by Chris Myers
Rena parks at the station. Most of the commuters have returned home, so the lot’s not too full. We get a spot close to the warmth of the terminal.
After we board the train, Iz shares her iPod tunes with me. We bop and sing and accidentally smack heads. Giggles escape. The other passengers back away from us, except one. He glances our way, eyes us up and down until his gaze locks onto mine. He smiles and nods at me.
Iz catches this. “He’s really hot.”
He grins bigger, apparently overhearing us. He’s got those bad boy good looks. The guy is tall, not Lennon tall, about six feet and reminds me of Adam Levine. He looks older and has a tat on his neck. He’s in jeans and a leather jacket. One ear is pierced multiple times. He plugs into his tunes, sitting across from us.
I like body piercings. Without my mother knowing, I did my bellybutton. Unfortunately, it became infected, so I had to let the hole grow back.
Zach’s lip is pierced. He wears this Marxist hammer and sickle in it. It means the unity of the working classes. His music reflects his intellectual and emotional depth. I really love that.
Iz and Gabby wink at the guy standing opposite us. It’s so like them to hit on every available guy, especially the ones I take notice of. He pops a mint into his mouth. Amazingly enough, he’s watching me and not the blonde dynamic duo.
Rena nudges me. “How does Lennon’s band sound?”
“Awesome,” I say. “They know how to jam and are completely relaxed with each other.” Hope I can reach that level of competency, then maybe Zach’s band will want me.
“We’ll come see you on Friday,” Rena says, “Where’re you playing?”
“Kichee’s Joint.”
“Oh.” Rena wrinkles her nose. “That’s in a rough section of town. Isn’t it a biker bar?”
“I think so. They pay more than the other clubs,” I lie, feeling slightly embarrassed performing at a scumbag joint.
“We’ll come,” Iz says, scooting closer to me and bumping my hip. “They’re some really hot guys there, and girls get in free on Friday night.”
Rena bites her lip. “There aren’t any girls like me at that club.”
“From what I hear, it’s pretty white,” Gabby says. “Lots of bad boys and some pretty rough girls.”
Lennon’s type, I think.
“I’m out,” Rena says.
I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t go there if we weren’t playing, and Lennon better drive me, so I don’t have to walk alone to the train station.
Iz and I hear a great rap song with Pit Bull on her iPod. We play our air guitars in our seats. Pretty soon we’re dancing with each other. I haven’t even had a drink yet, but the medicinal weed earlier helps. The commuters give us wary looks.
The bad boy grins at Iz and me tossing our hair around. Gabby laughs so hard she falls out of her seat.
“I wonder what they’re on,” a middle-aged woman says, sitting down from us.
Life, I want to say to her, but she wouldn’t understand. She’s past all that.
Before we get off downtown Chicago, the guy says to me, “Where will you be later?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Lancelot,” Izzie screams. To my knowledge, I don’t think she’s had a drink yet either, though it sure seems that way. She’s fizzing over like Mentos and Coke.
“Lancelot sounds good,” Gabby says.
“I’ll be at Sammy’s later tonight,” he says—Zach’s primary social outlet.
“Maybe, we’ll see you there,” Gabby yells at him. “What’s your name?”
“Ran.” He salutes us as he departs.
“Well, don’t run away,” Iz says, giggling hard.
“I won’t,” he says.
“Hot name,” Iz whispers into my ear. “Raaaan, not run but Rannnnnnn.”
“Lancelot, it is,” Iz says.
“Okay,” Rena adds, not too happily. Her ex used to hang out there. It’s popular with the professional athletes.
“Yuck,” I say. I’m not fond of that place either, but I’ve been outvoted.
We loop our arms and huddle together. The wind Chicago is famous for whips around us. I button up my suede coat. The icy air cuts right through it as we hurry to Lancelot. Its stone building has two turrets out front. Drinks here are like taking out a loan for a Lexus.
The bouncers card us. We each pull out IDs we bought from some Chinese website. The licenses are so real they can fool TSA. According to the IDs, we’re just over twenty-one.
