Chapter 14 Tyler [The Past]
Sophomore English smelled like erasers and bad perfume.
I thought the whole day was going to be like this—putrid and endless.
Then Naomi walked in and changed the air.
Her hair was in a messy bun, little strands escaping like they were too free to be tied up.
She wore beaded turquoise earrings, a tie dye tee, and a pair of light blue jeans.
She sat two rows ahead, just close enough for me to smell her shampoo. I wished I were a desk.
I had no idea why I had those weird thoughts at fifteen.
Up until this summer, all I cared about was my guitar and my songwriting. And then one hot July afternoon, I realized Naomi Medina was pretty.
It just happened.
No particular reason.
It'd been a year since my family had moved in next to the Medinas, and I was finding any excuse I could to be near her. The fact that our parents became friendly only helped.
During my freshman year, I met Skinny J. We hit it off and started to jam. His pops had soundproofed their garage, and we had an actual space to practice. Then we recruited Lee and Nestor. And that was how The Rejects came to be.
Of course, we did mostly covers. No one except me tried to write any original songs, and I wasn’t that good either. We mostly played our favorite bands—Bon Jovi, AC/DC, Nirvana, Guns N’ Roses.
We’d opened for some local acts in Palm Springs and Sageview Ridge. Once, we even did a set inside the casino. With our parents present.
The only other interesting thing that happened that semester was the addition of an exchange student from Brazil to our class. His name was Davi, and he breathed rock music. Sometimes, he’d tag along to our shows and help out with the gear.
It felt like I was on the right path, like things were happening exactly the way they were supposed to.
A few weeks before my sophomore year, I brought up the idea of converting our garage into my own space to my parents.
"What’s wrong with your room?" Dad asked.
"Nothing, but Mom always complains about the noise when I practice."
"Well, practice during normal hours."
"You don’t get it, Dad, do you? You can’t just tell an artist to practice at a specific time. What if I have a song idea in the middle of the night? I gotta get up and try it out before I forget."
"So you think you’re an artist?" Dad chuckled, shaking his head.
I tossed my hands in the air, frustrated. "It could be drugs instead, Dad."
He just laughed, then added, "Okay. Let me think about it."
I sighed and walked away, hoping he’d let me move into the garage. It’d be easier to invite the guys over…and maybe Naomi.
She was the one thing I couldn't stop thinking about. No matter where I was. Home. School.
It was exhausting, but in the best way possible.
My notebook had more funny doodles of Naomi Medina than school notes. And when she glanced back at me during class, smiling, I felt like she knew exactly what she was doing to me. Her eyes were huge, dark brown with lashes that couldn’t possibly be real, and I felt as if she saw right through me.
In those moments, I became a clumsy tangle of nerves. My brain short-circuited, and—I swear to God—one day, I nearly toppled from my chair while dramatically pretending to be picking up a pencil from the floor.
She didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t ask me why I was glaring at her instead of our teacher and the board.
But one day at the end of September, right after the bell rang, she passed by my desk and whispered with a mysterious smile, "Stop staring, Strings."
That dumb nickname Adri had given me.
I jumped up so fast that my chair clattered to the floor. Naomi was already in the hallway, and I darted after her like a guy on a mission, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.
"Naomi, wait up!" I called, catching up just as she was about to disappear into a sea of teenagers.
"Hey, Ty." She didn’t stop, but she slowed her pace, grinning at me. And it did weird things to my insides.
"Need help with those?" I pointed at the stack of books in her arms, trying to sound casual.
"Since when do you like carrying books?"
"Since never," I replied, taking them from her. "But for you, I'll make an exception."
She laughed. "Thanks. I guess I owe you one."
"Just one? I was thinking more like a hundred."
Naomi bumped her shoulder against mine as we walked. "Keep dreaming, rockstar."
We reached her locker, and I was so busy trying to impress her with corny jokes that I almost didn't see Lachlan Pratt with his posse until he was right in front of us.
Pratt propped himself against the lockers, his bulging arms folded over his chest. He gave Naomi an appraising look.
"Hey, Naomi," he said, dragging out her name like he was doing her a favor. "I forgot to mention, but looks like your ass grew over the summer."
I stepped between them so fast that Lachlan's eyes widened for a split second. "Back off, Pratt," I said, keeping my voice steady even though my heart was going haywire. I knew Naomi Medina didn’t need to be saved. She’d saved me and a bunch of other kids from Lachlan’s bullying all last year.
