by Germaine, KF
I wanted to get her hopes up so they could come crashing down in a few months. I was playing the long con with this one. Devious? Yes. Worth every minute I spent planning it? Double yes.
Making my way toward the library, I called Chance.
“What up, asshole?” he answered on the second ring, and I could hear giggling behind him. “Get back here. New chicks stopped by. There’s a little brunette asking about you.”
“Sounds good.” I lied. I was dead tired and just wanted to sleep. “Are they sorority?”
“Yep.”
I rolled my eyes, hoping Chance could see my disgust through the phone. “I’ll be home later. Let the brunette down for me—”
“Jesus, Peters,” Chance chided. “What’s up with your dry spell lately?”
“I have a few things to wrap up on campus,” I said, ignoring his remark.
He was right, of course. I’d lost my mojo recently. I was too wrapped up in my plot to crush dreams.
“Just wanted to pick your brain for a second. Do you remember hearing why Nick Sharbus left the team?”
“No.” A hitch-pitched squeal shot through the phone, and I ripped it from my ear. “All I remember is Nick and Ashton got the boot at the same time.”
“Ashton Williams?”
“Yeah. That third-stringer who wanted to be you so bad we thought he was hitting on you.”
“Yeah.” I rounded on the library building’s parking lot and spotted Sinister’s truck. “What happened to that guy?”
Chance let out a low moan, and my stomach twisted. Couldn’t he at least wait until I was off the phone?
“He’s a loser. Drinks at Smitty’s in the subdistrict all the time. Barner and Echols saw him last weekend taking shot after shot, talking about the good ol’ days… Oh my God… I have to go…” The phone cut out, but the timing was good.
I was about to deliver an early present to the birthday girl.
Chapter Thirteen
“Allison… earth to Allison. Are you okay?”
Allison was frozen on the bed, hands down by her sides, mouth open, displaying her perfect cavity-free teeth. After a few more seconds, she started a slow shake of her head, dramatically smashing her eyes closed, then popped them back open. I could practically see my hideous reflection in them as they glossed over.
“Allison. Snap out if it.” I clapped my hands in front of her face, and she jerked her head back.
“Sorry. I thought I was in the middle of a nightmare, but then I realized. This is real. You are real. What you are about to wear on your twenty-first birthday to a club where you will be on display is real. This is happening, isn’t it?” She pointed a bony finger at me. “You are wearing that in public.”
I nodded, turning to look at myself in the mirror.
I was going to ring in my twenty-first birthday wearing an Iron Man costume.
When I first pulled it out of the box, I thought I was being punked, but then I read the death threat. Not an actual death threat, a death threat to my future and dreams.
It happened like this. It was a cool Tuesday night, after my usual Sunday Lane segment, and I was still shooting rainbows and butterflies out of my ass after receiving that promising letter last week. There was a pink box lying on top of my car, and I thought to myself, How nice. Jack must’ve returned the favor for those maple bars from a couple weeks ago.
Instead of a chocolaty treat (I prefer gummy bears), I found the following letter:
Sydney Porter (alias Sunday Lane),
I am aware of who you are, where you live, and the true identities of the persons you mock over the airwaves. I have detailed notes and will reveal you to the entire campus if you choose to ignore my demands. This is just one of many.
Wear this Halloween costume all night. No alterations. Wear the mask and the repulsor rays as well. I will be watching. Look for the skull mask sitting up front. Do not speak to me or I will release the first podcast related to your “shallow puddle” roommate, Allison Meyers.
Additionally, you will incorporate the following phrase into your set: “This DJ Sucks Cock.” Do not attempt to break apart that phrase. It must be complete.
So anyway, after kicking the side of my truck a hundred times and releasing a colorful array of curses in the empty library parking lot, here I was. Tony fucking Stark.
Just so you get the complete picture, this was a large children’s costume with built-in padded muscles, a glow-in-the dark triangle in the center, plastic repulsor rays that made a piercing noise, and a hard plastic flip-down mask, like a welder would wear.
