by Nora Flite
Gawking at me over the top of the door was a young woman, maybe my age. Her hair was a mess of blonde ringlets, thick eyeliner piled on to match her dramatic crimson lips. The lines on her forehead spoke a weird mixture of shock and disgust. “It is you!” she gasped, fingers digging into the wood.
I'd removed my sunglasses in the safety of the room. Now, faced with the seeking stare of a stranger, I wished I hadn't. The girl flicked her accusing look from my pale face, down to my right arm; I knew she was eyeing my tattoo. I'm an idiot. Of course someone would recognize my tattoo.
Narrowing my eyes, I blindly felt around for my sneakers. “What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!”
“You're really her,” she whispered.
I crouched, shoving my feet into my shoes. Yes, I thought while I tangled the laces. Yes, I'm her. I'm the new guitarist for Four and a Half Headstones, Lola Coop—
“You're the fucking bitch who's trying to steal our Drezden away!”
My world slowed down around me. It took a great effort to raise my chin and gape up at the contorted rage in the blonde's expression. “I don't—what?” Bitch? Stealing?
I could see the gums in her mouth; bloodless, drained in tight fury. “Yeah! That's you! It's all over the fan sites, pictures of you throwing yourself at him after the show last night! How dare you try that, isn't it selfish to take our Drezden away? Isn't it?”
My brain was struggling to keep up. When I stood, I did it with such patience I might as well have been facing a rabid dog. This girl had me cornered, she was unpredictable. “Who are you?”
Not answering me, the blonde dropped down out of view. I heard the 'beep' of a phone, the tell-tale clicking of someone typing furiously. “I'm letting my friends know I found you.”
In a surge of panic, I grappled for the lock on my changing room. The door bent outward, then mashed back into place as the girl shoved it closed. Together, we fought for what we both desperately desired. I need to get out of here! I thought wildly. If this crazy girl gets her crazier friends here, I don't want to imagine what they'll do to me!
Did they honestly think I had stolen Drezden from them?
“Let me out!” I shouted, unable to keep my fear from taking over. It sank like poison into my body, demanding I shove and kick and claw at the door. I was trapped, and every part of me felt the impending danger like it was a slow death. I'd been here before, pinned in a bathroom at school, mocked by girls who delighted in torturing me.
I couldn't do this again.
I wouldn't.
Slamming my shoulder on the door, I heard the girl's surprised squeak. But it wasn't me she was scared of. “Get away from there!” Brenda screamed, filling me with relief.
“You get away, you dumb fucking—hey!”
Instantly the changing room opened. Stumbling out, chest thrumming for air, I saw why. My manager had the blonde by the arms, pinning her on the floor with effort. Those chocolate eyes shot to me, bursting with worry. “Are you hurt, Lola? What did she do to you?”
The stranger bent her neck, glaring at me with unbridled hate. I met that look evenly, fighting to keep the waver out of my voice. “Nothing. She didn't do a thing to me.” The blonde struggled until Brenda pushed her back down. “She was calling her friends to tell them I'm here, though. I think we should leave.”
Understanding flashed across my manager's face. “Right.” Eyeing the empty changing area, she jumped to her feet and scrambled backwards. “Don't follow us, Blondie, or I'll get you charged with stalking. Lucky for you, I'm feeling strangely generous today.”
Generous? No, I realized, Brenda knows we don't have the time to get the police involved, we need to leave, and fast. It was hard for me to look away from the girl. She sat up, glaring directly at me over her shoulder. The fact she had no parting words left me tipping on the edge of panic. I would have preferred if she'd just said something to me.
Gripping my wrist, shoving her own sunglasses onto my face to hide me, Brenda yanked me back into the store. “Come on,” she hissed. "If that girl did call her friends, we need to move.”
Nodding quickly, I sped up to keep pace. In my skull, the hateful words kept blossoming up. You're that bitch. You stole him. My mouth tasted like pennies; I eased my teeth apart, knowing I'd opened the old tongue wound.
