Your Biggest Fan

8. NOAH

Chapter eight

The Bellpond Blast is in full swing around me, and while everyone else is either running around with their funnel cakes and cotton candy or flying by on the roller coaster, Wendy is providing me with my own entertainment across the fairground.

It came in the form of a cherry popsicle. The bright red juice is melting down the corners of her soft pink lips, the red streams dripping down her chin as her lips cling to it.

Glistening .

The roller coaster roars above with more screams, yanking up everyone’s attention nearby, but I don’t move. My gaze is stuck on her.

This summer heat had nothing on what she was doing to me.

Every August, this town came alive with this outrageous event known as the Bellpond Blast. According to my mom, it was all about celebrating the tight-knit community and everything that made Bellpond so special . Yeah, right. I think it’s really an excuse to get rid of the massive blueberry surplus before winter hits and they rot out.

At least the money spent during the Blast goes to charity, not that any of the teenagers give a shit about that. Nah, they’re only lured to this spectacle by the promise of blueberry chocolate chip ice cream shaped like a fish, risking their life on sketchy carnival rides, blowing their summer savings trying to win stuffed animals at rigged games, the live music, and the highly coveted title of The Blue Queen.

Last year Trinity Chen took the crown, not for her community service or outstanding leadership skills, but because she stomped on the most blueberries. Just pulverize some helpless fruit, and you’re golden. You see what I’m saying? It’s gotta be the blueberries.

In case you couldn’t tell, I’m not a fan of this overblown fruit fest. Though I can’t pretend I don’t get a little thrill watching Wendy strut around in her tiny skirt, sucking on popsicles.

I slowly step away from the funnel cake truck, my hands finding their way into the pockets of my jeans, making sure to parade by her real nice and slow. There's no reason to be subtle—I want her to look.

My black jeans hug me in all the right places, the tight white undershirt I’ve got on perfectly framing my body. No need for my red jacket today because I’m giving her a show. With a cigarette dangling from the corner of my lips too, of course.

Tendrils of smoke dance around my face as I wait for that perfect moment to jerk my eyes to her and catch her watching.

Which is right…. Now .

Crystalline blue eyes stare straight through me, knocking the smoke right out of my lungs. God, those eyes of hers could make even my cigarette choke. But she’s insane if she thinks I’m that easy to dismantle.

I raise my chin, letting her see my eyes trace down and outright admire her legs.

Yeah, I know exactly what she's thinking when she looks at me like that.

Your move, Wendy.

I take a drag, exhaling the smoke slowly without moving my hands out of my pockets. With a shy and secretive smile from her, I move past her group of friends all engrossed in their shark-shaped ice cream and exchanging giggles. Thoughts of this exact moment have consumed me ever since I watched her leaving school in that Jeep, and the absence of my stepdad and mom who were supposed to return today only intensified my need to have her in my bed tonight.

Another pack of kids whizz by on The Scrambler, their shrieks fading fast as the cars whisk out of reach, taking my stomach with them.

Fuck . Wendy isn’t taking the bait.

I grab a handful of popcorn from a nearby kid's bucket and toss it over my head like confetti. “Congrats, Jackson. You just won Biggest Loser of the Blast.”

“Noah?”

Holy shit . My feet stop.

I whirl around to see Wendy standing there, her hand twisting at the front of her white skirt, her other gripping the blonde wood of the popsicle. Red still stains her lips and I bet she even tastes like cherries.

I take one last drag before tossing my cigarette. “Wendy.”

“You want some?” she asks, taking a quick lick before putting the popsicle in front of my face. My own lips tingle from the cold as she licks hers, making sure to catch some of the melted remains on her tongue.

Looking down, I watch a red drop slide down her finger before finally saying, “I think I’d rather watch you eat it.”

Those eyes light up and she scrunches her thin eyebrows together as she bites back a smile. She brings the popsicle back, holding it up to her wet lips and slowly licks up the length of the ice, enjoying every last bit of it as she holds me in place.

The weight of my hand is heavy at my side when she sticks her tongue out as she licks the top, very obviously trying to get me on edge. And then she moves it sideways, wrapping her lips around the whole thing and sucking hard.