Today I was of legal drinking age, but I didn’t look a day over seven.
“Why would you choose to go dressed as Iron Man? I didn’t even know you were a fan.” Allison sat up and smoothed her sexy bee costume with her hand.
“Oh, you know. I’ve always had a thing for Robert Downey, Jr., and this just happened to be the right size.” I was already sweating through the bulky padding.
I had to buy time to figure out who my dream assassin was. When I thought back on all my podcasts, my enemy list was long.
Allison stood next to me in the mirror. She had on black high heels, elongating her already long legs, and had plenty of cleavage showing. She looked good. Not necessarily what I would have chosen, but then again, I’m not a shallow puddle.
The shallow-puddle podcast was old. It was back when we first moved in together. Being a junior in an otherwise freshman all-girl dormitory was a weird experience. I didn’t know anyone, so I didn’t want to take a gamble on choosing an off-site location with random roommates. I thought I could experience campus life for the first semester, make some friends, and maybe arrange another living situation for the second semester.
Allison had burst through the door and immediately started hanging up dried corsages from all the past proms she’d attended. When I asked why she had so many, because there are only four potential proms in a high school lifetime. She’d said, “Oh, there were three high schools in my hometown, and I was asked to go to all the proms, every year.”
Then she started with the judgey eyes. Watching me get dressed in clothes she didn’t approve of. Questioning my lack of mascara and foundation. Hemming and hawing about the six million ways my hair could look better.
But now she was my friend. I realized it really wasn’t her fault she’d lived her life around narrow-minded idiots. She started opening up to me about how she really felt about life in general, and now she wore less makeup and slightly baggier clothing. I liked to think that was my influence.
A soft knocking interrupted my train of thought. Flipping down my mask, I opened up the door. As if a major earthquake had hit the building, Jack dropped to his knees and curled into a fetal position. He couldn’t even speak he was laughing so hard. Grabbing his gut, his face was completely red. He pointed up at me with tears in his eyes. “What. The. Hell?” I kicked him in the side and walked out the door.
As directed, I kept my mask down as we walked into the club. Nick, dressed as a hot bartender, looked up from behind the bar. I thought he was going to shoo me out, yelling, “Who let a little fucking kid in here?” But he just watched me walk past and make my way up to the stage.
It was hard to breath in this thing. I was closer to Darth Vader than Iron Man. Raspy noises escaped through the cheap plastic, so using the mic would be a challenge. People were starting to file inside, and in the corner, Rick leaned against the doorway to the office, shaking his head as Jack helped me set up the equipment.
Then Jack leaned into my mask. “Don’t be mad.”
“Why?” I turned, flexing my padded bicep at him. “You tell me anymore bad news and I’m going to beat your ass, Dimebag.”
Jack smiled and jumped off the stage. At a rapid pace, he spat out, “I invited the guys from the team.” Then he ran across the dance floor as I lifted my repulsor rays and shot them repeatedly at his head. Zaps and dinging followed him to a table where Allison sat.
; I smiled as he sat in the chair next to her and leaned in a bit to talk to her. He was talking to a girl. This was a good first step. Then she threw back her head, waving around those bulbous bee antennas attached to her headband, and laughed at whatever Jack was saying. His cheeks rose as he proudly smiled, and damn it, so did mine. That is until they hit the sharp plastic lining of the mask, reminding me of tonight’s fate. I didn’t understand how kids could wear these things.
Molly stepped around the bar, and Nick popped out, heading up to the stage with a water.
Placing it on the booth, he said, “Let me guess. You lost a bet? Or maybe you wanted to start your twenty-first year with a big fuck you to the management? Rick’s shaking his head so hard I think it’s going to break off.” He gave me a confident smile. “Personally, for what it’s worth, I think you look awesome. Hottest Iron Man I’ve ever seen.”
Chapter Fourteen
What can I say?
Sydney Porter can pull off a middle school Iron Man costume like nobody’s business. I knew she’d look hilarious, but I was here to witness, “This DJ Sucks Cock,” and I hoped the effects button would stick on repeat.
