Butterflies & Characters Page 2

  Finally, when we hit the highway, I asked Jeffery, “Is it wrong that I don’t want to have sex?” The car jerked slightly to the right. Jeffery sighed and didn’t answer immediately. Embarrassed heat rushed through me, but I trusted him not to repeat this. “Am I neurotic because of my, my—” It came out in a frantic whisper. “You can tell me. Ross and I have been dating since—”

  He mumbled something under his breath that burned my ears before turning down the Florida Georgia Line song he’d been singing along to. “Goodness, Rayanne, no. Honey, no. It’s wrong if he’s pressuring you.” His Southern twang grew stronger with the emotion in his voice.

  A nervous, awkward, “Mm, huh,” bubbled out of me, and he reached his hand out. I threaded my fingers through his giant ones. “But you had sex with Mackenzie, and you didn’t even date this long.”

  “Ray Ray, when you’re ready, that’s when you have sex—no matter what anyone says. Mackenzie wanted to have sex, honey. You don’t. There’s a big difference.”

  I sighed before saying in a stronger voice, “I told him if it was so important, he should find someone else. I’m actually really glad I’m seeing Dad tomorrow. I need to get outta here.”

  “You got ’em reasons to be nervous,” he said. “Just wait till you want to. Ya hear, okay?”

  “Jeff, what would I’d do without you?”

  “Take the bus to school.”

  I laughed so hard I snorted.

  “I’ve always been there for you, honey, and I always will be here. You’re my best friend too. Bonnie and Clyde, remember?”

  I leaned over and kissed his familiar cheek and squeezed his hand once more before letting go. More than anyone else in my life, Jeffery had always known what I needed to hear. He’d been there as a kid to catch fireflies with me, then save me a seat on the bus, and now drive me to school. He was right: he’d always been there.

  “Promise me you won’t do anything you regret, Ray Ray. Don’t let him pressure you or I’ll have to kick his ass. Honey, I don’t have grades like you or sports like him. I don’t need a suspension, but if he pressures you, so help me God…” His hand was now white on the steering wheel. He was dead serious.

  I chuckled. “Thanks, big guy, but I can fight my own battles. If he does something I don’t like, well, he’s almost eighteen and I’m fifteen—this is Georgia, and that’s against the law in more ways than one.”

  His grip loosened a little on the wheel like I’d hoped. “All right, jailbait,” he said with a laugh. “I’m scared now.”

  And with that, I turned the radio back up and sang along with him.

  “Thanks, Jeff,” I said when we got to my place. “See you tonight.”

  Relief washed over me as I got out of the car. He knew I’d always been told I was an accident, mistake, problem. An unwanted pregnancy. I needed to hear I wasn’t being irrational about not wanting to have sex after dating someone for six months—half a year. He made me see the truth: consent isn’t forced.

  “Rayanne! Where have you been?” my mom shrieked when she saw me. “You are barely going to have time to watch the sermon, because I won’t let you pack and watch it at the same time. You need to listen with your whole heart to the Lord.”

  “Momma,” I said, the word rolling out like it did only when she really stressed me out. “I’ll have time. It’s only six thirty. I just need a quick rinse. Plus, I’m packed.”

  I left my sandy stuff at the door and hurried to the shared bath. The mirror revealed the sunburn and the start of that annoying rash I’d been getting on my face. I whimpered in the shower as agony laced my knees and hands. My fingers were so swollen it was painful and difficult to pop open the tops of my bath products. After I showered, I took some ibuprofen, praying for a miracle, and hurried into a sundress so I could watch the sermon before the party. My fumbling fingers could barely manage my hair into a French braid as I dressed. I was relieved I’d already packed. I was starting to get a nagging feeling this swelling wasn’t a normal running problem. Why the heck did my fingers hurt?

  I was still half-afraid a fiery inferno would consume me when Ross showed up barely five minutes after the sermon ended, all sugary politeness in a collared shirt for my mom’s benefit. His dad was one of the most important developers in the area, and I knew Mom bragged to her friends that I was dating his son. I’d finally done something right in her book.

