by Shen, L. J.
I sat in front of her. “Hey, Mrs. Shaw. Remember me?”
She looked up from her twelve-foot scarf, above the rim of her glasses, then dropped her gaze back to her knitting.
“Of course I do,” she said, her tense expression relaxing. “You’re my husband, Freddie.”
Ten minutes later, Texas was out of the shower, and I was one hundred percent sure her grandmother had dementia. Mrs. S spent the time I’d been watching over her asking me about people I didn’t know and apparently worked with, recited entire conversations we hadn’t had, and treated me like I was her dead husband. This wasn’t an act. She had no clue who I was.
Grace came down the stairs, taking them two at a time, wearing an oversized, long-sleeved shirt she used as pajamas. Her legs were bare, and my eyes licked them greedily. Her legs were perfect. Tan and long and athletic. I could easily visualize them wrapped around my waist.
But I didn’t.
Because we were JUST FUCKING FRIENDS, as I kept forgetting. Maybe I needed to stick a Post-It note to the insides of my eyelids. Just and Friends.
My pupils finally slid up to the rest of her. She was wearing the ball cap, and her face was full of freshly applied makeup.
We playing it like that, huh, Tex?
I stood up.
“Thanks so much for doin’ this. I really appreciate it.” Grace threw her arms around me when she reached the landing, giving me a squeeze. Her tits pressed against my pecs. She wasn’t wearing a bra. West Junior made a mental note to do her more solids if she repaid us in hugs. She led me back to the front door, her polite way to tell me to get the fuck out.
“What’s with the makeup?”
“What’s with the screwed-up relationship with your parents?” she ricocheted back to my court, opening the door for me.
Touché.
I flicked the back of her ear. “For the sake of full disclosure, if you cage in on me tomorrow at school, I’m going to hurl your ass into the fountain and scrub every inch of that face clean of makeup.”
She grinned. “I ain’t doin’ that no more. Pinky promise.” She gave me her pinky. I wrapped her pinky in mine and pulled her into my body, kissing her unmarred cheek. She gasped. I drew back, smirking back at her before she had the chance to freak out.
I stepped down her porch stairs, feeling surprisingly light, even though it was my birthday, and my birthdays were the worst days of my life.
I stopped at the last squeaky step, turning around, knowing she was still at the door.
“Hey, Texas?”
She rested her forehead against the door, smiling at me sleepily.
“You should open up a little.”
“So should you.”
“I think I am.”
It was the first birthday in the last five years where I’d actually cracked a smile. Which was insane to think about. It made me feel guilty as hell. No wonder Mom, Dad, and East had called me all day. They probably thought I’d finally offed myself.
That this time I had a deer-on-the-road moment I managed to seize.
Grace bit her bee-stung lower lip in a way that told me she was fighting one of her make-the-world-melt grins.
“I think I am, too.”
Grace
I was cleaning up the auditorium, doing my job as a stage assistant, the evening my first phoenix feather finally peeked out of its ashes.
It was the day after my almost-kiss with West. Tess and Lauren were the last to leave, after staying late and rehearsing some of their scenes together. Lauren was still struggling to get all her lines right. She blamed it on a recent breakup with her boyfriend Mario. Tess had been working the angle of passive-aggressively coaxing her into convincing Professor McGraw to switch roles. She argued that Stella didn’t have as many lines and her role wasn’t as emotionally draining.
“Seriously, Lor, just tell Finlay and McGraw you’ve got too much on your plate. Switch to Stella. You’ll get an A+ and would only have to memorize half the lines.”
I tidied up around them, moving the mop around their feet. They both waved me goodbye, with Tess’ eyes lingering on me a moment too long, as if noticing my existence for the first time. I had no doubt it had everything to do with West snatching me from the auditorium the other day.
After I finished mopping, I rearranged all the props backstage, hanging the costumes on the racks.
