Impossible

"Lacey!" I hear the voice, deep and thundering, echoing across the small empty hallway of a day after school at Lawton High.

"Hey." I say it kind of long and stretched out, unintentionally flirty. I'm not much of a socialite, but Marty brings out the girly, giggly, stupid, flirty side of me. He has that way with girls.

"Hey you." He sidles up beside me, looking at me intensely with his hazel eyes, using his affectionate nicknames that I KNOW he uses with everyone to seem like we're closer than we really are. And even though I know that in Marty's case, affectionate nichknames mean nothing...

I have to admit, it doesn't seem that way.

"What's going on?" he asks, and his eyes smolder, making it seem like he couldn't be more interested if I was telling him when he was going to die.

"Not much." My standard response to his pleading interest. I wish I had something more clever to say, more fascinating, but Marty and those horrifically close lips make me tongue-tied.

The funny part is that, I don't like Marty. Sure, he's attractive. Sure, he's got me and just about every other girl in our school under his spell. But I'm in love with Jess. Always have been, always will be, and I've come to accept that fact. My best friend, Mollie, on the other hand, is the one who loves Marty. They'd be lovely together, just lovely. She's crazy about him. So I really ought to make him stop flirting with me...



"So. This is your house." My voice sounds strange, foreign. It's still that lazy Wednesday and I've got nothing good going on. I've been terribly lonely lately. Mollie, usually attatched to me at the hip, is out of town. Actually, she's out of the country. She's in Paris, visiting her older sister. Nice for her. Doesn't leave much to do for me.

So here I am, in Marty's house. I shift my hands to my back pockets, standing there awkwardly. Marty is rummaging in the fridge. He pokes his head out, holding a carton of orange juice.

"Thirsty?" he asks.

"No thanks, I'm good." I say too quickly. Nervously.

Marty can sense that and he puts down the carton, letting the refridgerator door softly thwap closed behind him.

"Lacey. You sound worried. What's wrong? What's going on in that wild head of yours?"

I smile, a little shakily, and don't reply. I can't tell him what's going on in my head. That's the last thing I can do.

"Let me guess," he says, walking over with a grin. "You're imagining all the terrible things that I do here. You're imagining that I, the rebel that I am, am going to get sweet LaceyGirl into some sort of crazy wild trouble. Is that it?" He leans closer to my face, his mouth in an amused smile.

And then he turns around, back to his carton, getting a glass out of the cupboard, pouring the yellow-y juice, methodically, smile gone.

"Don't worry," he instructs me without emotion in his voice, his eyes focused on the stream of juice going from the carton to the glass. "I wouldn't compromise you. Wouldn't attack you, wouldn't scare you, wouldn't force you to do anything. Wouldn't hurt you, destroy you, wouldn't steal your innocence. I care about you." He looks up then, and in the dark of his kitchen, I can still see his eyes, like two coals, boring into mine.



We end up in his living room, which is weirdly placed, and up a flight of stairs from the kitchen. There's a couch there, and a television, and we're sitting there casually, watching Scrubs reruns, because we both like that show. The familiarity of even a simple television program is soothing me, calming my nerves, comforting me to unbelievable levels. The majority of times I've watched this show, I've been in the safety of my own bed, flipping through channels with the broken gray remote that I know how to work, smelling my own smell on my pillow, stroking my dog, all alone, and not thinking about smoldering eyes or nervousness or not knowing what to say or getting into trouble. Thank goodness for this comfort now.

I glance over at Marty. He is sitting on the couch, his back slumped into the cushions, the tall frame folded into a shape that is decievingly smaller than it should be.

"How have you been lately?" I ask, and the question holds depth. Marty's best friend just left to go to college in New York. His band broke up because of the distance. His girlfriend of 2 years went to college too, and the relationship ended. Bitterly. Heart-broken and tears. He was sorry to see her leave, but she was sorrier. Crying and desperate, she called him daily for a month. Her life is destroyed, she's miserable, and they both blame it on him. Meanwhile, he is friendless, bandless, and failing at school. The poor kid is having a bad time. I figure he could use a friend, someone to check in on him, make sure he's still alive. Because for someone who seems so happy on the exterior, Marty is really in a terrible place.

I can see it in the eyes, as he looks at me. Those ever-expressive eyes.

"Things..." he pauses, not sure what to say.

"Tell me the truth," I whisper. He needs to tell the truth, to let it out. And truly, I need to hear it. As terrible as it sounds, seeing his weaknesses, hearing about his flaws, will make him more real to me. Someone I can relate to, can help. I need him to be real.

"Things are bad," he says, and sighs, rubbing a hand over his head.

"Ella and I aren't on speaking terms. Derek is gone. Things have fallen apart. I'm...lonely." Despair, like an old friend, enters the room is his voice. I hear it crack ever so slightly and then he rubs his hand back over his face, ever the dominant man.

I put my hand on his shoulder, because I know sometimes words don't do the trick. Words can be too far away. Even trusty words can fail to tdo their job.

"Marty, this is tough. But I promise things will get better."

"Will they?" he asks, and his face is still shadowed when he looks up at me.

"You don't even see me," he whispers.

"What?" I ask, confusion threading my voice.

"You don't...see me, Lacey. It's true, you don't."

"I don't understand," I tell him. But I do, I do, and he knows it.

"I know that Mollie has feelings for me. I've always known it. But I can't like her, I wish I could, but I can't. And I think you know that and she knows that. She's my best friend, but I'll never be in love with her." I simply sit and watch him, hearing his words, letting him say what is in him.

"But you, Lacey. I...I could love you. You're different, so much different from every other girl I know. I know Mollie is your best friend, but you have to see that this goes beyonf that. I need you Lacey, I truly do. I need you to see me and hear me. You're not just another girl to me, and I know there are lots of girls. But you're not one of them, you're different, you're someone who means the world to me and if I lost you now, it would kill me. I see you drifting away, and if it's because of Mollie alone, well...don't. You musn't do that. I need you Lacey. Mollie doesn't truly love me, she's muddled and silly. But I truly love you and I...need you." His eyes are close, so close, smolder smolder smolder, like coals, like fire, like something burning and desperate and I can't even think or breathe. My hands feel cold but my stomach feels hot and I know that there's only one thing to do now.

I lean forward.

Marty's lips, just a little bit crooked, but strong and warm, hit mine. He presses them there, not moving, for what seems like ages and then, he opens them slightly, opens them to mine, an invitation.

I can't refuse.

I open my lips and the flames erupt. Fire joining fire, our mouths move fast and quick and hungry. I haven't kissed many boys, but the ones I have kissed haven't compared to this even slightly. I feel his tongue in my mouth, slip my tongue in his mouth, and then put m hands tentatively on his face. He slides his hands up my arms and then we're down. He crawls on top of me and I'm on my back on the couch, with him on top, smoothing my cheek, touching my arm, hands on my stomach and the fire. He's kissing me hard and I like it and he needs it and I realize now that so do I, I've always needed this.

I've been standing in the background for too long.

Mollie will be back soon, but it won't matter.

We'll go to her and talk to her, the two of us.

I've been gone unnoticed and I need Marty just as much as he needs me. For we're two left behind. And that's why we can be together, although it seems impossible. Because if we are not together, we can't survive. We are two broken and small to be alone.

And with that thought, I whisper, "I can love you and need you too, and I do." And I feel Marty's lips smile.