by M. F. Lorson
Gabe sighed and handed my phone back with a stern expression. “I know you’re right, but I wish you weren’t.”
“You know,” I said, seeing my opening. “Maybe you could use this assignment as an excuse to talk to your brother. Maybe point out you wouldn’t mind cancelling the party.”
I searched Gabe’s face for a sign that he thought that was a good idea. Instead his eyes darted around the room like he was afraid someone would overhear us and alert the media that Gabe didn’t want to party.
“Or not,” I muttered.
Across the classroom Becca spotted us and began moving in our direction.
She was wearing that megawatt smile of hers paired with the I’ve got eyes only for you look she never seemed to leave home without.
I watched Gabe’s face fall just a little before he took a deep breath and returned her smile.
Gabe
Becca landed a kiss right on my cheek, and I already knew her lipstick was on my face, but I couldn’t wipe it off in front of her. It was like her way of marking her territory, and it would only hurt her feelings if she saw me erase it.
She gave Sloane an uncomfortable forced smile that didn’t convey any hint that she was intimidated by her. To Becca, Sloane was just another poor soul suckered into doing the heavy lifting on this group project that people like us put our names on and took all the credit for. Because that’s what we did.
I bet if I suggested it, Becca would do her project with cameraman Parker to let someone else do the work for her, but in the end maybe she would see that he was actually a decent guy who thought she hung the sun in the sky every morning.
“How’s it going?” she asked me, ignoring Sloane.
“Good,” I answered. Looking at my partner, I suggested, “I think we’re about ready to propose our project to Ms. Mitchell.”
Sloane grimaced, looking through our list again.
“Can I see?” Becca said, peering over her shoulder.
Clearing her throat, Sloane explained, “Yeah, we’re doing interviews of Grover students and compiling it all Ferris Bueller style in a ‘Life at Grover’ segment.”
“What style?” Becca asked, but didn’t let us answer when she clearly noticed her name on the list. “Me?” she squealed.
“Yeah, babe. That was Sloane’s idea. She figured no one would know student life like you would.”
Sloane’s eyes widened at the sound of her name. Keeping her gaze on me, she was clearly scolding me for not taking credit for including my girlfriend. What I really wanted was to close the gap between the two of them, but I could see Becca squirm uncomfortably.
“Aw, thanks,” she said, but it was a lifeless response.
The idea of interviewing Becca and Landon still made me extremely uncomfortable, but I couldn’t exactly argue with Sloane. While she tried to be little miss invisible to the rest of the school, I found it nearly impossible to ignore her.
And after the sudden ability to open up to her last night at the car dealership, I noticed the way I felt braver and more myself around Sloane. It didn’t change the fact that I was nowhere near ready to talk to my brother or open up to Becca, but they hadn’t seen my new wheels either, so...one step at a time.
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Becca said, glancing at Ms. Mitchell sitting alone at her desk.
“Ready when you are,” I said to Sloane. She still had a look on her face that told me she’d have strong words for me when we were alone.
Together, we walked up to the teacher and Sloane put her open laptop down where Ms. Mitchell could see it.
“Ready?” she asked, glancing at the open document. “You have ninety seconds. Let’s hear it.”
“We want to do a segment on student life at Grover,” I said. “Interviewing students from every crowd on campus.” Already I could tell Ms. Mitchell was unimpressed, and I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t explaining it with any real flavor. It didn’t sound original at all.
“Gabe has an awesome vision, and it’s all in the delivery,” Sloane added, looking at me with an encouraging expression, nudging me to continue.
“Have you ever seen Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?”
Ms. Mitchell directed a stern expression at me that said that question alone was offensive.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I answered with a laugh.
As I continued describing the rest of our vision, our teacher’s reaction changed immensely. For the rest of our ninety-second pitch, her face actually lit up.