The Scrambler swings by again with another loud set of screams when she sucks the wooden stick clean with a cruel smile. “I had a question for you, Noah.”

“What’s that?”

She wipes the corner of her mouth and sucks on her finger, then averts her eyes from me to look around. “Can we go—there’s a couple of food stalls over in the corner that I think we could talk privately behind?”

My eyebrow lifts as I look around the park before nodding. There’s only one thing girls generally want to do in private—or behind a food stall.

“Sure. Lead the way.”

When she turns around, I take one last look over my shoulder, then follow her down the grass and toward the stalls in the corner. Where it’s secluded from the rest of the festival, quieter with less screams. Where no one is judging and God isn’t watching.

Not that I think the Big Guy upstairs or anyone here would care anyway.

The bright pastel color truck, with large clouds of cotton candy and balloons hanging on the front ends comes into view. I sneak another glance back behind me, spotting a few of my friends, one of them being Daniel bouncing up and down in line for the Gravatron, and then I’m dragged away from it all and pulled into near darkness behind the Candy Floss stall. The fried food smell is now replaced with the stench of portable bathrooms over on the far right, and Wendy’s peaches.

“Here. We can hide here,” Wendy whispers, her back against the pink truck and releasing my arm.

“Oh, so we’re hiding?” I rest my forearm above her head.

“Yeah, I don’t want my dad to see you.”

“Right,” I reply, my eyes drawn to her red slick lips. A warmth spreads through my body. “Now what was this question you wanted to ask me?”

“I know it’s last minute, but I was wondering...” she starts to giggle, squirming against the metal siding. Her baby blues keep trailing all over my bare arms.

“Yes?” I prompt, then she bites her lower lip, drawing my attention back to her mouth.

“Would you be my date to my dad’s company party?” she finally rushes out, and my pulse starts up to match the screams of The Scrambler.

“Your dad’s party?” I frown and Wendy, who seems to sense my state of panic, takes one last look around before she reaches up on her tiptoes, and pulls me down by the back of my neck.

Our lips meet and I groan into it. The cold from her mouth runs all the way down my spine as I slip my tongue in to taste the flavor on hers.

She tastes so sugary sweet, the cherry flavor drowning out my cigarette. Wendy moans softly as I slide my tongue all around, trying to taste every corner and more. I already know I’m going to say yes. I’m in too deep to turn back now.

We continue to kiss under the cover of darkness, the screams of everyone masking our sounds. Her other hand grabs the side of my neck, pulling me closer.

Damn . She’s really into this.

Until she breaks the kiss, tilting her head back to face me. “Can I give you a reason I’d really like you to go?” Her lips turn up, tracing a finger over my chain and down my chest. “I might have a way to convince you.”

“Which is?” I had a pretty good idea what it was

She trembles slightly when I run a hand through my hair and bring it down to her waist, turning her into a fit of blush.

“What I want to do is...” Her voice falls off as she rises on her tiptoes, sliding her chin on my shoulder, using her hands as support against my chest. “Is finish what we started. If you come as my date, I’ll take you somewhere private. Somewhere where we could…” A hot, open-mouthed kiss lands on my neck. “Explore every...” Another kiss, higher up. “... inch of each other.” She brushes her nose against the line of my jaw. “We could do that thing we did last week, but a whole lot more.”

The idea of doing that with her, the thing I had been dreaming about for a week straight…

My lungs work harder as her body presses against mine, my muscles twitching under her fingertips. Fuck, who is this girl after all? She couldn’t have been as innocent as I had thought she was when she blushed and passed me back my skateboard. Innocent girls don’t eat popsicles like pornstars.

“But first,” she purrs, dragging her lips down my throat, “you have to meet my dad and get him to say if you're a good guy or a bad guy.” Her fingers slip under the sleeve of my tank top, nails grazing my skin. “And I don’t want him to think that I’m some loose girl, you know?”

I swallow hard. “Yeah. We wouldn’t want him to think that his girl is hanging around a guy like me, would we?”

“We most certainly wouldn’t,” she breathes, her hips shifting against mine

“Don’t worry.” My grip around her waist tightens to match the feeling inside me. “I’m going to be a perfect gentleman.”

