The Strongest Ring (A YA Short Story) by Laura Bradley Rede
The Strongest Ring
Copyright © 2013 Laura Bradley Rede
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the express, written consent of the copyright holder. The Strongest Ring is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed herein are fictitious and are not based on any real persons living or dead.
The Strongest Ring
Laura Bradley Rede
I fell in love with Jordan from behind.
No, not like that, you dirty mind. I’m talking about the tattoo.
It was three p.m. on a Friday. I had just gotten off my shift at Juvenile Records (“music so hot you’ll want to steal it”) and headed next door to Mug Shots for my afternoon caffeine. I was standing behind him in line when I noticed it, tattooed across the back of his neck, a single word: “Unless.”
It made me smile while the barista took his order (organic, fair trade, shade grown, black). I fully intended to say something clever as soon as he turned around. But when he actually did, I couldn’t say anything at all. The sight of him knocked the words right out of me: deep brown eyes under thick dark hair, a nose that looked like it had been broken once or twice, skin so deeply tanned it set off his silver piercings and the thick hoops in his ears, making the black tattoos on his arms look like petro glyphs on clay.
“Hey,” I said, dazed.
“Hey,” he said back, half smiling, confused.
“I like your, um…” Words left me again. I gestured sort of vaguely to my neck.
His smile widened. “I like your, um, neck, too.”
“No,” I blushed, “I mean your tattoo. The Lorax, right? ‘I speak for the trees’?”
He nodded, mock solemn. “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot—”
“Nothing is going to get better. It’s not,” I finished the quote for him.
He looked genuinely impressed. “The girl knows her Doctor Seuss!”
I gave him my best smile. “You should hear my Where the Wild Things Are.”
He put out his hand. “I’m Jordan.”
I took it. His palm was cool on mine. “Beck.”
“Not Becky?” He said.
“No,” I said, “Really, really not.”
Jordan laughed. He had a generous laugh, more sized for the great outdoors than for some coffee shop. A few people looked at us. One of them was the barista, who was waiting to take my order. I ordered my usual (double shot Felony, extra whip cream). While she went to make it, Jordan popped a dollar in the tip jar along with a yellow flier.
“Hey,” I said, “What’s the flier for?”
“Shield Action,” he said, taking another flier from his messenger bag and handing it to me. It was for some sort of environmental protest. Well, I could get behind that.
“Great,” I said, “I’ll be there.”
He looked at me, a little skeptical. “Really?”
“Sure,” I said, “Why not?”
“It’s just…” He looked me up and down. “I didn’t take you for the outdoorsy type.”
Okay, I could kind of see why. I was dressed to impress at the record store in my Detonate t-shirt and twelve-buckle boots, my skirt riding high over spider web tights and my dreads like a multi-colored whale spout on my head. But so what? I recycle. “I’ve hugged trees in my day.”
He still looked doubtful. “I just mean that things could get pretty hard core. Folks will be risking arrest.”
I cocked my hip. “I don’t look like I could get arrested?”
His dark eyes smiled. “I believe I have the right to remain silent.”
“You do that,” I said, “Because I’m in.”
He looked pleased. “Well, we really could use more people. The rally point is on the flier.”
I glanced at the map. The red X that marked the rally point was way outside the city. “Damn,” I said, “No car.”
He nodded approvingly. “Me either, but I’m borrowing my housemate’s. I could, you know, give you a lift.” He said it really casual, but I saw a hopeful look in his eyes.
Housemate? I thought he looked about seventeen, like me. Was he older? He couldn’t be by much. “That’d be cool.” I hoped I sounded casual, too. “Pick me up here tomorrow morning. We can grab some breakfast on the way. You know, some green eggs and ham.”
He looked at me, totally confused.
“Lame Dr. Seuss reference,” I said.
“Oh!” He said, “Sure. Well, no green eggs and ham for me, but I’d love to keep you company.”
Oops. My bad. “Vegan right?”
He glanced away. “Something like that.”
Maybe he was losing interest. No need to overstay my flirt. We traded digits and I snapped a picture of him on my phone—you know, to label his number, but mainly to ogle later, and also as proof that he existed since right now with his smile so bright against his tan skin and his dark hair falling in his beautiful eyes, the boy looked a little too good to be true.
He snapped a picture of me, too, and I prayed that my smile didn’t look as goofy as I felt. Because, seriously? I felt good.