Chapter 11 #2
“What is she even doing here?” Lyza looked up at Monty.
As Lyza shifted, Chicot could see Brewhilda practicing her lines.
She had a small speaker next to her, playing a recording of the music her partner usually handled live during her show.
Her hand was raised, a book in the other as she pretended to add things to her “cauldron,” which at the moment was just a plyometric box she was using as a stand-in.
“I don’t know. It’s not like she does any acro in her show.” Monty frowned, shaking her head.
“Let’s just try to avoid talking,” Elvis suggested. Elijah quickly agreed. Then again, neither of them had heard Brewhilda say what she had about Lyza. That might have changed their opinion.
“Well, I have to change,” Monty piped up. “I’ll be back out here in a bit.”
Lyza nodded. “Be quick.”
Chicot followed Lyza, Elvis, and Elijah to an unoccupied collection of mats near the spring floor, Lyza sitting down on one of the stacks to read lines to Chicot while she stretched.
Chicot made it a point to face Lyza, rather than Brewhilda, even if they were across the spring floor and pressed into a corner.
Lyza had picked a spot as far away as possible, Chicot noticed.
Chicot just tried to focus on getting ready for practice.
Lyza would fill in for Elvis or Monty as necessary, reading the script with Chicot and giving her a chance to get better memorized.
Luckily, Brewhilda didn’t seem to pay them any mind.
She finished up five minutes after their scheduled gym time should have started, and then moved her box to the side, placing it with the others along the far wall.
Chicot didn’t see where she went after that, focused on getting into a split while she repeated her lines back to Lyza.
A resolute, “Uh-oh,” was the only warning they got of anything off.
It was from Elijah, his eyes trained on the women’s locker room door as Monty came flying out of it.
Her jaw was set, changing the whole shape of her face from round to more square as she stomped toward them.
She had her bag over one shoulder, a nasty ruddy color covering her cheeks and neck.
It wasn’t the cute, sweet flush that Chicot had come to like a whole lot on her.
Instead, it was a loud, bright burgundy that grew darker as she stared down at the floor in front of her.
“I hate that bitch,” Monty spat. Lyza shot up out of her seat, setting her hands on Monty’s arms. Monty quickly pulled away from her sister.
“What’d she do?” Lyza asked. Monty just shook her head, her nose scrunched. “If she said something about me again—”
“She didn’t,” Monty snapped. “I need to … I don’t know, give me a minute.”
Monty shook her head hard, putting her hand out to keep Lyza at a distance as she walked around the pile of mats they were on toward the pit full of foam blocks that was under the uneven bars.
Lyza’s chin trembled, her brows knitted together as she pulled her hands in.
She just watched Monty for a moment before her face slowly hardened into stone.
Spinning on her heels, Lyza began to march toward the locker room door where Brewhilda was now slowly emerging as she fought with a bag.
“Lyza. Lyza.” Elvis got between Lyza and Brewhilda, cutting her off before she could get very far. Chicot couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she had a feeling Elvis was talking her down from literally clawing Brewhilda’s face off.
“What the fuck did Brewhilda do?” Elijah mumbled. He had snuck up to Chicot’s side, crouching next to her because she was still in her split. Chicot shook her head, looking toward Monty.
Monty was trying to smooth down the athletic dress she was wearing.
It was a small, fluttery thing, looking particularly short on her because of her height, but as she worried her fingers over her hips and where the shorts underneath the skirt squished in her thighs, Chicot felt herself start to get sick.
She frowned, her face scrunching tightly.
“Oh fuck no,” Chicot said. Elijah quirked a brow at her but didn’t stop her as she rolled out of her split, hopping up to go over to Monty.
She ground her teeth together, a myriad of awful things that could come out of someone’s mouth about someone else’s body sliding through her mind.
Chicot didn’t hold onto any of them, all of the words taking the sounds of her fellow cheerleaders when they set their sights on destroying someone.
Chicot’s blood boiled, but her being angry wouldn’t help Monty at the moment.
Instead, she put on a bright smile, sneaking up behind Monty and peeking around her left arm.
She was close to her, looking up and just bending like she would when surprising someone in her jester costume at the faire.
“Did you know, during her audition this year, Brewhilda dropped her whole bottle of glittery potion only to slip in it because she’d made it with baby oil? ”
Monty gasped when Chicot appeared, her mouth slightly agape as she listened to her. It took a moment or two, but slowly, she chuckled and looked at where her fingers were trying to smooth a wrinkle out of her skirt. “Did she really?”