Through the mall we moved at one-step slower than a run. Every set of eyes, every face, terrified me. A group of girls by a fountain, a woman standing too near, everyone was a potential danger; a possible enemy out to harm me.
To be recognized in public was one thing, to be a source of disgust...
It wasn't something I had imagined while dreaming of becoming a rock star.
Outside, the cold air was a taste of freedom. I was pulling Brenda now, forcing her towards the car. I didn't let go until I was inside, the slamming of the door a great comfort. In the bubble of the vehicle, I heard my own heavy panting. “You alright?” she asked, keys jingling in the ignition.
My gaze roamed to those fingers of hers, her perfect nails. I'd left indents on the skin of her arm from my grip; it was a cold slap. “Oh no, I'm so sorry, I—”
“Forget it.” And she meant it, there was no space to argue. Watching me seriously, free of any smiles, Brenda made it clear she didn't want my apology. In that instant, I respected her, loved her, in a way I never expected. “Let's just get out of here.”
“I'd like that, yeah.” Brushing my hair back, I felt the oily sweat on my forehead. “Shit. I can't believe that even happened.”
“What exactly happened? I came to check on you, then I saw that girl blocking you in the stall, but...” Glancing in her mirror, Brenda froze. “Son of a bitch.”
Twisting in my seat, I spotted the car that had rolled up behind us. It was full of women, and I didn't need confirmation that they were the ones the blonde had called. They were pointing, yelling behind the windows. How did they know this was our car? “Drive, Brenda! Go, just go!”
“You think?” She slammed on the gas, rattling my spine with the inertia. We tore through the parking lot at record speeds, and the entire time, I kept my attention on the girls. It baffled me that they weren't following. I squinted at them until they became shapes that vanished in the distance.
Brenda didn't pull onto the freeway, an action that prompted me to gape at her. “Where are we going?”
She turned down a side road with a quick jerk of the wheel. “Going where they could easily follow us would be idiotic. The highway is a straight shot, too risky.”
“Right,” I said numbly. “Yeah. Okay.” I was faced with my own naivety. Stalkers, escape plans, what was all of this? Glory and fame, that's what being a rock star should be. Peering into the side-mirror nervously, I expected headlights to appear behind us any second. Not running away from people who want to harm you.
Brenda didn't slow down for a long time. When she did, it felt like the sign that we were out of hot water. “You alright over there?” she asked.
I answered with a dry laugh. “Not exactly.”
“Feels weird, doesn't it?”
“What, fleeing from maniacs? That girl back there... she looked at me with such hate. How could that be possible? She doesn't even know me.”
“She knows the Lola Cooper from last night.” Turning our car around the bend of a quiet street surrounded by trees, my manager shot me a look. “Don't be so surprised. Lots of people find it easy to hate a girl who has it all, especially if they think she doesn't deserve it.”
Pain stabbed through my chest. Lots of people find it easy to hate me? I was close to laughing, closer to crying. “It shouldn't feel so new to me when you put it that way.”
The sudden jolt that rocketed through the car interrupted our conversation. “Oh, seriously?” she cried, slamming on the breaks. I braced myself, only bouncing forward slightly.
“What, what is it?” I gasped, darting stares all around, expecting hateful teenagers to descend on us.
Brenda was half-
way out of the car. “I think it was—yeah, no, it was. Fucking tire, dammit!”
Following her out, I spotted the source of her anger. The back left tire was shredded, useless. Covering my mouth, I crouched beside her on the empty road. “Did we hit a nail or something?”
Fingering the rubber, Brenda wrinkled her nose. “If 'something' means a knife, then yeah, guess we hit one.”
A knife. The implication was horrifying. “You mean someone did this on purpose.”
Dusting off her knees, she straightened and dug for her phone. “I'm guessing it was those idiotic girls back there. Are they insane? We could have been seriously hurt!”
It felt impossible to look away from the ruined tire. Someone—maybe multiple someones—didn't even care if we got killed. The pattern of my heart was erratic. “They must have been following us from before,” I said softly. "All the way from the grocery store."
Turning, cellphone to her ear, my manager leveled a look of disbelief at me. "What?"