Fernando, Katharine, Chance, some blond chick, Allison, Jack, and I sat in a booth at the back of the club, watching Sinister’s set unfold. Apparently, it was a bit difficult to mix with repulsor rays strapped to one’s wrists. Unfortunately, she’d figured out if she turned her hands around, she could use the backs of them to pull the bars across.
When she said things into the microphone, they came out raspy but feminine. A little too sultry for my liking. But I had to chuckle every time she glanced down at the girl in the skull mask, sitting off to the side.
I’d put up a flyer in the drama department offering a hundred bucks if a girl would sit in the front row and stare at the DJ for the night. Of course, the money was wired from a dummy PayPal account as an extra precaution. I had no doubt in my mind Sydney wanted to jump off that stage and punch her in the face.
“Where’s the help in here?” Katharine snapped. She was dressed as a slutty nurse. Very cliché. Very boring. When she realized just opening her trap wasn’t going to magically make a waitress appear, she nudged me hard in the stomach. “Go get us drinks, Gray.” Her self-entitled pout face was enough send me running through the club doors, so welcoming a change of scenery, I made my way to the bar.
Nick was at the rail, staring at Iron Man, and I knocked on the counter to grab his attention.
“Hey, Gray. What’s up?” He peeked around my shoulder. “Katharine DeSonna, huh? Good luck with that one.”
I nodded. Coach’s warning was in the back of my mind. Keep it short and sweet, Peters. “Hey. Can I get a pitcher of whatever’s good on tap and three glasses?”
“Sure, man.” He grabbed an empty pitcher and began to fill it from the nearest tap. “She’s cute, huh?”
“Katharine?”
He shook his head. “No, DJ Sinister. You were just staring at her with a twisted grin on your face. Have you hit that or something? Looks like you’re reminiscing about taking her to Pound Town.”
Cringing at his words, I shook my head. “Nope. No way.”
At that moment, Sinister looked over at us and shot off a half dozen repulsor zaps at my head. I laughed and turned back to collect the pitcher.
Nick was staring at her in a strange way, like a cannibal about to devour a plate of brains. “Well, I’m taking her out tonight after her set. Should be fun.” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively, and I pushed down the lump building in my throat.
“It’s her twenty-first so I want to show her a good time. Here you go.” He slid the glasses and pitcher my way. “On the house.”
I pulled out a twenty. “No thanks, man. I’d rather pay.”
Nick frowned but kept his eyes on Sydney.
“Gotta keep the SpaceRoom in business,” I said, walking backward toward the table. Nick nodded absentmindedly, but his stare at the DJ never faltered.
Katharine watched me the entire way back to the table.
As I sat down, she leaned in and grabbed my arm. “Oh my God, is that Nick Sharbus? I can’t believe he’d show his face around here. He should’ve been kicked out of school a long time ago.”
I began pouring beer in the glasses. “What are you talking about?”
“Puh-lease,” she said, like I should’ve known this already. “I’ve warned all my sisters off him. He has a tried and true method of sleeping with women. Gross.”
My hand tightened around my glass, and I felt a weight pull across my shoulders. “What do you mean, Katharine?”
Her eyes remained wide as she cautiously glanced between Nick and me. “Well, let’s just say he’s a fan of pharmaceuticals,” she whispered, then took a sip of her beer.
Coach’s words popped into my head, and immediately, my eyes darted to Sydney, then over to Jack.
Sister. Shit.
No, I didn’t have a sister, but Jack did. I might want to crush Sydney’s soul, but I didn’t want to stand by the wayside and let her go out with a sleaze like Nick.
“God, look at her.” Katharine had moved off the subject of Predator Nick and onto Sydney. “She looks ridiculous up there. Seriously, why the hell would she wear that? It’s like she doesn’t even give a shit.”
