by T. A. Kunz
“Don’t push it, mister. And because of that little exchange, I’m gonna need you to hit the bar and get me a glass of water,” he orders, laughing and shooing me away with his hand. “Make sure they give you a large one, and don’t let them cheat ya with those small-ass plastic Dixie cups.”
I send him a lazy salute and retrace my steps back down the hall. There’s a door next to the one leading to the stage with a sign above it that reads “To Front of House.” I leave through that one. The whole way up to the bar, people keep yelling their praise at me over the music. I’m not sure what to do with all the attention. I just smile and nod as I keep moving forward.
The bartender heads over when I reach the counter. “Let me guess, Miz Markie Marc wants some water,” he says with a chuckle.
I grin and nod. “Could I also have one, please? Oh, and both large.”
He moves away to get the drinks and I turn around to take in the space while I wait. For some reason, I imagined Mae’s Lounge would look seedier on the inside than it does considering the state of the building’s exterior. But the bar has a comforting feel to it. Like a home.
My eyes stop where I saw that person with the mask earlier. There are now two guys there huddled close together, one with his arm around the other, and seeming content. He places a kiss on the cheek of the other and I wonder what all of that feels like. Marcus was right about this being a safe space. I’d probably never see that happening around town outside of this bar. Definitely not back home, that’s for sure. Feeling like a voyeur, I avert my stare and face the bar counter again.
“You looked good up there, Donovan,” a male’s voice comes from beside me.
I look over and find myself lost in the greenest pair of eyes … eyes I’ve been lost in before. Even in these low lights, they seem to glow. It’s Connor. He’s standing there posted up against the bar, a stool down from where I am. He smiles at me before shifting his focus to the stage.
I instantly clam up. Everything clenches. The first thing that crosses my mind to say, I dismiss. A heat starts to creep up the back of my neck and my cheeks flush. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton wool when I finally respond.
“You really think so?”
“You don’t?” he says.
A nervous laugh tickles my throat as I dodge his stare. It’s piercing. I can still feel his eyes on me as I reach for one of the waters the bartender sets in front of me.
“I guess I looked all right,” I say after taking a sizable gulp.
His lips turn up at the corners. “Yeah, okay, Mr. Modesty.”
I drop my eyes again and take another drink. I cough a little when the water decides to travel down the wrong tube. Regaining my composure at this point seems futile.
I keep my focus on the cup of water in front of me. It’s the only thing I can do to maintain my cool. This is the longest we’ve spent in each other’s company, and I’m a mess of nerves. Why is my heart beating so incredibly fast? Maybe it’s just residual energy from the performance. Or it’s simply just my body’s irrepressible reaction to the guy next to me.
“So, what brings you out here?” I ask, then feel absolutely stupid over how formal I sounded.
“I’m the drummer for the band that opened the show. We came to support the cause.” His intent gaze meets mine. “I assume that’s why you’re here too, right? Lori?”
Wow. He’s in the band I heard earlier from the dressing room? They’re really good.
“Yeah, one of the reasons,” I reply, battling guilt over playing along with this façade.
“I wish I could say Lori’s the only friend I’ve lost, but sadly she isn’t.”
His face goes pensive. My heart twinges for him.
“I’m sorry,” is all I’m able to say before I need to take another swig of water.
“Yeah, well, the town will be a lot less bright without her, am I right?”
He raises his cup of water to me for a toast. I clink mine to his and notice my hand trembling.
“Agreed,” I say.
A moment of quiet falls between us. “So, you’re a drummer, huh?” I say, pushing through my nerves. I just want to hear him keep talking, regardless of what his voice is doing to me.
“Yeah. Just a small garage band, nothing serious really. It’s just a few people coming together for the love of music,” he replies.
“You all sounded really great. At least from what I heard backstage.”
I take another swig of water to bring more relief to my overheating issue. Between the thick suit I’m wearing and standing this close to someone so incredibly good-looking, I have two reasons to be quite hot under the collar.
