Chapter 4
Brian
I wonder if I inhaled some sort of poisonous gas and drifted into an inescapable hallucination. And, if so, why couldn’t my disconnect from reality at least contain lightsabers and the ability to use the Force? But no, it had to involve me being dragged up onto a lit stage inside the old Dixie Theater, where I was going to have to sing and dance in front of an audience. And if that weren’t bad enough, Katie chose our music. She couldn’t have gone for something calm and easy like, I don’t know, “Harvest Moon” by Neil Young. No, this is Katie, the girl who loves to sing and be the star of any and every performance. She opted for the hit classic “YMCA,” citing the easy lyrics and choreography to justify her choice.
And, to top it off, she raided the event’s prop chest and procured outfits for us. I am now wearing a bright orange safety vest, cowboy hat, and a look of utter horror. Meanwhile, Katie, Jacob, and Celia look like they are preparing to receive Tony Awards, complete with feather boas and bedazzled vests.
As we shuffle into place on the stage, I start to disassociate and my breaths are coming short and fast. I honestly don’t know if I’m going to survive this. RIP Brian. Cause of death: total and complete humiliation wrapped up in a cowboy hat bow.
When the music starts, I hear Christy loudly say to her teammate, “Gosh, they are all such fucking disasters.”
Her words zip through my memories and drag me back to the hallways of our high school when she and her group of friends used to spew ugly words at all of us, especially Celia. The memory ignites a fire in my chest, flaming to life a newfound anger.
Celia didn’t do anything to this girl tonight, but Christy is still clinging to old grudges and a desperate attempt to be relevant.
As our quartet begins to form the letters of the song, my embarrassment slowly melts away into rage. I stomp through the dance movements, quietly singing along, my focus entirely on Christy. I think about her face every time my foot comes down. I think about throat-chopping her every time my hand swings up to form the song’s letters again. I notice Celia casting confounded glances my way, but I don’t acknowledge her, instead giving myself over to my anger and indignation. Maybe there’s something to this dancing thing. It feels oddly therapeutic as I stomp, spin, and thrust my arms out.
I’m going so hard that I’m short of breath when the song ends. I hear a smattering of applause from below the stage. I blink and realize it’s over.
“Well done,” Celia whispers to me. “I didn’t know you had that kind of, um, intensity, locked up inside you, Brian. You should let it out more often.”
And I swear, her gaze is heated when she says the words. That one delicious look from Celia, the look I chase in my dreams, is enough to dump ashes on my smoldering anger. I don’t think she’s ever looked at me that way. Suddenly, my knees feel a little weak as the angry adrenaline that fueled me the past few minutes falls away. I stumble a little, and Celia’s expression morphs into concern.
“Get off the stage already,” Christy yells as she and her team storm onto the platform.
Celia turns around, mouth opening to say something scathing, but I grab her arm and tug her along. She studies my face, then nods.
“Yes, you’re right. They’re not worth it. Let’s go get our next clue,” she agrees.
We make it down to the event table, drop our props off in the basket, then reach for our next clue.
While Katie tears open the envelope, Celia leans in and says to me, “You know, you could be a metal band frontman with the way you rage screamed the YMCA.”
I stare at her to see if she’s joking, but only the tiniest smirk teases at the edge of her lips.
“I wasn’t screaming,” I insist.
“Oh, you were definitely screaming. It was…. unexpected. But I appreciate you being all in on this event. I could really use the mon--” She cuts herself off, and her cheeks flush.
“Celia, is something going on?” I whisper, but Katie interrupts us when she hustles over, clue in hand.
“Oh, this next one sounds fun,” she whispers excitedly, hair falling in her eyes.
We hope you’re ready to be put through your paces
Your next stop will mean some oinking-good races.
Who will win, team red or team blue?
Get to the starting line, and let’s see if it’s you.
In order to begin, just head for the field
Go, Dawgs, Go! We never yield!
Jacob’s grin is infectious as he says, “Let’s get over to the Louisiana Tech football field.”
As soon as we pile into Celia’s hatchback, Jacob starts going over his plan. “Okay, so oinking-good races either mean we are doing piggyback rides or chasing pigs down a field. Which do we think it is?”
