Amber Eyes Read online

  Table of Contents

  Amber Eyes

  June 27 12:12 pm

  June 27 4:44 pm

  June 29

  June 30 12:29 pm

  July 1

  July 2, 1:36 am

  July 2, 1:59 am

  July 2, 2:30 am

  July 2, sometime before sunrise

  July 2, 8:23 am

  July 2, 8:49 am

  July 2, 9:53 am

  July 2, 10:41 am

  July 2, 11:21 am

  July 2, 11:32 pm

  July 3, 00:06 am

  July 3, 00:34 am

  July 3, 6:32 am

  July 3, 7:23 am

  July 3, 11:13 pm

  July 4, 00:17 pm

  July 4, 00:33 am

  July 4, 6:53 am

  The 4 of July

  July 4, 7:49 pm

  July 4, 8:21 pm

  July 4, 9:38 pm

  July 4, 10:39 pm

  July 4, 11:38 pm

  July 4, 11:57 pm

  July 5, 00:23 pm

  July 5, 1:03 am

  Epilogue July 5, Now

  A note to the reader

  Acknowledgements

  Amber Eyes

  a novel by

  Mariana Reuter

  Amber Eyes

  Copyright 2015© by Mariana Reuter

  Edited by Laura Kingsley

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electric or mechanical means without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial used permitted by copyright law.

  ISBN:

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, events, incidents, names and places are either products of the author imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  For my mum, who always encourages me to be a better person. She loved those detective stories I wrote when I was a kid, however amateurish.

  June 27 12:12 pm

  Before the 4 of July, I couldn’t be sure if I was a teenage lesbian. Yes. I was a girl who dreamed of other girls—or at least of one in particular. Images of her soft lips and skin combining with my own assaulted me in bare daylight. Prob was I dreamed of guys too—like the school’s quarterback—so you might call me a freak like almost everybody else at school did. I preferred to be called Alex, like my BFF Jennifer called me. Not at first, though. Mom and I had moved in Somerset in March. Back then, Jenny barely noticed me, or so I believed, and I had no friends. When I walked down the school halls, I could hear people calling me ‘lesbo’ and ‘freak’ behind my back—which made me feel pretty miserable, but I couldn’t help it.

  One day, early in April, I was sitting on a bench in the school yard having lunch and minding my own business when Jennifer approached me. I already knew her because we shared a coupla classes, but we’d never talked before.

  “Hi,” she said. “It’s Alexandra, right?”

  I raised my head and squinted. The sun stood behind her so I couldn’t make out her features. She was only a tall silhouette surrounded by an aura of flaring, golden hair. Like an angel. I cleared my throat. “Y… yes.”

  “I’m Jennifer, but you call me Jenny, okay? I wanna be your friend.” Matter-of-fact tone. No room for nonsense. She sat beside me, which was unbelievable because nobody dared to ruin their reputation talking to me.

  My sandwich hung in midair, right in front of my open mouth. I put it down before she could grab it, throw it away and run—like so many school bullies had done before. She didn’t, though. She didn’t seem to be one of them.

  I waited, not sure what to do. I waited longer. After ages, I cocked my head and raised my eyebrows. “You… what?”

  “I wanna be friends with you, Alex.” That’s when she first called me Alex, hissing the letters in a sexy manner. It felt cool.

  I pulled my dark sunglasses down and looked over the rims.

  “Why… why would you?” My stomach had just hardened. Jenny was the hottest girl I’d ever seen, and she smelled like flowers. “Nobody wants to be my friend.”

  “Exactly because of that. You need a friend badly.” Her hands reached for my sunglasses and pulled them off. “And because you’ve gotten the hottest eyes in the whole damned world. What color are they, amber? Why do you always wear dark glasses?”

  # # #

  End of May. The cafeteria was packed. Jenny and I were having lunch by the window, the one overlooking the baseball field. A game was going on. Outside, lots of people on the bleachers. Inside, the smell of overcooked pizza mixing with the smell of French fries, hamburgers, and God-only-knows-what-else. Most of us followed the game from our tables and a few diehard fans pressed up their noses against the windows.

