5. ROXANNE
Chapter five
The harsh squeal of the lunch bell blows out my eardrums as I navigate the halls of Bellpond High. The gray and white checkered floor tiles look like they haven’t been cleaned since the Eisenhower administration, and the loud fluorescent lights only highlight that fact, along with the reality that at least half of the dented lockers are missing doors or held together with duct tape.
I head to Stephanie’s locker, our usual meeting spot before lunch every year. As I round the corner, I spot her already there, engaged in mortal combat with her locker.
She’s yanking on it repeatedly, the metal groaning with each pull, as I creep up behind her. “How long you been wrangling with that thing?” I ask, to which she responds by throwing her hands up in the air and groan up to the ceiling.
“Don’t even ask. Little bastard won’t budge and I’ve been shaking it for like twelve bloody minutes.”
“Step aside.” I crack my knuckles. “Let a pro handle this.”
Stephanie dramatically sweeps her arm out, bowing slightly for me to step up to the plate. I crack a subtle smile over her theatrics and set my backpack down, digging my fingers into the edge of the locker door to pry it open, chipping my nail polish in the process.
Bracing a foot against the wall of dented lockers for traction, I give it my best tug and free up the stuck lock, stumbling backward when the door flies open.
“Dang, girl,” she laughs, steadying me. “Your fingers are really strong.”
“Five years of drumming will do that. Which is exactly why you should consider learning an instrument so we can start a band. And so you can open your own damn locker.”
“Barf,” she groans, shoving her pink backpack inside. “How are your classes so far?”
“History is going awful. It's all a bunch of dates and dead guys. And I don’t like the book Mrs. Taylor assigned us. It’s making me lose brain cells.”
“If only Mrs. Taylor assigned your disgusting horror books.”
I shrug and lean against the neighboring lockers, ignoring her shade about my Stephen King. “How about you? Did you manage to not get Jonathan in your class?”
She slams her locker door, causing the whole row to rattle. “Girl. I am a miracle worker. I didn’t only manage to not get him, but I got Tyler in four out of five classes.”
“No way. You got that lucky?”
While Stephanie nods and continues to share details about her classes in rapid fire, a feeling of dread creeps up my spine as my mind starts to replay memories of my own first period class. I spent the next three periods scanning the room and scrambling into seats surrounded by other people before Noah could continue his mission to make my life miserable. My lungs rushed out air every time he was (thankfully) nowhere to be found.
I only pray that he won’t be in any of my other classes.
“Speaking of, guess who I have in my class.” I give Steph my best horror movie stare, watching her eyes widen underneath it. “Noah. Jackson.” I pronounce each word like a curse. “Looks like I’m in for a long school year.”
A heavy sigh escapes my lips as it sinks in for the third time today that dealing with him is going to be the biggest pain in my ass, and Stephanie looks at me in complete, awestruck terror.
“No,” she gasps, smacking a hand against her mouth. “How could the gods allow this? He’s a total monster, and he’s gonna spend all of class time annoying the absolute piss out of you.”
I burst out in laughter, wholeheartedly agreeing with her theory. “Oh, I know. And that’s not even the worst part.”
“Oh god, how does it get worse?!” She shakes my arm, her hoop earrings swaying.
“He sits right next to me.”
Stephanie gasps again. Loudly . “Oh, god.” She shakes her head, fringe bangs swishing above her eyebrows. “There must be some mistake. That cannot be allowed. That is illegal. The universe would never allow Noah Jackson to sit next to you. It’s too cruel.”
My stress levels skyrocket as I realize how dire the situation is. I close my eyes, roll my shoulders back, and take two deep breaths that would make our counselor proud. All in an attempt to find my inner peace.
Stephanie is right—the universe is a cruel bitch.
“I genuinely have no idea how it happened, but it did. And I will do my very best to avoid him every chance I get, even if that means forming a wall of backpacks between us.”
Perfectly timed, my gaze jumps up, catching Noah The Nightmare strolling down the hallway accompanied by his entourage. A sudden rush of nerves and I quickly avert my eyes, dropping them onto the scratch at the top of my boot from where my foot slid up too high and hit the chain drive on my drum kit.
I shove my hands into my front pockets, hoping he doesn’t see me.
When I hear those loud mouths whisk by and those stupid Chucks move past me, I look back up to Stephanie and slide closer, locker knob digging into my back as I start to speak lowly.
“I can imagine him making more comments and messing with me. The worst part is that I’ll probably have to talk to him if Taylor assigns us in desk buddy projects.” I fake a gag, grossed out by the thought of being around his rich boy smell for the rest of the school year.
“What do you mean more comments?”
My eyes slide past Stephanie when I see dirty-blonde locks falling just above the collar—my approaching boyfriend. I exchange a fleeting smile with him as he slides up beside me, hopeful that today might be the day he greets me by wrapping me up in his tanned arms and kissing the damn daylights out of me.
