DANCE OR DIE: Two Guys, One Girl. No Voice. No Choice.

by A. E. Murphy

  “Didn’t Mom and Lane used to be buddies back in the day?”

  “Up until she got with your dad.” Stanley nods for me to follow. “Need you to thread a wire through, your hands are smaller.”

  I lie down on the tarpaulin beneath the car, back to the wheeled board, and slide under the raised vehicle.

  Stanley guides me verbally and pulls me out by my ankles when I’m done, making me giggle like a little girl. Not a frosty bitch like he said I am. Though I know he was half kidding and I’m not offended in the slightest.

  “That’s all you needed?”

  “Pretty much.”

  I wipe my hands on his arm, laughing when he grumbles and stomps to the rag, then I wash my hands, wave at his coworkers, and follow the boys to the junk yard for a bit of exploration. It’s located behind the store and garage, surrounded by chain-link fencing with barbed wire on the top.

  “This place is a parkourer’s dream.” I run up the hood of a crushed car and jump from it to another.

  “I’m not sure it’s safe,” Carter mutters.

  Presley follows, laughing when we climb up to the top of a stack and stand on the hood.

  “Come on, Carter,” I yell, jumping to another stack. They’re sturdy enough but Stanley would probably kill me if he saw me.

  Presley jumps and skids slightly. I grab his arm and laugh when his side collides with mine.

  “You good?” I ask, loving the excitement in his eyes.

  “Fuck yeah,” he breathes and we climb an even higher stack.

  Presley’s breath is ragged. “Shit, this is high. How the fuck you did this with my sister on your back is insane. That was a lot higher too.”

  He looks over the edge and laughs, it’s a nervous, anxious, thrilling laugh.

  I sit down and let the warm sun wash over my covered body. My legs hang over the edge and he follows suit, sitting so close our hips are touching.

  “Come on, guys,” Carter begs. “Come down. You’re making me nervous.”

  “One more minute,” Presley says and lies back on the flat roof. I do the same, moving my braid to the side when it digs into my skull. “I’ve got a shit ton of baggage right now.”

  “I wouldn’t call Paisley baggage.”

  “And you’re probably going to get a scholarship to wherever the fuck you want.”

  “I wouldn’t say that either.” I wonder where he’s going with this conversation.

  “Guys!” Carter yells but we both ignore him.

  I turn my head to look at Presley and his hand between our bodies touches mine. He laces our fingers and before I can stop him he turns and touches his lips to mine.

  I pull away and sit up, not because I don’t want to kiss him, I hate to admit that I do, but because I don’t think it’s real for him. That and there’s Carter. It’s unfair to him.

  “Baggage…” Presley mumbles, thinking it can’t be for any other reason.

  “No,” I correct, looking at him when he sits up. He’s so handsome, so cute, so beautiful and so full of pain. “It’s not because of any of that. It’s because a week ago you hated my guts. I saved your sister’s life and suddenly you like me? It’s not real. You feel grateful and you’re getting those feelings muddled is all.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Really? So tell me, when did you start to like me?”

  He grins and taps his fingers on the metal beneath us. “When you punched me in the jaw.”

  “Please… you were awful to me after that.”

  His smile softens and guilt shines from his blueish-gray eyes. “I know. I don’t know what my problem was. I’ve just been so fucking angry at the world and you just made it so easy to hate you.”

  “And now?”

  “And now I want to make it up to you.”

  “You can do that without the kissing.”

  He looks to the side, lips smirking. “You don’t want me to kiss you?”

  “GUYS!” Carter shouts.

  I nod to the ground. “Let’s go.” I grin at him, one of mischief, and say, “Last one down is a rotten egg.”

  Then I drop, land, and roll, perfectly executing the move with only a slight ache of my body.

  Carter yanks me to my feet and into his body. “What were you two talking about up there?”

  I pat his cheek and skip past him to the car. “Let’s go.”

