by Ami Snow
“No – I'm not much of a drinker, but thanks, Jason –”
“Come on, it's a party!” urged Jason, the plaits of his thick yarn braids swaying over his shoulders underneath a backwards, cobalt-blue baseball cap, fitted on his head, “It's our last blowout before midterms – loosen up.”
“Maybe later,” responded Madeline, pointing at the screen of her phone, “Sorry, I gotta take care of this.”
“Okay, whatever you say,” shrugged Jason, conceding, “If you change your mind, the keg's by the turntables, and there's another cooler of beers 'round back.”
Madeline thanked him and scuffed towards the corner of the open rooftop, holding her bolero close as a blast of wintery air gusted past her cheeks. She exchanged mild pleasantries with a flushed-face, pony-tailed freshman in her Ethics class, patting her awkwardly on the back as the inebriated girl threw her arms around her. She waved goodbye as the girl's friends dragged her away apologetically, and rested her back against the stony ledge.
Madeline pursed her flamingo-pink coated lips, lowering her gaze to the warming device in her hands. Her eyes flashed, her heavy breathing intensifying as she skimmed the pleading, pathetic messages popping up on the display. She groaned, rolling her eyes as Pat Benetar's vindictive, orotund vocals shrilled out of her phone, intermingling with the pounding bass of the generic hip-hop song blaring through the speakers. She took a deep breath, clearing her throat as she answered the call.
“What do you want, Colin? I'm busy –”
“Madeline, baby, listen to me, please, if you'll just let me explain–”
“No, I'm good,” replied Madeline coolly, picking at the dirt under her almond-pointed nails, “I think what I witnessed was plenty explanation –”
“What? I can't hear you –”
Madeline clenched her teeth, repeating, “I said – what I witnessed was plenty – forget it, never mind.”
“Where the hell are you?” demanded Colin from the other end of the line. She wrinkled her nose at the unmerited, piqued intonation of his voice.
“I'm on the rooftop,” said Madeline flatly, the corners of her lips twitching, privately relishing the influx of emotions stirring at the opposite end of the line. She braced herself for the impact from the simple words, holding the receiver a few inches from her ear.
“Son of a – you're at Greg Hill's party aren't you? AREN'T YOU?! Thought you said you wouldn't ever set foot at a coed party – honestly, you're gonna go act like a whore when we haven't talked anything out yet –”
“Really?” Madeline seethed, twiddling with the glitter-sprayed strands of hair framing her face, loosened from the messy bun atop her head, “You're gonna turn this around on me? Typical. Bye, Colin. We're done here.”
“No, wait, please, Madeline, I –”
Madeline clicked off Colin's imploring whines and pocketed her phone, beaming triumphantly. She extended her neck, the soft fold under her chin wobbling gently as she raised her chin, peering through the yo-yoing heads of the horde on the makeshift dance floor as the sweaty faces vulgarly thrashed their limbs to the beat of the music. She skirted past the crowd of dancers and plowed through the piling cups of crumpled cups and precious puddles of dispensed beer.
The heels of her floral d'orsays crunched against the garish red plastic as she stepped towards Jason. He had his back to her, engaged in boorish conversation with the hooded DJ by the direct-drive turntable. The pair guffawed as they ricocheted obscene comments about the oblivious, scantily-clad young women convulsing to the beat, their slackened expressions highlighted by the liquor-induced rouge kissing their cheeks. Madeline tapped Jason gingerly on the shoulder, her lips curling in a meek smile as he turned to face her.
“I think I'll have that drink now.”
“'Atta girl,” approved Jason, grinning. He injected a fresh disposable cup with foamy beer and added a few cubes of ice from the cooler. He handed the beer to Madeline, the golden hoop in his ear glinting under the brazen glow of the full moon, dangling above them upon a scenic panorama of diamond-speckled sky.
