Tomato Red: Thirteen - Fifteen

thirteen

When I was thirteen, my dad sent me to a boarding school in a small town called Putnam. He always told me, “Marie, the only way to be successful is to learn to be successful.” But when mom died that year, he grew depressed and it went from his motto to his excuse.

As if there was any excuse for sending your daughter off to a different city for the rest of her young adulthood.

I kind of liked Valencia Boarding School, mostly because my dorm room was probably bigger than my old house’s living room. It had two walk-in closets, a medium-sized television, and full-on air conditioning. I shared it with a small girl named Ellie Brandon. Despite her size, she was truly gorgeous, with electric blue eyes and curly chestnut-colored hair. It was weird; her eyes were too far apart, her nose was too long, her lips were too high up, her forehead was too big; yet she was somehow so irregularly beautiful. She wore slightly skimpy clothing for a thirteen year-old, but she had boundaries compared to some of the other girls in the school.

She was a little jumpy, and despite how crazy the boys went when they saw how pretty she was, she didn’t like to talk to many people except for me. She told me the day that we met that she had anxiety disorder. I admitted to her about my mom’s cancerous death. We quickly became friends.

One day she asked me, “Marie, you’re so pretty, why do you dress like a Catholic schoolgirl?” She then looked at my long plaid skirt.

“Well, despite the long skirts. I mean, at least some of those girls aren’t afraid to show skin above the knees.” she laughed, and lent me a pair of too-short shorts. “What’s the point?” I asked. “I mean, they’re basically a pair of denim undies.”

“Bleached denim undies.”

That day, I wore the bleached denim undies and a gray sweatshirt. It was a weird combination, and I felt uncomfortable, seeing that every person in my classes would be able to see almost everything. When Ellie left the room, I put on a pair of black tights beneath the shorts and some ballet flats. Ellie was impressed. I started a new trend for myself.

right now

I run down the hall. Where the heck is Ellie?

My dark denim short-shorts and tomato-red tights somehow make my legs look longer and skinnier – which I like. I’m wearing a gray cotton tee and black converse sneakers. And I have no idea where Ellie went.

She’s been gone for three days. The first day, I figured she went to see her family. But Mrs. Delarosa never allows us to go away for more than two days because of the amount of work we’ll miss. So last night, I called her cellphone. It went directly to voicemail. I left her a message.

El, if you’re there, it’s me, Marie. What’s going on? Where did you go? You never told me you were leaving. Mrs. Delarosa is gonna flip when you get back. Just call me. I’m getting worried.

I look in every classroom, post on social media, and even personally ask every student or teacher. When I first knocked on the door of my friend/boyfriend (it’s extremely complicated) Logan’s room, he kissed my cheek a bit awkwardly and told me he has no idea where Ellie is. No one does.

I go to Logan’s room again. I decide to have faith in Ellie; I should take my mind off of her. I did all my homework already, and having nothing to do on a Saturday, I knock on his door. His roommate, Connor answers. He immediately calls for Logan.

Logan walks out of the room and closes the door. “Hey, Marie.”

“Hi.”

“What’s up? Did you find anything out about El?”

“No. But I want to take my mind off it. Do you want to hang out?”

He smiles, but he’s concerned and I know it. “Okay. Let’s go get permission from Delarosa.”

We walk down the hall, getting a few looks from the hallway bystanders. Everyone on campus is confused about our strange relationship – one minute we’re calling each other pal or buddy, and the next we’re kissing underneath a tree on the lawn. I’m even confused; but I don’t want to ruin a perfectly okay thing.

Logan throws his arm around my shoulder, and I decide that this is one of the romantic days. I kiss his chin as we walk together, and as happy as I am to be with him, the weight of Ellie’s disappearance weighs heavily on my shoulders.

***

Logan first takes me to the beach. We stop by Mrs. Delarosa’s office to get permission (“No funny business, Mr. Becker. Marie is a fair young lady, and do not ruin both your and her experience here by doing something stupid. Be back at campus by nine p.m., no later.”) and then hop into his red BMW. It’s pretty old, but it’s nice too. Comfortable. “You know, maybe while we’re driving, we’ll find El wandering around. She’s pretty spunky like that,” he teases. This makes me laugh.