Sloane and I waited to hear her thoughts as she seemed to consider it. Finally, she smiled and leaned forward. “Very original, guys. I like your delivery ideas, but I want you to consider your message. In the movie, what was his point? How fast life passes us by, right? So what’s yours? Make it strong and use your interviews to bring it all together.”
As usual, Sloane was jotting down every word, eager to soak up every ounce of knowledge and ready to work. As for me, I was feeling more and more anxious about interviewing the two people who I was supposedly the closest to and expecting them to open up to me.
Landon would talk about parties and football, and most of it would likely have to be edited out for being too inappropriate for school. Becca would talk about me and none of it would have a message we could use in this segment. What was our message anyway?
Sloane and I turned away with our green light on the project when Ms. Mitchell called me back to her desk. She motioned for me to sit down, and I could feel my cheeks heat up. Was she about to axe me from the anchor spot for being so terrible? It was about time.
“You’re a senior this year, Gabe.” It was a matter of fact, but she glanced at me like she was waiting for a response.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So what is your message to Grover about student life? Your delivery is great, but I’m afraid you’ve been removed for too long to really know what you’re delivering.”
I nodded, feeling the exact same way. What was I even doing anymore? I was going through the motions, and I was desperate for some wisdom to give me direction.
“Don’t get lost in the expectations, Gabe. I don’t want you to deliver something you think I want. I want you to say something you want to say. Stop trying to be what everyone else expects you to be.” Her eyes darted across the room toward where Sloane and Becca sat silently at the same table.
“You’ve partnered well on this project. It’s time you start thinking outside the box, Mr. Maxwell. You have a lot of potential, but you have to stop boxing yourself in.”
Then she nodded her head back to my table telling me to get back to work, and I felt myself pouring over her words, trying to decipher what it all meant. Was she hinting at Sloane or Becca? Did everyone know more than me?
Sloane
Ms. Mitchell liked the idea. Our extra nerdy, ode to the '80s was officially going to be shown to the entire school. Ordinarily exposure like that would make me want to puke, but this wasn’t ordinary at all. My partner in crime wasn’t just a member of the elite, he was king of the elite. We literally could do no wrong. I could film the whole thing upside down and people would still say, “Wasn’t Gabe’s video like so amazing?” I couldn’t stop smiling.
“This calls for a celebration,” said Becca. She snaked her arm between Gabe and me as we made our way out of the classroom.
There was a lipstick print kiss just below his cheekbone, not that I was studying his face. I totally wasn’t thinking about what it would feel like to reach my hand up and brush it away with my thumb.
“What kind?” I asked, turning my attention to Becca.
“I’m thinking dugout,” said Becca, peering up at Gabe for approval.
“I don’t know,” said Gabe, his eyes fixed straight ahead on the hallway. “It’s a school night and…”
Becca rolled her eyes, “You’ve been in Europe too long. We always go on a school night. Sloane’s not afraid to have a little fun on a Tuesday are you, Sloane?” I didn’t want to team up
against Gabe, but I also didn’t want to spend my evening like all the other Tuesdays, fighting Dad for the remote while Fox News drowned out my ability to think like a normal human.
“I’m game,” I replied, intentionally not looking at Gabe. “Even if I don’t know what I am agreeing to.”
Becca tilted her head toward mine, a cascade of blonde curls falling in front of her eyes as she laughed.
“Don’t worry. It will be fun. I promise. Meet us on the varsity baseball diamond at eight. It should be dark enough by then.” she said, unwinding her arm from mine.
We had reached the door to my second period classroom, and a very immature part of me thought it was a little cool being seen escorted to my classroom by Gabe and Becca. Was I a traitor to my people if I was excited about doing something secretive with them that evening as well?
Later that afternoon as I drove Reagan and Harper home from school, I let them in on how I was planning to spend my evening.
“I don’t know...I really don’t know. This feels like a bad idea. Not to get woo woo on you, but this could end badly,” warned Reagan. You would have thought I had told them that I was going to a cocaine exchange, post-baking meth in the basement of a gas station. Her eyes were so wide and worrisome.
