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Mia
My finger tracesthe edge of the pages, my eyes pirouetting from one word to another. The sun warms one side of my face, and the summer breeze dancing up the avenues of the city teases my skin.
The book, like all books, are an escape for me. Currently, lost in the pages ofTarzan of the Apes, Tarzan himself is rescuing Jane from the forest fire. I’ve read this silly book about a hundred times, but I get a thrill every time I reach this part. There’s something so magical and romantic about the way he throws himself through the flames to rescue Jane.
But of course, it’s just a story. Just like all of my escapes. In the real world, I could actually use a Tarzan, but I know that’s a silly thought. There won’t be a hunky and gorgeous jungle man turned English Lord coming to take me away from my troubles. Maybe if I was in the jungle; abigmaybe. But definitely not here in the city high above the streets. I have a hard time imagining Tarzan in a place like midtown Manhattan.
The chapter ends, and I close the book on my bookmark. I know the ending by heart, but I want to wait until tomorrow to savor the last chunk of the book. The summer wind blows some of my blonde hair free, and I tuck it behind my ears and stand. I get a little bit of vertigo looking down the twenty stories below at the street. Logic tells me the tiny balcony isn’t going to fall, but it’s still a little scary standing on a grate of metal this high up.
I step through the big window back into the apartment. It’s actually my Aunt Carol’s place, but she’s in Paris right now for her residency at the Sorbonne. Aunt Carol teaches Latin and Medieval Literature, which is probably where I get my book-lover genes from.
But I think that’s where my and Carol’s similarities end. Because other than being into books, Carol is aterror. She’s cold, cruel, and has a pinched demeanor to match the forever-frown on her face. She’s my dad’s sister, and believe me, he’s no better. My mom died when I was very young, and dad raised me just fine, but the man is hardly the warm and fuzzy type. Carol takes “not warm and fuzzy” to a whole other level though.
When I got into NYU, and even scored an almost full academic scholarship, Carol insisted I live at her place while she was in Paris. It had less to do with helping family and more to do with keeping an eye on me, though, even though I’ve never been in trouble a day in my life. Oh, and she’s charging me rent. Yeah, really.
Back inside from the tiny balcony, I walk through to the kitchen to put on some water for tea. The apartment is nice if not small, but it’s creepy, too. Medieval tapestries drape the walls, and the smell of moldy old books is almost overwhelming. The full-sized suit of armor standing guard by the bathroom door doesn’t exactly help with the creepy factor, either. But it’s a place to live. And even if Aunt Carol is charging me, I’ve done the math and it’s still cheaper than the dorms; definitely cheaper than trying to find a place on my own.
Besides, I’m barely here anyways. Between my huge class schedule, and my job at the coffee shop down the street, I’m pretty busy. Outside of school and work though, I’m here. I’m not really the going out type anyways, and besides that, all of my money from work goes to Carol for the rent. Any extra after that is for “luxuries” like groceries.
I like the city, but it also overwhelms me a little. I’m from a small town, and I guess I’ve got a small-town vibe that sticks out like a sore thumb here. Chelsea, from work, tells me over and over that I need to harden-up and get a little more “street smart” to live in this city. She’s probably right.
I do have an innocence to me, and I know it makes me vulnerable in a huge, fast city like this. I’ve spent most of my small-town life with my nose in a book, and I’ve never even kissed a boy before. I told that to Chelsea once and she made me swear to never tell anyone else that, especially not guys.
“They’ll be on you like wolves, girl,” she tut-tutted. “Guys in this city will either get creepy or run away if you tell them that.”
So, I go to school, I go to work, and when the weather is nice, I sit on Carol’s little balcony and read my favorite old books.
When my tea is done, I pour the mug and walk back to the window. I look out across the street at the huge new building. It’s all mirrored glass and gleaming metal, with glamorous sports cars and limousines pulling up to the doorman outside day and night. My eyes travel up the height of it, all the way to the top. I let out a small whistle and shake my head.
The very top of the building is my fantasy escape. It’s the penthouse suite, I’ve been told. But what makes it stand out is that easily half of the roof it sits on is landscaped with gorgeous full trees, hedges, flowers, and even a fountain I can just barely see through some branches. It’s an oasis that I’ll never set foot in.
My phone buzzes, and I glance down at it. Instantly, my face falls and my stomach twists. It’s Brent, from my creative writing class. Okay, so I made one exception to my school-work-reading-at-home schedule. A week ago, after he’d asked me for the third time, I agreed to go out for coffee with Brent—my first real date, actually. Except it was awful.
First of all, it wasn’t coffee. Brent took me to a bar, even though I kept telling him I was nineteen and didn’t drink anyways. But he knew the bouncer or something and dragged me in regardless. Then, he proceeded to go from pushy to just plain asshole. He kept trying to cajole me into drinking and kept telling me to “loosen up.” He also kept putting his hand back on my knee even after I’d push it off, until I finally yelled at him to stop.
After that, he profusely apologized and promised that it was just his awkwardness because he liked me so much. Like I said, maybe I’m a little too innocent and naïve, because I forgave him. I also said yes when he asked to walk me home. Yeah, that was a mistake.
We got to the front door of Carol’s building, and all of a sudden asshole Brent came back. He all but demanded to come upstairs, but that’s where I put my foot down. A passing pizza delivery guy actually had to step in and hold him back while I scurried inside. And thus, ended my city dating experiment.
Brent texts me again, and I groan when I look at the message. “I want to apologize. Plz.”
“I’m not interested. See you in class.”
I feel pretty confident with that one until he texts me back. “I’m downstairs. Let me in so we can talk.”
I shiver despite the warm summer sun through the open window.
“Please leave. That makes me uncomfortable. We can talk at school.”
Brent doesn’t answer, and after a few minutes, I breathe a sigh of relief. A Tarzan would come in pretty handy right about now.
Suddenly, there’s a pounding on the front door of the apartment. My heart skips, and I tense.
“Mia!”
My hand flies to my mouth, and my eyes widen. It’s Brent, right outside the door to the apartment in the hallway.