Today is like every other day.
No arm encircling my waist, no sweet words, not even a glance in my direction.
Sometimes we’re less boyfriend and girlfriend and more buddy dudes who maybe hold hands occasionally. And I really, really wish he would do something more.
Cue the mopey Air Supply song in my head.
You’re probably curious about my love life, so let me fill you in: I met Harley earlier this year when he came into Primal Vinyl and bought The Cramps’ ‘Stay Sick! ’ record. As I bagged the vinyl, we struck up a conversation about how the song The Way I Walk was one of the best pump-up songs ever. From there, things progressed, and we started meeting up regularly at the Burger Shack on Wednesdays after I finished work. Me drinking milkshakes and waxing poetic about obscure bands while he doodled in his sketchbook.
I think it’s important to note that when I was twelve, I developed rather quickly. Meaning I sprouted boobs overnight. Which made me a target for some boys who thought it would be so fun to poke at my chest with pencils during class. Because of this, it completely boggled my mind when Harley showed genuine interest— real interest!— in having an actual conversation with me, without the intention of poking any object at me.
I was head over heels for him, so after a month, I finally let him. Just not with a pencil.
God, I miss those times. Always clinging to each other like tree frogs. Most nights, we’d get lost fooling around in the back of my Blazer after I removed the seats to create more space for my drum kit.
Then something changed after we took our relationship… all the way.
He started bailing on our Burger Shack hangouts to smoke clove cigarettes with Hayden Peterson and his cronies, particularly after he received the golden ticket to a bonfire party at Lake Lickrage over the summer. It was like a tree frog finding a new branch to cling to.
Everyone knew about bonfires at the lake. It was the coolest place to be on the weekend, but none of us on the left side of the pond would ever dare to step foot over there.
Now I hardly see him. He is already a low down person, but now he is even more withdrawn and disconnected around me. Sometimes it makes me think I'm poisonous to touch, like I repel him, and whenever I feel like some toxic plant I hear that nagging voice. That little devil on my shoulder whispering things in my ear about me, until I’d turn the music up louder and remind myself that I’m living inside my head too much.
“Stephanie,” he smiles, nodding at her. “What are you two getting into?”
“Oh, just hanging out. Talking about school. You know. Boring, normal stuff,” she says, stretching her arms out above her head and exaggerating a yawn. AKA doing a horrendous job at hiding our latest topic on Noah Jackson.
Harley nods, oblivious, and turns to face me, thick blonde brows framing the warm eyes looking down at me. “I’m glad you’re having fun.”
I take a moment to scan over his red button-up. It immediately reminds me of Noah’s signature jacket, making me eat my words earlier about him running a fashion show. Truth be told, Noah did run the show.
As if I need any more reminders about Cologne Smelling Kong.
At least Harley’s version is fully buttoned and neatly tucked into dark jeans that have a couple of paint stains, showcasing how he spent most of his free time.
“I don’t know how much fun you can have in school,” I giggle, all girlish while lightly punching his arm and basically attempting to flirt as I struggle to overcome my barrier of shyness and lean closer to him.
Physical touch is an essential part of how I want affection, and, christ was it seriously lacking in my life. Story of my life, really. Always craving that connection, but never quite getting it.
Go figure for me, Harley is too dense and doesn’t take the bait. He clears his throat before he digs into his back pocket to unfold a piece of paper that he holds out to me.
“I think you might be wrong. Somebody’s looking to start a band.”
Negative thoughts gone, I immediately perk up and reach out for it. But Stephanie snatches it out of his hands quicker than I can.
“Anyway, I’ve gotta get to lunch now,” she says half an octave higher, shoving the paper into the pocket of her jacket. “See ya!”
What the fuck?
My face falls flat as she hurries away, and I stomp after her. Why the hell would she keep band prospects from me? She knows how much I’d die to keep playing. I’m sure she’d equally die to hear me not badger her to learn an instrument.
“Stephanie,” I hiss, swinging her around by the shoulder once I catch up with her. “What is that?”
I make a grab for her jacket pocket and she smacks my hand away.
“What? Who, me?” She laughs nervously, and I know this because it’s as bad as her fake yawns. “Oh! This? This is... nothing! It’s nothing important or even worth talking about.”
I raise an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. “It looks like a flyer. What does it say?”
“Nothing! Absolutely nothing at all.” Another anxious laugh as she pulls the creased paper out, crumpling it up in her fist before I can get a good look.
The urge to grab it is almost unbearable.
“It’s nothing, okay? It’s some stupid piece of paper. That’s it.” She stuffs the ball of paper back into her pocket. “I really gotta get to lunch, so... uh, I’ll see you in the cafeteria? Yeah?”