After a hefty cover charge, he waves us through. Gabby is the only one of us who doesn’t have a part-time job because she doesn’t need to. I quit mine today, so the band better pay more and soon. My mom is still pulling us out of debt after my dad’s hospital bills. She travels all the time to earn extra cash as a pharmaceutical sales rep, which leaves me stuck with Step-monster.
As we head to a table, Iz says, “Order vodka drinks.”
“Why’s that?” Rena asks.
Gabby laughs. “Because Iz only brought Grey Goose, silly. We’ll top off our drinks and keep them filled all night long.”
That explains their bubbly fits on the train. “Good,” I say. That will cut down on the cost. Iz is always thinking.
Rena clutches Gabby’s arm. “Don’t get caught. Remember last time.”
“Don’t worry,” Gabby says, shaking off Rena’s grip. “We won’t. Don’t have a heart attack.”
Rena’s right. It’ll suck if we get kicked out after the hefty cover charge.
Iz spots a table on the second tier overlooking the main dance floor. Blue and purple lasers cut through the river of people dancing. It’s a maze of colors, swirling in a nauseating fashion.
We sit down and order drinks. When they come, Iz spikes them with more liquor under the table. We aren’t allowed into Shamrocks because of this.
I raise my glass, wanting to erase Him touching me earlier. It was an accident I convince myself. He didn’t mean to. I already feel much better being with my friends. “To the pursuit of having fun.”
“To only good times,” Gabby says, bumping shoulders with me.
Iz gulps her drink. “So what about Ran?”
“So hot,” Gabby says. “He looks like the kind of trouble I want to get into.”
I wish they’d give me a shot at the cute guys. They’re always first in line as it is.
“I don’t know,” Rena says. “Something about Ran isn’t right.”
“This come from the lips of the girl that likes Lennon, the Naperville slut,” I say.
“You don’t know him.” Rena stares into her glass. “He takes care of his little sister full time and pays all the bills.”
I knew he did some things for his family, but this surprises me because Lennon’s dad is the infamous playboy Jonathan Tyler who could afford an entire household staff. “Lennon does? Why?”
“From what Bailey tells me, Heather Tyler has never been a mother to either of them. She doesn’t even go to his little sister’s dance or violin recitals.”
Talent runs throughout that family.
“Bailey talks to you?” I ask.
“That skank,” Gabby says.
Rena fingers the top of her glass so that it sings a lonely tune to us. “Bailey’s actually really sweet and would love for Lennon to come out of his shell, but she’s not counting on it.”
“So she’s not planning on marrying him?” Iz says. “That’s a shock.”
“From what Bailey’s told me, she’s been accepted into several top schools like Duke and doesn’t plan on sticking around here unless Lennon has a breakthrough,” Rena says. “I feel sorry for her. Out of all the girls at school, she’s probably closest to him, but she’s still an island away from him.”
Iz lets out a breathy sigh of disbelief. “How did Bailey get into a school like Duke?”
“She’s in several of my AP classes,” I add. As far as I’ve noticed, she works hard at school.
Maybe I’m too hard on Lennon.
He doesn’t really have a mom and his dad lives in LA, and Lennon’s never been offensive to me except at my party. That still curls my lip.
“There’s so much more to Lennon than what we see on the surface,” Rena says.
“I’ll say,” Iz says. “The way that boy fills his pants is downright nasty.”
I blush, not meaning to.
“You are too easy,” Gabby says, giving Iz a friendly shove. “I’d so get with him. His voice makes you want to trip in front of him, so he can catch you.”
“He’d probably drop you,” I say, scanning the club for bouncers while Iz tops off her drink.
My breath hitches when I spot a guy who resembles Lennon from the back and stands close to us. Is he following me? Did he hear us? When the guy turns around, I realize he’s not Lennon, definitely not as handsome as Lennon.
A cute guy from the same table as the imitation Lennon comes over and asks Iz to dance. When he takes her hand, she turns toward us and gives her famous wicked grin. I sip on my glass of liquid courage. I’m almost always the last one asked to dance, probably will be tonight because I promised Rena I wouldn’t drink much.