Madeline took a sip of the beer, stifling a gag at the fizzy bitterness lingering on the tip of her tongue. She forced a smile, brandishing a weak thumbs-up before Jason turned back to the DJ. She casually retreated a few steps, holding her cup against her chest. She quickly tipped the cup over the ledge, the remnants of the blanche-yellow liquid splashing upon the whispering oak trees below them. She peeked over the edge worriedly before turning back to the pair. Her nose slowly wrinkled, a thick, pungent odor with the hinted thumbprints of citrus, wafting into her nostrils.
Madeline's curious gaze settled on the thick, papered roll wedged between Jason's lips, the end of the joint smoldering amber as he took a deep, wistful drag. He grinned, the smoke rings floating out his parted lips, warped by the blowing wind. He offered her the blunt, his smoky, complacent eyes narrowing in encouragement.
“Oh – no, thanks – I don't –”
“Alrighty – you just look like you could use a bit of mellowing out.”
Madeline clucked thoughtfully, her ears ringing as she eyed the burning log of paper clinched between the DJ's fingers fingertips. She took the blunt from his fingertips and took a drag, immediately withdrawing. She squeezed her eyes shut, kneading at her burning throat as deep, hacking coughs rumbled out of her lips.
“Easy there – you a'ight?”
“I'm – I'm fine,” sputtered Madeline, passing the joint to the DJ, wiping her lips. She groaned, mentally smacking herself in the head at the greasy, pinkish glob on the back of her palm. She wiped off the excess smudges around her lips, smiling sheepishly, “Yeah – sorry, I've never done –”
“Alright guys – party's over! STOP, HANDS ON YOUR HEADS, ALL OF YOU!”
Madeline gasped, her palms perspiring furiously as her head swayed back and forth. Her eyes bulged as the blinding beam of several flashlights pierced through the darkness. The blaring music culminated to an abrupt stop, the screeching halt on the turntables almost comical. She staggered backwards as Jason tossed the roach of the blunt towards her in a panic, cupping it in her hands. She watched, her eyebrows skyrocketing as Jason and the DJ sprinted towards the scattering horde of miscreants, blending in with the crowd as they fled the scene.
Madeline clamped her mouth shut, finally coming to her senses. She lifted her feet off the ground, clunking clumsily towards the open rooftop doors.
“Hold it right there –”
Madeline cringed as cold, sweaty fingers interlocked around her arm in a firm grip. She jolted backwards, sighing in defeat. She looked away, squinting from the glaring brilliance of the flashlight, flickering against her eyes. The portly man with a homely bowl-cut and puce-brown campus security attire, tutted under his breath, bending over. He reached for the roach that slipped out her clammy grasp, rolling to a stop under his boot.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
Madeline's bottom lip trembled, fidgeting with her thumbs nervously as she prattled,“It's not mine, I know how it sounds, but I was honestly just holding it for a friend –”
The security guard snorted, the nostrils of his piggish snout enhancing, “Lamest excuse in the book. Hand over your school ID, missy – you're coming with me.”
Chapter Two –
“No cookies for us today girls, we – oh my god, Madeline! How are you?”
“Hey, Emma.”
Madeline smiled contritely at her best friend and neighbor since elementary school, Emma Benson. Emma looked at her with genuine surprise, an uncapped tube of liquid eyeliner in hand. Her jade-green eyes widened, one accentuated with an arabic flick, the other undone, her eyebrows slightly peaked. Madeline noticed the freshly trimmed edges to her new, edgy razor-cut, her choppy bangs swept aside, grazing her rounded eyebrows, her tame smile brightening.
“What's up, Maddie? What're you doing here? Is something wrong?”
Madeline's eyes darted from side to side. She scrounged through
her flame-stitched duffel bag, pulling out a crumpled letter. She smoothened the letter over her chest, peering at Emma desperately, “I got suspended for two weeks – can I come in? I don't want my folks seeing me outta school, I actually just grabbed this letter outta their mailbox –”
“Of course, come in – sorry, I was just getting ready for work, but we can talk in the kitchen. We gotta keep it down, though – Dad's up in his study, working on another article.”
“Of course,” agreed Madeline, dropping her voice to a whisper as she stepped through the doorway, “You look great by the way. Love the new do.”