  “Rayanne,” he said quietly when we were alone in the truck. He coughed and seemed to struggle with his next words. “Sorry I was too handsy at the beach.”

  It wasn’t quite what I’d wanted to hear, so I said simply, “Actions speak louder than words.” I hated to be like Mom and Granny Young, quoting biblical verses at him, but I didn’t want to continue our cyclical fights and apologies, either.

  He nodded, but things still felt tense when we arrived at the party. Luckily, it was outdoors near the dimly lit tidal marsh in someone’s backyard, so no one mentioned the rash on my face, or maybe my makeup hid it well.

  Not much time had passed before I begged Ross to take me home. Exhaustion weighed me down. His eyes lit up, as though that was code for some one-on-one time. It was our last night of summer together, but my whole body hurt, and I just wanted my bed.

  “So what do you really want to do?” he whispered when we got to the truck. His hand slid up and down my waist as he leaned over to kiss my neck.

  I pushed him back, barely holding in a moan as my swollen fingers hit his hard chest. “Stop. I feel bad. Please, take me home.” My voice sounded whiny, even to me.

  “Are you serious?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said as he shook his head and grumbled, putting us into reverse.

  When he pulled up to my house—after his nonstop complaining —I left him for the next ten days with a short kiss and sour feelings. Lately, we’d fought more than we’d had fun. The worst was I was too tired to really care. I nearly crawled up the front steps, which was raised above the ground because of tidal flooding, then grumbled up the second story to my bedroom. I barely managed to change and wash my face before I collapsed into bed.

  A groan escaped me as the alarm clock wailed. Pain tore through me, my whole body feeling like it had been badly bruised.

  When I looked in the mirror, I saw a scaly raised rash covering my nose and cheeks. I flew down the stairs yelling, “Momma!”

  “Stop yelling, Rayanne.” She turned from the coffeepot to look at me. “What in the Sam Hill happened to your face? Sweet Jesus in heaven, I don’t have time for this.” She rolled her eyes heavenward.

  Oh, no. I needed cream or medicine. Or something. “Can you please take me by Dr. Brown’s before I go? Please, Momma.” Then I appealed to her vanity. “It’s so ugly.”

  Mom sighed. Everything I asked seemed to annoy her. “Well, don’t just stand here yakking. Go on, get dressed. And don’t take your sweet time neither. You have a flight to catch, young lady.”

  I raced back up the stairs, wincing as I did, and started coughing, feeling like I couldn’t catch my breath. I hunched over, struggling for air as I threw toiletries in my bag, brushed my hair, and got dressed as quickly as possible. The whole time, my swollen fingers throbbed.

  In thirty minutes, I was sitting on the exam table and Dr. Brown was telling us not to worry, that it was just a sunburn on my face and arm. He wasn’t concerned about my hands or knees at all. With an irritated huff from my mom, we left the doctor’s office.

  “Well, I’ll be, Rayanne,” Mom said in the car. “Try not to such a drama queen for Nils. Let’s get a move on.”

  Mom was so annoyed that I didn’t dare mention I was hungry from not eating breakfast. Each breath I drew seemed harder than the last, and I couldn’t stop coughing.

  “If you are smoking, Rayanne, you better quit. If I catch you, I’ll tan your behind from here to Tennessee, so help me Lord.”

&
nbsp; “I’ve never smoked, Mom—I promise. I’m a runner. I don’t know why I’m coughing.”

  She muttered something under her breath that sounded like Lord give me patience but didn’t respond. When we approached the terminal, I looked at my face once more in the mirror. The pattern of the rash on my nose and cheeks looked almost like an ugly butterfly. I tucked my ballcap down again and wished the day was over.

  “Bless your heart, honey, but I still can’t believe you went to the beach without sunscreen,” Mom chided. “You know you deserve this.”

  “I told you and Dr. Brown I wore a hat and sunscreen,” I said as I slammed the mirror back up.

