Chapter 12 #2
“Maybe that’s why we get along so well.” Sunnie nudged Chicot with his elbow.
“Maybe,” Chicot agreed. They walked in a comfortable silence.
Once you spent thirty or forty minutes pantomiming at each other, the quiet becomes far less scary.
For once, Chicot didn’t feel the need to fill it with some sort of inane conversation.
It was nice that she had someone like this, another friend like Elijah that she didn’t have a sort of confusing relationship with, like Monty, or the air of needing to be co-performers, like Lyza and Elvis.
She could whine to him gently about how tired she was from putting on sixteen shows a weekend without making him feel guilty.
Sunnie had done that as they’d first left their lesson, complaining about sharing a backstage with the nice lady who trained cats.
It was just cluttered and difficult, which Chicot understood.
Before he left her to return to his own RV, Sunnie invited her to a bonfire later that week for everyone that lived at the dog park.
It was something they did every year apparently, to celebrate everyone surviving the Fourth of July weekend, when the faire was open on Monday in addition to Saturday and Sunday.
It also marked being halfway through the season at Albion, so it was a good time to celebrate.
Chicot quickly agreed. She’d already heard a few people talking about it, and she’d known they were invited, but it was nice to hear it directly as well.
The sun had already become a source of blistering heat, something which Chicot was certain could cook an egg if given a cast-iron skillet and some time.
She sighed as she walked into the air conditioning, Elijah sitting in a camp chair they’d brought in from the outside storage so they had at least two places to sit in there during the day.
“How was your lesson?” Elijah asked. He was tuning his lute again, probably out of boredom. Chicot peeled off her joggers. There was sweat pooling in her crotch, and frankly she hated that swamp ass feeling more than anything in the world.
“Really, really good.” Chicot then proceeded to spend the next ten minutes recounting the whole thing to Elijah while she wolfed down her lunch. She left out a few details, but mostly gave him everything as he listened emphatically. It was at least something else to do.
When she finished, she asked him what he’d been up to, and all he did was shrug.
Chicot let him have his secrets if he wanted them, opting instead to change quickly before she had to meet Monty.
She looked at herself in the tiny mirror in their bathroom, pointing at her reflection and reminding herself she needed to talk to Monty about the texting thing still.
She really should have done it at the party, but she’d gotten so drunk she still couldn’t remember anything after getting into Monty’s car to go home.
So maybe that wouldn’t have been a good idea, actually.
Chicot didn’t want Monty to think Chicot was ignoring her, especially since they were hanging out one-on-one now.
Elijah didn’t question her as she left, but he did joke about how she was going to overheat in her outfit.
He was probably right. She had pulled on some light-wash jeans that hung low on her hips and an old T-shirt for a local punk band that didn’t exist anymore.
Under that, she’d thrown on a shirt she’d made out of a pair of old fishnet tights from one of her dance recitals, and then several pounds of silver chains hung from her wrists, belt, and neck.
She just wanted to look cool at the thrift store.
When she got to Monty’s RV, she was already waiting outside, a cropped tank top on with a breezy looking quilted cotton skirt.
There was just a sliver of her stomach showing, a round hill of soft skin that Chicot tried not to stare at.
Around her neck was a loose, bronze-colored necklace that held shiny red beads along it, the pendant dipping between her breasts so Chicot couldn’t see it.
“Ready?” Monty held up her car keys with a smile.
“Yeah,” she said. “And thanks for going with me.”
“No problem,” Monty said. “I need new clothes anyway.”
The thrift store was larger than any one Chicot had ever been in.
It wasn’t a chain she was familiar with, but Monty swore by it, so Chicot took her word.
She then quickly lost Chicot for ten minutes as she tried on every vintage leather jacket they had on the rack.
Monty seemed to enjoy pointing out to her that almost all of them had been tagged at over thirty dollars, causing Chicot to whine about how she knew, but she could dream.
She then followed Monty to the dresses, oohing and aahing at every checkered item of clothing she picked up. Monty seemed to like looking like a picnic blanket, which made her pause and pout when Chicot pointed it out.
“Do you ever wear skirts?” Monty had a leather one in hand that looked about Chicot’s size. Chicot shook her head.
“No, I’ve never really liked them. I tried to wear the men’s uniform in cheerleading.” Chicot was on the other side of the rack, looking at jeans. Monty set the leather skirt back without any further questions.
“Oh, you should try those on,” Monty suggested to Chicot as she picked up a pair of well-worn black Levis. They weren’t vintage, but someone had loved them until they were just the right amount of faded and torn. Chicot agreed, plopping them into their cart.
“I’m supposed to be getting workout clothes,” Chicot lamented. Monty chuckled.
“We should probably get out of this section then.”
Chicot smiled. “Or you could enable me.”
“Will your dad get mad at me if I do that?” Monty asked. “And by your dad, I mean Elijah.”
Chicot froze for just a second before she let out a laugh. “Maybe.”
Monty narrowed her eyes, but then she walked around the rack to add a gingham skirt to their cart.