“Thanks,” he replies with a grin. “We’re all right.”
“Now who’s Mr. Modesty?”
His smile widens. “Well played.”
“There you are, Donnie. I was beginning to worry one of these burly bears snatched you up for a late-night snack,” Marcus jokes from behind me. I turn to face him with wide eyes and nod back in a subtle motion at Connor. “Oh, hi, Connor,” he corrects, sending me a knowing glance. “You all sounded fantastic earlier. We were busy beautifying ourselves during your performance, but the feedback amongst the other queens backstage has been stellar, boy.”
Connor lifts his hand in a casual wave of acknowledgement, still relaxed against the bar. “I appreciate that, Miz Markie Marc. And you were great too. Very entertaining.”
“Hey, weren’t you coming to get a cup of water, Miz Markie Marc?” I ask, trying to get him to move along.
Clueing in, Marcus says, “Oh, yeah. Thanks.” He snatches up the cup next to mine and puckers his lips while throwing me playful daggers with his eyes. “You two don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, you hear?” he says before strolling off. “Or do. Whatever floats your boat.”
My entire body seizes up with embarrassment when I hear Connor’s low laugh behind me. A tense one escapes my lips, and I throw back the last bit of water in my cup. I’m dreading the moment I have to face him again.
Marcus spins back around. “Oh, and don’t forget I have to get you home by eleven. Which is quickly approaching, Cinderella. The very last thing I need are two angry lesbians on my ass,” he says, not making the situation any less awkward.
Deciding to just grin and bear it, I spin around to face Connor. Thankfully, he’s staring at his phone. He’s in the middle of typing something and raises his eyes to meet mine when he finishes.
“Hey, are you working tomorrow?” he asks.
The butterflies assault my stomach in full force. I stutter out a yes, prompting him to smile.
“Good. I have to go help the band load up the equipment in my truck.” Lifting his phone, he explains, “That was Carter, our lead singer. Not that you needed to know that.” He issues a faint laugh, seeming fazed for the first time during our whole conversation. “I’ve got to head out, but I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”
“Oh, are you all meeting up at the café tomorrow?” I ask, and then worry I sound like a stalker for keeping tabs on him and his group.
“No,” he replies with another smile. His gorgeous eyes add the final touch. “See you tomorrow.”
He places his hand on my upper arm before walking away. My hand trails up to rest on the spot he just touched.
I’m keeping this suit jacket forever, no matter what Marcus says.
I watch as Connor high fives a guy who’s dressed like he’s in the band. Maybe Carter? I recognize him as the guy who had Lori on his lap at the café. The Outcast. Dark coffee guy. I’m surprised to see him wearing such a colorful outfit given he’s usually dressed in black or grey when he comes into The Pour Over. The pink and black tie he’s wearing perfectly suits his punk ensemble.
On their way out, they pass the spot where I saw the person in the fox mask. The memory wipes the lingering smile from my face. The mysterious figure gave off such a creepy vibe … the way they stood there and waved. I shudder just thinking about it.
; Well, that officially killed the moment.
Drea
Tuesday is the first day in a while I wake without hitting snooze on my phone’s alarm. I wish it was because I actually got a restful night’s sleep, but quite the opposite is true. The grogginess consuming my entire being has me wondering if I slept at all.
The scent of my mom’s breakfast blend coffee lingers in the air, serving as a much-needed kick in the ass to drag myself out of bed. Though I’m not a huge coffee drinker, the smell does inspire a craving for a cup of Earl Grey tea.
Showered and dressed, I make my way down to the kitchen. I steep a bag of tea in my favorite mug from the original Starbucks in Seattle. My dad went there on a business trip a couple of years ago and brought it back as an early birthday present.
Next to the toaster, there’s a plate of toast my mom prepped before taking my sister to school. I grab a piece to nibble on while waiting for my tea timer to go off.