“Thanks, Maddie. Go ahead into the kitchen and help yourself to some lemonade in the fridge – there's some fresh glasses in the dishwasher. I'll be right back, just gonna go even out this eye.”
Madeline wandered into the kitchen, setting her duffel bag next to the tall stool by the counter. She poured herself a glass of lemonade from the pitcher in the fridge and sunk into the cushion of the stool. She gulped down the cold, animating refreshment, wincing from the twinge of lemon. She unfolded the suspension letter and spread it out across the cool tiles of the kitchen counter, her heart sinking further into the pit of her stomach as she reread the emboldened lines and the official-looking, zigzagging signatures across the page, cementing her suspension.
“So what kind of shenanigans have you gotten yourself into at that penitential excuse of a college?” inquired Emma, snorting as she moseyed into the room, her face matted with powder and uniformly made up. She set a tub of hair volumizer onto the kitchen counter and scooped a dollop of peanut-brown clay into her palms.
“My first college party and I got busted,” groaned Madeline, pouring herself another glass of lemonade.
“A party? Well, look at you, living the college life. Man, you poor thing – I'm sorry you got stuck at Palm Beach Messiah College. They're smothering your potential, it should be a crime. Honestly, I don't know how you don't resent your folks.”
“I know,” intoned Madeline robotically, “Two more years to go – then I can successfully say I've done everything they wanted and finally be free to live my life. Just gotta stick it out two more years – it won't be that bad – I hope.”
“I admire you,” said Emma, shaking her head as she glanced at her reflection on a hanging metal skillet, “You've got conviction for days, hon. Anyway, how wild was this party, anyway? Can't be too bad –”
“Oh, you'd be surprised at how crazy the religious types get when they wild out. That innocent Christian school girl gone wild myth? Turns out – myth, confirmed. Anyway, got busted for underage drinking and a blunt that wasn't even mine – hey, it's not funny.”
“I'm sorry,” chortled Emma, beaming, “Your luck amazes me. So how does Colin fit into all this – is he suspended, too?”
“No,” Madeline avowed darkly, “We're over, and I don't want to talk about it right now, maybe when you get back from work?”
“Oh, Maddie, I'm sorry,” said Emma consolably, “My shift doesn't end till 1 in the morning, and I'll be back around 1:30 or so, then we can talk – I'll pick up a pint of rocky road for us to share on the way home.”
“Sounds great. I'll wait up.”
“In the meantime, you should probably camp out in my room. Go ahead and use my laptop to keep yourself entertained for the day. Dad barely comes out his room, but just in case. We're still on for the cookout at your folks' place this weekend, right?”
“Yup,” replied Madeline, rolling her eyes, “That should be intense, but I aim to tough it out – I have to.”
“It's not so bad,” shrugged Emma, applying a coat of portrait pink to her lips, “I mean your folks are a bit overwhelming but I always look forward to the cookouts – it's the only time I actually get to see you – now that we've got crazy different schedules and all and barely get to hang out anymore. Plus, your dad makes a mean burger.”
“His grilling skills are pretty impressive.”
Tyler Benson lingered outside the kitchen, pearls of sweat garnering in the cusps of his palms as he eavesdropped on his daughter's conversation. He had decided to take a break from the dubious article writing, mesmerizing phosphene spots swirling in his eyes after several hours of gazing at the computer screen. And now, here he stood, his desire for a glass of pulp-filled orange juice completely blanking over as he pored over the stunning young woman his daughter's best friend had blossomed into. He couldn't help but stare, the verboten, sparking attraction overpowering the better of his judgement. He ran his tongue over his flaking lips as he fixated on her taboo, piercingly alluring features.
Tyler observed as Madeline rose from behind the kitchen counter, his eyes widening as she stretched her arms over her head. The shadows of her bountiful cleavage deepened upon the v-neck of her halter dress, the turquoise blue of the fabric hugging the generous curves of her voluptuous silhouette. Tyler stirred, a soft, titillating moan of satisfaction pealing out her kissable, russian-red painted lips, the small beauty mark on the side of her upper lip quivering. He wondered how he had never noticed the womanly grace she unwittingly possessed, the delicate way she combed through her honey-blonde tresses and the way her mid-parted bangs fell prettily upon her thick eyebrows, stopping short above her salient set of downturned, chestnut-brown eyes.