“What exactly do you think is gonna happen there?” I asked, pulling the car into Reagan’s driveway.
She sat clutching her bookbag tight to her lap in the front seat of the Gremlin.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I just finished Stephen King’s Carrie and—”
“Reagan!” I howled. “That is not the redheaded movie legend I want to be compared to! Besides, they aren’t like that. Becca and Gabe are actually really nice.”
Harper scoffed in the backseat. “Remind us to tell you I told you so when your new best friends sacrifice you to the baseball Gods tonight. In fact,” said Harper. I could practically see the light bulb in her head reaching full wattage as she continued to speak. “I bet that’s totally what this is. Some kind of weird pre-season hazing. Everyone brings a victim from the class below them and then boom, the Grover Groundhogs have another winning season.”
I raised an eyebrow at her through the rearview mirror. “Riiiiight,”
“You joke now,” said Harper, unfastening her seatbelt in Reagan’s driveway. “But don’t call us when Becca Landry puts a burlap sack over your head.”
I shook my head and shooed her out of the car with one hand. There was no point in arguing with Harper. The more you pressed, the harder she pushed back.
“You can call me,” whispered Reagan once Harper was out of the car. “No matter what happens.”
“Sure, definitely, thanks,” I replied giving her a warm smile as she climbed out of the front seat. I waved at both of them through the windshield before backing the Gremlin up and heading toward home. I knew one thing for certain. I would not be calling either of them. Before our car ride I had been excited about the dugout. Now, I was irrationally afraid of pig’s blood and satanic rituals.
It was my dad who really set my nerves on fire though. I had planned to wear a cute A-line skirt with a trademark Sloane off-the-shoulder top, but after his impromptu ‘pregnancy can strike any night of the week’ talk I had marched right back up to my bedroom to change into jeans and a Grover hoodie.
Thanks to Dad I was fifteen minutes late. When I arrived at the baseball field, I discovered Gabe and Becca were not the only ones celebrating our big win in class. There were a handful of girls and guys I recognized from the Khaki Collective standing near the baseline, and leaning against the dugout wall, looking extra uncomfortable was Parker. Somehow cameraman number two had secured an invitation—a fact that made my own invitation feel slightly less special.
I hugged my arms to my chest as I approached the field.
“Sloane!” cried Becca, spotting me before Gabe. She was up from her seat under Gabe’s arm in the dugout and across the field to where I stood in seconds. I could tell from the way she leaned just a little too close as she spoke that her HydroFlask was not full of hydrating liquids.
“Hey,” I replied, trying not to let my terror show. I didn’t want to seem like a loser, but if anyone tried to get me to drink, I was gonna sprint like a track star. The last thing I wanted was to make a fool of myself in front of this crowd and at one hundred and eighteen pounds I was pretty sure it wouldn’t take too many drinks to have me suggesting we all do acapella karaoke.
Becca didn’t offer me a drink though. Instead, she leaned in close and whispered.
“Isn’t Gabe a dream?”
I should have said no, or laughed it off and walked away, but it was dark, and there were all these stars clouding my brain. My eyes travelled over to where Gabe stood. He was next to Parker now, leaning against the wall of the dugout, the light of someone's phone illuminating the edges of his face. I could just make out his jaw, his cheekbones, the shadow of his hair over his forehead, and his eyes fixed on mine.
“Yes,” I whispered.
There was a second of clarity behind Becca’s eyes. Just long enough for me to be afraid she’d slap me—or worse, cry. But the alcohol drowned out my admission and instead she giggled and leaned up against my shoulder.
“Selfie for my Insta?” she asked.
Gabe
This was like two worlds colliding. I was uneasy all day thinking about Sloane coming out here with us. I wasn’t going to tell her no, but I just felt this anxiety that she wouldn’t fit in, and it would make her uncomfortable.