“Which means wearing something nicer too.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble.” I grin, my thumb stroking over the skin between her skirt and top. “That’s a bad girl thing, and I wouldn’t call you a bad girl, now would I?”

“I would hope not,” she sighs, looking me up and down. “But this shirt you’re wearing is way too tight.” She grabs hold of my tank top from the center and pulls at it, her knuckles brushing my muscles. “I want you to make a good impression on him.”

“I’m sure I’ll impress him. I’m a complete angel.” I laugh as she continues to fist at my shirt. “If only you could see the image in my head of me in some pants and a bow-tie, you might even like it.

“I hope so.” Her hands slide down my chest before her arms cross against her green sweater. “Because if you don't impress Daddy, well... let's just say our little arrangement might have to be reconsidered.”

I shake my head, mind instantly trailing to places it shouldn’t be. “Don’t worry, I will make a good impression on your dad.”

“I don’t doubt that. You seem like you could sweet talk anyone, anything.”

Guilty as charged. I’ve been in this game for a while now—the art of messing around. I don’t know if I really like that about myself, but it’s euphoric on a whole other level that I can’t normally get from anything else. It’s more than what landing a trick or tagging the underside of the bridge can give me. When a girl is willing to show that side of themselves to me, to see if I can make her feel something deeper than I ever could otherwise, and being able to do that… It makes me feel good. Like I’m worthy of something, like people are memorable and can be remembered. Like I’m not just some guy, but someone who can make a difference, even just for a night.

But right now, I’m starting to wonder if it’s all worth it. I don’t care what her dad thinks of me, but here is this beautiful girl who I want to give everything to. And some part of me can not fucking let go of the fact that I keep losing at my own game with her.

The past week has already sucked with the soda incident, my band dumping me, and now the future of my life is in the palm of a green eyed girl who seems insistent on being a pain in the ass with me.

So, yeah. Maybe I needed a fucking win for once.

“You taste good, you know,” I whisper as I swipe my thumb across her bottom lip. “Like candy.”

She’s blushing again, but there's something calculated in her eyes.

“Stop, you’re going to get me all flustered, and my dad is here. He’ll definitely notice if you make me red.” She puts her finger on my mouth. “Shush it.”

I try to hide my laugh, but it turns into something smug. “Make me.”

“I thought we had been over this?” Wendy’s eyes harden as she rolls them and puts her hand on my chest, pushing me back. “We’re not going to do anything anymore until you meet my dad. So, until Saturday, no more fooling around.” Her voice takes on this darkened tone as she adds on, “All I want is for you to meet him at his work party. That’s all.”

I scoff, a little confused where all of this edge is coming from, but I keep smiling as I take a breath. “Alright, fine. I’ll go to the party for you. As long as I can get a kiss out of it.”

“Okay, but only because you’re persistent.” There's that calculation again, hidden behind her flirtatious smile.

“I’m persistent when it comes to beautiful girls.”

She fists my shirt, yanking me closer. “You can’t start acting up like this at the party, you know. He’ll be watching your every move. Now kiss me.”

Why does this girl all of a sudden feel so different? She’s strict and serious; she’s sudden and direct. Where did the shy girl go? Why does she need her father’s approval before she can do anything else with me? Who the hell is her father anyway?

My hormones are doing the thinking for me now—I lean into her, my hand finding the small of her back, thumb grazing the soft skin beneath her sweater. With my free hand, my fingers run down her cheek and brush at a strand of her hair before bringing it down to her neck. Holding her in place, my lips make contact with hers and I kiss her.

Not at all like the shy little boys I know she’s used to.

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” I say without taking my hands off her. “Promise.”

“Good,” she breathes out immediately. Her smile falters as her eyes drift down to the leather watch on her wrist. “Oh no, I have to go!”

My grin falls with her. “Already? You don’t want to at least eat gross ice cream together?”

She steps sideways, dancing out of my sight as she walks around the food stall. “I’m sorry—I have somewhere else to be!”

One of the portable bathroom doors kicks open behind me and out comes a guy waving his hand in front of his face, mumbling something about not going in there. And didn’t I make for a sad sight right now? I’m hiding behind a food stall at a carnival all by myself, my shirt stretched out and baggy, smelling shit wafting in the area, my lips a little dryer and thirsty for the company I so badly wanted.