As we walk on the beach, he takes my hand, his gold eyes twinkling against the background of the ocean waves. I want to enjoy this moment, but I’m worried about El. I remember how Mrs. Delarosa loves Ellie, and how disappointed she must be that she’s sort of disappeared from campus. She told me before, “Elise is a great friend for you, Marie. She may seem like some sort of idiotic party girl, but she knows exactly what she’s going to do and exactly how she’ll do it. She’s smart, focused, organized. You need her.”

I let go of his hand and sit on the sand, staring into the water. For a minute, I think of Logan’s presence behind me, and how I should be spending this moment with him. I reach for his hand. But then I’m already worrying about Ellie again. Logan’s hand is on my shoulder, but I can’t feel it, can’t see him standing next to me. He sits down. “Marie,” he says, hugging my arm. “El’s gonna be okay. She’s a good kid. She knows what she’s doing.”

I pull away, thinking of Mrs. Delarosa once more. “Logan, we don’t know what happened to her. She could’ve gotten drunk at a beach party and waded deep into the water, never to be seen again. Or maybe she was kidnapped by a serial killer and he’s already slit her throat.” I swallow hard. “We can’t just sit here!”

He pulls me close again, kissing my cheek. I don’t struggle this time; maybe it’s the chilly breeze of the morning air that holds me still; maybe it’s the warmth of his embrace.

“Maybe she’s just fine. Maybe we’re just fine.”

I look up at him, questioning what he just said. Does he want us to be, you know, together every day? Finally? Or maybe he’s just trying to reassure me that everything’s okay. Maybe I’m using too many “maybes”.

“I don’t like how things are,” he says, except now he’s looking into the sun, turning his eyes from a metallic gold to a calm caramel. “I want them to change.”

I brush my finger along his eyelids, and he bats his long lashes at the touch. “Why do your eyes change color, Logan?”

“Well, when they’re struck with light, they look gold because of the contrast. But then, when you compare them to the blue ocean or to darkness, they look brown.”

“So the color isn’t set in stone. Things can change.”

“Exactly.”

I smile. “Then so can we.”

fourteen

I first met Logan when I was fourteen.

In July, Ellie decided to take me to my first campus party. “There will be boys,” she told me. “Older boys. So we need to look older.” She made us all up in mascara and lip gloss and blush, and short skirts and halter tops and high-heeled boots. We looked fabulous; and though I didn’t feel normal, I felt pretty.

She introduced me to Karis and Dane. Dane was an aspiring guitarist and a fifteen-year-old prodigy. “I totally dig him,” she told me quietly after I was introduced. “But he likes Karis. Who wouldn’t?”

Karis was a pretty girl, who was about five foot ten with wavy dark hair and big blue eyes. She was smart – she was fourteen, like us, but a grade ahead and was studying to be a microbiologist. And she was so nice. When we met, she told me I looked “GUH-OR-GEOUS!” and gave me a big hug, even though she didn’t know me. Karis just had this glow, like everything about her wasn’t necessarily perfect, but it still felt that way.

Karis and Dane eventually dragged us out onto the dance floor (a big area of carpet with enormous strobe lights hanging above it) and we started to dance. And then Dane suddenly shouted, “Hey, dude, you finally showed up!” And in walked a tall guy with short dirty-blond hair and eyes that were a bright latte in color, but were gold at the same time. He was wearing a navy blue t-shirt and dark jeans with gray Vans. Karis laughed at him. “Logan, you told us you didn’t want to come, but you came! Ha!”

Ellie caught my gaping stare, and she elbowed me hard, giving me a look. I shook it off and we went to say hi.

“Logan,” he said to me first, and he shook my hand. He looked at Karis. “Is this one of your model friends again? Looks like you finally found a really pretty one.”

Karis giggled. “Logan, Marie isn’t a model. But she sure could be!”

