Chapter Ten
Jason-Senior Year of High School
Mr Brightside-The Killers
Prom wouldn’t have been my first choice on a Saturday night.
But Mom insisted I attend at least one normal school function before I graduate.
I never went to football games, never attended Dylan’s wrestling matches before he was kicked off the team.
And I sure as hell never went to any school dances.
It’s as tortuous as I expected.
Lots of flowers, twinkling lights, a dorky theme that was designed by little girls to live out their childhood fantasies. We even have the cliche trifecta: jocks spiking the punch bowl, a girl crying with her friends over something stupid, and a power couple suffocating whatever space they occupy.
People like Mara Meyers and Bryce Quinn are infuriating.
They’re both good looking and they know it, which leads to stuck up personalities wrapped in an egoistic bow.
How stereotypical can you get? The good girl who’s perfect at everything she sets her mind to and the dumb, asshole jock who doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together.
I was in the same SAT testing room he was assigned to and the guy who answered for Bryce when the monitor took attendance was not Bryce Quinn. But I’ll bet his test scores were good enough to get him into college.
I don’t even know why I took the SATs since I don’t want to go to college.
I’ve been taking courses for metal work and fabrication.
Trade jobs are going to become the more lucrative career path, mark my words.
And I want to be a well established business by the time that comes around.
You don’t need good SAT scores to operate a leith.
I don’t exactly have friends at this school, but I have people I tolerate and in turn tolerate me. I sit with a couple of them at a table in the back of the large event room drinking the punch from little plastic cups.
Even though spiking the punch is a cliche, I’m not complaining.
People dance in a provocative manner on the dance floor to the mainstream covers the band plays on stage, I think it’s called “Mr. Brightside”.
Dancing isn’t really the right word for what they’re doing.
The girls without dates jump up and down with their dateless cohorts while the couples leave absolutely no room for Jesus between their bodies.
There’s a couple of chaperones around the room, but none of them care enough to interrupt.
Or maybe they’re afraid they’ll accidentally be incinerated by the heat from the friction the dancing is giving off.
Bored of the people I’m with and trying to pass the one hour I told my mom I’d stay for, I head to the buffet table to scrounge up some edible food.
Whoever was in charge of the catering menu ordered more accommodations for the vegans and gluten free weirdos than for those of us who eat normal food.
But every party has some form of pigs in a blanket and this one is no exception. Little cocktail sausages and cheese wrapped in a flakey croissant. Paired with some vegetables from the colorful spread with various dips makes for a lackluster meal, but sustaining, nonetheless.
Standing at the end of the buffet table watching the pornographic display on the dance floor, my left side ignites with awareness of someone else standing oddly close.
Oddly because very few people risk getting this close to me.
I see vibrant blue out of the corner of my eye, then platinum blonde hair.
Mara Meyers? What the fuck is she doing? Maybe she doesn’t see me or mistakes me for someone else.
“It’s overwhelming isn’t it?” She says to me without taking her eyes off the mass of bodies on the dance floor.
I finally turn my head to look at her. She’s stunning.
Her dress hugs all the right places without trying too hard.
She used the fairytale theme perfectly without taking on a full cartoon princess vibe.
The neckline of her dress draws attention to her chest that’s expertly lifted but not completely spilling out, the swell of her breasts shine with some glow she must have applied herself.
Captivating.
She meets my gaze then looks back to the dance floor. “I’m kind of surprised you’re here,” She admits. “I didn’t think this would be your scene. But I guess you’re full of surprises. Keep them guessing, right?”
That’s one way to look at it.
Then she fully turns her body to face me, direct and powerful. She carries herself with the confidence of someone who’s never been bullied a day in her life.
“Do you want to go somewhere with me?” She asks with so much conviction it’s scary. “We don’t have to leave the building. Let’s just…not be around all this.”
I’d normally say no. If anyone else had asked I’d just walk away from them in silent rejection. I’m tempted to turn her down.
