by Sara Wolf
“Is that what you want?” I whisper. “You want me to fuck you? We could do it, right here. No one’s watching this little corner. You want to see what all the fuss is about, don’t ya?”
Her blue eyes glint, and I move in to kiss her, hovering just in front of her face. Her chest rises and falls quick with barely-hidden lust. I lean in just a little more, nearly touching her lips, and pull away quick with a nasty smirk.
“Tough shit.”
“Hey!” A Captain-America-looking guy in a button-up shirt swaggers down the hall towards us. “Get away from my girlfriend, asshole!”
“Who?” I smile, looking behind me. “Oh, blondie? Nah, you’ve got it all wrong. She was hitting on me, not the other way around.”
“That’s a lie!” The girl shrieks from behind me. “Brandon, he’s lying!”
“Sweetie, it’s bad enough being a gossip - don’t add liar to the list,” I say. Brandon lurches for me, but I’ve been in more fights than he’s ever seen in his life. I’ve fought guys five times his size, and twice as fast, and my dad was the biggest and fastest bastard of them all. In two quick hits I knee him in the gut, and shove my elbow into his spine. He collapses over the banister, groaning. The girl turns on me, too, all painted claws and sparkly war-paint, but I sidestep her and hightail it to the back door.
I step around the pool, and I can feel Grace’s eyes on my back as blondie shrieks and curses me out from inside the house. I salute Grace.
“Try to go easy on Theo, love.” I call. “I’ve gotta girl who needs him more than you do.”
She sits there, head cocked curiously. I scale the hedges with an easy leg-up, and melt into the dark night.
***
While I wait for Ranik’s next lesson over the course of several days, I realize there is a problem. Grace is a very small girl. She’s petite, and I tower over her by a good seven inches. Theo hasn’t spoken of his old girlfriend in high school much to me, but he did mention she was short as well.
I’m five feet ten inches.
I’m far too tall to be considered a short girl.
Therefore, it’d be correct to assume I don’t fit his apparent criteria of being small. Grace is also thin like a bird, fragile and delicate-looking, and I used to be a swimmer, with a thick torso and thighs. I begin to be more conscious of this than I’d like, and I start skipping breakfast – my favorite meal. It isn’t much, but hopefully it will be enough to shed some unwanted girth.
But is it worth it?
I shake my head. Of course it is. Theo is important. Theo is the only one who doesn’t think I’m strange. He’s the only one who may ever like me, in my entire life. I can’t mess this up.
Theo is, as usual, at the radio station. It’s housed in the auditorium, just off the main entrance. The room is all red velvet carpet and wood paneled rooms. Booths with high-tech microphones and expensive-looking soundboards and computers litter the landscape. Tattered show flyers and high-quality speakers adorn the walls.
I knock softly on his booth, and the door opens after a few seconds. Theo answers it, a smile blossoming on his face. He’s wearing a beige sweater that only shows off his impressive chest, a pair of heavy earphones around his neck.
“Alice, hey.”
“Good afternoon,” I smile, then battle with my thoughts. Good afternoon is too formal. Grace would never say something like that. I take a breath and make my voice lighter, sweeter. “Hi!”
Theo just smiles bigger. “Come on in.”
He closes the door behind me. Leather chairs sit around a desk, microphones suspended from miniature iron cranes around the room. I inhale the smell discreetly – tea tree oil and coffee. Theo’s smell. He takes a seat and fiddles with his soundboard, long fingers graceful.
“Did I – I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”
“Not at all.” Theo motions for me to sit. “I was just checking the levels for Monday’s recording.”
I fidget with my bag, the gesture very unlike me. Theo sees it, and frowns.
“Everything okay?”
“I am fine.” Too formal! I smile. “I’m okay!”
“Alright,” He grins, and goes back to his soundboard. I watch him work with it as he runs a song through it, adjusting the treble and bass accordingly.
“I – I know this song,” I say. “Girl Sailor, by the Shins.”
He looks up, smile now brilliant. “Yeah. You like them?”
