Chapter 1ish...

The perky, dark skinned attendant bounces down the white titled floor, beckoning me to follow. I simply shuffle behind her, wondering what in the world is waiting for me behind a specific one of these closed doors. We reach the room we seek and she hastily drills me in the procedure for operating the machine before bouncing out the door.

Nervously I strip my clothes off piece by piece until nothing but pale skin shines. I press the green button on the edge of the long, white machine with a shaking hand. Bright white light immediately floods the room, adding black strips to my vision. I quickly snap on my sister’s goggles around my head, and hurry into the machine, enclosing myself within the tanning bed.

“This is disgusting,” I say, to myself, as I feel my entire body begin to heat up. “I’ll bet every bodily fluid God created has been on this bed at least once.”

I sit still for a few moments listening to Coldplay on the radio at my head. After their song, I change the radio to the Christian rock station and listen to Flyleaf, who just happens to be my favorite band.

Even more heat begins to engulf my body. “Oh, I can just feel my butt burning,” I moan. This is so typical; it’s only been about two minutes.

Time slowly slips by. I begin to relax. Okay, I try to at least. I try to grow used to the sweat seeping into places it shouldn’t be. I try to stop my eyes from crossing because of the stupid goggles. I try to ignore the urge to pee.

Suddenly, a loud, high-pitched noise screams from inside the small room I currently occupy and reverberates off the walls. Relatively quick reflexes cause me to jump up and I hit my head on the top of the bed. And I nearly pee on myself.

“I’ve got to change that ring tone,” I say as I check the timer on the bed. Two minutes remain; whoever was calling can wait. Not like it would be anyone but my mom. No one in this new city gives me the time of day. Which is exactly the way I want it and completely opposite the way my mom wants it.

The machine soon shuts off, and after I dress and set up my second appointment, I speed off in my car, a 2001 silver Camaro. There’s at least one good thing about your parents freaking out and dragging you across the country: you get the car you want. Inside mine is the one place I can feel safe from all my fears in the world; which includes embarrassment and especially that creep who tried to kill me. I pick up the phone and see the missed call is from exactly whom I had assumed; so, I dial my mom’s cell number.

“Hey Sweetheart,” mom says cheerfully. “How was your very first tanning
experience?”

I roll my eyes in response. “It was fine, Mom. Really, it was no big deal.”

“I’m glad that you’re finally branching out and trying new activities, but I just don’t see why you wanted to spend money on going to a tanning bed. You could drive fifteen minutes to the beach and get a free tan.”

To myself, I think, “Seriously, drop it, Mother. I don’t care about your opinion right now.” Instead, I say to her, yet again, “Mom, only tourists go to the beach to only tan. Everyone who lives here goes to a tanning place. So, see? I’m trying to make friends with the locals.”

“Okay, Sweetie. Whatever you say.” I know all too well that comment means she’s not ready to drop the subject just yet. Why can’t she just let it go? I am going to a place where I can potentially make friends.

“It’s just, you know, you don’t get a lot of money being a dog walker. Make sure you-“

“Spend my money wisely,” I mock before she can finish her warning. Why is she bringing money into this, too?

“Saying it and doing it are two different things,” Mom sighs.

“I’ll see you when I get home. Love you. Bye,” I say, ending the conversation before another argument can have the chance to erupt.

“Okay. I love you, too. Bye.”

Click. I close the phone the millisecond she utters that last word and coast to a stop at a red traffic light. Since the evening is arriving, the temperature is dropping; so, I roll my windows down and pop open the t-top. A red Blazer pulls up next to my car and I glance over at the driver. The guy in the driver’s seat looks about my age. And looks really super good. His sandy brown hair is cut short and those big green eyes look deep enough to swim in. And now, I know this is a bit weird, but I love a guy with strong forearms. And his are definitely under that category.

He slightly raises his muscular left arm in greeting to me. Only then do I realize he’s been watching me stare at him. Mortified, I jerked my head back to face the road, praying for the light to change immediately to green. My prayer was answered several seconds later, but not quick enough for my entire face to turn the exact shade of the red light. I push in the clutch, throw the stick into first gear, and speed towards home. So much for my car protecting me from embarrassment. Fortunately, odds are I’ll never see him again.