A rapid succession of knocks sounds at the door. I approach it with the toast held in my teeth. I remove it for a moment to glance out the peephole but see no one there. I return the bread to my mouth and unlock the door, pulling it open and peeking outside.
“Hello?” I ask around the piece of toast in my mouth.
There’s no answer. On the porch sits a small rectangular-shaped object wrapped in crinkled brown paper. I finish off the bread and pick up the package. In my hands it feels about the same size as a thin, hardcover book. There’s no writing on the outside or any indication of who it’s for or who sent it. Before I can peel back the wrapping, the timer beckons me back to the kitchen. I place the package on the kitchen counter and go deal with the tea situation.
The smell of the Earl Grey tea is soothing as I hold the warm cup to my nose and draw in a lengthy whiff. As I take a sip my focus shifts to the shrouded book-shaped object on the counter. My mind mulls over what it could be. A burning sensation rolls over my tongue when I take too big of a slurp.
“Ow! Crap. Why didn’t I blow on it first?”
Grabbing a paper towel, I wipe up the droplets that hit the floor. I grumble and snatch a piece of ice from the freezer, putting it in my mouth. The icy sensation swirls around and brings some much-needed relief.
My phone pings, signaling a text. It’s from Sophia.
How are you doing? Will we see you at practice today?
I’m conflicted on how I should reply. Technically I’ll be there, but only to quit for real. I decide to keep it simple and direct.
Plan on it.
A smiley face emoji followed by a GIF of cheerleaders in a pyramid formation appear in succession on my screen. The third message is actual text.
Yay! Practice will be out by the football field btw.
Well, that’s just great.
Not only will I have to deal with Sophia and the rest of the squad’s reaction to me quitting, I might also run into Harrison and Trent. I’d be lying if I said I’d mind seeing Harrison though.
This is not the time for thoughts like that.
I send off a winking face emoji and then stash my phone. Looking at the time, I realize I’m going to be late for school if I don’t leave soon. I pour the tea into a to-go tumbler and my eyes land on the package again.
It’s probably for Mom. She buys so much online.
I secure the lid on the tumbler and rush out the door to my car, putting the package out of my mind.
While strolling through the school’s halls, one thing becomes clear to me. The dark grey emotional cloud that loomed over the student body seems to have dissipated some. People are settling back into their routines, but why shouldn’t they? They have lives to live, futures to plan. It’s human nature. I just wonder how long it will be before I’m once again considering such things.
Lori’s locker memorial is still fully intact. It has even grown by quite a few additions. It’s heartwarming to see how much of an impact she had on our collective lives. It serves as a reminder to me that I’m not the only one struggling with her absence. I’m still convinced I’ll see her round a corner in one of the hallways between classes.
I miss her laugh. Her voice. Her touch.
When I open my locker, a folded piece of paper tumbles out onto the ground. I pick it up and see there’s a simple message written on it.
Hi Drea.
Seems like Donovan got my note and decided to leave me one as well. I wonder why he didn’t text me like I asked him too. Even after telling his co-worker at the café, he still hasn’t messaged me yet. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was avoiding me. Maybe everything that happened yesterday coupled with Lori’s death has him unsure how to be around me.
The warning bell dings. I grab the books for my first two classes and head out. I pause when I reach the hallway leading to Donovan’s locker. He isn’t there. I dip my chin to my chest and keep moving forward, preferring not to invite any small talk this morning.
The school day drags on at a snail’s pace. Class after class, I find myself not able to focus on anything other than my current situation. It’s still strange to sit in my AP Physics class and not see Lori in her seat. We’d always sit next to each other in any class we had together.
This summer changed all of that. After the incident, I needed space. I wanted to disappear. Now I find myself regretting quite a few decisions I made as a result of that night.
I’m possibly about to make yet another one later.
