Brutal Precious
Page 14
Even if I’m all alone.
Diana watches me laugh, smiling, and sits beside me. It’s then I confirm my suspicions – only a total weirdo would continue to hang out with someone who puked on her shoes, then rolled down a hill like a sugar high hamster and laughed about it. Diana could be a serial killer. Or a genuinely nice person. Both the sort of people who shouldn’t be hanging around yours truly.
“You’re crying,” she says offhandedly, picking a dandelion and blowing the fuzz away. I wipe my face.
“I’ve been doing it a lot lately. Because, you know. Crying is fun. If you think about it like Splash Mountain for your eyes.”
Diana giggles. I stand up, brushing grass off my sculpted abs.
“Anyway, it’s been fun but I must go and contemplate the fact I might be losing my f**king marbles.”
Diana shrugs. “I think you’re just scared. It’s scary. College. We can do anything. We can fail or flunk, or drink or smoke or have sex, and no one cares. We’re not kids anymore. There’s no parents here. Whatever happens in our future, happens because of the choices we make now. That’s real scary.”
I watch her face. She hugs her knees.
“And seeing exes you haven’t seen for a long time is scary, too.”
I lose all will to leave, and flop down beside her. The last thing I wanna be right now is alone. We watch the sunset rip through the sky with fire and velvet.
“Boys are weird,” Diana concludes sagely.
“I don’t know anything about boys except they make weird noises sometimes,” I say.
“That’s called speaking.”
“Oh.”
Diana squints at me. “If he did something bad, I can punt him for you.”
“You usually go around mercenarily offering to punt people?”
“I have four little brothers. It’d be a waste to let my talents wither.”
It’s my turn to chuckle. Voices make me jump. I shoot a wary look up the hill, but it’s just a crowd of loud obnoxious girls shrieking as they pass.
“I really didn’t wanna live constantly looking over my shoulder again,” I sigh. “It was shitty in Florida and it’ll be shitty here.”
“I would say ignore him, but I guess that’s easier said than done, huh?”
I nod. Diana picks at a blade of grass. I’m about to say something deep and profound and possibly life-changing when Yvette’s clear, strong voice cuts between us. A guitar case is strapped to her back, pink hair matching the sunset.
“Oyyyyy! You coming to the show or what, numbnuts?”
I stand, shakily. I shoot one last look back at the cafeteria. The choker of thorns around my neck is gone, now. He’s gone. I’m safe. For now. Diana stands with me, and I smirk at her.
“On a scale of one to duh, how much do you like music?”
-6-
3 Years
47 Weeks
1 Day
Emel Hall is a massive glass and wood contraption built by rich wrinkly alumni who wanted to see their name on something large and impressive before they kicked the bucket. The music majors and people who like Bright Eyes too much hang around here pretty much 24/7, and they’re the ones who put this whole thing on. It’s a battle of the bands type of deal; handfuls of grungy college kids with aspiring indie bands performing on a stage to a likewise college crowd. Alcohol isn’t allowed, but people sneak it in water bottles and flasks, laughing and sloshing about like waterlogged pirates. With trust funds. And essays due the next day. Not that pirates wrote essays. But if they did¸ it would be about singing parrots and knife-fights and fat booty of the not-woman kind, or possibly simultaneously of the woman kind and the treasure kind, because, well, pirates.
“Hold this for me. Take pictures of me on it. I want to see my own awesome live in Technicolor.” Yvette shoves a phone into my hand. Diana, looking a little lost but sweetly excited, giggles.
“Are you in a band?” She asks. Yvette looks at her like she’s just seeing her for the first time.
“U-Uh, yeah. Um. Major Rager.”
“It’s not that good of a party,” I correct. “There aren’t enough people getting naked.”
“Major Rager is the band name, dork,” Yvette nudges me. “I’m late – we’re next. If SOMEONE had been answering her phone instead of making me run around campus looking for her –”
“I told you! The government is listening to everything I say. I’ve switched to smoke signals.” There’s a pause. “Their texting plan is obscenely cheap. And arson-y.”
Yvette rolls her eyes and wades through people towards backstage. Diana and I watch the current band shred the hearts of the crowd as their lead guitarist rips out an ear-rending solo.
“She’s cute,” Diana shouts to me.
“Not as cute as me!” I shout back. “Wait, who are we talking about again?”