Ellie turned to him. “Karis tries to set you up with models?”

He shrugged. “For some reason, they all like me. I normally don’t like them.” My heart was still racing from his sort-of compliment as he looked into my eyes. It felt like a soul search.

“They like you because they saw your picture in the VBS catalog.” Karis rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, that was a pretty good picture, dude,” Dane chimed in. They laughed and fist-bumped.

“I knew I recognized you!” I blurted stupidly. He looked at me again, smiling. “Pretty, good memory…you should be a model.” He went to get a cup of punch.

Karis winked at me. “I think he thinks you’re pretty.”

“I think he just can’t see clearly with these strobe lights,” I said, flushing. Of course he didn’t really think I’m pretty. I’m average.

“No!” Ellie said, laughing. “He was totally flirting! Go talk to him!”

“I hardly even know him!”

They shoved me, and I finally went over to him.

“So,” I said, and he turned around, suddenly smiling. “Your picture’s in the catalog.” He laughed, probably at my attempt at a conversation. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.” I immediately ran out of things to say.

“You know, for a possible model, you really suck at conversations,” he joked, I laughed at his remark.

“Even if I weren’t pretty, I’d suck at conversations.”

He looked into his cup of punch, chuckling at my joke. “You know what I like about you?”

I blushed. “What?”

“You have the guts to both compliment and insult yourself at the same time.”

I laughed. “Yeah…”

“And even worse – you did it in front of a guy.”

“I’m brutally honest.”

“You’re brutally gorgeous.”

I shoved his arm. “You’re brutally honest, too.”

My attempt at flirting seemed to make him sure I was into him - how do guys even know a girl is flirting? – and he gave me an intense look. It was one that was serious but also humorous and wildly attractive. His arched eyebrows furrowed, his golden eyes shimmering under the multicolored lights, searching for something unknown within my self-proclaimed plain-Jane face.

“How old are you again?”

“Fourteen,” I said, clenching my fists behind my back. I wished I was fifteen; I probably seemed deathly immature to such a grown-up guy. Why couldn’t I be grown-up like him?

“You look about sixteen.”

I didn’t feel as mature as he claimed I was, but I took the compliment graciously. “Too old for you,” I chastised.

He laughed. “I wouldn’t care if you were twenty or ten.”

“Both would be horribly wrong. Besides, you hardly know me!”

Logan stepped closer, his lips inches from my ear. “’But I feel as though I do.’” He was quoting my favorite book, Patronized by Monica DeBuoy. ”Ellie tells me you’re a DeBuoy fan. I’m one too.”

“She rocks,” I grinned.

We began a conversation about Monica DeBuoy and her hundreds of writing pieces; but it was nearly a minute or two into the conversation where he put his finger over my lips and kissed my cheek. I flushed pink immediately, and looked into his eyes. I’d known it was coming. I nodded, answering the silent question of romance that hovered in the small space between our heads.

right now

I’m happy that Logan and I have worked things out.

However:

Ellie is still MIA.

We sat on the beach for a while, talking until all our problems were solved; healed to the point of perfection. But we both wanted Ellie’s presence among us. Not only is she one of our best friends, but she’s the reason I met Logan at that party.

So we drove around town for a while asking everyone if they’d seen her. No one knew where she was. Except for someone at the Putnam Town Bakery; her name was Bella.

***

“She bought three doughnut holes. N’ a sesame bagel. Didn’t wanna stop and talk to us er’ anythin’.”

“Weird.” Ellie always talks to the baker, Sam. “Not even Sam?”

“Nope.”

Bella goes on to tell us that she saw Ellie walking to the beach; and then the Putnam Gift Shop: a crappy store that sells “History of Putnam” snow globes and pencils with the words “PUTNAM’S GREATEST” on them. “I didn’t see where she went after,” she says with a Southern drawl, “but it sure wasn’t here. She hopped in her car and drove off ta’ somewhere I don’t know. Outta the city, maybe.”

“Maybe,” Logan nods. He looks focused, determined, and oddly adorable. I squeeze his arm.

