13. “Rock ‘n’ Roll High School”
Chapter 13
“Rock ‘n’ Roll High School”
Sascha - Age 18, 1988
A noticeable sense of suspicion has been creeping up on me lately. I’m not blind. I can’t ignore the obvious connection between my new friend and the captain of the hockey team. Today, I watched him walk her to class and tenderly brush his fingers against her cheek. My heart skipped a beat at the intimate gesture that no “friend” of mine had ever shown me.
As I sneak a glance at Landry, who’s calmly lounging in his seat as always, I can’t help but wonder how I would react if he were to touch my cheek like that. A burst of laughter unexpectedly erupts from my chest.
Landry furrows his brow, confusion marring his features. “What’s so funny?” he asks with a goofy grin.
I try to contain my giggles and shake my head. “It’s nothing,” I manage to say through laughter. “I just thought of something funny.”
He shrugs nonchalantly, not pressing for an explanation. That’s one thing I love about Landry—his laid-back attitude. He doesn’t get worked up about anything unless it directly affects him or someone he cares about. It’s a trait we share and likely why we’ve been friends for so long.
Ivy takes her seat, trying to act like what just happened was the most natural thing in the world. I’ve been teasing her for a while about Corey, but she won’t admit what’s as obvious as day. Sarah sees it as well.
Yesterday, there was a rumor going around about how Ivy talked back to the teacher in English, and Corey came to her defense, earning them both detention. It’s so obvious something is going on.
“What the hell was that ?“ I ask as she slides into her seat. Her cheeks turn pink as she tries to change the subject.
“I like that t-shirt,” she says, motioning to Robert Smith gracing my chest.
“Uh-uh,” I say with a shake of my head. “What was what?” I repeat.
“What was what?” she asks innocently. Ivy has this doe-eyed innocent thing down-pat, but I’m not falling for it.
“Don’t act like the fucking captain of the Merrimack hockey team didn’t just walk you to class.”
“He was walking this way.”
“He was carrying your books,” I say louder than necessary. Leaning forward, I lower my tone. “He touched your cheek and looked into your eyes all longingly and shit.”
“What? No, he didn’t,” she scoffs.
“Dude, you know I will march my ass straight over to the hockey table at lunch and ask him myself if you don’t start talking.”
“Alright, alright,” she whispers. “Just keep your voice down.”
“Spill,” I reply quietly.
“We had detention yesterday, and we just kind of—“
“Boned?” I joke.
“WHAT? NO!” Ivy is too easy to tease, and I can never resist the urge to make her blush.
“We just talked, and it turns out we have some things in common.”
“You?” I pause. “And Corey ‘Delzy’ Delacour?” I pause again. “What could you possibly have in common with that man other than you both think he’s hella fine.”
Ivy smiles but remains tight-lipped. It’s cute that she thinks she can ignore me.
“You’re holding something back,” I say, “and I will find out.”
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” she replies, unpacking her bag. ”It’s no big deal. We’re getting to know each other.”
I think about it for a moment. He seems to like her, and he seems like a decent guy. “I think it’s cute,” I tell her.
“You do?” she replies, astonished.
“Yes. As long as he treats you well, why not?” Those seem to be the words she needs to hear, and she relaxes in her seat. Everything in this crazy high school world is new to Ivy. I think sometimes she needs reassurance that she has someone on her side.
It turns out my unwavering support and acceptance can only go so far. In fact, I am wavering and being pushed to my limits at lunch when I walk into the cafeteria and find Corey Delacour and company hanging out at my usual lunch table. I don’t mind Corey or most of the hockey guys. The company I have a problem with is Michael Tazman.
I know, okay. I do. I know I should get over it. But he made me feel horrible and embarrassed me at a crucial point in my female development when I’d been pining for him for so long. I waited for a crumb from that man when he returned to town—any small indication that he remembered me or wanted to rekindle our friendship. I got a whole lot of nothing in return.
I’ve tried to let it go. It was a long time ago. Blame it on my Scorpio genes, but this grudge has roots, and they run deep into the fabric of my being. He never made any attempt at an apology or any overture to make things right between us. I’m admittedly stubborn, and I’m not sure it would’ve helped, but it couldn’t have hurt.
I set my lunch tray down and gaze at the spectacle around me. Hockey players joke around, shove one another, and make dumb jokes. Sarah is wide-eyed as she picks at her chicken fingers. Corey is helping himself to Ivy’s lunch while she stares with a shocked expression. I’ve entered the Twilight Zone. And in the center of it all stands Michael Tazman, in all his bleached-blond, effortless attraction.
This motherfucker.
