American Girl (Alabama)(Lea Sheryn) Alabama

“I saw him first,” Haille Monroe shouted. She pinned the poster to the bedroom wall and, stepping backward, made sure it was straight.
“Did not.” Harper pasted her hands on her hips. “He smiled at me.”
“No, he didn’t,” Haille rebuffed smugly. “He smiled at Daddy.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Oh, please.” Haille rolled her hazel eyes. “Daddy’s the Crew Chief. Of course, he smiled at Daddy. You’re so stupid sometimes.”
“Am not!” Harper grabbed her sister’s honey-gold hair and yanked it.
Haille entwined her hands in Harper’s identical locks. Both girls screamed and rotated in a circular motion. Landing on a twin bed, they kicked and clutched at each other. Haille received a sharp knee in her groin. Shrieking in pain, she leaped up and stood doubled over.
“I’ll get you for that, Harper Monroe.” Haille plunged onto her sister, her fists flying.
“Girls!” Alvin Monroe grabbed his daughter’s collars and pulled them up. He stood the twins in front of him and demanded an explanation.
Haille and Harper began speaking at the same time. Flinging accusations, they tried to outshout each other.
“Enough.” Alvin motioned for the girls to simmer down. “You first, Haille.”
“Haille always goes first,” Harper complained.
“I got here first,” the older twin snorted. Standing on tiptoes, she glared down at her sister.
Harper crossed her arms and turned her back.
“Go on, Haille.” Her father waved for her to begin.
“Blake Fielding gave me his poster,” Haille stated, indicating the photograph pinned on the wall. “He even autographed it.”
“He gave it to both of us,” Harper cut in.
Alvin Monroe studied the NASCAR poster. It depicted Blake Fielding in his blue and gold fire suit, holding his helmet in the crook of his left arm. His wavy brown hair fell over twinkling brown eyes. He grinned widely, showing impossible white teeth. At age twenty-three, a newcomer to the circuit, he was ranked as the youngest participant at Talladega. Al thought he had as good a chance as any of winning at the speedway.
He studied his sixteen-year-old twins. Life had become tough for them after Connie left. Alvin knew he shouldn’t have married her. Constance Alexandre had her head in the clouds all through high school. She flirted with all the boys and finally settled on Alvin. When she told him of her pregnancy, he proposed. After the wedding, he discovered she wasn’t pregnant. When he confronted her, she laughed. She said she couldn’t have caught him otherwise.
A year later, Connie gave birth to twins. She turned sour when he mentioned the two-for-one made-up for the baby she lied about. Al knew his wife wouldn’t stick around for long. He worked as a mechanic at the local Citgo while she waitressed at the diner. When the babies cried in the night, Al changed their diapers and rocked them back to sleep. Connie lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She was gone before Haille and Harper turned three.
Alvin Monroe worked hard to support his twins. He left the garage to become a tire-changer at the Talladega Speedway. Eventually, he worked his way to the crew chief position. His girls came to work with him, sitting in the nearby stands so he could keep an eye on them.
Haille and Harper were best friends until they reached thirteen. They dressed alike, helped each other with their homework, and spoke their own special language. Alvin’s pride in them grew until puberty set in. He blamed himself for the conflict; he had no experience with teenage girls. Connie should have taken care of their adolescent problems. Connie ran off to become a model. She looked beautiful on the fashion magazines’ covers but that didn’t help him raise his girls.
Alvin stood in front of the poster and studied it closely. Blake Fielding was a personable young man and a damn good driver. Al liked all the men and women who drove for NASCAR. It took a lot of gumption to race at speeds of 200mph. He kept the pit crew on their toes and jumping. Keeping the racers safe was his responsibility.
“This poster is autographed to both of you,” he stated, pointing to their names.
“Mine’s first,” Haille offered.
“Yours is always first,” Harper countered.
Haille opened her mouth to respond. Her father shook his head no. She snapped it closed immediately. Al knew what she was about to say. He was tired of hearing it.
“Blake’s going to ask me to the Big One,” Haille stated confidently. Harper glared at her.
“He is not,” her sister countered.
“I haven’t said you’re going yet,” Al intervened, stepping between his daughters.
“We always go!” the twins shouted in unison.
“I might find a reason to ground you,” their father stated smugly. “You’ll stay at home with Mrs. Henderson.”
“Mrs. Henderson,” Haille and Harper groaned. “Oh, DAD!” Although they loved Flo Henderson, they hadn’t needed a babysitter since they were twelve.
“Keep it up, girls,” Al remarked, striding toward the door, “and you’ll need a babysitter until you’re at least twenty-one.”
The door closed, and the twins looked at each other, perplexed. Haille crossed her arms, and Harper plunked onto the bed. Their father simply didn’t understand them.
“This is your fault, Miss First and Best,” Harper grumbled, pouting.
“My fault?” Haille tossed her golden hair disdainfully.
“You’re trying to steal my man.”
“HA! Your man?”
“Yes, mine.” Harper frowned a moment, considering. “He touched me.”
“Where?”
“Here.” Harper indicated her hand.
“He didn’t touch you; he brushed you,” Haille countered. “You were standing too close, batting your insipid eyes at him.” She turned her head toward the ceiling and fluttered her eyelashes. “You looked like a stupid schoolgirl.”
“Stupid?” Harper exclaimed, leaping from the bed. “How did you think you looked with your puppy dog eyes?”
Harper squatted and held her hands in front of her like a dog. Stinking out her tongue, she began to pant. She made her eyes look sad and droopy.
“That’s stupid!” Haille complained, folding her arms and tapping her foot on the hardwood floor.
“Exactly,” Harper countered. Squealing, she dodged her sister’s reach. She danced on tiptoes, making a wide circle around the room. When Haille plunged for her, she yanked the door open and plummeted downstairs. She made a beeline for the front door and ran onto the lawn.
Haillie, only steps behind Harper, tackled her and began to roll on the grass. The girl fought, tugging hair and throwing punches. Al grabbed them by their collars and heaved them up.
“Shall I call Mrs. Henderson?” the twins’ father barked.
“No, Daddy.” Haille and Harper bowed their heads. Al released them, and they returned to the house. Plopping onto the couch, they glared into the fireplace. Their father inserted himself into their stare.
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?” he asked sternly. “You have met Blake Fielding only once. He was kind to you and gave you his poster. Is he really worth all this?”
The twins exchanged significant looks. Both began to nod and then changed their minds. Haille shook her head ‘No,’ and Harper copied her an instant later.
“Go wash up for dinner,” their father instructed. “And I don’t want to hear any more about Blake Fielding.”
“Yes, Daddy,” the twins stated, heading for the powder room. They stopped arguing about Blake but didn’t stop thinking about him.