But the look in her eyes draws me in. Since I communicate with body language instead of words I pay more attention to people’s eyes and faces than anything else. And her eyes have a plea in them, desperation I wouldn’t have expected in someone so sure of herself all the time.
The spell she casts on me takes instant effect and I nod.
Lead the way.
Mara grabs my hand and pulls me toward a side door that leads into the hallway.
She clasps my hand with our palms locked, thumbs intertwined as she picks up her pace to a speed walk toward the bathrooms but stops outside and sinks to the floor against the wall.
The weightless fabric of her dress fans around her like a magical blue pool of water.
I just stare at her with my hands tucked in my pants pockets for a second.
“Are you afraid I have cooties?” She teases, then pats the space beside her.
Reluctantly, I sit on the floor that looks like it hasn’t been swept in a week.
I’m kind of surprised she’d let a dress that costs a car payment touch the dirty floor, she’ll have stray hairs and food crumbs stuck to the back of her dress when she stands.
Of course, if she needs someone to brush it off I’ll happily oblige.
“You look nice, by the way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything besides jeans and a t-shirt.
Although, you pull those off pretty well too.
” Mara angles her head a little more toward me but I keep staring ahead.
“I’m a little surprised you haven’t dated anyone, or hooked up with someone.
You’re a good looking guy. I’m sure there’s gotta be some girl who isn’t concerned about talking because what she has in mind doesn’t require words. ”
She’d be wrong. Her boyfriend made damn sure people saw me as a pariah and no one wanted to get too close.
He’s made life hell. I don’t know if my school life would’ve been easier without his torment and bullying, and I never will.
No one wants to go near the Mute or risk social suicide by associating with me.
So why does she?
I’ll never admit it, but I’ve never kissed a girl, never had sex, none of it.
And it never bothered me until now. I don’t know why but I care what she thinks.
And although I don’t care what her boyfriend thinks, I care about how this stunning creature beside me views me.
I can’t help but think she isn’t as mean or distant as the person she is around her peers. But she’s a great actress.
Before I register what’s happening, I feel soft lips on my cheekbone and a gentle hand on my jaw holding me in place as she kisses my cheek. Her touch is warm, a fire ignites where her lips meet my skin and travels to my belly where it cools with nerves.
Why did she do that? Why would she do that?
We’ve barely interacted in the twelve years we’ve been in school together. Our parents aren’t friends. We don’t have any mutual friends. Sure I’ve noticed her from afar, who wouldn’t? She’s beautiful. Her personality is captivating. But that’s it. So why is she initiating communication now?
The second she pulls away I turn my head quickly to make out what just happened in her eyes. I see hesitation, I see nerves, I see fear of rejection. Does she really think I’d be upset? I’m not upset, I’m fucking confused, but I’m not upset.
Actually, it was nice. Her touch sparked a chemical reaction like a base and an acid mixing to create something new. I’m not foolish enough to think anything like she was made for me, or some bullshit. But I can’t help the gnawing in my gut that tells me I want more.
I want more.
Turning my torso to mirror her angle, I take her hand in mine and run my thumb over the lines of her palm, tracing what others think can determine their future, define their lives.
And I understand for a split second why they might feel that way.
It’s not my lines that mean anything, it’s hers.
Her pulse in my hand, her skin beneath mine.
Such a light touch and it feels so heavy.
I’m not the kind to romanticize the meaningless, but part of me sees the sweet karma in my bully’s girlfriend being my first kiss. How I’d like to run my hands and lips over the same skin he thought he’d claimed.
“It’s a good thing you never dated anyone,” she validates my choices.
“It’s easier to outgrow this town when you’re not tied to it.
Bryce is…a dick. But at least he’s not a long term commitment kind of guy otherwise I might never be able to leave.
” Leave? “I don’t want to be stuck here forever and pick up right where my parents left off.
I don’t want their life. I want to see more of the world.
I want something more meaningful than just another cog in the system. ”