Corey does the polite thing by making formal introductions, even though we are all aware of who he is. I shake his hand as he offers a genuine smile. The next thing I know, Taz appears at my side, grinning from ear to ear. “And I’m Taz!” he announces with the enthusiasm of a newly adopted Golden Retriever.
Moron. “I know who you are,” I say flatly. “We’ve gone to school together since elementary school, Michael. Well, at least we did in kindergarten ,“ I add, shooting daggers at him with my eyes. He smiles at me, either oblivious to my irritation or immune to it. Either way, it’s infuriating.
One of the guys, who I think they call Garrison, smirks and chimes in. “Oh, shit. I forgot your name is Michael.”
“Listen up,” Taz says, serious for about one second. “ Sascha is the only person who can call me that. Anyone else tries it, and they’ll face an automatic ass beating.“ He turns to me, flashing me a playful smile, which earns him more daggers.
Does he honestly think that we're cool now just because his best friend is hanging out with mine? He’s lost his damn mind.
The rest of lunch goes by in a blink. I watch my new best friend giggle and flirt with a hockey player, and I know my instincts about Corey are correct. They make such a cute couple, and it’s clear that he is fiercely protective of her. Who am I to stand in the way of true love?
But dealing with Michael is going to be a whole other issue entirely. Throughout the entire lunch period he has this goofy grin on his face directed at me. I’m unsure what game he’s playing, but I’m not falling for it.
I’ve done a fairly good job keeping Michael Tazman at a distance. I haven’t gone to parties where he would be or hangouts he’s known to frequent, and I’ve kept my distance at lunch. But despite my best efforts, our worlds collide more and more as Ivy and Corey get closer.
This is how I find myself sitting in a cold-ass ice hockey arena, watching an open practice for The Mavericks. I’m not really paying attention, here for only moral support. I’m leaning back with my boots propped over the seat in front of me, reading a book, when I hear Sarah shriek. Setting my book down, I look toward the action on the ice just in time to see Corey Delacour slam into Michael on the boards with a loud “crunch.”
Now, this is what I’m talking about. Suddenly, I find myself leaning forward, completely engrossed in the intense action happening on the ice. It looks like some kind of drill where the players check each other into the boards with full force. And let me tell you, I love it. The hot, sweaty hockey players slamming into each other is definitely a sight to behold. And every time Taz gets checked, my grinchy heart grows two sizes. This unexpected turn of events has made my day, and maybe...just maybe...I might actually like hockey after all.
After the practice, Corey and Ivy are having some sort of cute, albeit awkward, conversation while I stand off to the side, waiting for her so I can get out of here. Unlike many of my friends, I don’t have a job, but I do have to practice my flute, and I help my parents around the house as much as I can.
They haven’t taken in foster kids in a few years. It’s gotten more difficult the older they’ve gotten. But my mom sells Avon, and I help her pack up products for parties and place orders from her long-time clients.
Dad keeps busy with all of the upkeep of the house, and I help as much as I can. I’m not exactly handy with a screwdriver or wrench, but I’m good at shining a flashlight where he needs it and handing him whatever he needs.
Suddenly, my shoulder is nudged from behind, nearly knocking me over. I look over my shoulder to see Michael’s face and that stupid grin of his. It’s like he thinks we’re in on some kind of private joke or something. But we’re not, and the only joke here is that he thinks we will ever get along.
“Hey, Sascha,” he says smoothly. He glances over at Corey and Ivy talking and then back at me. “Looks like they’re making plans for tonight.”
“And?” I say without turning to look at him.
“And,” he draws out, “maybe we should hang out, too.”
I flip around so fast he jumps. “Did you take one too many hits to the head out on the ice today?” I ask.
“Probably,” he shrugs. “So, do you wanna get together or what?”
“Back off, Billy Idol. I’d rather shove broken glass under my nails.”
“Kinky,” he says with a smile. “I’m into it.”
Oh my God. How can you insult someone who’s too dumb to realize they’re being insulted?
“I’m not hanging out with you,” I clarify. “We aren’t friends.”
“We could be,” he says in a flirty tone. He lifts his hand and pushes a stray piece of hair off my cheek. The second his thumb grazes my cheek, my body reacts on its own. My breath hitches in my throat as heat travels into my belly, igniting the butterflies. “We could be a lot of things,” he says, looking into my eyes and licking his bottom lip.
I’m at a loss for words. My brain ceases to form thoughts. He’s short-circuited me. Thankfully, Ivy arrives by my side a moment later and interrupts the strangest interaction of my life.
“Ready to go?” she asks.
Her voice snaps me out of my lust-filled stupor, and I take a step back and clear my throat. “Yes, let’s go.”