******

Despite Al Monroe’s threats, his daughters accompanied him to the Superspeedway to watch the races. They cheered heartily when Blake Fielding won. Rushing toward the winner’s circle, they pushed through the crowd. He raised the Mighty Vulcan Trophy and flashed his impossibly white teeth. Haille and Harper clutched each other’s arms and shrieked with delight. They each believed he grinned at them.
The drivers piled onto the flatbed truck for the parade from the speedway to the intersection of Talladega Boulevard and Eastaboga. The crowds thickened in front of the Boulevard Bar. Al cautioned the twins to stay close, but they found the first opportunity to slip away.
Winding their way through the throng, they searched for Blake. It became difficult to get close to him, but the girls were determined. However, they were jostled this way and that—sometimes getting close, at others further away.
“He’s mine,” Harper announced, jabbing Haille with her elbow. They stood outside the Boulevard Bar holding plastic beer cups.
“Mine,” her sister snapped back.
“He’s waiting for me.” Harper indicated where Blake stood in the crowd’s midst.
“He’s waiting for me,” Haille threw back. “I’ll get to him first.” She tossed her golden locks and walked toward the NASCAR winner.
Harper grabbed her sister’s arm, yanking her back. Then, she strolled along the boulevard.
“You get back here,” Haille screamed, pulling on the back of her sister’s halter dress.
“Leave me alone,” Harper yelled back. Swinging her short skirt, she tugged it free.
Taking long strides, Haille overcame her twin and hurried toward Blake. Harper ran after her. The girls stopped and confronted each other again. Passersby stopped to ogle at them before joining the party atmosphere. Festive music drowned out their loud argument. Harper raised her beer and poured it over Haille’s head.
“UGH!” Haille exclaimed, liquid dripping from her ruined hair. She threw her beverage at her sister. Harper echoed her scream.
The twins locked arms and swung each other back and forth. They kicked and screamed, tugging at wet hair. Two powerful hands pulled them apart. Haille and Harper looked up into Blake Fielding’s twinkling eyes and widening grin.
“Two nice little girls,” he exclaimed, “fighting like cats and dogs. Shame on you.”
The twins flushed and swiped at their soaked hair. They both tried to recover their looks but failed. Looking downward, they tried to avoid Blake’s observing eyes. Each wished they were somewhere else.
“They are probably both very pretty,” an auburn-haired woman stated, appearing at Blake’s side, “when they’re not dripping with beer.”
“These are the girls I was telling you about, Amber,” the NASCAR winner stated. “They’re Al Monroe’s twin daughters.”
Haille and Harper stood side-by-side. Their eyes traveled toward Blake and the pretty woman. Her stomach protruded from her tight party dress indicating a pregnancy. The girls wondered who she was and why she stood so close to him.
“This is my wife, Amber,” Blake explained, encircling her waist with his arm. “We just found out we’re having twin girls too. I wanted her to meet you.”
“Haille and Harper are pretty names,” Amber stated, smiling. “We want to pick matching names too. What do you think about Payton and Piper?”
“They are very nice names,” Harper agreed, swallowing hard. Haille nodded her head in agreement. They both started to back away.
“It was nice meeting you,” Haille called, gaining distance.
“Our father’s probably looking for us,” Harper offered. “We were supposed to stay with him.”
The twins continued to back along the street until they bumped into a partygoer. Excusing themselves politely, they clasped hands and ran. Turning into an alley, they pressed their backs against a building. Both remained silent, trying to catch their breath.
“Roger Morris is cute, don’t you think?” Harper finally asked, mentioning another young driver.
“He is,” Haille agreed, nodding. “Is he married?”
“We should find out,” her twin suggested.

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