  My life sucked. I didn’t say that out loud. Didn’t have to. Jenny could read me. She knew I had serious problems. I needed to share and she would listen because she cared.

  She frowned. “¿Qué pasa?”

  I said: “They just fired this bitch waitress at the Happy Hamburger where Mom works and now she ain’t coming home early ‘cause she’s covering her. That’s pissing Yago off sooo much. They’re fighting every night—I’m fed up. But that’s not the worst of it. Yago wants me to babysit the twins all day long during summer vacation. I’m so fed up living in Yago’s trailer.”

  “Hold it right there, Alex.” Jenny raised an open palm like an officer stopping the traffic. “When did you turn into the guy’s babysitter?”

  “Blame Mom.” I pouted and crossed my arms. “She Nazied me.” I mimicked Mom’s tone. “‘Yago’ll be happier if you take care of the twins and help at home’. ‘Remember, I finally found a man that’s taking care of us.’ Crap!”

  “But you told me he’s paying a babysitter for the twins, isn’t he?”

  “Only half day. She leaves once I come home from school and freaks out if I’m ten minutes late.”

  “But he’s paying you then, isn’t he?” Jenny picked an apple from her lunch tray and bit it. A fat drop of juice streaked down her chin and her lips glistened just as if she was advertising lip gloss. Why was I finding her so sexy, so alluring? Just looking at her stimulated the volcano of desire inside me.

  “Me? I’m working for nothing, zilch, nada. Freakin’ convenient for him, don’t you think?”

  “Unbelievable!”

  Outside, the ‘Whack!’ produced by a bat hitting a baseball triggered cheering from the bleachers and loud booing inside the cafeteria.

  “Listen to this,” I grumbled. “The other day, they raped this teen girl in one of those unoccupied trailers by the Route 133 exit. I was like, ‘This trailer park’s crowded with hoods and criminals. Don’t be surprised if one of these days I’m the one gang-banged!’

  “And Yago just laughed! He was like: ‘Don’t worry, Alexandra. Tomboys like you only hook gays or pervs, and we don’t allow gays in our trailer park.’ Can you believe it? He’s such a freakin’ idiot! I have to put up with his insensitive crap on top of all the work.”

  “Did he actually say that?” Jenny scowled.

  “Yeah! He’s a bastard! Do I really look that tomboyish?”

  “Like, seriously?”

  “Yeah, seriously. Tell me what you think, Jenny.”

  She placed the apple down on her tray. Her eyes avoided mine. “You do look very tomboyish, Alex. Take your hair, short like a soldier’s. You never wear earrings or use makeup. No girly stuff, I mean. And you’re always wearing these baggy clothes. Nobody would ever guess you’ve gotten boobs, girl. What bra size are you? 30AA?”

  Omigod! Jad anybody ta
ken my face temperature, it would have been feverish. I knew I’ve blushed like a tomato. Why was she asking that? Why did I want her to ask that? And why was there a sudden sinking feeling like my stomach was sliding down into my gut?

  I glanced sideways, wondering if the kids at the nearby tables could overhear us. Jenny had just confirmed I was a tomboy, and maybe she was right. Being a girl was so complicated! Sometimes, I entertained it would be easier to be a guy. She said something else, but I didn’t listen to it. I could only concentrate on her glossy lips.

  I pictured myself taking off my tee before Jenny, and her rejecting me, disappointed because my boobs were too small. I whispered, “Not even 30AA. I still use the training thing.”

  “You still use training bras!”

  Yes, I still did, and Jenny was at least 36C. Her tone oozed a mixture of amusement and disappointment. The rejection felt like being left out in heavy rain without an umbrella. Part of me rejoiced—what I’d just pictured had been out of place.

  “Hush Jenny! I don’t want it posted in Facebook.”

  “Look,” she said quietly—a nameless emotion lingered in her eye. I couldn’t place it but I worried I shared it. “You’re always wearing those dark sunglasses, even indoors. Nobody can tell you’re a girl, and idiots like Clara Benson say you’re a lesbo and I’m your girlfriend.”