Humming “No Me Queda Más” by Selena to myself (because: ’90s and Selena were double the win), my thoughts wandered to West. Specifically, to his relationship with his parents. He was angry, that was for sure. He’d been cagey about them, but from what I’d pieced together, they were struggling financially, and he was breaking his back trying to help them.
About to turn the lights off, I paused on the threshold between the stage and the backstage, peeking through the burgundy curtains. I loved the stage’s floor. It was my favorite. It was full of scratches and dents, from actors and dancers wearing it down over the years.
Beaten and broken, it was still capable of creating the greatest magic.
Without really meaning to, I found myself taking a step toward the center of the stage, swallowing hard.
“You need to open up.”
West’s words tickled the bottom of my belly.
Another step.
“Don’t roll over and play dead.”
The next one was my grandmother’s.
“If you’re not scared, you’re not being brave.”
Before I knew what was happening, my feet hurried across the stage.
Tap, tap, tap.
My heart accelerated, my mouth dried up, and my breath stuttered in my throat.
I stopped and stood there, in the middle of the stage.
Alone.
Brave.
Scared.
But undefeated.
I took off my pink ball cap, took a deep breath, and let out an earth-shattering scream that pierced through the walls and made the entire place shake. It lasted long seconds before subsiding, its last echoes still dancing in my lungs.
I smiled and bowed to the rows upon rows of empty red velvet seats.
I imagined the auditorium full of people. They were clapping and cheering for me, rising to their feet in a standing ovation.
I felt a little part of my phoenix peeking out of the ashes.
Not an entire wing, but one lonely perfect feather.
It was red. The color of my scar.
It reminded me of myself.
“There’s a fight this Friday. I thought maybe you changed your mind about coming.” Karlie was plopped on her bed next to me, her nose stuck in a textbook.
I scrunched my nose, hugging her pillow to my chest as I leaned against her headboard. “Why would I change my mind?”
“For one thing, rumors travel fast, and Tess has been telling everyone West freakin’ St. Claire whisked you away from the auditorium last week. People think you two are bumping uglies now. The one interesting thing to ever happen to us in, like, five years, and you forget to tell me about it.” She rolled her eyes, turning a page in her textbook and running a marker over an entire paragraph. “I’m five seconds away from dumping your ass, Shaw. You’re a bad best friend.”
I laughed, throwing the pillow in her face. “There’s nothing to tell. We’re just friends.”
“Riiiiiight. And denial is just a river in Egypt.”
“I’m not in denial.”
“Not even a teeny-tiny bit?” Karl dropped her textbook in her lap, pinching her fingers together, looking at me through the gap between them with an impish grin. There was no point telling her about a kiss that hadn’t happened and was promptly branded as a mistake by West before he backed out of it.
“I swear, it’s totally platonic. He is a commitment-phobe who loves variety. I’d be an idiot to fall for a guy like that.”
I am the idiot who is halfway there.
“You don’t choose who you fall in love with.”
“Maybe, but you do choose
how to act on things,” I countered.
Karlie rearranged her limbs, sitting crisscrossed on her white duvet, leaning against her poster-filled wall. Pearl Jam and Third Eye Blind and Green Day. Her room was a nineties shrine, including a Discman on her nightstand, Beanie Babies on her bed, and an old-school see-through phone.
Karlie was born at the end of 1999. The last day of the year to be exact. December thirty-first, at eleven fifty-eight at night. That made her obsessed with the era, and whatever Karlie liked—I loved. It was the natural, courteous thing for me to do to join her obsession for moral support.
“Look, I’m studying how to become a reporter, and call it an investigative knack, but I ain’t buying what you’re selling, Shaw. The reality is you’re both single, and hot, and you spend a lot of time together.” She popped her watermelon gum in my face.
“He also spends a lot of time inside other girls, like Melanie and Tess,” I murmured.