“Your friend. Yvette’s her name?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s my roommate. I sort of infect everything I touch like that. She’s going to get even cuter as my spores take over her body and turn her into my willing minion.”
Diana giggles. I pause.
“I’m not actually that evil.”
“I know,” she says. “Evil people don’t cry as much as you do.”
I didn’t used to cry so much, and I want to tell her that, but I realize the story would be too long. You could fit it in, like, at least three books. So instead I contemplate whether Diana meant Yvette’s cute in the general adorable girl way or the ‘hey baby, you’re 2 cute get in my bed’ way. The sudden vastness of where I am hits me just as the enormous exhaustion of an emotionally draining day decides to punch me. It’s a one-two combo and I mumble an excuse and stumble through the crowd, finding relief outside, where people smoke and the music isn’t quite as shouty. I hug my knees to my chin and watch the moon rise over the quieting campus. This is my home now, but it doesn’t feel like home. When does it start to feel like home?
“When you start feeling safe,” a voice cuts in. My ears know it before my eyes do and I suddenly regret coming out here, coming to this school, and living in general.
Nameless smiles down at me, hands hooked casually in his jean pockets. He is tall and wrapped in shadow and my fingertips go numb. He sits beside me, the paralysis creeping from him in static waves and flooding me up to my eyes.
“But you’ll never feel safe here, will you? Not with me around.” Nameless looks at me, straight on in the eyes, and some deep part of me curls in on myself, waiting for the inevitable hurt.
“Why?” I manage through tight lips.
Nameless shrugs, brushing hair from his eyes. “My aunt and uncle – Wren’s parents – are here in Ohio. Mom felt better about sending me here where there’s family. I wanted to go to UCSD, but, you know. You can’t have everything you want in life always. And even if you do get it, you might regret it. But you know that already, huh?”
He smiles at me, all teeth, and I start shaking, my legs and my arms and my neck quivering uncontrollably.
“Real sorry to hear about your friend,” Nameless sighs. “He prodded at my firewalls for the longest time. Annoying bug. What was his name? John? Jake? Whatever, he’s gone now. He hasn’t poked me for months, and your high school’s records showed he stopped coming towards the end. Must’ve sucked, finally finding a boy stupid enough to f**k you, and then having to watch him slip from your fingers.”
Diana watches me laugh, smiling, and sits beside me. It’s then I confirm my suspicions – only a total weirdo would continue to hang out with someone who puked on her shoes, then rolled down a hill like a sugar high hamster and laughed about it. Diana could be a serial killer. Or a genuinely nice person. Both the sort of people who shouldn’t be hanging around yours truly.
“You’re crying,” she says offhandedly, picking a dandelion and blowing the fuzz away. I wipe my face.
“I’ve been doing it a lot lately. Because, you know. Crying is fun. If you think about it like Splash Mountain for your eyes.”
Diana giggles. I stand up, brushing grass off my sculpted abs.
“Anyway, it’s been fun but I must go and contemplate the fact I might be losing my f**king marbles.”
Diana shrugs. “I think you’re just scared. It’s scary. College. We can do anything. We can fail or flunk, or drink or smoke or have sex, and no one cares. We’re not kids anymore. There’s no parents here. Whatever happens in our future, happens because of the choices we make now. That’s real scary.”
I watch her face. She hugs her knees.
“And seeing exes you haven’t seen for a long time is scary, too.”
I lose all will to leave, and flop down beside her. The last thing I wanna be right now is alone. We watch the sunset rip through the sky with fire and velvet.
“Boys are weird,” Diana concludes sagely.
“I don’t know anything about boys except they make weird noises sometimes,” I say.
“That’s called speaking.”
“Oh.”
Diana squints at me. “If he did something bad, I can punt him for you.”
“You usually go around mercenarily offering to punt people?”
“I have four little brothers. It’d be a waste to let my talents wither.”
It’s my turn to chuckle. Voices make me jump. I shoot a wary look up the hill, but it’s just a crowd of loud obnoxious girls shrieking as they pass.
“I really didn’t wanna live constantly looking over my shoulder again,” I sigh. “It was shitty in Florida and it’ll be shitty here.”
“I would say ignore him, but I guess that’s easier said than done, huh?”
I nod. Diana picks at a blade of grass. I’m about to say something deep and profound and possibly life-changing when Yvette’s clear, strong voice cuts between us. A guitar case is strapped to her back, pink hair matching the sunset.