“They’re so ambient,” I sigh. “I especially enjoy the harmonic frequencies in the entirety of the Shoots Too Narrow album. The serialism they orchestrate is a fantastic representation of the twelve-tone technique in modern music.”
There’s a silence. Theo blinks at me.
“I-I mean –” I swallow hard, grasping blindly for something more simple, more Grace-esque. “I like them so much. They’re…awesome!”
Theo’s shock thaws, and he laughs. “Yeah. Me too. I’m more of a Wincing the Night Away guy, but Shoots Too Narrow is cool. I got to see them live when I was in high school.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful.”
“Have you ever been to one of their shows?”
I flush. “No. Regrettably.”
“What’s the last concert you went to, then?”
“I don’t – I’ve never gone to a concert. My mother doesn’t like them much.”
“Really?” He laughs. “My parents were total sticklers, too. Very Christian. I had to sneak out to get to The Shins. Ranik helped me.”
“Ranik?” I perk up. “Ranik Mason?”
“The man himself,” Theo nods. “We knew each other back in high school. He’s a good guy.”
“Good?” I quirk a brow. “Surely you’re talking about someone else. Someone less…Ranik-y.”
Theo chuckles. “You’d be surprised. Lots of people don’t give him a chance because of the way he looks. That’s sort of a thing with him. So he just got used to acting tough, since everybody judged him all the time anyway.”
I frown. Theo adjusts the soundboard, then swears.
“Damn.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I think this fader is stuck.” He puts his tongue between his teeth, and pushes. It doesn’t budge. “Can you hold the board while I pull it?”
“Of course.” I make my way over to his chair, gripping the edges of the board. He’s very close – the heat of his body radiating through my jacket and into my chest. I can see every bit of stubble, every laugh-line around his eyes. I’m so distracted that when he pulls I’m not holding hard enough, and my grip slips and I crash into the chair, and Theo’s lap. There’s a molasses-like moment in which I feel his heat and bulge against my jeans, our skin separated only by cloth and his tea tree smell everywhere around me. And then I remember myself and jump up.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to let go!”
Theo smiles, ruffling his hair. His face is flushed.
“It’s fine. Nothing was broken.” He scoots forward and pulls at the fader. It moves smoothly. “And see? We fixed it. With a bit of trial and error.”
He winks at me, and I feel myself melting in my shoes. My blood pumps hotter, and I grab my bag and race to the door.
“I’m sorry!” I blurt, and run out. Only when my embarrassed feet have taken me across campus and to the safety of my bed do I collapse and start to breathe correctly again. What just happened? I ran from the room like a skittish child, without hardly an explanation. Theo must be so confused, and if he doesn’t dislike me for it, it will be a miracle. Grace would never run away like that. She would’ve had some clever little jab to retort back at him, or perhaps she would’ve stolen the moment bravely and given him a kiss.
My blush resumes its fiery course across my entire body. Theo’s scent hasn’t yet faded from my clothes. His body felt so warm, so tense. If I close my eyes I can remember every muscle in his arms and arc of bone in his hips –
I snap out of the strange reverie, flushed and confused. What a
m I doing, daydreaming about the man I have a crush on? I sit at my desk and try to distract myself by studying, but Theo’s scent clouds my thoughts. Finally, in a last-ditch attempt to get my mind off him, I pull out my poetry diary.
I normally don’t write poetry. After Dad was arrested, Mom always called it a waste of time, and would burn any journals of mine she found with poetry in them. I’d learned to hide my poetry elsewhere – on the inside of my textbook covers, on slips of paper in my pockets, on bathroom walls at school in the form of graffiti Mom would certainly never approve of. But I did keep the graffiti neat, and I was always sure to go back and scrub it out after a few weeks. It was a risk I had to take, since I was given so few other safe places to keep my secret passion a secret.
Determined to blow the academic competition out of the water at Mountford within the first semester, I’d shoved poetry aside in favor of studying hard. That hasn’t changed, but I do find myself doodling in my notebook as I study – random verses, words that make images.
‘Sweet and soft like coming spring,
Kindness sprouts roots and wings of leaf
An eagle gold, king of hearts and minds, cuts air
Below him, the sparrow of injured wing
Gentle claws make a cage, strong and true
And thus the broken heal safe’.