  Girlfriends? Jenny sometimes squeezed my hand, but taking hands didn’t mean we were lesbians. Unless…

  Another ‘whack!’ outside triggered more booing inside the cafeteria.

  I pulled the glasses down a bit and looked from over the rim. “It pisses me off when people gawk at my eyes like retards.”

  When I didn’t hide my eyes, people at random would stare at me like idiots exclaiming ‘wow!’ and ‘ahhh!’, praising how lovely my eyes were until it’d get annoying. Some people would even drool. Today, however, another reason kept the sunglasses on my face: I worried Jenny would be able to spot the perversion in my face.

  Looking down at her hands, Jenny seemed to be fighting that confusing appetite too, like the desire was wrong, but it was too powerful to resist. When she gazed directly at me, her dark dilated pupils and rosy cheeks told me were both in trouble.

  “Alexandra…”

  Jenny had just said my name. Alexandra. No, she’d sighed it. Something like Aaaleksss, softly hissing the last letter. It gave me goose bumps, as if my name was too intimate, too lovely for anything more than a whisper. Her hand rested on mine across the table, squeezing it softly—it felt like I’d just pushed my fingers into an electric wall socket. My face turned hot, burning, almost melting my cheeks. One more degree and the cafe’s fire alarm would have set off. My whole body tingled in anticipation, starving for Jenny’s warm touch on the rest of my body.

  Jenny beamed a super sweet smile whispering that desire I feared, but compelled to heed. A dirty appetite I knew I had little will to resist. I almost dropped the Minute Maid orange juice I was holding. A shiver ran through my body when she removed my sunglasses and ran her hand through my hair.

  She locked her eyes with mine, hers still smoky. “Yeah, I know. But I love your amber eyes. You shouldn’t wear the glasses when you’re with your future girlfriend.”

  Jenny caressed my cheek with the back of her fingers. My hand grabbed hers, pressing it against my cheek. When her knuckles touched the corner of my lips, my heart missed a beat.

  Another hit outside and this time the people in the cafe cheered like crazy. I squeezed the Minute Maid in my other trembling hand and it exploded, spilling the juice on my tray. Jenny breathed hard. Her nostrils flared rhythmically and her cheeks turned rosy in a fashion I was finding hot as hell. Her bright blue eyes drilled inside me, summoning me into an off-limits world of passion. I pressed her hand harder on my cheek and then softly bit one of her fingers. She tasted bittersweet, like blackberries—a blend of candied skin and salty sweat. If the rest of her skin tasted the same, I could well—No! I had to stop daydreaming such dirty stuff.

  More cheering reminded me we were not alone. I glanced around to see if anyone watched us. A group of guys in football uniforms two tables away seemed to be talking about us, but I couldn’t be sure. They also seemed interested in a ton of French fries on their table. Inside my head, everything had turned upside down. My internal voice demanded I get up and run away. I couldn’t though. Excitement filled me. The tender hand I kept crushed against my cheek made me feel alive, wanted for the very first time.

  Jenny’s breasts went up and down as she breathed hard, and her lips curved into a mischievous smile. The corner of her eyes were inviting me to lock ourselves inside the nearest janitor’s closet and make out like crazy. I opened my mouth to talk, but then I bit my lip. I’d been about to say. ‘Yes, let’s go.’

  A tall blonde girl walked by our table carrying her lunch tray, leaving a trail of hot spaghetti smell behind her. Jenny said, “Cat got your tongue?”

  Not the cat… her. I had to say no, I had to reject whatever she was proposing. It was the right thing to do. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? Two girls cannot be girlfriends. That’s… gay!”

  The bell rang and I flinched. The spaghetti girl, still looking for a table, cursed. The sound of chairs being dragged all at once filled the cafeteria. Everybody stood up and carried their trays to the front. In seconds, I was surrounded by lots of towering kids stirring around little me, like I was lost in the middle of a sequoia forest. I remained nailed to my seat, still holding the squeezed Minute Maid while Jenny beamed at me in her best Trident smile.