“True, but I’ve never seen him hanging out with them one-on-one.” Karlie grabbed her textbook, placing it back in her lap and highlighting the bejesus out of it, her eyes glued to the page. “And it’s been a while since Tess. Just remember what I said, Shaw. He might be nice, but he’s trouble.”
“Actually …” I sat up straight, feeling bizarrely protective toward West. “He’s not trouble at all. He’s really nice. The other day, he noticed Marla went home before I had a chance to take a shower and watched over Grams for me for a few minutes.”
“That’s why I’m reopening the invitation to go to his fight on Friday.” She flipped another page in her textbook.
“Because he is nice to me?” I blinked, confused.
“No, because he is putting up a front. He is on his best behavior at the food truck because it’s a different environment, but he is still a beast.”
She rolled her eyes when I didn’t respond.
“Look, aren’t you curious to see if your friendship is just a food truck thing or goes beyond it?”
Curious? I was rabid to find out. My communication with West at school was nonexistent. He’d taken my request not to draw any attention for me extra far and didn’t even acknowledge me when we passed each other.
It was like I didn’t exist to him.
A part of me didn’t want to find out what we were outside of our bubble, but a bigger part of me realized I had to find out whether I was a convenient friend he kept in secret and was ashamed of or a person he considered his equal.
“Fine,” I bit out. “I’ll go to the fight.”
“Yes!” Karlie pumped her fist in the air. “That’s my girl. Now let’s get slutty clothes to distract him.”
“Wait, didn’t you say dating him is a terrible idea?”
“Dating? Yes. Teasing? No. It is high time you realize you’re hot shit, Shaw. And if West St. Claire is the guy to make you realize it, I’m all for it.”
I grabbed one of her pillows, pressing it over my face and yelling into it in a mix of horror and excitement.
“Quick. If you could bring one thing back from the nineties, what would it be—Blockbuster or hot Keanu Reeves?” Karlie tapped my knee.
I dumped the pillow on the floor, my eyes nearly bugging out of their sockets. “Excuse you! Keanu Reeves is still bangin’.”
Karlie threw her head back, laughing. “Ding, ding, ding. That was a test. And you just passed with flying colors.”
I stared at myself in the mirror, unable to stop myself from grinning like a loon.
Ten tons of foundation?—check.
Catlike eyeliner?—check.
Blow-dried hair?—check.
Sparkly pink lip gloss and a matching ball cap?—check.
Tiny, long-sleeved, black mini dress that showed off my legs?—triple check.
Karlie’s honks blasted through my bedroom window, signaling her arrival. I bolted downstairs, my heart flipping desperately like wings. Grams was sitting in the living room, knitting and listening to a Johnny Cash record. She was having a good day, thank the Lord, but I still asked our neighbor, Harold, to check in on her a few times tonight.
“Church’s out, Grams!” I hollered as I picked up my small clutch. I was dressed for a fancy club or a restaurant, not a fighting ring, but I couldn’t help myself. It was the first night I’d gone out since I’d given up on having a social life, and it was a big deal for me.
Grandma waved her hand up in the air without lifting her eyes from her knitting.
“You be careful, Gracie-Mae. And if you drink, please give me a call. I’ll pick you up.”
I stopped dead in front of the door. She spoke like the old Grams. The coherent one. My throat burned with tears.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “Karlie’s the designated driver. She’ll have a dry night, and so will I.”
“Contreras blood runs true. Karlie took after her momma. She’s a real good kid.” Grams nodded approvingly, taking a sip of her tea.
Why couldn’t she be like this all the time?
Karlie honked again, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“All right! I’m off!”
“Ta-ta. Oh, and Gracie-Mae?”
“Yeah?” I paused, halfway out the door.
“Come back home when the first streetlamp goes on. Curfew’s at six-thirty, young lady.”
It was already nine. My smile collapsed, and the dull ache in my chest resumed.
Not completely lucid after all.
“I’ll be sure to do that, Grams.”
