Shifting Gears Read Free

tonight as if I was just another face in the crowd. If I see him
again, I’ll avoid his eyes and keep a distance. I’ve already been
enough of an idiot. I don’t need to make a public display of
it—confronting him, sinking even lower. For my own sanity, I’m not
bringing all that back up to the surface now. Not
happening.
    I try my best to concentrate on what
Clay’s saying as we drive home. He’s doing all the talking while I
sit in silence.
    “So yeah, I should be gone for about a
week.”
    He’s talking about a modeling gig in
Atlanta next month. Coral Springs, where we live, is small compared
to Atlanta. Most of its residents make the thirty-minute trip there
to do their shopping, since Coral Springs only offers little Mom
and Pop stores—the kind I love.
    Who wants to dress like everybody else
anyway? I find the best clothes and shoes at Hartley’s, my favorite
clothing store in town. I shop there a lot, especially when I crave
something girly, the opposite of my work gear: scrubs and low top
Converses.
    Clay parks the car and turns to me.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
    I force another smile before
answering. “Honest, I’m tired.”
    He walks me to my door, like he always
does for me and Cass, and kisses my forehead. “Sleep well,
Niki-cakes. See you in the morning for breakfast.”
    “You too.” I give him a hug and walk
in. As I shut my door, I hear the faint sound of a car peeling off.
The neighbors must be fighting again.
    While I’m getting ready for bed, I
brush out my hair and laugh out loud as I imagine Cass and Ang
having fun, unlike me, standing here alone, caught up in my past.
Are they even going to make it home before the sun comes up? Doubt
it.
    God, I wish I could be more like
them—confident, fun. Carefree. The word does not fit into my world.
I’m so far from it. I always worry, I always have to be organized,
and I always watch the clock.
    Fun for me is reading a book or
playing Scrabble, though I sometimes talk Clay into taking the
Stang out. There’s a strip of abandoned road near us that teenagers
use for late night drag racing, which pulls at me. But even though
he has the badass car, he treats it like the classic it is. He
doesn’t like to “overdo it.” The most exciting place I go is The
Rox—the only place I enjoy, really. Music, much like my animals, is
a beautiful distraction.
    And beauty, that’s another thing. Cass
and Angie have it from head to toe. Cass, who works as a paralegal
for a law firm in Atlanta, has short jet black hair that’s styled
in a wispy boy cut only she can pull off. Her eyes are her best
feature. They’re an emerald green, and if you stare at them long
enough, you can almost feel yourself drowning in them. Her
five-foot-eight figure is always in the most form-fitting clothes,
whether it’s a pencil skirt for work or a dress for a night
out.
    Ang, a waitress at a restaurant near
our complex, is just as beautiful. Her long fire-red curly hair and
porcelain skin makes her stand out. She isn’t like everyone else,
and she likes it that way. She’s a little shorter than Cass but
still taller than my five foot four inches.
    Both of them are so confident. They
can walk into any room and get looks. I find myself walking behind
them whenever we go out together. That’s how I see all the eyes on
them. It’s like this at The Rox, just like everywhere else, while I
find a corner to sit and listen to the music and sip my
Stella.
    I hate myself for dredging up these
twisted thoughts, but maybe if I had that same confidence, those
looks, he might have stayed. Or at least remembered
me...
    I down two ibuprofen with a tall glass
of water and settle myself in for the night, hoping sleep will
come. As soon as close my eyes, I see Holt’s face. Smiling at
Amber. Standing by his car. Looking past me as he stood at the bar.
Me, watching as someone else gets their happy while I stand there.
Alone. Like always. The tears are coming, but I force them