  I opened my mouth to say something else, to ask her why, to remind her we were at a public place, but she placed a finger on my lips. The bittersweet taste of her skin paralyzed me, like I’d just been hit by one of those tranquilizing darts they use on lionesses in African parks.

  “Shhh, Aaleksss ,” she whispered, my name caressed by her tongue and lips. “I’m not kidding. You do look too tomboyish, but I luv the look. And I don’t give a damn if anybody says we’re lesbians. I want to be your girlfriend. You don’t have to answer me now, just think about it.”

  Had I just been announced America’s Next Top Model winner, I’d have been less stunned. I even doubted whether I’d heard right. The bustle around us and her whispering might have twisted her words.

  “Th-think about it?” I stammered. What I really wanted was to yell: ‘Yes, I want to be your girlfriend, Jenny!’ but everything was happening so fast, it was so new to me, and seemed so wrong that my tongue got tangled up. Besides, I was scared. Clara Benson and her gang had bullied me when I’d arrived at this school three months ago and they only stopped when I started to hang with Jenny. I imagined what would happen once somebody caught us kissing in the restrooms: Tons of gossip. People labelling us as a pair of ‘dirty dikes’. Lipstick signs on the girl’s restroom mirror: Zimmerman rides Jennifer Edwards.

  Jenny rose from her chair, leaned both hands on the table and stooped across it until her freckled, upturned nose stood only a couple of inches from mine. Her floral perfume suddenly made me feel high as if I’d smoked weed, tons of it. I was now the one breathing hard.

  “Yeah, think about it. I’m deadly serious. Just don’t mess around with any other girl while you make up your mind, deal?”

  She approached me so close, our lips touched. Hers tasted way sweet, like strawberry and candy. Like vanilla Häagen-Dazs ice-cream. The football guys at the nearby table, the only people still lingering the cafeteria beside us, were all staring. I hoped none of them were aiming their cell phone cameras at us because I didn’t want to be the hot topic on Facebook tonight. Jenny apparently had no such fears. She raised her middle finger and flipped them off. I wanted to bury myself under ten tons of earth.

  When I finally rose from the table, not a single kid lingered in the cafeteria, not even the football players or Jenny. The baseball game had ended too, and the bleachers were empty. I dragged my feet towards the exit, forsaking my tray on the table. It felt like I was
walking on cottony clouds floating in the sky. I took a hand to my hot lips.

  I think she kissed me.

  I couldn’t figure out if Jenny and I had kissed like crazy or if it’d only been a brief contact that had made time eternal. While my heart wished it’d been a crazy making out, my mind trusted it’d only been as ethereal as the brush of a bee’s wing. Either way, my first kiss ever represented my debut in a play I’d never even rehearsed for.

  June 27 4:44 pm

  Mid-afternoon. I was fed-up mopping the trailer while I kept an eye on the kids who played outside. The floral-scented Lysol reminded me of Jenny’s perfume, the only reason why mopping was bearable.

  Yago’s trailer? From the outside, it seemed brand-new. All aluminum. Glistening at sunrise and shining at dusk. With a white picket fence and a nice flowerbed. A cool place to live in, don’t you think so?

  Crap! It meant living in a freakin’ metal bread box on flat tires in a shitty trailer park. It meant getting iced up at sunrise and fried at dusk. Guess who took care of the flower bed and had repainted the picket fence at gun point? Yours truly.

  Yago himself—like Shakespeare’s Iago, but with a ‘Y’—was a stinking, three hundred pounder over six feet tall. His kids? Good boys. I was actually fond of them. Prob was Yago set a bad example. The three could litter anything from beer cans to cookie crumbs and even puke in less than five minutes.

  Blame Mom. First, she started to date Yago and, after a coupla months, we moved in with him. They slept together in the trailer’s tiny back bedroom, except when he beat her. Then she would take my bunk bed in the living room and I would end up on the threadbare couch, scared to death and unable to sleep. I might even cry, depending on how much he’d beaten her. Add another bed under mine for the twins, a kitchenette, a dining table big enough for three, our old bulky TV, and you’d get the perfectly-crappy, forty-year-old trailer. We even had a curtain instead of a bathroom door—zero privacy.