After it’s all out, I grimace with the realization it subtly refers to Theo as a golden eagle, and myself as a sparrow. Why had I given myself an injured wing? Even I can’t answer that, and it disturbs me that my well-organized mind has no immediate answer for a question, especially that question. I ferret the poem away in my notebook where I keep all my poetry. The cover is black with purple daises, and it’s locked. I tuck the key to it back under my shirt, where it hangs from a slender chain.
I turn in early, Charlotte mysteriously absent. She’d mumbled something about a party and left, but she usually came back earlier than this. I’d seen her texting someone named ‘Nate’, so I can only assume she’s preoccupied with him at the moment. I’m happy that she’s found someone she’s liked, and jealous at the same time. If only it was as easy to acquaint myself with boys as it was for Charlotte. Maybe then, I’d have more experience. Maybe then I wouldn’t have run out of Theo’s studio like a beheaded chicken.
Outside, the sun is long set. I’m surprised to find it’s nearly one in the morning – writing poetry sucked time from me like an hourglass. I pull on my pajamas – a grey tank top and comfortable shorts. My eyes flicker to the pajamas in Charlotte’s closet; frilly pink camisoles and silky shifts in all colors of the rainbow. Grace probably has terribly cute pajamas – something with cartoon characters on them, playfully mismatching colors, of course. I glare at my dull tank top and collapse into bed.
In the dim lamplight, it’s even easier to imagine Theo’s smell, his body. Blushing furiously, I let my fingers wander. I may be inexperienced, but I’m no stranger to pleasuring myself. In high school it was merely about experimentation, and mechanical release as I quelled my teenage hormones. I still have those hormones, but this is something entirely different. This strange, lingering heat is the first time a boy has ever struck such a cord in my body.
The room only gets hotter, and I only become more breathless.
***
I stare up at Alice’s window and curse myself out. I shoulda listened to Trent and left early. At least then the girl’s dorm would still be unlocked. But now I gotta do everything the old fashioned way, just ‘cause I wanted a little chat with golden-ass Theo.
I pick up a pebble and chuck it, but with my shitty aim it misses. The vodka and cran I had at the party ain’t helping my aim neither. I throw another one, and another, and swear out whatever stuffy old architecture dude decided to make this building three floors. She’s on the second, ninth one down on the left. I know she’s up – the window’s lit by soft lamplight. But she ain’t returning any of my texts. Probably got her pretty head stuck in studying the asscrack of Alexander the Great or something, knowin’ her. Or maybe she’s pissed about me telling her to chill. But I need my homework, and I need it tonight. Ain’t getting it aced by the smartest girl in school just to get an F for not turning it in.
I spot the little weird stone ledges that make the walls look fancy, and grab one. It’s sturdy enough. Between that and the solid drainage pipe, I make my way up seven feet and reach my hand out to knock on the window. But I never quite get to. My eyes get there first and I almost choke.
Through the gauzy curtains I see Alice on her bed, gray tank top hiked above her breasts and her hand in her pants. Her golden hair’s all splayed around her pillow, some of it sticking to her blushing cheeks. I feel like a creepy sleazer for staring, but I can’t tear my eyes away from her perfect chest or her trembling hips. If someone killed me right now, my ghost would probably just keep starin’ forever and not even care. And it’s not the fact she’s gettin’ off that I’m stuck on, it’s the fact she’s so damn pretty doing it. Without her glares and her glasses and her strict, no-nonsense buns, she’s fucking gorgeous. She’s a painting come to life by those stuffy old Renaissance dudes, all milky cream skin and soft curves and angelic goddess beauty. C cups? No, D? Who gives a shit, they’re huge and flawlessly round, with pink nipples so fucking cute I can barely stand it. Her waist ain’t tiny, but it’s still the perfect size for cupping with a hand. Her lips are open a little, her eyes closed. The idiots in her high school musta been out of their fuckin’ minds to have ignored her. Somebody lock Theo up, ‘cause he’s clinically insane for choosin’ Grace over her. Her legs are so goddamn long and strong as they twist in the sheets, and I imagine them on my back, wrapped around me tight like ivory chains I would never, ever try to escape. For a girl who’s got no experience, she’s real good at pleasing herself – every motion her hand makes sends her into a panting frenzy.