At this point, I should absolutely go home. There is no real reason to be at this carnival anymore, except for whatever musical act that the mayor had brought in.

Fuck it. I’m already here, aren’t I? I could always dance to make this night suck a little less, so what’s the harm in staying.

My feet drag back to the heart of the festival and keep walking. Past the ferris wheel, the fun slide, ignoring more shrieks from The Scrambler, until they hit the parking lot out back and I’m standing center stage.

The crowd is still small, but people are slowly trickling in. My eyes are glued to that stage, having a momentary fantasy of the crowd all coming here for me, and my heart beats slightly faster as I wait to see who’s stepping on that stage. Everyone at school said they heard rumors that the mayor had promised something big, and with the years prior there is no telling who it will be this time around.

Daniel finds me and slides up next to me with a shark shaped ice cream, blue cream all over his nose and making me laugh as I look at him licking this stupid melting fish. I’ve never dared to try it. The combination of chocolate and blueberry sounds like a damn sin to put in my mouth.

I flick his nose. “You still haven’t gotten the hang of eating ice cream, huh?”

“Dude, I can never get all of it.” He wipes the cream off with the back of his hand. “I don’t understand how people eat this shit, like, perfectly. I feel like a fucking fool.”

“You are a fool,” I tease with a grin, then gesture towards the stage. “Enough of you stuffing your face, you know who’s performing yet?”

“I’m trying my best, alright?” Daniel points to the stage with matching dramatics. “But I still don’t know who’s gonna be on that stage. I heard some people talking about the free Mississippi twos.”

“The B-52's? Seriously?” My mind wanders back to Roxanne and I snort.

“Oh, that sounds more right.” He looks up at me, taking a bite out of the shark's head. “B-52's is a band, I’m assuming?”

“Oh my god.”

“What? Cut me some slack.” He elbows me in the ribs. “You know Vanilla Ice is my boy.”

I’m about to stick his ice cream up his nose when two ghostly arms wrap around me from behind, pinning my own arms to my side and squeezing hard before letting go.

“JT!” I wince at the loud voice behind me, already knowing who it is because nobody in this world calls me JT, except one person.

Chris Heath. He’s convinced I’m some secret clone of John Taylor, and he’ll back it up with nothing but our shared love for music, our almost identical heights, and my hair. Which he constantly encourages me to dye blonde and straighten, like that’ll prove his theory.

I push Chris’ shoulder with enough force to knock his baseball cap clean off his little blonde head. He pretends to fall backward, collapsing into Hayden, another one of our friends.

“Whoa. Put the guns away Jackson,” Chris snickers.

“Fuck off,” I laugh as Hayden steadies Chris back on his feet. Chris grins, that gloriously long, wavy blonde hair of his parting down the middle. It’s like his brain said, Forget everything else, we’re growing a fabulous mane! Too bad the shoulder length cut and his malnourished surfer look ruin his chances of being mistaken for Fabio’s secret clone.

“Yo, no fighting, fellas.” Hayden tries to play it off with a smirk as he adjusts his leather jacket, watching Chris pick his hat off of the ground. “Let’s enjoy the music. It’s not like you can get any more girls than you already have anyway.”

“You'd make a great wingman, Peterson.” The words spill slowly from my lips, and I flick my eyes to him. “I could use someone to hold my jacket.”

That smug look gets even more obnoxious as he squares up to me, his attitude never knowing when to quit. “And if you think I can’t win any girl I want, then you’re sorely mistaken, Noah. But hey, let’s try the wingman tactic.” He claps a hand on my shoulder and tilts his chin up like he’s some kind of alpha dog. “I’m sure you’ll be useful as bait or something like that for me.”

I shoulder his hand off and roll my eyes.

Hayden’s a friend—but I also fucking hate the guy.

I’ve always gotten this vibe that he isn’t too fond of me either. He sees our friendship as some shady competition where one of us must outshine the other in terms of who’s got the better girl, the better wheels, the better tunes, and the better look. It’s all a game to him.

Take the Chicago incident. Hayden saw me coming back from a weekend over the summer, rocking a new leather jacket. The very next day, guess who shows up with his own black leather jacket fucking grafted to his skin?

Yeah, you guessed it— Hayden .