“It's the only way they'd have had time," I explained hesitantly.
Her face was stone. Not responding to me, she spoke into the phone. “Hey, it's me. The car just busted a tire. Send someone down Pine Creek, off of—yeah. Yeah, not far from the mall. Just hurry, the show is in a few hours, and... yeah. Mmhmm. Fine, thanks.”
Shivering in spite of the warm air, I reached for my phone on reflex. “I should call Drez, let him know what happened.”
“No, you should not do that.” Popping the trunk, Brenda tugged out two bottles of water. “It'll only make him freak out. Last thing I need is him hijacking a car and driving around in a panic looking for us.”
“Would he really do that? I could just say we're fine, someone is coming for us.”
Lifting an eyebrow, Brenda tossed me a water. “This is Drezden Halifax. He won't trust someone else to handle this. Let him be, it won't take long for someone to reach us and change the tire.”
Groaning, stiff like I'd been in a fight, I stood. The water was heavy in my hand. “I kind of hate that you won't let me call him.”
Stepping around the car, she settled on the hood. “Just trust that I know best. I swear I'm suggesting this for a reason, not to be a jerk.”
With resignation, I sat beside her on the car. The water was fresh, welcome on my sticky tongue. “I know you aren't being a jerk. I just—I don't know.”
“You want to talk to him.”
Turning my head, I was faced with her knowing smile. “Yes.”
She stretched languidly across the car. “Take a breath. You'll see him tonight, and knowing Drez, when he gets his claws back in you it'll be hard tearing you two apart.” Shutting one eye, Brenda grinned at my glowing blush. “Sorry, trying to ease the tension some.”
“I know.” Fluffing my hair off my neck, I relaxed the tightness in my shoulders. “That whole thing was pretty insane.”
Brenda considered me for a long moment. “Earlier, you mentioned not being surprised about being hated. What did you mean?”
Ah, shit. Tucking my chin, I hid behind my wall of dark hair. “It was nothing, just something that crossed my mind.”
The car creaked, a hand closing on my elbow. Gently, Brenda guided me backwards until I was half-stretched beside her on the hood. “It was more than that. Something happened to you before, similar to this.” My muscles became steel, and I knew my wide-eyes gave it all away to her. “Yeah,” she said softly, “I'm right, aren't I? Lola, talk to me. Tell me what happened.”
Faces.
Everyone laughing.
“It's nothing. Nothing at all,” I muttered. Breaking free of her, I crumpled forward with my knees by my ears. I was a stone gargoyle—or I wished I was. If I was perched high on a building, I could protect myself from her prying questions.
Recalling how Brenda had chased down the bag-boy earlier in order to tip him, then how she'd taken me shopping—even if it had gone poorly—I let out a tiny puff of air. Brenda just wants to help. That's who she is, I can't be angry at her for that.
She was watching me. I appreciated her quiet patience. Brushing my hair from my cheek, I turned just enough to meet her gaze. “You really want to know about this? It's... heavy stuff.”
“Of course I want to know,” she said firmly. "But only if you want to tell me. Hell, it'll give us something to talk about while we sit here, right?”
Trying to smooth the tension again. I copied her smile, but laughter evaded me. “Alright. But remember, you asked for it.” Draping an elbow over my knee, my attention went to the scrawling tattoo across my right forearm. It was there to remind me of who I was. I'd need it, if I was going to talk about who I'd been.
Taking a breath so big it made me woozy, I grasped at that last fragment of ignorance—this little moment where Brenda didn't know a thing about my past. Then, with a simple parting of my lips, my secrets dripped off my tongue. “I was never supposed to be born.”
Brenda sat up, unable to hold back her surprise. “Oh, Lola, that...” I could feel her struggling to talk to me, to rationalize what I'd said. “I'm sure that isn't right.”
Cocking my head sent my hair scrambling down my shoulder like insect legs. “I don't mean I was just an accident. Nothing that simple.” The disgust in my voice clearly unsettled Brenda. “My mother cheated on my father. He knew because he'd had a vasectomy after Sean was born. It's how everyone knew.”
