To Taste the Fruit - Lorelei Sutton (funny books to read TXT) 📗

It feels so good to be back.

I flip my brown hair as I sharply turn the wheel, directing my glistening Corvette onto the beaten path. I pound the gas pedal, making the car roar with life and energy. The speedometer increases by ten... twenty... thirty...

Music pours out of the booming speakers, reverberating around the shiny interior. I start to hum the words, rolling down both windows and letting the wind beat against my face. My body relaxes as the chill embraces my skin, raising some goosebumps on my pale but muscled arms. Now that I am almost at Sunny Valley, I can finally stop looking so much like a vampire. I can finally go back to my real life.

It feels so thrilling to know that I am free. I have been liberated from the chains of the city, and more importantly, my mother. No more will I ever have to put up my skateboard or have a cigarette yanked out my hands. Here, no one will care about what I do and don't do. No one will attempt to control my life.

The thought brings a smile to my face, and I cut my eyes to the overhead mirror. Scanning the area, I make sure I am completely alone on the dirt pathway, with no buildings or cars in sight. The trees are sparse, though towering over the grass and shrubs. Surely there is no one hiding around here.

Satisfied, I lift my hands from the wheel and into the air, letting the truck drive itself. My smile stretches to about a mile long, and a yell of exhilaration escapes my throat. I can do what I want to do. There is no one here to stop me. I can get whatever-or whomever-I want. And I plan on taking it all. The whole town is mine, along with anything within it. Including her.

An image appears in my mind, overwhelming all else. Silky blond hair framing a heart-shaped face, with dark brown eyes and perfectly-shaped lips... I cannot deny that meeting her again is what I am most looking forward to. After years of regret, of staring out of the dark windows in my prison at the stars, she was the one mistake that I could never forget. No one else has compared to her beauty. No one else has ever understood me. I should have kept a tighter grip on her instead of pushing her away.

But one thing I have learned over the years is that it is never too late. And I plan on everything going exactly back to how it was before I left. Sunny Valley is such a pitiful town. It probably hasn't changed at all anyways.

A flash of color appears before me, and I snap to attention. My feet slam on the brakes and the car swerves, the wheel turning uncontrollably. I grab the wheel within a few seconds, and hold it still with all my might. Nearly thrown into the windshield as the brakes desperately tried to slow the vehicle, the car finally screeches to a stop. It takes a few seconds for me to realize my eyes are closed, and a few seconds more for my heart to start beating again.

The first thing I see when the blurs around me solidify is a white, wooden surface. Rugged with age, the sign is covered in dirt and markings. I eventually distinguish the word Sunny Valley from the midst of love professions and unrecognizable pictures. In the corner of the sign my name is scratched into it. I remember writing that, years and years ago. Seeing it makes me feel so... satisfied.

I whip my car around the sign and head straight for home. The speedometer races even higher than it did before. I can't wait to arrive.

This is where I belong.

"Noel..." A shrill voice calls, the sound blasting in my ears.

I roll over in my bed, staring blindly at the ceiling. Mom didn't even need to call me—I have been awake for quite a while. 

It's a rare occurrence for me to even be asleep these days.

It had been another frightening night, full of freakish nightmares and dark shadows. I have never been afraid of the dark, but it terrorizes me now to turn off my night lamp. It is childish, I know, to be scared of a silly dream. But I can't help it.

And every night, it is the same darkness, the same feeling of desolateness. The strange thing is, I can never remember what the dream was about, only the feelings I experienced. 

Of course, it hasn't always been like this. It was only last week when I became scared of slumber. Maybe this means something bad is going to happen. I'm not really the superstitious type, but it's a possibility that's difficult to ignore. 

Surely it can't be an omen that has to do with Election Day. I have prepared and campaigned for hours and hours on end, conversing with random students and shouting both my name and a plea for votes in the hallways. Not my usual behavior, I know, but I really want to be win the Secretary office in Student Government. And when Miss Popularity is running against you... well, desperate times call for desperate measures. I just can't lose. A dark doom settles over me like a blanket, trying to smother me in depression. Noel, I chastise myself, don't be so negative. You got this in the bag. 

I roll over, clutching my pillow and holding it over my head. My muscles are powerless to my will and desire to stay here forever. To not have to get up and face the moment that will define my high school life. At least, for me it will. 

