Chapter 7
SEVEN
Playing: “About a Girl” by Nirvana
“Watch it, freak.” Someone’s shoulder rams into me as they walk by, slamming me into the locker with a loud thud. They laugh, like what they did was the funniest thing ever, and then keep walking, leaving me to nurse my newly bruised shoulder.
Gosh, you’d think after years of being here, they’d come up with something better than freak. Like, how am I supposed to be offended if they don’t show a little bit of creativity? There are plenty of things they could call me that could hit way worse.
I’m not in the mood for these cradle cunts today, anyway.
I venture out into the parking lot, prepared to get into my car and cut last period, when I see a flash of blonde hair from the corner of my eye as someone darts into the old gym.
It happens so quickly that I’m left confused.
Was that who I thought it was? Or was it another blonde girl who goes to this school?
I stand there for a moment trying to decide what to do, but then my feet start moving of their own accord. I’m just hoping I don’t walk in on anything explicit, especially if Stacey Hawthorne is involved.
I’m not sure what my obsession with her is.
On the outside, she seems like the average Greenwood citizen with her preppy outfits and the way she carries herself, but there’s something else there too.
I’ve glimpsed it hiding beneath the surface, forced down by expectation and worry.
No matter how hard she tries to make her face, there’s a softness poking out of the mask.
The truth is always in the eyes, and hers sparkle with something sinister, something much less proper than she leads people to believe.
When I enter the gym, it’s quiet except for a small sizzling sound.
No voices or laughter, so my guess is that she’s in here alone, if she’s even here at all.
I turn my head and look to the end of the small, uncomfortable bleachers to see Stacey standing there, her leg crossed over the other, while she puffs on something circular.
Is she… smoking?
The closer I get, the easier it is to make out the joint in her hand. It’s neatly rolled, way better than I’ve ever seen, and she’s puffing on it like she wants to get high as soon as possible.
Well, this could be fun.
Despite the fact that I’m not even trying to be discreet, she doesn’t turn or acknowledge me at all.
When I get closer, the smell of the joint mixes with her beautiful white gardenia scent, and I can’t help but breathe it in deeper.
I’d gladly get a contact high if it meant I got an opportunity to bask in her floral aroma.
It doesn’t happen as often as I’d like, so any chance I get is one that I’ll take.
“Well, what do we have here?”
Stacey nearly jumps out of her skin, inhaling the smoke despite her shock. It must go down the wrong pipe because she has a coughing fit, one that looks painful as her eyes water and her hand clutches her chest.
“Shit, my bad,” I say sincerely as I rush to her side.
“Axl, fuck—” She coughs some more, her voice deep from the smoke. “Shouldn’t you know better than to sneak up on someone?!”
Her chastising me is almost adorable as I take a seat near her, but not close enough for us to touch. “I didn’t know you’d choke.”
She hums and takes another hit, and the irritation melts off her face as she exhales. “Well, it’s fine, I guess. Occupational hazard.”
A chuckle escapes me. “Stacey Hawthorne, being reasonable. Maybe you should get high more often.”
She wrinkles her brow and then lets out a giggle. “Hey, I can be reasonable. Just not with jerks like you.”
Her insult holds a lot less venom than usual, like she’s genuinely trying to joke around with me. I lean back on the metal bleachers. “Why are you skipping class, Miss Toker?”
She shrugs, still smiling wide. She looks so beautiful. “I wanted to try it before graduation. Classes and exams are over, so I figured today was the best day to start.”
“Damn, is this your first time getting high?” I ask teasingly, but she laughs like it’s the funniest thing ever and nods her head. “It is? How did you get the joint so neat?”
She looks down at it and scrunches her brow, pondering intently. “I think… I paid someone to roll it for me.”
“You think?” I laugh.
“I can’t remember right now. Their face is blurry.”
I only have a few moments to be worried about some random person selling Stacey weed before she scoots closer to me.
“What are you doing here?” she asks me.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Her smile falls, like she’s being reminded of her reason for shacking up in the old gym to smoke during school hours. When the smile doesn’t return, my worry resurfaces. “What’s wrong?”
She bites her lip, then sighs. “I think I’m going to be a beta,” she confesses.
“Oh. Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s not.” Then she purses her lips. “I mean, I know it’s not. But to my mom, it’s a disappointment. And everyone kept telling me I was going to be an omega, so I just thought… maybe, but I don’t think it’s going to happen.”
“I never thought you were going to an omega,” I admit.
That surprises her. “Really?”
“I mean, yeah. You’re not a very submissive girl. You’d rather fight someone than give in. That sounds closer to a beta or alpha than an omega to me.”
“Hm, I guess you’re right,” she ponders. “I wonder why people thought that then.”
“Probably the outdated notion that omega means feminine,” I answer. “People like to disregard that there are masculine omegas, no matter the gender. All the sparkles and pink clothing probably made them think you’d end up being one.”
She thinks about that, then nods. “Yeah, people can be prejudiced, huh?”
It falls silent between us as the statement lingers. It’s true, especially in this town. All I’ve ever known is being judged by people that I’ve grown up around, all because I don’t want to wear collared shirts or khakis.