I swear that thing has become a permanent part of his anatomy. Was it all probably in my head? Maybe. Did it still annoy me? Fuck yeah it did, hence the red one I only let myself wear now.

The real bizarre part of this rivalry that makes no sense is what happened last week.

I was stepping out of the music store, proudly carrying Daniel’s Thunderbird bass that I had bought for him. What do I see the very next day? Hayden effing Peterson, the guy who can't tell a guitar from a ukulele, strutting out of the same store with his own Thunderbird. It’s downright insulting.

I should start charging him for giving him his whole damn personality. Maybe then he’d realize how pointless this rivalry is, and we could find some common ground beyond smoking pot and living in the same neighborhood.

My stash is the only reason I know he puts up with me, and I only deal with him to create a safe bubble around my pack of friends. Having a friendship with someone who’s high in the high school food chain, ensures that he and anyone else in his circle don’t fuck with my friends.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I drawl, sarcasm oozing from every pore. “If you aren’t careful, I'll start believing those rumors about what's hiding under that hat of yours.”

The corner of my lip tugs up as I point to Hayden’s head, and I don’t expect the bitterness to come out so strong, but it settles hard in my gut as I gesture to the blonde buzz cut that’s underneath.

“Let's see what we've got here—” I put my fingertip to the brim of his black hat and flick it off. “Nothing. Just air. Behold, gentlemen. The rumors are true.” I glance over at Daniel. “This guy is as brain dead as he looks.”

Chris, ever the peacemaker, slings an arm around Hayden’s neck with a goofy grin, patting at his chest. Hayden’s face face darkens momentarily before he rolls his eyes and scoops his hat off the ground.

“These girls are more interested in seeing how big my muscles are,” he fires back, rolling up one of his leather sleeves to reveal his defined arms.

Yeah, you’re on the swim team. Whoop-de-fucking-do. I'm sure the ladies are just dying to see your butterfly stroke.

“Why don’t you go flex for them, then?”

“I might do that.” He sniffs before leaning in close, whispering in my ear, “Speaking of... You smoking tonight? How is your stash looking?”

Asshole . “I may or may not have snuck in a few joints.” And I’m not in the mood to share tonight. “Don’t even think about it. You’ve been mooching off me for too long.”

Hayden rolls his eyes before turning over to Daniel. “What about you? Got some for later?”

Daniel nods, producing two joints from under his beanie. “You’re in luck, boys.”

“Now we’re talking.” Hayden rubs his hands together like a tiny praying mantis. “There’s a party tonight at the lake. We’re bringing the beer and the girls. It’s going to be a helluva good time.”

“Do we have a deal?” Chris pipes up next, his smile curling up like a mischievous little devil on his face. “You both bring your stash, and we’ll bring you a beautiful girl.”

I nod, my mind slowing down to match Chris’, which isn’t exactly hard to do. Our friendship has never been cerebral. A flask is pulled out of his pocket and slapped into my hand, and I unscrew the lid and tip my head back, taking a swig of the contents and enjoying the burn.

“And don’t you worry,” Hayden goes on, taking the flask from me. “There’s gonna be way more to that party than beer.”

Even if Hayden was a bit of a dick, the smile on his face is infectious, and hell, it’s not like I had a date to get back to.

The whine of a microphone makes us all jerk. We turn our attention back to the stage, watching the Mayor in his navy suit stand at the lip, waving his hand as if he were some high-end celebrity.

“Good evening, citizens of Bellpond!” His amplified voice carries loudly through the lot. “It’s my absolute delight to welcome you all to the Bellpond Blast, our annual festival! As you’re all aware, this year, we shall be crowning our very own Blue Queen, who will be representing everything that Bellpond stands for.”

She stands for being able to smash berries.

“Bellpond is a truly extraordinary town, and I’m so grateful to have lived here for this long.”

There’s a cough that echoes in the crowd and Chris makes a fart sound.

“Today is a special one because we are celebrating our tenth year of the Bellpond Blast. I knew this would become a staple in our town, and I’m so proud to be celebrating another year with you all. What better way to mark this occasion than to have my very own daughter be the tenth Blue Queen!”

My ears perk up at the mention of a daughter.