The birds seem to sense that I am trying to avoid the day, and shriek at each other in annoyingly high tones. Frustrated, I flip over so that my back is on the mattress.

I guess I might as well begin my day of either extreme terror or happiness.

After letting out a ferocious yawn that nearly shook the ground, I use my arms to push myself upwards into a sitting position. My sense of balance wobbles as I stumble over to my closet and stare at it in confusion. Or to be more precise, the door handle, which is peculiarly devoid of any hangers. I... don't know what to wear. 

This is madness. 

With a roar of anguish, I snap out of my stupor and race to the bathroom. I can't believe I forgot to pick out my clothes. It is only the most important day of my life, besides my birthday of course, and I haven't gone through the psychological process of determining what I feel like, and how those feelings transfer over to what type of clothing I wear, and how good I look when wearing them. I never forget to go through this every night. Never.

I raise an old and worn comb to my hair, furiously trying to brush through the tangles.  A cry escapes me as I survey myself in the mirror, the tug of the bristles nearly yanking out my hair. 

Everything seems so out of place. I am doing this all wrong. What I should be doing now is putting on my clothes. That's what I do first every day.

Racing back over to the closet, I survey the reds, blues, greens, and other colors lining the walls. I try to think of what I should be wearing. A... a dress. Yes. I need a dress.

I grab a dark brown dress with some ruffles and a waist belt, changing into it as quickly as possible. Some cowboy boots are quickly shoved on my feet, and I waste no time in proceeding to the bathroom. Make up is next. 

The chirping of the birds escalate into a barrage of clashing noises to match the furious beating of my heart. As I turn on the straightener in the bathroom and take an eyeshadow palette and a brush in my hands, I can't help but reexamine my choice of outfit. 

I find myself in and out of the closet around three times, time slipping through my shaking fingertips. It is only when my alarm buzzes for the fifth time do I notice that over forty minutes has passed. Anger enters my features. This can't be happening.

I mutter underneath my breath, flying downstairs to the kitchen where my mother is cooking scrambled eggs, throwing her beautiful voice to the wind so that it carries across the entire neighborhood. She looks like Mary Poppins, with her light brown hair swept into an elegant bun and long white apron. Maybe that was why the birds have been so crazy this morning.

She turns and looks at my frazzled appearance, then immediately looks at the clock above the shining microwave. "It's 17 minutes later than normal. Is something wrong?"

I attempt to answer, but end up spitting out incomprehensible gibberish. She raises an eyebrow as I stomp over to the kitchen table where a small plate is laden with biscuits, gravy, and an assortment of fruit. The sound of my chair scraping the floor echoes throughout the hallway. 

My fork pokes at the food for a few minutes. I can sense Mother staring at me in the corner of my eye, but I pretend that I don't notice. 

"Well, aren't you going to eat?" She finally asks, glaring at me in a way that is not very encouraging. I look warily at her, and then stab the food. 

"It's cold," I complain rather half-heartedly, at which Mother laughs. She has a very light and airy laugh, the kind that warms people up and makes them feel nice and cozy. 

"Well, the food has been out for exactly 17 minutes," She responds, "how was I supposed to know that you would be this late on such a beautiful morning? I would have thought you would want to leave extra early, considering that today is-"

"Don't say it," I growl, "it only makes me more nervous. As of now, I'm too aware of what day it is."

"Oh no. Don't tell me you forgot to pick out your clothes last night." Mother's hand flies to her mouth, though a hint of sarcasm peeks through the veiled words. 

"Well, yes. And now I keep going back and forth on what I should wear. I was thinking a dress, but if I lose then I'll look stupid and too fancy. If I wear jeans, I will look too casual and if I win lots of people will be paying attention to me. If I wear-"

"Noel, I'm sure you will look beautiful no matter what you wear. I think you are overthinking it, as usual." 

"No I am not!" I exclaim with a mouthful of biscuit. "Just because I need a little structure to my life doesn't mean that-"

"A little? Noel, you plan everything. Nothing in your life is unscripted. You give me a detailed list with cost projections, suggested stores, and a gift schedule every Christmas."

"You speak blasphemy." I shovel another piece of biscuit lathered with gravy into my mouth, thinking intensely about my gray