My cock lets me know it’s wide awake by tenting my damn pants. If I was woozy from the booze before, I sure as hell ain’t anymore. I’m on point, hard and sharp and aching to pounce. And I’m so distracted I don’t remember I’m standin’ on two inches of plaster. I slip and catch the drainage pipe and ease myself down. When I’m not in the process of fallin’ to my death, I lean against the wall and laugh breathlessly as I realize my crazy hard-on’s still with me, near-death experience and all.
She’s right up there. Alice Wells, smart as a whip and pretty as a goddamn picture, is right above me, fucking herself with those slender fingers I got to hold in the car. I look down at the hand she touched, and groan as I unzip my fly. Halfway to grabbing myself, I shake my head.
“Shit. Shit, what am I doing?”
Am I really gonna get myself off right here, under her window? How creepy and weird can I fucking get? She’s trustin’ me to teach her, not take advantage of her. And jackin’ off to her somehow feels like taking advantage. Peeking in her window and seeing her getting off and getting hard from it all feels like taking advantage of her. Of her innocence, her inexperience. I promised I wouldn’t try to fuck her, didn’t I? She made me promise, the first day. And thinking about fuckin’ her while beating off is just as bad as trying to actually fuck her.
But she’d be perfect. She’d be damn gorgeous under me, and I’d make her beg for it, or with her attitude she’d make me beg for it, or maybe we’d take turns, I don’t fuckin’ know, but my dick sure does. For all her sass and vinegar, I know she’s got that sweet side, the one she reserves for Theo. I’ve seen the blushes. And more than that, I’ve seen her effort. A girl who ain’t never even kissed before must be terrified and uncomfortable, but she’s forcing herself through my lessons anyway. Because that’s just how far she’s willing to go for the guy she likes. She’s willing to sacrifice everything for him – her comfort, her fear, even her precious dignity.
No girl would ever do that for me.
I laugh and mess up my hair. I’m not the kind of guy girls do that for. Girls don’t love me, they lust me. They let me fuck ‘em, sure, but nothi
ng more than that. No heart stuff. No soft stuff. They never stay for breakfast, or they kick me out before breakfast. They know I’m the type to ruin lives, so they keep far away, and they’re right to do it. Don’t wanna ruin anybody’s life like I’ve fucked up mine. I’m not goin’ places anytime fast. Or, as my dear old Pops used to say; ‘The only place you’re goin’ in life is straight to jail, you little bitch’.
I shake my head. I’m a jerk. And if standin’ under this window is any evidence, I’m also a buzzed-ass perv. I somehow make it home by hitchhiking with an old man and his dog as far as the supermarket. I stumble in the apartment door, past the kitchen counter crowded with beer and wine bottles. The whole place smells like macaroni and Monster drinks, the Xbox controllers strewn everywhere. I shuffle past Miranda and Seth’s room and Trent’s room, and collapse into my bed. The white ceiling ain’t nothing but a theater screen for my mind to play memories on. Alice. Alice’s hair, the curve of her tremblin’ hips, the wet glistening bits of her fingers –
I pull myself out and pump furiously. My cock don’t stand a chance.
“I’m s-sorry,” I have the decency to say. “I’m real sorry about this, Princess.”
One last memory of her pretty face lookin’ all flushed and pleased, and I lose it all over my hand, fast and hot and sweet like a wildfire in summer.
Chapter 5
Ranik texts me in the morning to meet him at a certain table outside F-building. He needs his homework for his first period. I jog there, breathless by the time I reach the wrought-iron table. Ranik looks relaxed and arrogant as ever in a leather jacket and his ripped jeans.
“Here,” I pass him the manila folder with his report in it. “Two reports and one essay. Annotated and duplicated for your reference.”
Ranik pulls out a breakfast burrito from his jacket at the same time as he pulls out a few pages from the folder. His green-gold eyes scan the first few lines, and he smiles.