“He has a daughter?” I ask Daniel.

He shrugs and the mayor starts to gesture off to the right side of the stage. I stretch upward to take an eager peek, but my view is too obstructed.

“Please welcome to the stage...”

The audience mechanically erupts into applause, and amidst the commotion, I manage to catch sight of a figure with golden locks ascending the steps to the stage.

“Wendy Turner!” The mayor announces into the microphone. Mayor Turner .

When I see her face up there, my heart races faster than a rocket, and I glance to Chris and Hayden who are both completely unaffected, then to Daniel who’s giving me a side glance with his ice cream frozen against his tongue.

So, the girl I’m trying to woo is the mayor’s daughter. The man who pays my stepdad to be the city’s top engineer.

An icy chill races up my arms. There is no rational cause for me to feel this way, but there is an invisible force daring me to not take that risk.

“You gotta be kidding me,” I mutter aloud.

I think the universe froze around me. My entire body went on strike—my heart threw in the towel and refused to pump, my blood stalled in my veins, and my lungs refused their usual in-and-out routine.

Wendy is the mayor’s daughter ? Doesn’t that seem like some vital information to share before inviting a boy over to go sneak away and fuck in some bedroom?

I turn to gawk at Daniel, his ice cream still suspended in mid-air, as his body slowly shifts towards me. Chris attempts to pass me the flask from my left again, but every neuron in my brain seems to be traveling only two words, the only words that I can think of at the moment.

That phrase being: Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck.

Everyone starts clapping and Wendy receives her nepotism-baby-blue sash from the mayor with a regal nod. And there’s still Daniel, the grin on his face stretching wider as he inches closer to me. He tries to nudge my ribs with his elbow, but I don’t budge.

I stare at Wendy on stage, annoyed that she hadn’t thought to mention the colossal detail that she is the daughter of the fucking Mayor. What aggravates me more is my own obliviousness that I never noticed or connected the two dots, considering how often I drive past the “Vote for Turner” sign in our fucking yard.

The line of the mayor’s mouth tilts with a tiny smile as Wendy hugs him, arms wrapping around her back, and he says into the microphone, “Now to add even more to this event that you’ve all been waiting for, I’d like to bring to the stage a local band who will be rocking for us here tonight. So, people of Bellpond, let’s welcome Iron Fillings!”

Are you fucking kidding me?

My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach.

Iron Fillings ?

My jaw drops open.

Daniel is about to shove his disgusting ice cream in my mouth, before I slam it shut and see that annoying redhead dance up the steps and stand behind the microphone. Then there’s Ian, with his wild long blonde hair, settling on a drum kit at the back. The new jet-black-haired girl with the red Gibson guitar at the side. Jada, with his attitude and guitar slung so low it’s practically dragging on the ground. And Cody, clapping his hands together over his blue Mohawk that gives him an extra ten inches, getting taller with each passing second.

The blood drains from my face as the group settles themselves, the muscles in my jaw tensing as the introductory notes of Pat Benatar’s All Fired Up reverberates through the amplifiers.

Once the redhead takes hold of the microphone, the quiet crickets chirping behind the stage fall silent, drowned out entirely by the roar of the crowd. Everyone starts to sing along and dance as the crowd surges forward. I fight the urge to take Daniel’s ice cream and throw it at them on stage.

I knew I’d have to get used to hearing this. To seeing this. I didn’t think I’d have to do it quite yet.

“Is this really happening?” I whisper to Daniel, not trying to make a scene, but not trying to contain the emotions I’m feeling. Not that it matters because he can’t hear me from over the volume.

Everyone in the band has this big grin on stage, and for one wild moment, I want to fight them. I really, seriously, want to push back the crowd and crawl up on that stage and fight them.

I’ve never been in a physical fight before, even if I’d always been curious what it felt like to punch somebody, but the desire to yank that microphone off the stand and go after them with everything I have is overpowering all reason. Obviously it’s not smart, or sane, but it’s all I can think about until Roxanne and I are up there bathed in the light.

Roxanne.

I start to scan the crowd, sweeping across every face, looking to see if she’s anywhere here tonight. For her sake, I hope she’s not.

Frowning, my attention jumps from one pair of emerald eyes to another, studying every person with dark hair and pale skin I see.