  “You’re coming for dinner,” Stanley says to Presley as we pass, then he glares at them both for a moment. “I know how to get rid of a body. Got no problem getting rid of two. Hear me?”

  “Loud and clear,” Carter replies and ushers me along. “I told you he was crazy.”

  I kinda like it. No… I really like it.

  Lane and Stanley convinced Presley, with some prompting, that our house was a better choice than Carter’s.

  Not our. I’m getting too comfy in these lodgings.

  Anyway… after an hour of arguing, and Paisley begging, they all agreed that until Presley hears back from the insurance company, he and Paisley would be staying with them… us…

  Carter’s mom is too busy to take care of a four-year-old and Presley still has to go to school.

  Which means I’ve been sharing a room with Paisley who insists on sleeping with me despite having her own bed, and Presley has the room across the hall.

  The first night he came in and found Paisley snuggled up against me I worried he might be upset. I am a stranger after all, but Paisley is just a kid; she wanted comfort and I wasn’t about to deny her. My arm was dead but I didn’t dare move. I’d been reading her a book and that’s how she fell asleep.

  “Hey,” he whispered after knocking lightly on the door and hearing me call for whoever it was to enter. “She okay?”

  I nodded and motioned for him to get her. “My arm’s dead, but she’s so peaceful.”

  Smiling, he lifted her and moved her to her own makeshift bed at the end of mine. A futon mattress on the floor with pink bedding that she chose herself. He tucked her in, kissed her head and I wondered how long he’d been her dad and not her brother. He acts like her father, it’s sweet but sad.

  Then he sat on my bed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Are you okay with me being here?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ll tell me if you’re not?”

  I smiled and winked at him. “Of course.”

  Then he kissed my forehead and left my room. It was insanely sweet but then… so is he, deep down.

  She climbed back into my bed an hour after I fell asleep and has done the same thing every night since.

  It’s been a weird-ass few days since, but a nice-ass few days.

  Paisley is a good kid, really quiet and plays nicely, loves to color and make things. I wonder if she’s so quiet because her dad didn’t like noise. She opens up more when it’s just her and Presley. I find it hilarious when she points her finger in his face and demands things, and he just smiles, acts put out but does it for her anyway. Lane is already trying to break her out of that habit, which is understandable, still, it is so freaking cute.

  Presley has been helping Stanley in the body shop to earn a bit of extra cash, so I’ve seen him constantly, and the more time I spend with him, the more I get to know him and his dry humor. He’s hilarious and just loves to playfully make fun of me. We have a great time working together.

  Carter hangs out because he doesn’t like the fact we’re alone together. I love how he pouts when he’s jealous, but as promised, I haven’t touched Presley at all, but then Presley hasn’t made a move.

  We all went back to school on Tuesday, the day after the junkyard exploration, and everybody clapped and cheered for me as I walked past them in the hall. There was an assembly about me too where I was forced to go to the front and accept a plaque for bravery from the fire department, which I begged Mr. Jefferson to keep in one of their trophy cases. Truth be told, Mr. Jefferson was so happy with that outcome, forever immortalizing the fact the Girl on F
ire, as I’m now called, was a product of his school.

  It was insane. I was so embarrassed.

  There were encouraging and complimentary notes all over my locker and the lockers around it. We’ve also been getting deliveries all week, some containing money, some funny fucker called Jenn Hare sent me oven mitts. It’s crazy. It’s also really nice.

  I’ve never had a time in my life like this where everyone is nice to me.

  Presley hasn’t tried to kiss me again since the junkyard and I think that’s because we’re all living under one roof. He probably feels indebted to Lane and Stanley and doesn’t want to offend them in any way. So much so that he hasn’t stopped trying to do chores around the house. He’s constantly cleaning, constantly fussing over his sister, constantly doing something.

  He never talks, never makes noise, never leaves his dish by the sink. He’s so uncomfortable here that I just know he’s probably going to leave soon.