Ominous clouds hang heavy in the sky, obscuring the sun and adding a gloomy touch to my trek out to the football field after school. The smell of rain clings to the air. Storm clouds roll in the moment I move outside the confines of the school.
Maybe a sign of what’s to come.
The squad’s opening warmup cheer echoes in the distance. As I move through the gap between the two sections of metal bleachers, the football field comes into view. Red and black cheerleader uniforms performing tumbles and stretches fill my vision when I emerge. A tackle out on the field draws my attention when I hear football pads crashing into each other followed by a whistle.
“Drea, you made it.” Sophia’s voice drags my attention away from the field. The rest of the squad waves and yells out to me with energetic smiles galore. “Wait, where’s your uniform?”
“Uh, about that,” I begin.
Her face scrunches with disappointment. “You’re quitting, aren’t you?” Her tone mimics the look on her face.
I nod, averting my eyes to the ground.
“Look, I know you’re going through a ridiculous amount of stuff right now,” she says. “But I hope you know you’re not alone. We all knew Lori, and we’ve decided to use cheer as our outlet. Are you sure you don’t want to at least try?”
The hopeful look on her face stings like hell. “I wish I could,” I say, wondering if I’m really making the right decision. “I’m being pulled in all of these different directions, and I don’t want to continue bringing down the team more than I already have.”
She releases a sigh and wraps me up in a hug. “I hate this so much, you know that? But I guess I understand. You take all the time you need, okay? There will always be a spot on this squad for you if you ever want to return, got it? I’ll vouch the hell out for you, even if the coach doesn’t want to allow it.” She eases up on the embrace and steps back to look at me. “And please let me know if I, or any of the squad, can help in any way. We’re all here for you.”
“Thanks, Sophia. I really do appreciate it.”
I’m always surprised by how genuinely kind Sophia is. Based on head cheerleader stereotypes, she should be a tyrannical, self-absorbed, narcissistic witch. Not to mention her family is one of the richest in our town. She’s anything but all of those things though, and she’s definitely one of the reasons I’ll miss being a part of the squad. I just can’t handle the rest of them treating me like I’m this fragile glass figurine while skirting around my feelings after everything that’s happened.
I follow the narrow path that hu
gs the fence encircling the football field. It’s been carved out by excessive foot traffic and splinters off toward the student parking lot. My eyes keep glancing out at the players on the field. Trent I could give two craps about, but I can’t help but want to locate Harrison. Jersey number seventeen.
“Hey, Drea!”
I pause when I hear Harrison’s deep voice come from the field. He jogs toward me in full football gear with his helmet in his hand. His dark brown hair tussles about in the wind as he makes his way over.
A part of me wants to stick around and see where this conversation goes, but the other part is nervous and reluctant and wants to limit further private interactions with him. I start to walk away, then hear him call out again.
“Drea, hey … come on, wait up,” he implores, and I feel obliged to stop.
“What’s up?” I ask, not knowing how to feel or act right now. This whole situation is confusing, to say the least.
“I saw you with the squad and thought maybe you were practicing with them again,” he says with a broad grin.
Why does he have to look at me like that? Why does he have to make me feel like this when I don’t know how I should be feeling about anything?
“Actually, I just quit,” I reply.
His sunny disposition wavers. “Oh, sorry to hear that.” He places a hand on the chain-link fence, his fingers weaving amongst the holes. “I thought you were going to start up again. You always seemed to enjoy it. What changed your mind?”
I can’t help but blush at his sincere interest, but guilt swiftly makes itself known. Like I’m somehow betraying myself and my lingering feelings for Lori.
I’m not ready to open myself up to someone else yet.
“Stalker much?” I reply, trying to keep things light.
He chuckles. “Maybe, but then again, you’re impossible not to notice.”
My blush deepens. “It’s just, I thought it over and decided my schedule’s too busy for cheerleading.”
“Ah, that’s right. The new hermit lifestyle you mentioned. How’s that going?”
He remembered that?