I roll my eyes at her. There’s something on that paper that she’s keeping a secret for some reason, and despite my interest in knowing the contents, she walks off before I can push her limits.
“I have a feeling it was something important!” I shout after her, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Oh, the torture of not being able to know!”
What the hell is she hiding? I turn back to Harley with an expression of annoyance because I really need to know what that paper says, dammit. “What was on that flyer?”
“Um...” He looks around, thinking for a moment. “It was... that someone’s looking for some extra players?”
“What band? Where is it? Who is it? I need all of the details, right now .”
“Okay, okay. Relax.” He pauses, rubbing his hand over his chin. “It didn’t say the name of the band. Just that they’re looking for people. I’m guessing if you go to the address on it you’ll find out. Did you not get one in your locker?”
I shake my head to his question, and without hesitation this time, I take a step closer. “Tell me the address, I’m definitely going to try it out.”
There’s this sense of excitement filling me up to the roots of my hair, because I have this feeling . A feeling that this opportunity could alter the entire course of my life, and I’m fully prepared to do whatever it fucking takes to get that part.
Harley takes a breath before speaking in that typical soft tone of his. “I don’t know the address... I don’t have the flyer. But I’m sure someone else has a flyer.”
I look around the school hallway, searching for any sight of friends. I have to find that damn flyer—it’s the only way to get back on my four step plan.
I see Trinity Chen struggling to open her locker and run right up to her, watching as a similar piece of paper slips right out from the locker vent. My heart skips six beats as I see the flyer hit the ground, and I transform from a normal teen girl into a flyer-obsessed maniac slash feral gremlin, skidding on my knees across the hallway and pouncing on the paper, scooping it up in my hands. I clutch the slightly crumpled page to my chest.
Trinity looks down at me, only mildly disturbed. “Um… are you okay, Roxy?”
And I certainly need it more than Trinity does. Trinity Chen, who only spends her free time studying in the library, hosting student council meetings, or playing volleyball.
“I’ll love you forever if I can have this?” I shake the ticket to my musical salvation up at her.
“What is it?”
“A band looking for more members.”
“You almost gave me a heart attack,” she laughs, nodding and giving me a relieved grin. “But, yeah—”
I’m already out of there, bolting off to the girls restroom without giving her a chance to say more. I smack open the door and rush over to the mounted sinks, spinning around and resting a hip against one as I unfold the paper.
There’s so much adrenaline heating my skin as I mouth the words written on it:
DRUMMER AND BASSIST WANTED
must have own equipment
Below is a poorly done drawing of drums in black marker, and I have an immediate sense of hope—here’s my second chance. With my own kit and a little bit of luck, I’m sure I can make this happen. Everything will be back to normal, the universe perfectly aligned once again. Until the illusion shatters.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shout out loud when I get to the address, startling someone in the blue stall across from me, a marker scurrying out from underneath.
It’s an address all right. One I know all too damn well. One that I had spent most of my time and energy at over the summer.
I know the band and I had a falling out, but I thought it would only be a tiff for a couple of weeks. Day one and they’ve moved on without me so easily.
What stings the most is knowing every one of these flyers is inside every locker except mine, as if they purposely wanted to keep me in the dark. It’s fucking unfair that they’re holding auditions when they were the ones who walked away in the first place.
Anger makes me dent the paper. I’m feeling too many emotions: sadness, disbelief, heartbreak, but there is one rising above it all and cracking against my chest.
Rage .
It’s time to let the Dr. Pepper can explode.
I smooth my staticky hair, then push off the sink. Taking one last look at the address before kicking the marker back to the person behind the closed stall, I swing the bathroom door open. What was it that Stephanie said earlier?
What bitches.
My heart is beating like a drum as I march down the hallway with the paper still held tight in my hand, and I actually feel like I’m going to faint. I need to find out what game they’re playing here.
The second I step into the cafeteria, I look around the mass of heads sitting around the dark wooden tables, the giant Bellpond Sharks logo painted on the left and right side of the white glazed brick walls. Mike, the guy who constantly carries a boombox around, is blasting Heart’s Barracuda . I think that’s the only reason I have the courage, really the power, to storm down the aisles when I find that red bobbing head, and smack the flyer right side up on the table, right between Riley and Eden.
“What the hell?”
“Oh. Hey, Roxanne,” Riley says, all cool and calm, sipping her bottle of water like she hasn’t uprooted my entire day.
“What is this?” I dart my eyes between them both, but Eden only pokes at her french fry with a fork. Riley looks down at the paper briefly before shrugging, lolling her head to the side to give me what I can only describe as the boredest look.
“Looks like a flyer,” she says. Yeah, no shit.