“Yeah.” Chicot bobbed her head, stepping around Monty to look at her. “She nearly slid right off the stage, just shwip!”
She held out her hands, sliding one palm over the other as she made the noise. This caused Monty to crack slightly, a small curl at the edge of her lip. Chicot bounced on her toes, smiling as she decided to keep this up.
“Her hat fell off her head and into it, too.” Chicot mimicked putting a hat on her head. “She slapped it back on so fast, she had a bunch of glittery baby oil in her hair after.”
Monty let out a shaky giggle, her head shaking slightly. “Wait, really?”
“Yes!” Chicot bobbed her head. “I know she was a mainstay, but jeez, I was shocked she’d made it through.”
“God.” Monty barked a laugh, her shoulders shaking as she pressed her hands into her face. When she pulled them away, it seemed like she wiped off a few tears, likely not from the story based on how red her eyes were, but Chicot was just glad she’d cheered Monty up at all.
“I laughed too,” Chicot said. “At first, I thought it was like, an intentional part of the show. Elijah hit me to let me know it was not.”
Monty’s eyes went wide, her mouth open as the corners quirked up at the sides. “Oh my god, Chicot.”
“How would I have known!?” Chicot held her arms out wide. “I’d never seen her act!”
Monty was really cackling now, genuinely and belly deep. She was no longer trying to rub wrinkles out of her dress or adjust the edges. Just letting go. And Chicot was glad she could give this to her.
“I mean, we also saw Gert and Slavio that day and they intentionally drop their swords and stuff,” Chicot said. “I thought it was like that.”
“She’s obsessed with being polished,” Monty said. “No wonder she seems to despise you.”
Chicot shrugged. “Eh, I’m just glad you guys don’t hate me because of it.”
Truly, Chicot stopped caring about Brewhilda’s opinion entirely when she’d heard her talk badly about Lyza. And if her friends agreed with her, Chicot didn’t care about them either.
Monty’s smile fell, her head tilting to one side. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you know.” Chicot rubbed her head. “A lot of performers are mad at us for taking the spot of someone so established.”
“And you thought we might hate you for that?” Monty asked. Chicot rubbed her chin, brow wrinkled as she nodded.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t like, you personally.” Chicot took a step back, just sort of fidgeting. Her heartbeat was racing. She hadn’t realized how much this made her anxious. “Just like, everyone generally.”
“Oh.” Monty’s eyes searched Chicot’s face for a moment. “No, we—”
Chicot didn’t hear the end of what Monty said.
Her foot went too far back, and she didn’t realize how close to the foam pit she’d gotten with her inability to stand still.
Monty grabbed for her as she fell backwards, Chicot’s arms flailing so much that Monty couldn’t make contact.
When she hit the foam, she sank, her legs sticking straight up and her arms outstretched like she thought she could reach the sides and catch herself.
“Fuck.” Chicot shifted, struggling as she tried to sit herself up more. Monty leaned over the side of the pit, looking down at Chicot, a high giggle coming out of her. At least she’d made Monty laugh.
“Do you need help?” Monty leaned down, offering Chicot her hand. “You know, you’re pretty clumsy for someone so good at acro.”
Chicot paused as she accepted the help, an impulse running from the top of her head to the very tips of her fingers before she really thought about it.
She tugged, acting on the thought and yanking Monty into the pit right alongside her.
Or it would have been alongside her if she’d thought this through at all.
Instead, Monty fell basically on top of Chicot, pushing her farther down into the piles of plastic-smelling foam cubes as they both yelped.
“Jeez, did I really deserve that?” Monty struggled against the cubes, trying to drag herself out of them, but it only caused them both to sink farther.
A tinkle of laughter came out of her as she tried to straighten herself, only to fall basically into Chicot’s chest. Chicot had not considered that a possibility and now found herself staring at Monty’s sandy hair as it stood in the air from the static electricity building.
“You did.” Chicot managed to get her hand under Monty’s, giving her something to brace herself on to push up.
It forced Chicot back down, but they could figure that out later.
Monty laughed, her head whipping around to look at Chicot.
They were so close, Monty’s face just a few inches from hers.
Chicot hoped Monty didn’t notice that she glanced at her lips on instinct, Monty still hovering above her.