“Dude, stop prowling!” Daniel says, nudging at my ribs again.

“That’s not what I’m—”

I stop when I see Roxanne standing a line of people over, next to two others who seem like they’re refusing to move to the music, gripping a corn dog so tightly I can see her fingertips turning red. I’m surprised the stick hasn’t snapped in half.

She shifts around on her boots like she’s preparing to bolt, and I take in her skin shining pale against the severe black of her t-shirt, the way she bites her brown-painted lip, the color faded now in one spot as she releases it from her teeth. The sight of it makes me feel something, mirroring her as I start to bite on my own lip.

She absolutely has to say yes now.

Her black painted fingers start to slide up her forearm, about to grip her elbow when she glances over toward me through the crowd, catching me staring.

The damage has already been done, and my heartbeat picks up in my chest while her eyebrows jerk violently, green eyes widening as her face turns white. Her shock is clear, and the intensity is becoming oppressive. I almost feel the need to break it myself.

To turn away or leave.

My tongue darts out to lick my lips and I jerk my chin over to the stage. My lips part slightly, silently mouthing one single question: “Are you fired up?”

Her face immediately softens toward me, a smile bunching her cheeks up. We hold each other’s gaze for a while, and I point towards the stage and mime slicing my throat with my finger while lolling my tongue out, getting an eyeroll out of her before she shakes her head and turns away.

The redhead’s voice keeps amplifying over the beat of the band, as if purposely trying to draw my attention, and a new roar from the crowd pulls my eyes back to the stage.

I blink warily, unsure what to expect at this moment. Part of me knew it would be this.

She once again was stealing my signature move as her own. She tosses her microphone high into the air, catching it at the last possible moment. As if it weren’t enough, she proceeds to wrap the microphone cord around her thigh before she grips the handle, tosses her hair back, and belts out the lyrics.

My eyes start to stray back toward Roxanne, and even though the drum fills are blasting off so loud and every eye at the Bellpond Blast is turned forward, mine aren't. I can’t tear them away actually.

I’m too hilariously fixated on the corn dog and warm brown lipstick combination. As she takes a bite, wisps of steam dance around her face, leaving a sheen of moisture on the corner of her lip, and she succeeds in getting ketchup on the tip of her nose while she waves at her mouth.

She awkwardly attempts to wipe off the red stain with her index finger, swiping at the corner of her lips with her middle, and her lips part.

A chill runs up my spine as her tongue touches her ketchup finger, cleaning it off before she sucks the tip of her middle finger between her lips, the lipstick enhancing the curve of her mouth—

No .

My mind snaps back to reality.

Stop .

Shut up .

Grimacing as I tug at my sticky shirt, trying to cool myself down by flapping it, there’s a harsh nudge on my shoulder. I come face to face with Daniel, who appears completely calm and dry in contrast to my sweaty state.

“You coming, man?” he asks me, my eyes feeling a little wild when my head snaps back to him.

“What?”

Confused, I look up to see the band had finished performing, the redhead blowing a kiss with her hand before they head off the stage.

“The party?”

“Oh—yeah.” I swallow and suck on my teeth a few times, the heat getting to my head. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you there.”

“Sounds good,” he says, forming a complicated handshake with me on the spot before dispersing. As I shove through the bodies of people, I concentrate on steady inhales and exhales.

Fucking Iron Fillings. Gah . I want to get shit faced now.

Winning that competition with Roxanne and rubbing it in our (ex) friends’ faces is far too tempting to not at least bring it up to her again tomorrow, and armed with a plan. Let’s hope that she doesn’t shut me down, but I’m convinced that she won’t, especially after what transpired tonight.

I’ll keep my fingers crossed regardless though.

A while later, when I emerge from the festival grounds after stepping in a pile of mud and make it to the parking area, my breath is heavy as I try to tuck my newly stretched out undershirt back into my pants. Readjusting my belt, I catch sight of a distinct navy hood parked a few spots over from my bike, the deep blue stretching across broken up by the white side of the Blazer.

I’m already reaching for the marker tucked away in my back pocket.

“ Roxanne, ” I sing aloud, snapping my fingers to the beat as I stride toward the hood, pulling the cap off with my teeth.