Time ticks by as we stare at each other, as I keep my mind carefully blank so as not to betray the buzzing inside me as I stare into Riley’s dark eyes. My mouth tightens.
“You know exactly what this flyer is for.”
Her head tilts. “Do I?”
“Why are you passing out these flyers? I thought you two hated being in a band. You two were the ones who quit on me, but now you’re looking for a drummer?” I stare at both of them, waiting. I can’t hide the hurt in my voice. “What the hell, guys?”
“That was all true. We never liked being in your band. That was all you. The band quit the minute you decided to throw that tantrum and make a scene, but now we’re moving on. So... do us a favor and don’t show up for that audition. We already found someone else.” She starts waving me away like I’m some sort of pest. “You can do us a favor though and throw away any more of those that you find.”
Is she serious? A surge of red burns up my body, as if they are intentionally rubbing salt in the wound. It’s unfathomable to think that they would simply carry on without me. What the hell happened in the last week? Riley’s intimidating personality has always striked a bit of fear in me, but we were friends? It wasn’t even four days ago that I was in her bedroom painting her left hand with pink polish because she couldn’t do it herself.
“You found someone else?” I croak, struggling to stay calm. “Who?”
My eyes zero in on her ruby red lips, and time passes in slow motion as she says: “Iron Fillings. You know, people with skill.”
My head spins, my breath catching in my throat as shock courses through my veins. I blink, my mouth able to taste the french fries in the room from how wide I’m gaping.
How can Noah continue to take, take, and take away from me? He’s been stealing everything from me—my victories, my peace of mind, and now my band.
And Riley and Eden joining forces with them… I’m not sure how much more betrayal, heartbreak, and rejection I can take. I’m going to be sick.
It’s too fucking much. The room is closing in on me, the lights casting weird shadows across their faces. My fingers tighten on top of the paper, my nails clawing through it, and Riley chuckles almost hysterically, like she’s enjoying my pain. I look past her towards the white wall, my vision blurring with tears I refuse to let loose, and from my peripheral her grin only grows wider.
She’s not even a bitch, she’s just evil.
My chest starts to overflow with all my emotions, and they transform quickly into that typical shape of a ready-to-burst Dr. Pepper can. And it’s buzzing to let loose.
Tears start welling up even hotter in my eyes as my heart thumps along to Heart’s drum beat. Confrontation is my worst enemy. My nerves always run so rampant that I don’t know what to do except to let the faucet behind my eyes start leaking.
I have to get out of here.
There’s no way in hell I’m letting Riley or the lunch crowd see me break down.
Drawing myself up to my full 5' 4' height, I fix Riley with my iciest death glare as I start to retreat. But then I slam the back of my head on a hard surface. My elbow bumps into something that lets out an audible oof and I hault, spinning around to face whoever I’d stepped on.
My eyes narrow in on Noah’s smile slowly slipping off his face as his eyes dart between my flaming ones, then to the girls at the table behind me, and back to me. I see the furrow in his brow, the can of Coke he’s holding, his tongue that swipes his bottom lip before his mouth starts to part. My fists clench tightly within my sleeves.
I shake them at my sides, nose wrinkling as I stare at his face and ask, “Need a little caffeine kick, Noah?”
I snatch the Coke from his hand. Standing on my tiptoes, I stretch out my arm and pour the fizzy liquid over his head, feeling too damn good at the sight of it soaking his hair, dripping down the curls that frame his eyes, and drenching his shirt.
Crumpling the empty can, I fling it at our feet.
“This one’s on me,” I spit. My nostrils flare in anger and I whip around, storming off with as much dignity as I can with sixty sets of eyes glued to me. But as I retreat into the hallway, my rage slowly morphs into a fragile state.
Fuck . Tears spill from the corners of my eyes as I grab my backpack that’s still propped against Stephanie’s locker. Harley isn’t there anymore, so I book it towards my Blazer, needing to put some distance between me and everything that is high school.
Today, I’ve had my fill. And if the Principal decides to call my mom about my absence, they’ll only be greeted by the sound of our answering machine. Besides, Brandon—my manager—would let me clock in early and work a longer shift.
That’s when everything hits me. I poured soda on Noah Jackson in the middle of the cafeteria in front of the whole school.
Whatever . The only thing his head is good for is being used as a soda dispenser anyways.
Zooming through the streets, I race towards the downtown square and park my car behind Primal Vinyl. Greeting Brandon with a quick hello, I slap on my name tag. Channeling my anger into something productive, I dive into our fresh shipment of records, arranging them in alphabetical order according to their genres.
One of the best parts about working at a record store is getting to choose the soundtrack for your shift. There’s a certain satisfaction in finding a song that perfectly depicts your current mood, which is precisely why I crank up the volume, mouthing along to the lyrics of Don’t Get Mad, Get Even.