For a moment, I wonder what it’s like out of this town.
Oakson Lake was fun; there was a real sense of community there.
Despite moving to Greenwood as a child, I still feel welcomed there in every way.
That’s how Ledger and I met our bandmates who were holding auditions for new members.
It was a dream come true, and they never considered not including us just because we were from the rich area across the bridge.
A few moments later, Stacey moves closer, and I forget how to breathe.
“Your scent. It came in recently.”
I try to hide my grin but fail. “I mean, last fall but yes.”
“It’s… different,” she comments, her eyes glossy as she looks at me.
I watch with strained fists as she inhales the air around me, gathering it and basking in it.
It’s more of an abstract concept than anything.
Sharp, electric. Like lightning during a haunting thunderstorm.
When it first came in, Ledger swore he got zapped by it.
“Just like everything else about me,” I joke.
“I like that you’re different,” she confesses. “I’ve always admired it. I wish I could be brave… be myself.”
“Things aren’t permanent,” I remind her, knowing how awful this town can be. “One day, you’ll be able to leave here. Find people who understand you. Find someone who loves you for who you are. One day, you’ll be this town’s reckoning.”
She looks at me then, her eyes trailing over my face with such intensity that I feel vulnerable. I swallow roughly, letting her look, relishing her attention even though it feels like too much.
“I… think about you,” she whispers, and I inhale sharply at the sudden douse of white flowers filling the space between us. “About your courage… about your ridiculous jeans and your stupid, mocking laugh.”
My eyebrows jolt upwards. I look down, noticing the joint is practically a nub now. Getting high for the first time can be an intense experience. I remember blacking out the first few times, so I wonder if that’s where she is now. Checked out and completely unaware of what she’s saying.
“Stacey—”
“Sometimes I think about you in my room, late at night… I think about that kiss.”
Fuck, I am not strong enough for that kind of talk right now.
I turn my head and close my eyes, begging for any strength to appear. I pull my cigarettes out of my pocket to give my fingers something to do and whirl the stick around my fingers, trying to get those tempting words out of my head.
She suddenly pulls out a ribbon from her bag. It’s a long piece of pink silk, and she gives me a look of mischief. “Give me your hand.”
“What?” I ask before she grabs my hand and tugs it toward her.
She smiles, fiddling with the silk ribbon as she moves it over my two middle fingers.
I watch in confusion, wondering what she’s doing, before she ties it into a bow, binding my fingers together.
The pink stands out against my black nail polish, and she grins wide as she stares at it, admiring her high handiwork.
“Pretty,” she murmurs, and then looks at my other hand. “Can I have one?”
She points at the cigarette box, moving on so quickly that it gives me whiplash.
“You know smoking is bad for you,” I tease, pulling one out for her.
“That’s never stopped you,” she retorts, making me laugh. Apparently that’s a recurring theme with me. I can’t seem to stay away from things that are bad for me, case in point.
She lets me light the cigarette, inhaling it deeply.
I realize too late that she’s probably never smoked a cigarette before.
Reds are not made for beginners, so she coughs up a storm.
It’s worse than before, and probably heightens the high because she throws the cigarette to the side during her struggle, both of her hands going to her chest once free.
I stand up to help her… somehow, but then I see the tiny spark on the ground and my eyes widen.
Her cigarette flew into some kind of puddle, but instead of extinguishing, it burst into a mighty flame right before my eyes.
“What the fuck?” I freak out, the mysterious liquid blazing faster than I can think. Did someone pour gasoline in here? Has it really been that long since someone came in here to clean?
The flames crackle and the heat blooms as we both stand up and panic, wondering how a simple thrown cigarette could suddenly ignite a fire as thunderous as this. When I look over, Stacey is frozen with fear, her hand over her mouth in shock as she stares at the flames growing in strength and size.
Shit. This is probably the worst thing that can happen right now. We’re about to graduate in a few days, and Stacey has been nothing but perfect since kindergarten. This would ruin her.
So, I snatch her up before I even have time to think about it and throw her over my shoulder. She squeaks with surprise, her tears still falling as she hits me in the back. “What are you doing?! Put me down! Someone might see!”
“Even when we’re seconds away from being burned alive, you’re still worried about being seen with me,” I accuse, but there’s no malice in my words. It’s how she’s been raised, how she survives. I don’t blame her for that one bit, but right now is not the time.
That makes her fall silent, her tiny fists no longer pounding my back as I rush us outside. Before I walk out the door, I pull the fire alarm, and the loud blare is piercing. I let out a sigh of relief that it still works and then sneak us outside.
Instead of heading toward the main building, I turn toward the woods, knowing that it will be the best place to avoid being seen by cameras.
“Why are you doing this for me?” Stacey asks, her voice soft and defeated.
“You know why,” I tell her, but I don’t elaborate. This thing between us has always been unspoken, and I don’t want to make it real right now. Not when there’s a fire and she’s as high as a kite.
Not when there’s still nothing we can do about it. Our hearts are still closed off, armored by walls. One afternoon together, interrupted by an accidental fire, isn’t going to change that. No matter how much I wish it could.