We hop in his car and think carefully about what we’re going to do. Leaving the city without permission (which is hardly every granted anyway) is strictly prohibited by Mrs. Delarosa. But finding or giving up on Ellie is unquestionable; we’d never forget a friend.

Logan starts the car and drives without even asking me whether or not we’re going to go through with it. I’m sure he’s thinking exactly what I’m thinking: I’m going through Ellie-withdrawal. As he drives, I find a hole in my scarlet tights and sigh. “Another pair, ripped. Are my legs too flabby or something?”

He rolls his eyes. “Flabby? If your legs are flabby, then I’m a sumo wrestler.”

I laugh.

He drives us further until we reach the exit out of Putnam. We leave, using a school-provided EZ-Pass as our ticket out. He squeezes my hand as we reach the closest city to Putnam – Veran – and see Ellie lying on the side of the road, coughing, wheezing, and bleeding all over.

fifteen

The year I turned fifteen was a good one.

Logan got his driver’s license two weeks after my birthday, which was his sixteenth birthday. He started to drive me around, and we didn’t fight yet. We were still getting used to the dynamic of each other.

Ellie and I baked him a chocolate cake on his birthday. I was a bit pissed that he was older than me again after I had finally caught up, but I also was happy for him. “Sweet sixteen,” he’d said as he chomped on the delicious cake. I had then wiped the chocolate icing off his nose and kissed him, which led to Ellie’s endless gagging.

Logan and I had a little mini Sweet Sixteen, where we slow danced in his dorm room and ate leftover cake and drank some soda and stayed up till dawn laughing and retelling stories to the annoyance of his roommate, Connor.

I remember he whispered in my ear for hours, telling me his secrets, his tricks, his flaws, and his obsessions. We were too drunk on Sprite and Coca Cola to realize that he was revealing everything about himself to me. I listened to him for hours.

The next day, I woke up on his couch, and he was lying on his armchair and grinning stupidly at me.

That morning, he lent me his VBS hoodie and I sat in his lap as he told me his secrets once again, this time not drunkenly.

***

I met Ellie’s parents for the first time that year.

Mrs. Brandon, who demanded I called her Claire, loved my shorts-with-tights trend. Mr. Brandon (self-declared as Bill) thought my grades were admirable. They said to Ellie, “What a wonderful friend you have.”

Claire became the mother I didn’t have. Every few weeks, she’d come and visit and the three of us would have tea and discuss the latest gossip. She listened and offered the best advice.

Bill kept an eye on me and Logan, who he approved of, and also on Ellie and Dane, who had a budding relationship. When they kissed at the Brandons’ Christmas party, he kept a very watchful eye.

It felt nice having a sister figure, two parental figures, a close female friend, and a boyfriend. I had a lot of people to depend on, lots of advice to get, and peace throughout all of my relationships. Life was good. I learned to play tennis – an excellent, agile sport – and even took up the piano.

Ellie noticed my improvement. “You’re maturing,” she said with a nod.

I was.

right now

My heart stops for a moment, and Logan has to shake my shoulders through loud sobs to get me moving.

We run to her, both of us crying. Ellie’s completely awake and alive, which is great, but her injuries could be fatal. A cut in her neck, bruises everywhere; she is a complete mess. I squeeze her, getting blood on my clean t-shirt. I don’t care. Logan’s phone is out immediately, and he dials 911, crying into the phone. I sob, squeezing her tighter. “What…happened?”

“A man,” she coughs. “He came into my room, gagged me…took my money from my wallet…and he took me to this old building and threatened to kill me if I spoke. So I …“—she coughs again, abruptly—“stayed quiet. He made me go out shopping, not talking to anyone but acting normal to cover up his crimes. And he bashed my arms, cut my throat, but kept me alive so I’d feel the pain. And he put me in the trunk of his car and drove a few hours ago. He was drunk. He threw me onto the side of the road and left me there. I…I don’t know why.”

“El,” I sob, hugging her tight. “I knew something was wrong!”

She rolls her eyes. “You always have to one-up me, don’t you?”