attire at all is a violation. Just put it on.”
Becker waited and for a second and I didn’t think he was going to listen. Then, begrudgingly, he slid the pink fabric over his head and straightened it on his chest. He was a Panther. In Pink. I freaking loved it.
“Cute,” I said.
“We’ll talk later, Pierce,” he replied.
“Enough,” Mr. Martinez interrupted. “Nevada, where is his shirt?”
“Gross, I didn’t take it.”
“She superglued me to my chair,” Becker said. “I had to take it off to get up.”
I swear, there was a brief smile on my uncle’s lips. “Wow,” he said, but I was pretty sure he was stalling so that he didn’t bust out laughing.
“And she sprayed me with silly string. The whole can.”
Mr. Martinez took his folded palms and put them against his mouth as he nodded.
“He can’t prove any of that,” I announced. Well he couldn’t. There weren’t any witnesses.
Becker turned to me, his mouth hanging open. “You’re seriously going to deny it?”
“I plead the fifth.” I looked down to pick at my fingers and then paused. The index finger of my black glove was bright pink from spraying the can.
“Hah!” Becker called, pointing at me. “See.”
My uncle glanced at my hand and then dropped his eyes. I wasn’t sure if he was thinking about my pink finger or my gloves. Or the scars underneath them.
“Nevada,” he asked. “Why on Earth would do something like this?”
He sounded disappointed. It flooded me with painful memories. He sounded like my father.
I met his eyes. “He punched Trevor in the hall the other day, and when we reported it, the security guard and your secretary didn’t believe us. I didn’t think it was fair for Roid Rage over here to go around punching people.”
“I don’t take steroids,” Becker said.
“You sure?” I asked. “Have you checked your package lately? I hear it shrinks your testicles.”
“Nevada!” Mr. Martinez snapped.
“I saw it on Discovery Health,” I mumbled.
My uncle held up his hand. “That’s enough. Both of you, after school, all next week. You’re lucky I’m not suspending you.”
“So lucky,” I said.
Mr. Martinez shot me a look then motioned toward the door. “Back to class.”
I got up, thrilled that stupid Becker would have to spend the day in a pink Panthers t-shirt, but my uncle ruined the fun.
“And Becker, you can call your parents to bring you down another shirt if you want.”
“Oh, great. Thanks,” Becker said with more sarcasm than necessary. Mr. Martinez huffed.
As we parted ways in the waiting room, I glanced at Becker. “Good luck, loser.” “I’ll be seeing you after school, Nevada.”
He wasn’t looking at me, but the way he said my name gave me chills. Not because I was scared of him. Please.
But because my name in his mouth… it reminded me of all the times he stood on the sidelines, watching me during practice. It reminded me that I used to love him.