Sydney was jumping around to the music, and every so often she’d flex for the audience and shoot off a repulsor ray. The crowd was eating it up, and she was enjoying herself. Then she yelled into the mic, “Five minutes,” and slipped on a premix.
The mob responded with one long groan, and that’s when I realized I could’ve put her in a Hitler costume and these people would still be on her side. My next move would have to be off her home turf.
“Drool much?”
I turned to find Katharine glaring at me.
“You’re looking at her like you want to rip off that costume.”
I shook my head. “No, I wasn’t. I was just looking into the crowd. There’s a hot chick in a hula girl outfit out there.”
Katharine slammed her glass on the table, sloshing beer over its side.
Sydney headed straight for us, wrapped a padded arm around Jack’s head, and playfully pretended to strangle him. She grabbed a straw off the table and plunked it into her water, pulling it under her mask. I hadn’t seen her face all night, just as my note specified. She took direction well.
She hopped from side to side, listening to the music as Nick walked up behind her. From over her shoulder, he handed her a shot. When he gave her a light slap on the ass, my first impulse was to break every finger in his hand. For Jack, of course. Then he rushed back to the bar.
Easy as pie, Sydney took her straw out of the water and sucked up the shot in two seconds flat, slamming the empty glass upside down on the table.
Glancing in my direction, she tapped her repulsor rays while simultaneously flipping me the bird.
Then she focused on Fernando.
Fernando’s eyes hit the table. He was still embarrassed about the tires. She tenderly rubbed his back, and he looked up. Then she leaned in, whispering something in his ear. He nodded and stood from the table, heading with her into the dancing crowd. Traitor. His three hundred-pound frame nearly shook the roof of the building every time he jumped around.
Eventually, they both moved up the stage, which I expected to collapse under his weight. But as she placed her headphones over Fernando’s ears, my heart began racing in my chest.
Christ, I knew what was coming next.
She splayed out her hand, showing Fernando five fingers, and helped him find the beat to the song by nodding their heads together.
Fernando, poor fool, had a shit-eating grin on his face. Then she tapped a button on the mixer like she was showing him what to do, and walking around his backside, she switched off a knob, disconnecting the sound from the headphones.
Fernando’s eyebrows furrowed and he pointed to the earphones, mouthing something close to I can’t hear. Sinister leaned i
n, whispered something in his ear, and plopped the headphone back down. Giving him a thumbs-up, she hopped off the stage to join the dancers, and Fernando stood there like a moronic elephant, just nodding his head.
“What is he doing?” Chance whispered into my ear, then leaned back chuckling.
“He’s the DJ,” I growled and pounded my beer.
Sydney lifted her hand in the air and counted down from five with her fingers. When she lowered her last finger, Fernando hit the button.
“THIS DJ SUCKS COCK,” rang out through the speakers. The whole crowd looked at Fernando, who now had his eyes closed as he continued to nod his head.
Chance spit his beer in one glorious spray all over the table. Jack’s face was now completely colorless. Katharine, Allison, and the blonde looked at one another and started laughing. I leaned back in my chair, shaking my head, as Sydney danced circles around the paid skull-mask drama girl in the corner.
When the deaf Fernando opened his eyes, the crowd lifted their fists in cock-sucking solidarity.
He grinned and pushed the button again. “THIS DJ SUCKS COCK.” And then again. “THIS DJ SUCKS COCK.” By now, anyone with a cell had it raised, recording Fernando’s declaration to the world.
Chapter Fifteen
“Can you take the mask off now?” Nick asked, sitting next to me in the booth. “Not that I don’t love me some Iron Man, but you’re so much prettier to look at.”
I was just about to take it off, but now I had to wait a few seconds because I was sure my face was the color of cabernet. When I did pull it off, I got a clear look at the bar.
Nick had taken me to the Elbow Room. It was a rundown dive with a jukebox in the corner and the smell of stale cigarettes embedded into the pleather seats.
“Are we meeting your friends?” I asked, shaking out my hair.
“Oh, they bailed.” He rolled his eyes. “But you’re okay with just me, right?”