Everyone.
The word was sharp in my skull.
In front of me, Brenda squirmed. I said, “It wasn't possible to disguise it. Small towns, you know? My parents would have aborted me if they weren't so strongly against it. Instead, they let me become their shameful burden.” I spat that last word out. “I was living proof of their broken marriage. Of my mother's weakness.”
“It wasn't your fault!” she insisted.
“That never mattered to anyone.” Brenda reached out to brush my hand where it rested on the car. Like she was made of fire, I jerked away. “Like I said, everyone knew about it, even the other kids. It just got worse as I got older. Especially when I entered high school.”
“Why would high school—”
“The man my mother had the affair with was the fucking principal.” Grimacing, I wrenched my hair off my neck and held it in a painful knot. I imagined every single hair tugging at its root, threatening to rip free. “His daughter, she was the same age as me. She hated me the most. I don't really get why—not exactly. Maybe she was just channeling the rage and humiliation of her own mother. Either way, I suffered for it.”
“That's awful!” Brenda gasped. I hadn't noticed her inching closer; a manicured hand suddenly clamped down on my shoulder. Going stiff, I managed not to shove her away. “You did nothing wrong. Someone had to realize a child was being punished for no reason, did no one step in?”
“The town blamed my mother for the scandal, but they all took it out on me—everyone but Sean.” My mind's eye flickered with my brother's grin. “He was there to step in when I was being bullied. Sean always came to help me.”
No. Not always.
That time everything fell to pieces... when those girls took my guitar and busted it... In Brenda's grip, my fingers twitched—she squeezed back sympathetically. My first guitar had meant so much to me. It had been Sean's hand-me-down, but it had been mine.
And then they broke it.
And then I broke them.
Blood, busted knuckles; my veins raced, reliving the day I'd finally snapped and fought back. The day I had stood up for myself and risked losing everything.
And Sean wasn't there to help at all. Not then. Where was he that day? Why wasn't he around when I—when I...
Her hand tightened. “Your face just went from almost happy to defeated again.”
I debated telling her about how I'd almost gone to juvenile detention, that it had taken a miracle I still didn't understand to convince my parents to keep me out of it. They, of all people, had loved the idea of hiding me away.
; No, she doesn't need that part of my past. “This conversation started because you wanted to know why I'd be used to people hating me.” I tugged away from her, hating how sadness bloomed in her eyes. I didn't want anyone else to be sad over this. I was plenty sad enough. “Here's the thing. I'm not used to it, not really. I never magically adjusted to the hate. I just dove down inside myself, made a shell, found things to—to distract me from everything.”
Shivering, I ran a fingertip over the inside of my right arm. I could feel the slightly raised edges of old scars, pretended they were the texture of my tattoo's castle walls.
Brenda moved her eyes down to my ink. She didn't voice her suspicion, but the flash of pity in her face told me she knew. My manager realized I was hinting at how I used to cut myself.
Good, I thought selfishly. Now I don't need to say it out loud. Yes, Brenda. I was that kind of fucked up person. My palm crushed over my right wrist until the skin went white. But not anymore.
Not anymore.
“What changed?” Brenda asked suddenly. Her voice was hushed, as if I was a deer who'd bolt any second. Realizing that she was actually scared of ruining this raw, honest peek into my personality... I blinked. Then I blinked again.
My laughter began as a chuckle, quickly sending me into shakes that made me hug myself to slow them down. Brenda's mouth contorted in shock. Seeing her make such a hilarious face was too much; tears prickled at the corners of my eyes.
“Lola! Are you okay? What's happening here?”
"Sorry, it's just..." Rubbing at my cheeks, I smiled helplessly. “You asked me what changed.” Reaching out, I closed my fingers over her own. “The answer might make you laugh, too.”
She took a slow, deep breath. “I'm ready for some laughter, go ahead.”
The tattoo on my arm flexed when I made a fist. What happened that turned my life around? What saved me from falling further into a pit so dark no one could have pulled me out of it?
With genuine sincerity in my voice, I looked at Brenda and said, “I heard Drezden sing.”