I turn to look over my shoulder at him from the passenger seat. “Chasing pigs? Jacob. There is no way that’s happening,” I tell him.
“It could be. I mean, we have rodeos in town; pig chasing is not outside the realm of possibilities, and we need to prepare.” I shake my head and turn back around to face the front of the car. He continues. “Okay, so if it’s piggyback rides, do we think just two of us have to participate? Because I can carry Katie, and I think we’ve got this in the bag.”
“No argument from me,” Celia says.
“And if it’s pig chasing?” I ask, still incredulous.
“Well, I figure Brian and I are probably the fastest. So it should be us.”
“I am not chasing a pig,” I say.
“Aw, come on, Brian,” Celia says sweetly.
There’s an underlying tone of concern in her voice. I study her face as she drives, the street lights casting a warm glow over her features every time we drive past one. I realize I’ve been silent too long when Celia reaches over, hesitates, then pats my shoulder.
“Don’t be scared. We can handle whatever they are about to throw at us,” she says.
And I’m glad that she can’t hear my heart as it picks up its rhythm.
Turns out we did not, in fact, need to worry about chasing pigs. When we pull up to the Louisiana Tech University football field and make our way inside, we find a table with red and blue jerseys and see several other teams pulling them on over their shirts.
“Welcome to your next clue site,” one of the volunteers says, walking up to us. “For this stop, you will piggyback race other teams. All four of you must participate in order to get the next clue. You’re Team Blue for this next race that starts in two minutes. Get your jerseys on, take a moment to strategize, and then head to the starting line. The winning team will get a bonus ticket. This means that if there is a tie-breaker at the end of the event, the bonus tickets will help us decide the final winner.”
She hands over the colored mesh vests to us and walks away as we pull them all on. I’m nervous. So fucking nervous. Because I know that there is only one possible partner for me in this race. Katie will hop on Jacob’s back, and Celia will hop on mine. I’ll have to wrap my hands around her luscious thighs and grip them while her perfect boobs press into my back. Every part of her that I dream about on a regular basis will press into me. I’m sweating as I get simultaneously anxious and aroused just imagining it.
“Ready, partner?” Celia asks grinning, knocking an elbow into mine.
I swallow and nod, not trusting myself to say anything. Why did I let her talk me into this race? It’s hard enough hiding my pining for her in our shared apartment, but this is a whole new level of trying to play it cool.
“Alright, contestants, line up,” the volunteer says.
We walk over to the starting line. Katie hops on Jacob’s back, and the two get into their starting stance. I stare at them, unsure of how to move forward, how Celia is going to hop on me like I’m her own personal horse-–or ass if we’re going by how I feel at the moment.
“Come on, Brian, let’s do this,” Celia says cheerfully. “Just bend down, and I’ll hop on.”
Right. I squat and lean forward. I feel her warm hands slide over the tops of my shoulders.
“One, two, three,” she counts, then leaps.
I catch her knees just as her breasts and stomach collide with my back. We scramble for a moment like a couple of people in a log rolling competition–except Celia is the log roller, and I am definitely the log she’s desperately clinging to. I reach for the backs of her dangling thighs and pull them forward to grip my waist. Her hands slide around my neck, and I choke, seeing black spots for a moment.
“Oh, sorry, Brian,” Celia says, loosening her grip.
She moves her hands to try and find a comfortable place to hold onto me. Her hands slide over my chest, brushing up against my shoulder, touching my nipples. I am getting accidentally felt up by the woman I’m half in love with, and I have to start counting backward from one hundred to keep my focus where it should be: on this race I’m about to attempt.
When I groan, Celia whispers, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Little does she know that the only thing she hurt is my untapped desire.
“Take your places, runners!” a voice calls out from a megaphone.
“Eat shit, Celia,” a voice hisses next to us.
I look over and see Christy mounted atop a former football player. She’s grinning maniacally, and I have to resist the urge to give them a shove.
“Is that really all you’ve got? The insults of a twelve-year-old? I guess some things never change,” Celia says in a tone that makes me want to crawl under a park bench and hide.
“On your mark!” the megaphone voice calls. “Get set! Go!”