Becca was extra clingy out here, and I felt like a real jerk even thinking that. I didn’t mind her drinking, but I very rarely joined her. I could sense that that bothered her, like she was disappointed that I wasn’t fun enough if I wasn’t sucking back whatever cheap liquor she had in that water bottle.
All of my anxiety was pointless because things felt even more natural when Sloane joined the group. And it was nice having someone else there to take the slack with me on the '80s obsession.
“I guess the movies aren’t so bad, but the music was the worst!” Becca cried.
Sloane looked visibly shaken. “Are you serious?”
“Blasphemy!” She and I cried at the same time. She leaned on me like she’d been shot, and the contact on my arm felt natural.
“If you can’t get behind The Thompson Twins, then you are missing out!”
“You two are so weird,” Becca whispered before taking another long swig of her drink.
Parker laughed along but stayed mostly quiet. I noticed the way he didn’t take his eyes off Becca most the night, and I started to feel a little guilty for inviting him out. He clearly despised me, but I was trying to do the guy a favor.
I felt Sloane’s gaze on my face as I watched Parker. “Yeah, says the girl whose favorite song is by Maroon 5.” I winked at her as her hands covered her face.
“Will you ever let me live that down?” she shrieked. She leaned forward and tried to swat my arm, which I dodged easily.
“Not until you admit they have nothing on John Mellencamp.”
“Never,” she replied, holding her hand up.
“Not even Pat Benatar?” I laughed.
Sloane’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, I do love Pat.”
I broke out in a poorly sung rendition of “Love is a Battlefield,” and Sloane belted out that hearty laugh that I’d come to love so much. Everyone was quick to cover their ears to avoid my singing, but I could feel Becca watching me. For the first time, I noticed the way she watched me like she didn’t even know me.
So I stopped.
“I don’t even know who you’re talking about,” she mumbled, and I felt her unease. We didn’t have inside jokes, and it was probably unfair of me to show off my friendship with Sloane like I was slapping her in the face with it.
I moved to put my arm around Becca when I heard a commotion from behind the dugout. A moment later, my brother and his two closest friends jumped down to join us in the small space.
“
What’s up, losers?” he said. His eyes roamed the group, and I caught the way they lingered on Sloane.
Don’t be a jerk. Please don’t be a jerk.
I really wasn’t in the mood to fight with my brother, but if he said anything mean to her, I’d have to get on him.
“Ginger!” he bellowed as he stepped up to her. My skin pricked with anxiety as I waited to see what he’d say. I noticed the way she stiffened as he threw an arm over her shoulder. He’d clearly been drinking tonight too, which wasn’t surprising. With Dad gone so much, Landon was in desperate need of some boundaries.
I was just about to step up and tell him to get off of her when he smiled and leaned back against the wall, her on his hip.
“I knew you had a party girl in you. It’s about time you came to hang out with us.”
She laughed, but it was a tense chuckle. He didn’t get the good laughs.
“I was never invited,” she said with sarcasm.
“Well, you are now!” He pulled her closer, claiming her in a way that made my molars grind. He had a girlfriend, but they were notoriously on and off, and it was very possible they were on one of their off days.
I knew I had absolutely no right to stake a claim on Sloane or dictate who could cuddle up to her, but she was my friend, and I knew how my brother was with girls, and I did not want that for her. I liked Sloane.
“Hey, bring that feisty blonde friend of yours next time,” he said, and I caught the way his voice shook as he said it. Sloane’s friend Harper looked like she’d shaken up a good deal of people in her day, but I never expected one of those people to be my brother.
“This really isn’t Harper’s scene,” she said carefully.
“You have to bring her to the HoCo party. I demand it.”
Sloane’s gaze shifted to mine, and I knew she was waiting for me to say something about the party, about how we needed to cancel it this year. It would put our family even in deeper debt with the kegs and the clean up crew, not to mention the inevitable damage it did to the house.