  “Hush up, now. Don’t be ornery no more. Oh, how you are trying me this morning. You don’t get a sunburn like that if you wear sunscreen, sugar plum. Your momma wasn’t born yesterday. And don’t forget to say your prayers while you’re with those liberal atheists. You don’t want to burn for eternity like he will.” Mom could never talk about me staying with Dad without mentioning at least once he was an atheist and going to hell.

  I nodded and waved goodbye, knowing that arguing that Dad wasn’t damned was worthless. I didn’t ever dare tell Mom, but I always looked forward to visiting Dad, even if it was awkward between us sometimes, neither knowing what to say. Plus, Stockholm and Dad’s parents were so different from Granny and Grampa Young. So urbane.

  And Charles was there. He’d always been my Michigan friend, even if it was only because his mom, my dad’s best friend, made him be. He sent me a video of a robot a few months ago, and I’d been dying to see it in person. I still could only half-believe he’d built it. He was wicked smart.

  As I grabbed my purse, backpack, and duffel bag, everything seemed to hurt again, and I briefly wondered if I had a fever. I struggled to breathe as I huffed to the check-in and tried not to cough for fear they wouldn’t let me board. Mom would kill me if she had to come back and get me. It was a relief when I made it through, and I slipped into a sweater in the frigid terminal, where I could finally sit down.

  I didn’t know what was happening to my body or what I was going to do about the Ross situation. But as exhaustion took over, I was just glad to be getting out of town when I had this rash and grateful for some time to think.

  Numbers scrolled by on the screen as I tried to figure out why the program hadn’t gone live. I’d been at it all morning. I’d found and corrected two numerals. Still, the program glitched in the middle and failed again, even after extensive redoing and testing.

  My phone buzzed for the second time, which forced me to answer it. “Hi, Ma.”

  She spoke rapidly in Mandarin, my first language. “Professor Ericson and I haven’t finished planning the economics sections.”

  Professor Ericson and my ma were both economics professors at the University of Michigan and talked almost daily. They couldn’t plan anything, whether it was adjusting the courses for next semester or prepping their next research project, without running it by each other first.

  “Okay,” I said into the prolonged silence, needing to get back to my internship.

  “He’s going to Sweden the day after tomorrow.”

  I knew that, too. We were having dinner with his daughter, Ray, tonight. Professor Ericson wasn’t just a colleague. He was my parents’ closest friend.

  “We need you to get Ray from the airport,” Ma continued. So that was why she’d called.

  “I have band practice,” I said with a huff. We were going to play for two hours before dinner with Ray and Professor Ericson. I’d already confirmed with the guys.

  She was silent for a moment.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t like Ray—I did. That was the problem. I couldn’t remember a time I hadn’t had a crush on her. I’d been distracted with her looming arrival all weekend. She was that blond-haired, sporadic friend who never quite left my mind. I was only a grade above her, and we’d always had a strange kinship. Aside from being forced together, we were both the youngest in our grades. Ever since I could remember, we’d hung out when she came into town. From Legos to sledding, we always did something.

  Sledding. I nearly groaned. Thoughts of her had plagued me for weeks after that, even after she’d gone back home. That was the worst thing about Ray: she always, inevitably, left. It was torture. She was torture.

  “Do you have Ray’s number?” Ma asked after a drawn-out pause.

  She hadn’t even acknowledged the band as a feasible excuse. I sighed before answering, “Yes.”

  “Good. Her flight lands at six. Then take her to Chengdu Taste. We will all have dinner.” She hung up the phone. Ma had spoken.

  I groaned as I texted James, Knox, and Kevin on our group chat. Tiger mom attacks. Sorry, no practice tonight. Out of all of them, likely only Kevin, who was Korean, would actually understand that. Knox’s mom wasn’t very strict and James was eighteen.

  I refocused on my computer and attempted to get through the day at my programming internship without more surprises. Just find the flaw, I repeated to myself over and over. For weeks it had seemed like the most intriguing thing in the world, and yet it didn’t speed up my heart anywhere near as much as Ray Ericson.

  She wasn’t even here, but all I saw was that adorable blond I had to pick up in a few hours. All I heard was that tinkling laugh and wry humor. All I smelled was that intoxicating jasmine scent. Ray Freaking Ericson. I was perpetually getting over a crush on her. I’d focused on school, completely fine until we were forced together—again and again. It would help if she were conceited, but she wasn’t. She was so genuinely nice and fun every time I saw her.

