Lasting Impressions. John Schlarbaum

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СКАЧАТЬ antics. If only Jeremy knew what Mark really thought of him, he pondered. "So how was it, Ed?" Frank asked.

      "Not bad," Edward said taking off his helmet, "I've never had bugs smash against my teeth at that speed before."

      "How fast were you going?" Frank piped up.

      "About 120, give or take 10," Jeremy replied smugly.

      "Really?" Mark asked in disbelief.

      "You have a problem with that?" Jeremy shot back.

      "Cool off, Jer," Edward said.

      Responding as if Edward had exceeded some line in their friendship, Jeremy tore the spare helmet from Edward's hand and restarted the bike.

      "Look, I don't need any of you losers helping me to get ahead in life. If you don't believe what I say, fine. Just remember, it's my choice who I allow to hang around me."

      Jeremy gunned the engine and fishtailed the bike out of the parking lot, while the others bickered amongst themselves.

      "What a tool bag," Mark remarked. "What's got him so bent out of shape?"

      "Couldn't tell you," Edward said.

      "What did you talk about out there?" Frank commanded. "Did you say something that pissed him off?"

      "You're only mad precious Jeremy didn't give you a ride," Mark jeered.

      "Lay off him, Mark," Edward said looking toward Frank. "He's not worth it." Edward's facial expression became hard. "But for your information, Frank, I didn't say a damn thing to Jeremy. At that speed, you don't have time for any meaningful conversations. Obviously I'm speaking from personal experience." Edward looked away from Frank. "Now, if you ever get the chance to ride with Jeremy, you can give us your thoughts on the whole experience. Until then . . ."

      Edward pivoted so quickly that Frank couldn't think fast enough to react. Edward's fist slammed into Frank's mid-section, doubling him over and leaving him gulping for air on the sidewalk.

      ". . . keep your mouth shut," Edward concluded, walking away.

      Mark, knowing his loyalties might be questioned if he didn't leave now, glanced down at Frank's rumpled body before jogging up beside Edward.

      Left alone to suffer, Frank's thoughts turned to revenge. "You two will regret this," he said under his breath.

      CHAPTER THREE

      Fifteen-year old Olivia Baker was staring out her bedroom window when Jeremy rode by, causing her heart to skip a beat. Her mind raced through several hopelessly impossible situations concerning Jeremy and herself. With a rush of energy pulsating within her, she ran to the kitchen where her mother, Anna Baker, was drying the final lot of freshly washed breakfast dishes.

      "Mom, did you see Jeremy Atkins go by on his motorcycle?" Olivia asked as she opened the fridge door.

      "Didn't see it, but sure could hear the fool thing."

      "It's not a fool thing," Olivia retorted. "It's a cool thing."

      Olivia's mother shook her head. "Fool, cool. Same thing, different generations."

      Olivia poured herself a glass of apple juice. "You wouldn't know a cool thing if it kissed you on the lips."

      Anna shrugged. "I've always believed that you should be judged by who you are, not what you own."

      "That may have worked in the good old days, unfortunately fashion and style are everything today. Look at me." Olivia appraised her worn jeans and plaid blouse. "I won't ever be cool. I'll be an outcast forever."

      Her mother turned in disgust. "I've told you a thousand times I can only afford so much for you. I try my best and you should be grateful for what you have."

      As her mother began to put the dishes away, Olivia exited the room. On the way upstairs, she felt a bit remorseful. She hadn't meant to get on her mom's case. Sometimes things slipped out.

      To fight off this mild bout of depression, Olivia decided to make a quick entry in her diary. She opened the closet door in her bedroom and, perching on her desk chair, stretched her arms upwards, pushing aside a ceiling panel. Reaching into the space, she retrieved her most secret thoughts - all written in a small red book. Grabbing a pen, she flopped down on her bed and began to write.

      Dear Diary,

      Jeremy drove by today on his new motorcycle. He looked so cool. I was hoping he'd see me in the window and ask if I'd like to go to the beach to spend the day together. At sunset we could walk barefoot in the sand . . . hand in hand. And when we got to a secluded area, he'd lovingly look into my eyes and say I was the only one he's ever really cared for. He'd then kiss me on the lips. If I didn't die right there in his arms, I don't know what I'd do!!! But who am I kidding? Jeremy Atkins doesn't know I'm alive, let alone totally in love with him. Someday I'll get the nerve to talk to him. If only I had the courage!

      I really should get going. Until next time, wish me luck.

      She reread the passage and closed the diary with an audible sigh. It sounded like all the other entries she'd written during the past six months. She quickly replaced the book in its hiding spot and collapsed onto her bed.

      "I don't know how or when," she addressed the ceiling, "but I'm going to get Jeremy Atkins, if it kills me."

      ***

      Susan Parker had all her household chores finished by the time her mother came home for lunch. Marion Parker enjoyed being able to spend some quality time with her daughter each day during the summer months. She assumed this was one reason they got along so famously, to the chagrin of her recently divorced husband. To say Ted and Susan were complete opposites would be an understatement. So when the lawyers inquired about custody, it quickly became a redundant question.

      "From the looks of all the work you've done, I'm guessing you have important plans today," Marion said as she sat at the kitchen table. "Anyone special?"

      "Oh, you know . . . the same goof I've been with for three years," Susan quipped, taking two salads from the fridge and placing them on the table. Sitting down, she looked at her mother. "Do you think he'll ever get around to proposing to me?"

      Her mother began to cough. "Marriage? Haven't you learned anything from your parents' divorce?"

      "Yeah, that if two people don't get along they should split up."

      An expression of mild rage swept over Marion's face, only to slowly turn into one of mischief. "How much is he paying you, Susan? I'll double it."

      "He who?"

      "Your father," Marion said, pointing her fork in Susan's direction. "I can tell by the glint in your blue-green eyes he's secretly paying you to make my life miserable."

      "I wish!" Susan said with a mock look of outrage. "I'm doing this for free."

      No further words were exchanged as they finished their small salads.

      Susan broke the silence by asking, "Do you really think he'd pay me?"

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