“Oyyyyy! You coming to the show or what, numbnuts?”
I stand, shakily. I shoot one last look back at the cafeteria. The choker of thorns around my neck is gone, now. He’s gone. I’m safe. For now. Diana stands with me, and I smirk at her.
“On a scale of one to duh, how much do you like music?”
-6-
3 Years
47 Weeks
1 Day
Emel Hall is a massive glass and wood contraption built by rich wrinkly alumni who wanted to see their name on something large and impressive before they kicked the bucket. The music majors and people who like Bright Eyes too much hang around here pretty much 24/7, and they’re the ones who put this whole thing on. It’s a battle of the bands type of deal; handfuls of grungy college kids with aspiring indie bands performing on a stage to a likewise college crowd. Alcohol isn’t allowed, but people sneak it in water bottles and flasks, laughing and sloshing about like waterlogged pirates. With trust funds. And essays due the next day. Not that pirates wrote essays. But if they did¸ it would be about singing parrots and knife-fights and fat booty of the not-woman kind, or possibly simultaneously of the woman kind and the treasure kind, because, well, pirates.
“Hold this for me. Take pictures of me on it. I want to see my own awesome live in Technicolor.” Yvette shoves a phone into my hand. Diana, looking a little lost but sweetly excited, giggles.
“Are you in a band?” She asks. Yvette looks at her like she’s just seeing her for the first time.
“U-Uh, yeah. Um. Major Rager.”
“It’s not that good of a party,” I correct. “There aren’t enough people getting naked.”
“Major Rager is the band name, dork,” Yvette nudges me. “I’m late – we’re next. If SOMEONE had been answering her phone instead of making me run around campus looking for her –”
“I told you! The government is listening to everything I say. I’ve switched to smoke signals.” There’s a pause. “Their texting plan is obscenely cheap. And arson-y.”
Yvette rolls her eyes and wades through people towards backstage. Diana and I watch the current band shred the hearts of the crowd as their lead guitarist rips out an ear-rending solo.
“She’s cute,” Diana shouts to me.
“Not as cute as me!” I shout back. “Wait, who are we talking about again?”
“Your friend. Yvette’s her name?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s my roommate. I sort of infect everything I touch like that. She’s going to get even cuter as my spores take over her body and turn her into my willing minion.”
Diana giggles. I pause.
“I’m not actually that evil.”
“I know,” she says. “Evil people don’t cry as much as you do.”
I didn’t used to cry so much, and I want to tell her that, but I realize the story would be too long. You could fit it in, like, at least three books. So instead I contemplate whether Diana meant Yvette’s cute in the general adorable girl way or the ‘hey baby, you’re 2 cute get in my bed’ way. The sudden vastness of where I am hits me just as the enormous exhaustion of an emotionally draining day decides to punch me. It’s a one-two combo and I mumble an excuse and stumble through the crowd, finding relief outside, where people smoke and the music isn’t quite as shouty. I hug my knees to my chin and watch the moon rise over the quieting campus. This is my home now, but it doesn’t feel like home. When does it start to feel like home?
“When you start feeling safe,” a voice cuts in. My ears know it before my eyes do and I suddenly regret coming out here, coming to this school, and living in general.
Nameless smiles down at me, hands hooked casually in his jean pockets. He is tall and wrapped in shadow and my fingertips go numb. He sits beside me, the paralysis creeping from him in static waves and flooding me up to my eyes.
“But you’ll never feel safe here, will you? Not with me around.” Nameless looks at me, straight on in the eyes, and some deep part of me curls in on myself, waiting for the inevitable hurt.
“Why?” I manage through tight lips.
Nameless shrugs, brushing hair from his eyes. “My aunt and uncle – Wren’s parents – are here in Ohio. Mom felt better about sending me here where there’s family. I wanted to go to UCSD, but, you know. You can’t have everything you want in life always. And even if you do get it, you might regret it. But you know that already, huh?”
He smiles at me, all teeth, and I start shaking, my legs and my arms and my neck quivering uncontrollably.
“Real sorry to hear about your friend,” Nameless sighs. “He prodded at my firewalls for the longest time. Annoying bug. What was his name? John? Jake? Whatever, he’s gone now. He hasn’t poked me for months, and your high school’s records showed he stopped coming towards the end. Must’ve sucked, finally finding a boy stupid enough to f**k you, and then having to watch him slip from your fingers.”