  Before I left to pick her up, I sent her a message. I couldn’t help but chuckle at our last message chain from a few weeks ago. I’d sent her a picture of a restaurant with a sign that said Asian Fusion. Ray had said, Two-thirds of the planet. What a mix.

  My phone beeped as I drove, but I didn’t check it until I stopped at a red light off the highway.

  Ray: Thanks, we landed early. I flew Delta. I’m waiting for my bag.

  I cursed softly when I saw she’d sent it ten minutes ago. I called her on my Bluetooth, and she picked up with a soft, drawn out Southern, “Hi.”

  “Hi, Ray. Um, did you get your bag yet?”

  “I just did.”

  My hands started sweating at the sound of her melodious voice. I didn’t know why this girl made me so nervous. She’d just look up at me with those big, blue eyes, so focused on what I was saying—like I was interesting as a person, not just the smart kid in class. And she had such dry humor once you got her going. I loved back-and-forthing with her. Maybe all girls made me nervous; I was the geeky never-had-a-girlfriend guy. But Rayanne Ericson did something special to me and always had.

  “Okay, I’m pulling up soon. I have an old olive Forester. You know—”

  She laughed softly, cutting me off. “I remember your car. You drove it when we went sledding this winter—golly, that was fun. I’m wearing a blue baseball cap and have my teal duffel. Station three?”

  “Sure,” I said as the call clicked off. Sparklers were going off in my stomach like it was damn Lunar New Year. I found myself wistfully hoping she’d hug me, even as I cursed myself for that thought. She always wore something jasmine-scented, which smelled mind-numbingly wonderful. Literally mind numbing. Occasionally that scent made me say something so weird I’d replay it for days or even weeks after in mortification.

  A few minutes later, I thought I saw her ballcap and bright blond hair as I pulled around. I braced myself for how’d she’d bounce in her seat, unable to conceal her excitement about, well, everything. I smiled. She’d always talk so Southern when she first arrived, then her accent would mellow out.

  She waved and walked to the trunk, which I popped open. Should I have gotten out and done that? Shit. I tapped a piano beat on the wheel to calm down. I didn’t get people from the airp
ort often. More like never.

  “Thanks for getting me,” she said, slipping in the passenger seat with her face tilted downward, shadowed by her hat.

  Huh? Subdued, not bouncy. Surprise, surprise. She didn’t look up. There was so teasing embrace; worse, she’d barely acknowledged me.

  “I didn’t have a choice,” I joked, trying to make her laugh. I could always count on Ray to laugh at my jokes. I wasn’t particularly funny. She was just a happy, easy-to-please person.

  She didn’t laugh. Crap. I tapped a faster beat, trying to think of something else to say. Or just drive. I should just drive. But then she glanced up.

  “What happened to your face?” I asked. It just slipped out.

  She flinched. She actually flinched.

  Crap. Crap. Crap.

  If she was red-cheeked before, she was red-faced now. She turned to the window.

  Jeez, I was a jerk. Just drive and shut up. I felt red-faced myself as I tried to merge with traffic.

  She spoke so quietly I barely heard her. “Sunburn?” She said it like she wasn’t sure.

  I coughed awkwardly, wishing I could turn back time. “Um, well, I hope it gets better.”

  Now my hands were so sweaty I needed to turn up the AC so I could grip the wheel. We fell into an uncomfortable silence over the blasting air.

  Ray broke the quiet as I merged onto I-94. “Those videos of your robot were really cool. I can’t believe you built that.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “So have you finally decided to go Blue? Has U of M won you over like your parents joked?”

  Wow, she really had paid attention. I did my best not to drop my mouth, but was stunned by her comment. I never thought she noticed me or knew what I did when she wasn’t around. “It was better than I thought. But nothing compared to Caltech. That’s number one by far.”

  Her laughter chimed through the car. “I so would not mind visiting you in LA. What else have you been up to? Winning piano awards?”