  Paisley is thriving, however, and it’s no surprise, Lane is such an amazing foster mom. I feel bad that she never got to have a kid of her own because she’d have been so good at it.

  “Hey,” I say to Carter after entering his barn.

  He grins when he sees me. He’s sitting on the floor, legs parted and straight. “I’ve been working on a slightly different routine for Hammond that I want to try with you and Pres. Where is he?”

  “He went to see his mom with Paisley and Lane an hour ago.”

  “You walked here?”

  “Nope. I got a bike.” I grin. Carter spent hours on Wednesday after school teaching me how to ride, seeing as I didn’t quite get the hang of it the first time around. “I found one in the junkyard and asked Stanley to fix it up but he just went and bought me one instead. The Oakses are crazy nice, you know?”

  “You biked all the way here?” He looks impressed. “Did you fall?”

  “Twice, but I didn’t wipe out.”

  He laughs and his eyes never leave me.

  I drop my stuff and loosen my limbs, then I straddle his lap without permission, yank his head back by his hair and kiss him like I’ve never kissed him before.

  He groans and grips my hips, making me grind against him. His solid length rubs against my aching sex in the most perfect way.

  Our tongues dance and lips move. His fingers drag up and down my back and then cup my ass with bruising force.

  He rolls me onto my back and pulls my top up so he can grasp my breast through my bra.

  I love it when he does that, which isn’t often enough because we never have a spare second alone. My tits are so sensitive all the time.

  He yanks my top up further and I laugh when it covers my face. He pushes up my sports bra next and it tightly squeezes the top of my chest.

  “Fuck,” I gasp when he sucks my nipple into his mouth. I bite onto my top and moan, trembling as his experienced hands caress my body and his tongue, teeth, and lips work my swollen breasts.

  “God, you’re so fucking hot,” he breathes, kissing his way down to my navel.

  I lurch upwards, giggling because it’s ticklish, but he pushes me back down and covers my body with his.

  “I’m so hard for you.” He thrusts against me, his joggers and my tight leggings in the way. “So hard.”

  “You could probably chisel ice with your dick. That hard.”

  He laughs and buries his face in my neck, but he doesn’t stop his thrusting.

  “Don’t make me laugh when I’m dicking you.”

  “Dicking?”

  “Yeah, like licking your pussy but with my dick.”

  “Shouldn’t it be dick layering then? Because we’re wearing clothes.” I moan and my eyes flutter shut when he hits me just right.

  I could probably orgasm from just this if he keeps it up.

  “Don’t know, don’t care. Shut up and let me dick you harder.”

  Our mouths meet again as his hand cups the top of my head. His hips rock furiously, brutally against mine and his moans get louder.

  “Don’t stop,” I beg, because if he changes position even slightly I might lose it and then I’ll cry.

  “I have to,” he whispers, pulling my bra and shirt back down. “Someone’s coming.”

  True as he says, I hear a car coming down his driveway… or maybe it’s leaving. It sounds like Stanley’s. It’s funny how you just know the sound of a person’s car, like footsteps, breathing, voices.

  We move apart as the door opens. Just in time.

  Presley walks in, an agitated stride in his step and his eyes scan the room, lingering on me and then Carter. “Didn’t know we were meeting.”

  “I texted you,” Carter answers.

  Presley looks at his phone and lifts a shoulder. “Didn’t get it. Weird.”

  “Must be the hospital signal,” Carter explains.

  They share a contrite look and I feel extremely awkward. They weren’t like this yesterday, or today in school. What’s going on with them?

  “Carter has a new routine for us.” I stand and discreetly pull my panties out of my ass. All that grinding shoved them all the way up there.

  “I bet he does,” Presley mutters and looks at his phone. “Huh… your message just came through, says meet at eight. It’s only seven.”

  “Typo,” Carter rumbles and doesn’t look away from his own phone as he changes the music.

  “What time did he text you?” Presley asks.

  I raise my hands and let them drop. “Are we dancing or what?”