She then nudged Chicot to the workout clothes as she groused about it, feigning dramatics.
Chicot found a few pairs of leggings and a couple of bodysuits that could pass for leotards.
There was a whole section of baby-pink ballet clothes that Monty was picking through but kept things putting down.
“Think I should become a prima ballerina?” Chicot asked when Monty picked up another pink leotard that was gathered at the front. Monty snorted, shaking her head.
“No, I don’t think you’d be comfortable.” She set the leotard down. “I just like that color, and I wish I had more clothes in it.”
“Well, you’re not wrong.” Chicot shrugged. “I always liked contortion and jazz more than ballet. But we could go look at the blouses and knits for pink stuff?”
“Oh, well …” Monty’s eyes drifted over to that section of the store. Chicot leaned over the cart, grinning.
“C’mon, you have like, four skirts in here. You should look for shirts to go with them.” She gently picked up a couple skirts that Monty had tucked into the cart as they’d been walking around.
Monty chewed on her lip. “I’m sure if I’m getting all of those …”
“Fair.” Chicot understood what it was like to be on a budget, so she just hummed, setting the skirts down. “That’s gonna be a rough choice though. All of those would look really good on you.”
“You think so?” Monty rearranged her finds in the cart, her fist pressed to her lip as she looked them over.
One was white with rows of eyelets between the lower tiers, another was plain beige, but it was made of a nice silky material, and the last had a similar patchwork quality to the skirt Monty was wearing.
It was just mostly lavender instead of red and blue.
“Yeah.” Chicot pointed at a ruffly white skirt. “This one especially.”
“I’ll keep thinking about them.” Monty smiled brightly. “Let’s look at shirts.”
Chicot had warmth radiating through her chest. She hoped she didn’t enable Monty, but something about the soft smiles and careful consideration of Chicot’s opinions made her want to do this all day. They could too, especially because they didn’t have anything to do after this.
They left with more clothes than they’d meant to get, but Chicot had managed to stay in budget thanks to most of her picks having the right color tags, which meant they’d been fifty percent off that day.
Monty seemed really excited about what she’d bought, and she justified her purchases with her coupon she’d gotten for making a donation before they’d started shopping.
Monty was actually the one to suggest they spend more time together.
She drove them farther into town, a small city center of mostly tourist shops awaiting them, but Monty headed past those to a local coffee shop at the end of the street.
It was the sort of place you found in small towns like this, run by someone obsessed with coffee and one of the few places teens could go during the summer.
This meant it was busy, but Monty suggested they get theirs and walk around anyway, and Chicot was happy to oblige.
They wandered with their iced coffees around the small town square, a fountain bubbling near the middle and a small patch of grass where there was a stage set up.
There was no one playing since it was late afternoon on a weekday, but it was nice to have an area to relax in.
There were people with strollers taking their kids on walks, and a few teenagers were lying in the grass, making the whole thing feel oddly scenic.
Chicot and Monty chatted about music, their favorite bands, the songs they’d been listening to since their whole lives.
The conversation felt so natural to Chicot that she didn’t even realize when they changed subjects and started talking about growing up in rural Wisconsin for Chicot and rural Minnesota for Monty.
“We were always making weird games,” Monty said. “Anything to not be bored.”
“Elijah and I used to do the same thing.” Chicot thought back on those times they’d been throwing around a flaming stick until one of them had gotten burnt, as if that were a perfectly normal thing to do. “Ours were always stupid though.”
Monty chuckled. “So were ours. Or it was gay chicken.”
“Gay chicken?” Chicot asked. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Whatever you’re imagining, it’s probably accurate.” Monty sipped her coffee, looking down at Chicot. “It was great for me, who wanted to kiss girls anyway.”
Chicot snorted, her shoulders shuddering as she started to laugh. Monty beamed, her posture straightening with pride at this accomplishment. A smirk then grew on her face as she leaned back toward Chicot, putting her lips close to her ear.
“I never lost. My guess is you wouldn’t have either.
” Monty’s voice was a low, almost sultry as her breath lingered on Chicot’s ear and neck.
It made Chicot’s entire body feel alert, the coffee thrumming through her system suddenly making itself rather known as her heart rate picked up, nearing the level of palpitations.
She pressed her hand over her ear and neck, leaning away from Monty. She was hot all over, her eyes darting to Monty’s lips. Something in her told her to do something to get Monty back, but Monty was giggling and the fight drained right out of Chicot.
“I would have lost,” Chicot said quickly. “I was way too shy.”
“You? Shy?” Monty asked. Chicot glowered, sipping on her coffee so she had an excuse not to look directly at Monty or acknowledge her smirk and quirked eyebrow.
“You only think I’m not because half the time you see me interacting with people while I have a mask on,” Chicot said. Monty considered that a moment, looking up toward the soft, billowy clouds as she tapped her finger against her lip.
“I guess that’s true,” Monty agreed. “It’s easier to not be shy when you’re just a silly little guy … girl?”
Chicot snorted. “Jester?”
Monty laughed. “Yeah, a silly little jester.”