Ashley stood at the front of the group, wearing tiny pieces of raveling denim she called a skirt with a tight, blue tank top that forced you to look at her breasts. Her perfect skin was surrounded by flowing blond layers, she modeled after Jessica Simpson’s perfect hair. With the cowboy boots, Ashley could be an ad for that new country line dancing bar on Highway 37. I wondered if Mrs. Mason had seen her lately. She would definitely not approve of this outfit.
I self-consciously smoothed my hands over my uniform, trying to dust off the splatters of ice cream. The afternoons on the ranch ended quite some time ago. These days, Jess went to football practice while I made milkshakes at Jeeter’s after school.
Old man Jeeter had opened the place almost sixty years ago. His granddaughter Caroline now owned the restaurant, which sat conveniently down the block from the hardware store. My father picked me up after he closed the shop. Caroline always made sure we had something wrapped in foil to take home for dinner. She was the doting, fussy type and about my father’s age. He said it was my imagination, but I think she liked him.
“What can I get you, Ashley?” I plastered the fake, service worker smile on my lips and glanced back at Lila and Katie Rae. I never could tell where they stood toward me. Obviously, they were her Ashley-bots, always following along silently in the background, doing what they were told.
“I don’t know.” Her glossy lips pursed in contemplation. She wasn’t friendly but wasn’t hateful. Hopefully, it would be a good day. The thought didn’t release the tight knot in my abdomen.
Jess and Ashley had known each other their whole lives. Somewhere along the way, he went from hating her to dating her. I couldn’t blame him really. She was sexy and sometimes he was just a stupid boy.
Ashley’s family owned the tag agency. In some twisted way, the fact her parents slapped a date stamp on the back of every Arlis truck, made her feel special. She was involved in every organization at school, including cheerleading. While every guy wanted to date Ashley, every girl either wanted to be her or was afraid of her, or a little of both.
Ashley wasn’t necessarily an aggressive mean person unless you attempted to take away something she thought was hers. This caused most people to tread lightly because she assumed most things were hers. I guess this also explained why she developed a major issue with me. She thought Jess belonged to Ashley, and I should vanish from the face of the earth.
“Have you decided?” I really didn’t want to poke the bear with a stick, but two songs had played on the jukebox since she came to the counter. Ashley didn’t answer. She briefly lifted her long eyelashes, caked in mascara, and then looked back at the menu. My fingers clenched into my palms. She was doing this on purpose.
I never knew how an encounter would go with Ashley. With Jess around, she was civil and sometimes over the top with gooey compliments. The true selfish bitch would sneak around the corner when everyone else was out of sight. Often, it was little jabs whispered in my ear while walking past her in the hall, like loser or homeless skank. If she had some free rein, her words turned into long, drawn out barbs about me stinking up a room.
About a month ago, Ashley crossed into hostile after coming to a dinner hosted by the Masons. I knew something would happen the moment the words left his lips. Jess had the guests laughing at one of our ranch stories. I had watched the fake smile on her face change to a very menacing look in my direction. Ashley didn’t like attention focused on me when it involved Jess.
The next day, I opened my locker to find my jacket and backpack soaked in something that smelled like rotten garlic juice. I threw away my clothes, but my locker still carried the faint odor. Every time I smelled it, I hated her a little more. The lingering scent haunted me until she got me with the eggs.
A few weeks ago, I returned home to find the farmhouse pelted with sticky, cracked yokes. Not just a quick drive by fling, but roughly ten dozen eggs, baking in the hot sun to a curdled mess. I frantically scrubbed every piece of wood on the front of our house, praying to finish before my father returned from work.
With each shell picked from the ground, a deep hatred burned through my skin. I went absolutely nuts when I saw the lipstick prints on some of the mangled pieces. My blonde tormentor planted a signature kiss on the eggs before destroying my porch. I carried the shells behind the shed and beat them into splinters with a hammer. Maybe I couldn’t destroy her, but I could at least kill the evidence.
“Ashley?” I prompted her menacing face. I would not stand here all day, waiting on her twisted mind to figure out her order.
“Since you are so impatient. I need one scoop…not two, of the low-fat, vanilla yogurt…slightly blended, with low-fat milk.” She turned her piercing eyes from the board to focus at me.
Good grief! Just say small yogurt milkshake.
I rang up Lila and Katie Rae’s orders. Turning my back to use the mixer, I felt their eyes watching my every move. It was difficult to do my job knowing she was just a few feet away. Finishing the orders, I handed the cups to each of them. Ashley peered down at the shake then slanted her eyes at me.
“I said one scoop, not two. That’s two.”
“You watched me make it. There’s just one,” I said, keeping my tone even.
Ashley smiled at me, never breaking eye contact as she tilted the cup sideways. I watched half of the white contents splatter to the floor.
“There. One scoop. All fixed. No need to thank me.” Ashley’s perfect nose pointed up as she grinned. Turning to leave, she stepped over the sloppy mess. “Come on, girls.”
Ahh, I wanted to scream in her smug, flawless face. I wanted to put my hands around her throat. I pictured Ashley’s happy hater eyes, popping from her skull as my fingers tightened.
“That’s some seriously, twisted shit you got with her.” Natalie came up behind me with towels. “You need to squash that bitch.”
From my angle on the floor, I only saw the laces of her black combat boots. “Like how? You act like she’s a spider I can just step on.”
“For starters, tell your BBF that his perfect girlfriend, is bat-shit crazy.”
“I can’t do that. This has nothing to do with him.”
“Sure it doesn’t.”
“Ashley has never liked me.” I scrubbed the ice cream splatter off the benches by the counter.
“She didn’t like you in seventh grade. She put a bulls-eye on your ass four months ago when she pulled your horny friend in the back seat of her Mustang.”
“Don’t say that about Jess. It’s not his fault.”
“Don’t defend him for being a dumbass.”
Natalie knew about Ashley’s increasing torment, but I refused to tell Jess. What would I say? The most popular girl in school, who just so happens to be your girlfriend, is harassing me for not having any money and living at your ranch. He would just try to take care of it and I didn’t want that from him. This was personal. She purposely targeted the worst area of my life. School would be out soon for the summer. I just needed to stay clear of her and let the tension die down between us. Maybe Ashley Cartwright would just forget about me.
Chapter 19
When I was sixteen…
I was wrong. By the end of summer, my life was the same, if not worse. I kept up a good face for Jess, but I felt a deep strain on the inside of my gut. He had a beautiful girlfriend and I had a scary bitch, haunting me like a red stain on Mrs. Mason’s carpet.
“Alex, you ok?” Jess asked as I sat next to him in the meadow. He was taking a break from cutting hay.
“Yes,” I muttered. I watched him take bite of the hamburger I had brought him from Jeeter’s. Over the summer, I didn’t spend much time with Jess. He worked long hours at the ranch around his football practice schedule.
“Sure? You ain’t sayin’ much.”
“I’m fine.”
My black nail polish-tipped finger flicked a fire ant from my knee. The tightly woven strings of bracelets on my wrist seemed to constrict into my sweaty skin. I’d become good with the intricate braids and painted designs on top of the macramé threads.
“Skeeter Rawlins came into Jeeter’s this morning, bragging about his meatloaf.” I said, trying to get his attention elsewhere.