  “Or what.” Presley stares Carter down but Carter doesn’t budge.

  Oh shit.

  “Guys, let’s dance.”

  “I called dibs,” Presley snaps at his friend and I puff out my cheeks and take a step back. There’s no use in me saying anything at this point. I don’t have a clue what the fuck they’re talking about.

  “You called dibs too late,” Carter replies and Presley takes a step towards him.

  “You already have everything,” he snarls, getting angrier by the second. His hands clench into fists by his sides.

  “This wasn’t personal.”

  “Feels like it.”

  “Back off, Pres.”

  My head whips back and forth as they argue in such a cryptic way.

  “You back off, Carter.” When Carter doesn’t reply, Presley pulls his cap off, pushes his hair back and puts it back on again. “May the best man win.”

  “Thanks, I will,” Carter replies with an infuriatingly bitter smile.

  “The fuck are you both talking about?” I ask, ripping off Presley’s cap and putting it on my head. I’m trying to lighten the situation but the thick tension remains. “Can we dance now?”

  They agree and we fall back together but it’s intense and brutal.

  Carter shows us the moves but Presley argues them every step of the way.

  I remember when the dance was about keeping me as far from them as possible without pissing off Hammond. I remember when Presley would grab me and launch me from him like a grenade about to go off. I’d always go back because I had no choice.

  But somehow and at some point the dance changed. It’s no longer about getting me away, it’s about who can keep me with them the longest, it’s about who can lift me the highest and move with me the best. It’s about pulling me from the other one because they both want me as their dance partner, but they both can’t have me at the same time. In the end, it’ll be me who has to choose.

  I’m not sure I’m even talking about the dance anymore.

  “Let’s play a game,” I say to Alice and Asher.

  “Go on,” Alice insists, leaning forward.

  “Yeah, what she said.” Asher also gives me her full attention.

  “Let’s avoid the boys, all day.”

  “Ooookay, and why would we do that?” Alice asks.

  “Because they’re pissing me off so I’m skipping dance.”

  “You think so highly of yourself; do you really think they’ll come looking for you?”
Asher asks, raising her brow.

  Alice grins. “You shitting me, Ashlyn?”

  “It’s Asher and you know it, you massive baggy vag slut whore.”

  “Just because you want your fingers in me.”

  “Okay.” I wave a hand between them. “Save the flirting for later. Now are you skipping and coming to the mall with me or what? I have a hundred dollars burning a hole in my pocket for a dress for the Christmas dance next month.” I’m lying, the money are wages, I just want the girls to come with. I don’t care about dress shopping.

  “Fuck yeah!” Asher cries, doing her best impression of Alice. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “You were too busy trying to jam your fingers up her cunt.”

  “Told you so,” Alice taunts, then sticks her tongue out at our mutual friend.

  “Let’s go, then.”

  They both stand from the wall and we head on our merry way.

  “Fuck it,” I say, pointing at a bus. “Let’s go to New Orleans instead.”

  “You serious?” Alice squeaks, looking thrilled with the idea.

  “I’ve never been.”

  “Then, let’s go,” Asher agrees and pulls out her phone. “Bus times are in ten minutes, then an hour and forty.”

  Alice grabs our hands, her eyes wide. “Fuck. Let’s run.”

  And run we do, all the way to the bus station where we wait a few minutes and clamber into a funky-smelling coach.

  “You know, if we’d told the boys, Carter probably would have given us a ride,” Asher points out unnecessarily as I watch an old guy pick wax out of his ear.

  “Gonna puke,” I mumble and hug Alice’s arm. “So gross.”

  She pats me on the head. “Welcome to public transport.”

  “Oh man, he’s really going for it.” Asher gags and gives me an incredulous look. “You owe me for this.”

  When we finally arrive in the incredible city, my phone starts to ring. So do the girls’. The problem with skipping these days is that technology is so modernized, our guardians get an automated message sent to them asking why we haven’t attended.

  The girls reply to their parents’ panicked questions.