We got to Sheridan Plaza ten minutes late and spent fifteen minutes driving around looking for a parking space. Karlie had to drive extra slow because there were clusters of people marching toward the Plaza, laughing, drinking, and making out. I hadn’t realized the fighting ring was that big an event in Sheridan. Friday Night Lights had nothing on this thing.
I knew West wasn’t the only guy who fought—there were about five fights every Friday—but he was always the main event and the reason tickets sold like hotcakes.
On our fourth round trying to find a parking space, a senior jock signaled Karlie to roll her window down. She did.
“Y’all gonna run outta gas if you keep circling the lot. Park wherever you can; they don’t give out tickets around here, doll.”
Karlie flashed me a disapproving glance.
“I didn’t know your boy was that popular.”
“Stop callin’ him my boy,” I half-asked, half-begged. I couldn’t allow myself to believe it.
“You’re right. If you date him, I will punch your tit. Your heart’s too good for this guy, Shaw.”
We parked and stabbed the dunes with our high heels, ascending toward the Plaza. We paid at the entrance—twenty bucks a pop, by no means a cheap night out—and proceeded inside.
There were dozens of people crammed into the second floor. College age crowd, but also a few randoms who were clearly in high school or way past twenty-five. Everybody was holding red Solo cops, chatting and laughing as two shirtless guys fought in the ring. They were clearly just the warm-up act, because nobody paid much attention.
There was no sign of West or his friends.
“I’ll beer us.” Karlie tilted her head toward a dude who stood behind a few crates, pouring keg beer into cups.
I nodded. “I’ll go find West, wish him good luck.”
“No canoodling.” She waved a finger my way.
I saluted her before wandering about, scanning for his face. Realizing he was nowhere near the ring, I strolled toward the small bare rooms with the mattresses. At first, I peeked into each of them, trying to spot West. But after encountering a guy jerking off, half-dressed, as two cheerleaders licked each other, I passed them swiftly, not looking sideways.
Groans and moans rose from the mattresses in the coves. I hated this place. Absolutely despised it. And with every single second that ticked by, the possibility I was going to find West with someone else became more and more real. I wanted to be sick. Why had I thought it was a good idea to come here?<
br />
He warned you not to. Called it a cum dumpster. You are not even welcome here.
I was about to turn around and run for my life when his gruff voice came from behind one of the concrete walls.
“You need to give it a rest,” West growled.
“Question is, do you give Tess a rest?” another voice—Easton, I assumed by his neutral, sensible tone, countered. “You know, between rounds.”
There was a burst of male laughter and the sound of beer cans cracking open.
“Don’t tell me you’re still tapping her ass?”
That was definitely Reign De La Salle speaking. My stomach churned and twisted. The guy was a total tool.
“Relax, asshole. You know I never tap it twice. Although, I’m not opposed to fucking her every which way if you continue getting on my nerves.”
“Is that a threat?” Reign screeched.
“Nah, it’s a promise.”
“You don’t make any promises,” Easton pointed out. That much was true.
“For an ass like Tess’, I’m willing to make an exception.”
I stumbled backwards before I heaved and threw up. A sharp stab of jealousy cut me open. I bled out so many dark feelings, my head was spinning.
Wariness. Distrust. Heartbreak.
Lord, why did it feel like my heart had been blown to the sky? He hadn’t even kissed me, and I was already scarily possessive toward him.
Dashing back toward the ring, I glanced behind my shoulder to make sure they didn’t see me.
“Shaw! There you are!” Karlie jumped into my vision, holding two Solo cups in her hands. She pushed one into my palm.
“I made sure the guy opened a brand-new beer and poured it in front of me, so it’s not spiked or watered down. Well? Did you find lover boy?”
“I did,” I hissed. “And without gettin’ into detail, lover boy loves having sex with Tess, so I guess now we know where I stand.”
She gasped, a glint of curiosity lighting up her eyes. “You caught them together?”
“No, I overheard him declaring his intentions toward her.”
“Told you he was bad news.”