Guys have told me I’m unapproachable, too smart. Zach used to tell me that’s what he liked about me. That I looked off limits. The thought warms me almost as much as the vodka.
Rena seems to be lost in thought. She keeps glancing away from our table.
“What are the other guys like in Indigo Blues?” Gabby asks.
It’s a cool name for the band. “Danny is really cute, dark hair, baby face, and seems nice, but I think he has a girlfriend. Clive is British and easy on the eyes.”
“British,” Gabby says, raising her eyebrows. “We need to see this band.”
I track Rena’s gaze, which has lingered too long on a table down from us—a forlorn expression marring her pretty face.
No. It can’t be. It’s Byron. He’s a professional athlete who stole Rena’s heart and her virginity. She’ll never get over him unless Lennon comes around. Byron’s talking with two white girls, who happen to be brunettes.
Rena tosses back her drink then slams it on the table before running for cover. I run after her to the restroom. When I barge in, tears have already smudged her makeup. I hand her a tissue to mop up the mess.
I hug her as hard as humanly possible. “It’s going to be okay.” I know how much this hurts because the pain from losing Zach has never gone away.
Rena buries her face in my neck. “Why did he have to ruin my life?”
It’s not like her to be the drama queen. If anything, she’s usually the most stable out of all of us. But Byron is a whole other story. He wined and dined her, sent roses to the school. She was so into him. What girl wouldn’t be? There’s always that one guy that does it for you. For me, it’s Zach. For Rena, her poison is Byron.
“Iz, Gabby, and me, we’ll always be here for you,” I say.
I don’t tell her how we all told her that Byron is a player and that she lied to him by saying she was eighteen when she was only sixteen. “He’s a jerk. You can do better than him.”
“He told me he loved me, and I believed him.” They dated for almost a year when she realized he was cheating on her all the time.
“Byron probably does in his own twisted version of the world.”
“Could I feel any worse? Why can’t I be attracted to a nice guy?”
“Because love is dumb, deaf, and blind,” I say. “Especially dumb. I’ve been there. Iz and Gabby, too. We all make mistakes.” I won’t even tell her everything about my big whopper. “I’m just sorry he hurt you.”
“Me, too,” she says, wiping the tears away while a small smile tries to escape through her haze of sadness.
Byron and Lennon have much in common, though I’m pretty sure Lennon has never told a girl he loves her to get into her skirt. From what Rena tells me, he’s pretty up front that he doesn’t want a relationship ever. Girls must think they can change him. I’m glad I don’t have that problem.
Gabby strides into the bathroom. She hands Rena the flask. Her hands clutch it, and she tilts it back, taking a healthy gulp. Drinking doesn’t solve anything. I’m a clear example of that. I tried to drink Zach’s absence at the party out of my mind and ended up losing my virginity and Zach.
“I don’t know how I could possibly feel worse,” Rena says.
Gabby burps really loud. “Excuse me. If you keep drinking like that, you’ll definitely feel worse tomorrow morning.”
That brings a smile to Rena’s face. “Byron is an asshole.”
“That’s the spirit,” I say, knowing how much this hurts. Seeing Zach and Kelly together always feels as if Jason from Friday the 13th is stabbing my heart.
“Group hug,” Gabby says, enveloping us with her arms.
We return to our table where Iz waits for us. Gabby must’ve crowned her the official coat watcher. Most the time we carry cash and our ids in our pockets, so we don’t have to lug around our purses. Mine is slung across my chest.
“I saw Mr. Can’t Keep It in his Pants.” Iz glances back at Byron. “You can do better, and we’ll prove it. I got you high octane.” She shoves the drink over to Rena who inhales it.
I don’t want to carry Rena and Iz home.
A round of shots comes to our table. Three guys lift their drinks to us. They’re shy by one so not all of us will get to dance. One guy could play pro ball. That kind always chases Rena. The other one eyes Gabby.
Alone again. I shove my shot to Iz.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Positive.” I try to keep my promises, and drinking excessively ends badly for me.