Tyler swallowed, shrinking against the wall as Emma pecked Madeline on her cheek before snatching up her tote bag and heading out for work. He hovered against the wall for a few more moments, his breathing calculated and his mind whirring. He took a deep breath, craning his neck into the kitchen. Madeline was bent over, loading the dirty glasses into the dishwasher. His gaze loitered on the curvaceous, beautifully rounded contour of her cheeks, pressing against the fitted fabric of her dress. He snapped out of his daze, clearing his throat audibly.
Madeline froze, her eyes bugging out and her shoulders tensing as she slowly turned around, coming face to face with Mr. Benson, Emma's father. She rubbed at her elbows nervously, her lips curling in a shaky, anxious smile.
“Afternoon, Mr. Benson – lovely to see you again, I –”
“Come see me in my study.”
Chapter Three –
Madeline stepped through the threshold of Tyler's chilly, air-conditioned study, pulling her cardigan close. She twiddled with her thumbs uneasily, her knees slightly wobbling as Tyler crossed the room wordlessly and seated himself upon his taupe, upholstered armchair. She averted his calm, incisive stare, the tips of her fingers tingling as she strived to keep her cool. She was overwrought with an unbridled sense of worry, interlaced with a tinge of exhilaration at the intrusive thought of standing in a room with her childhood crush, the first man she had secretly pined for.
Madeline elevated her ambivalent gaze, blinking as she stared at the unreasonably attractive man, nearing his fifties. Tyler had naturally wavy, dark hair, streaked with silvery grays, parted down the middle, effortlessly tousled over his prominent, diamond-like facial structure. He stroked the untamed stubble on his chin, his deep-set, beguiling, hazel eyes, peering at her pensively behind large, squared frames. She swooned internally, wondering how he still managed to evoke unconstrained sexiness whilst dressed in a licorice-black, ratty bathrobe that once boasted sleek velvet felt, pulled over a stained, yet form-fitting white shirt.
“It's good to see you again, Madeline, but you wanna tell me what you're doing here when you're supposed to be at school?”
“Right, about that,” muttered Madeline, retrieving the crumpled suspension notice from the pocket of her cardigan. She slid it across the sandcastle-white surface of his ash wood desk.
Tyler skimmed through the contents of the paper with his eyes, his eyebrows raising further with each passing line. He glanced up at Madeline, lifting an eyebrow, “Suspension? What were you doing? Never figured you to be the troublemaker type.”
“I, uh, it was a party,” stuttered Madeline, nibbling her bottom lip agitatedly, “Mr. Benson, you gotta believe me, I've never been to a party or
anything of the like – it was my first time –”
“That's what they all say,” chuckled Tyler, leaning back in his armchair.
“Well, it's true,” insisted Madeline, her cheeks flushing, “Please, Mr. Benson, don't tell my parents, they'll freak out –”
“They will,” agreed Tyler, noticing the natural hint of blush tinting her high cheekbones, “They won't be pleased, that's for sure.”
“Please,” repeated Madeline, her eyes welling with tears of desperation, “They'll never let me live it down, I'll be –”
“You've grown into quite the young woman.”
“–grounded for life – wait, what?” gasped Madeline, her ears ringing.
The corners of Tyler's lips turned in a slow, deliberate smile as he eyed her from head to toe, his head cocked to the side. Madeline's heart thundered against her chest, the splitting ringing in her ears severing. Her eyelids fluttered as she gazed back at him in confusion, a dilatory tickling of arousal gathering inside of her as she felt his yearning, longing gaze searing into every inch of her flesh. She swallowed, purposely loosening her cardigan, exposing the plumpness of her cleavage. She shivered as his hazel eyes glistened, zooming into the lure of her chest.
“You were discussing camping out in my daughter's room without my knowledge, correct? How long were you intending to keep this up?”
“I'm sorry, Mr. Benson, I – I was desperate, I didn't know where else to go. Please don't call my Dad –”