I start running. The race is only from one football field end zone to the other, but with Celia on my back, it’s not easy going. My heart hammers loudly in my chest. I see Jacob race past us with Katie on his back, squealing in delight. I dig deep and keep moving. I quickly realized that all my hours spent playing video games do not an athlete make. My legs are on fire, and my chest is squeezing tightly, but I keep going.
“Come on, Brian! You’ve got this!” Celia whispers, her warm breath licking up my ear and the side of my neck. I’m tempted to halt and let her keep doing that. But I won’t give Christy any more reason to heckle Celia.
As if summoned by my thoughts, I hear Christy next to me. “Keep going, Charlie,” she says to the man carrying her. “Nice try, Celia, but this is just another competition you’re going to lose.”
She whispers something to Stallion Charlie, and he gets closer to us. One foot, another. Then someone tosses something out just in front of me. I don’t even pause to consider what it is; I just react, trying to halt my forward momentum. But when I try to stop, I don’t calculate the extra weight on my back.
The next moment seems to progress in slow motion. I stagger forward on two heavy steps, Celia’s weight forcing my torso ahead of my feet. My arms still grip Celia’s thighs in what can only be some subconscious attempt to shield her from the impact coming straight for my face. Time slows as I hear Celia yelling, “Ohhhhh shittttt,” and I swear I can even see ants crawling along the blades of grass in front of me right before I bite the dust. Literally.
I land flat on my face, Celia on my back. When she slams into me, it knocks the breath out of my lungs, and I can’t breathe. I gasp and flail. The hot-cold sensation of terror washes over me, and I momentarily think I’m going to die right here, trapped between the Louisiana Tech football field and the woman of my dreams. It might sound nice in theory, but it feels like a cruel twist of fate.
The weight suddenly lifts, and strong hands roll me over. Oxygen finally makes its way back into my lungs, and I gasp. Sweet, sweet, life-giving air brings me back to reality. I blink and see three faces hovering over me; eyebrows furrowed in concern.
“Brian, are you okay? What happened?” Katie asks.
My eyes flutter closed. I want to stay here for the next several hours and not acknowledge the embarrassing reality of what just happened. But then one of the volunteers makes it to where we’re all on the ground and helps me sit up.
“Are we disqualified?” I cough.
The volunteer looks at me like birds just flew out of my ears. “Sir, are you okay? We can get Medical over here.”
“I’m fine. Just had the wind knocked out of me. Are we disqualified?” I ask again.
“No, you competed. You can move forward to the next task. But are you sure you’re okay?”
I nod. And then I remember Celia was on top of me when I made my spectacular impact with the ground. My gaze finds her, and I discover she has a bloody paper towel pressed to her face. Color leaches from my skin as I go to her. And, just for a moment, I forget about the race, about all the people around us, about the pain searing through my jaw and the bruises that will surely follow. I zero in on Celia, reaching out to gently cup her face and tilt her head up to look at me.
“How bad is it?” I ask with a swallow.
“I’m okay,” she insists, her voice muffled. “Just a bloody nose.”
She removes the paper towel and I lift my other hand and hold her face, tilting it from side to side. She’s right, just a bloody nose. My gaze lifts to find Celia staring directly into my eyes. I’m hypnotized by the golden flecks sprinkled across the warm brown tones of her irises. My gaze drops to her lips. Her tongue darts out and licks her bottom lip–and my heart does this little lurch like I’m being physically tugged into her body. I drop my head an inch closer, not thinking of anything but being near her. She leans in, a breath closer. And I think I might die right then and there. Just fall out on the field because I’m about to kiss Celia.
“Okay, here’s your next clue!” an enthusiastic volunteer says, waving an envelope at us.
Celia and I snap back from each other, shock written all over our faces. A blush rushes up my neck and cheeks, and I can’t bear for her to see me like this. I’m so embarrassed that I hurt her and even more humiliated that I thought about actually kissing her. What the hell am I doing? I almost just ruined everything.
I feel a hand come up to my shoulder and pat it gently. Katie is looking at me with sympathy and understanding in her green eyes. I think I’m going to puke.
When Jacob begins reading the next clue, I’m relieved that I can turn all of my attention to him and not stare at Celia like a disgraced, besotted puppy.