“Sure you’ll be all right,” Rena says before she’s tugged to the pit of sweaty bodies.
“Always,” I say. “Someone has to stay and watch our stuff.” I sip on my drink, knowing this is going to be a long night, but it beats being at home.
Couples pack the dance floor. Suits always come here. It’s a treasure trove for up and coming Chicagoans. I’m not into older guys, though they can at least afford to take you somewhere decent.
Rena dances close to this guy who’s got a solid body. She sways next to him so that they remind me of molten lava. Half the guys on the floor are watching her instead of their partners and so is Byron. He leaves his table and threads his way through the knot of dancers.
Byron gracefully cuts in when a slow dance starts. They’re so close they could be banging on the dance floor if it weren’t for her jeans in the way. I want to strut right up to him and tell him off, but if Zach were to ask me to dance, Rena wouldn’t interfere. She knows I’m still in love with him, just like she can’t get over Byron. Sometimes when you fall, your face gets stuck in the mud, so that you can’t breathe and you’re trapped in the icky goo. You also don’t get to choose who you fall for.
When the waitress comes by, I ask for a round of waters. She gives me a dirty look because she won’t get a tip for them. I’m happy when she drops them off because my mouth is parched. I give her two bucks that she wasn’t expecting for her troubles.
A guy with fair skin stops at my table. He’s okay looking, but the tailored suit really fits him. “Hi. Can I join you?”
My mouth freezes. I involuntarily tremble. I should’ve drunk faster. “It’s a free country.”
I just want to hang my head in shame. It’s like I’m possessed and can’t talk to guys without half a bottle of liquor in me. I had no problem talking to Zach, but that’s because we had something in common, our music.
What’s wrong with me? I’m deathly afraid of guys unless I’m half-baked.
The suit gives me an odd look then continues on his way. Under his breath, he says, “Bitch.”
That probably worked out better for me. Guys that talk that way to girls are creeps.
Iz comes back to the table, a sheen of sweat on her forehead from dancing. The guy she’s with walks back to his table.
Iz takes a sip of her drink. “Hey, Tom will d
ance with you.”
A pity party for me. “That’s okay.” I don’t want to drink Iz’s backwash.
Iz pours vodka into her glass with little discretion. She’s downing the drink so fast half of it splashes onto her top. She giggles and swears while she dabs at it with a napkin.
A bouncer sees her and swaggers up to our table. He’s big, Lennon big. “You ladies need to leave. Now.”
“Oh crap,” Iz says. “Can we get our friends first?”
The bouncer grabs underneath her arm and lifts her from the chair. “No.”
Several other tables glance our way. Heat brushes my cheeks.
“We can’t leave their stuff here,” I say. “It’ll walk away if we don’t take it.”
The bouncer snags our arms and shoves us to the side exit. Iz’s dance partner notices but doesn’t try to rescue us.
“Rena,” Iz yells.
The music blares too loud for her to hear us. This really bites. Damn Iz.
As the bouncer escorts us outside, some of the patrons stare at us. It’s embarrassing to be kicked out of high-class joint like this one. Outside, it’s even colder than it was earlier.
“How long before they miss us?” Iz asks, rubbing her arms under her thin jacket.
Anger bubbles inside me. “I hope not long. We’ll be frozen soon.”
“Rena won’t leave with Byron in there.”
I hope Iz isn’t right, though it’s not like Rena to ditch us. That’s more Gabby’s style. If a cute guy comes along, it’s sayonara sister.
We stamp our feet, trying to stay warm. It’s not helping. I hand Gabby’s jacket to Iz while I fold Rena’s around the front of me. I hate being split up from them because I’ll have no one to help me with Iz or prevent me from killing her for getting us thrown out.
Tortured Soul
Words and music by Lennon Tyler
Music exposes the heart of a tortured soul
It’s hard to breathe, hard to wake
Hard to face the coming day
With one kiss, girl, you can take all the pain away
Chorus: Put your hands all over me, girl
Make me whole, give me your all