But my parents always taught me to be a gentleman.
"Why don't you take your face somewhere else? "
Lachlan's smirk disappeared and was replaced by a glare that could have melted steel. "Careful, Brady," he said, his voice low and threatening, that typical teenage testosterone raging. He looked at Naomi, then back at me. "Don’t let me catch you alone."
He turned to leave but not before slamming a skinny guy who just happened to be passing by into the wall of lockers. The guy stumbled and fell. His books went flying.
I recognized him as Decker Harrington. He was the quiet type, the kind you didn’t notice in class. Lachlan's posse laughed as they walked away.
"Watch where you’re going, dimwit," Lachlan shouted before turning the corner.
"Decker, you okay?" I asked, helping him gather his things.
Naomi knelt beside us, her voice gentle as she said, "He shouldn't have done that. Are you hurt?"
Decker looked at us like a startled animal, then grabbed his stuff and bolted down the hall without a word.
Naomi and I watched him go, both of us knowing the kind of jerk Lachlan was.
"Does he ever quit?" Naomi asked, her eyes meeting mine right before I stood up.
"Not when he thinks he can get away with it." I offered her my hand to help her up, and she grabbed it. When our fingers brushed, there were sparks all over my skin.
"But he won't, not if I can help it," she mumbled, pulling her hand away all of sudden.
I wondered if she felt it too—those sparks. I wondered if it scared her the same way it scared me.
The parking lot baked in the afternoon heat.
It still felt like summer break, except school had started, and the only breaks were the ones my heart felt every time I saw Naomi. I rode my bicycle to where Jose Medina’s food truck was parked in front of the hardware store.
There was some sale event there this weekend, so this was the perfect spot for The Gobbler.
The name was splashed across the side of the truck in big, cartoonish pink letters, and it was like a beacon, hard to miss, and the entire lot smelled like Jose’s signature carne asada.
Naomi saw me coming, and her smile was bright enough to block out the sun. "Hey, Ty!" she called.
I parked my bike against the curb and waved, feeling a little embarrassed that my transportation wasn’t as cool as Adri’s. He'd graduated earlier this year and drove a truck now. Despite his parents’ desire to send him off to some community college, he never got in.
He didn’t even try.
Instead, Adri was working with his family at The Gobbler—doing deliveries and catering and all the other errands.
I saw him from time to time, coming and going early in the morning or late at night. Heard his new ride rumbling like a beast under my window. I saw him at The Gobbler too, handling the grill. But today, he wasn’t here. He was up north, talking to some suppliers on behalf of his dad.
It was the middle of the afternoon, and people were crowding the order window, where Mrs. Medina was ringing up customers.
I stood off to the side, watching them all work, but my attention was mostly on Naomi.
I wasn’t hungry. I’d eaten a meal at home before I came, but there was this little voice inside my head whispering constantly that I needed to see her.
Sometimes, it felt like I’d run out of time soon.
"You want something?" she shouted at me between handing out orders.
I shook my head and mouthed a question, "When's your break?"
"Soon," she mouthed at me.
Her long hair was tied back, but a few strands clung to her face in the heat. It was hard not to stare. Harder not to grin like a complete idiot when she looked my way.
Jose was flipping something delicious on the grill. His movements were quick and practiced, and the way he navigated that small space made it look easy.
"Tyler!" he shouted, his voice full of warmth. "How's school treating you?"
I shrugged, trying to look cool. "It’s alright."
Naomi rolled her eyes and handed me a soda through the window. I cracked it open and took a sip. It was ice-cold and nice. "You trying to get rid of me already?" I joked.
Jose laughed, a deep, hearty sound. "Not a chance, mijo. How’s that leaky sink doing?"
"Dad got it fixed."
"That's good," Jose said, nodding as he wrapped up a burrito with the kind of skill that came from years of practice.
He was a stocky man of medium height, with warm-brown eyes that matched Naomi's and Adri’s.
Even in the heat, he seemed full of energy, moving like a guy half his age.
"I hear your band has another show coming up. "
I nodded. "Yes, sir. Next Friday at Pepe’s."
"You hear that, wife?" He turned to Letty for a second. "Kid’s got another show."
"Then we better make time."
The Medinas hadn’t seen The Rejects yet, and I was actually excited. Anytime a grown-up expressed interest in our band, it made me feel accomplished.