Chapter #45A Summons to the Storage Unit by: Seuzz   And yet your misadventure with Chen seems to have won you more respect. It's pretty clear none of the guys believe you when you stick to your "He was in a bad mood" explanation for the red-and-purple swelling on your face, but they all listen raptly when you tell them how Chen went off on you because he had some "bad shit" happen to his stuff and was out some serious money on account of it and he didn't want to be reminded. Even Kyle says "Dude!" and they all gasp and laugh about it.
All except Tim, who looks seriously annoyed.
When lunch is over, you and him and Lee walk off together to Mr. Hartford's Psychology I class, and you can tell that Tim wants to say something to you, but Lee insists on walking between you with his arm around your shoulders. In class, he leans over to tell Ethan Nieves and Devin Haney -- two of the wrestlers -- that you went back all by yourself to ask Gary Chen for a free eighth, and that your wrecked face is "all" that Chen did to you. "Whoa," says Devin. "Someone's got balls and a guardian angel." You're pretending not to hear, but you can't help sitting up very straight in your desk and preening a little.
The rest of the school day is anticlimactic. Eric takes a lot of bullshit classes, so there's no challenge to the Classical Literature or Career Exploration periods; and seventh period is Chorale.
The only trouble to be had is with the girls. Brianna is in Classical Literature, and she's very stiff and nervous when you drape yourself in the desk in front of her; she smiles at you, but dodges your eye; and when you ask if she's going to Maggie Crenshaw's party on Friday, she gulps and says that she doesn't think so.
Which is fine by you. Mostly you wanted to make sure that she wasn't going to get between you and Barbara. You catch Philippa Hosford looking at you very gravely, though. "What?" you ask. She says, "Nothing," and you make a face at her as you resettle a cap that has gone a little itchy.
Then there is Chorale, which is a little easier to handle, because you're with the tenors while Lisa --
Your Lisa. Lisa Yarborough. The girl who broke up with you even though you never actually said you were dating.
-- is with the altos. You vibrate all through class, wondering what she'd say if you went over and hit on her. Would she smile gently and say, "Sure I'll have coffee with you. You remind me of my old boyfriend"? Or would she turn up her nose at you because ... you remind her of her old boyfriend? Resentment gradually crowds out curiosity, and you work it out by murmuring "Eat a dick" over and over at the back of Martin Gardinhire's head. He's friends with Lisa, and is better friends with Geoff Fucking Mansfield. When he turns around with a slit-eyed glare and asks if you're talking to him, you coldly reply, "If you heard me, I guess I am," but he's too much of a chicken-shit do anything about it.
* * * * *
As you're coming out of the breezeway into the student parking lot, two figures drop in on either side of you and slip their arms into yours. "Hey hey!" you yell, and start to squirm away, until you see that it's Carlos and Mike. Well, their betas. "Oh hey guys, what's the deal?"
"Just making sure you get the message," says Beta-Carlos. Like Beta-Mike, his face is a cold and expressionless mask as he hustles you along between the rows of cars. "You're going out to the storage unit."
"I am? For what? We doing that video thing?"
"No, you're meeting with some cheerleaders," says Mike.
"Hey, totes awesome! But how come I didn't get a text?"
"Don't know," says Carlos. "Maybe 'cos they think we like to be seen with you."
"I'd like to be seen with them," you retort. "You know I don't got one class with even one of them?"
"Well, boo-fucking-hoo," says Mike.
"I know! Bogus, right? I'm supposed to be one of the -- "
"Where the fuck are you parked?"
"Over in the back corner, where no one can scratch me up, and I can get in and out fast." You jerk your chin at the most distant part of the lot, and Carlos flinches. "I always try to get away early, 'cos, you know -- "
"Just get the fuck over to the storage unit," says Mike as he pushes you away. "And when you're done there, give us a call, 'cos we have stuff we want to do after you're all gone."
"Sausage party?"
Carlos snarls, and you leap back. "No," says Mike. "We have a YouTube channel, and ever since someone bought a certain book," he continues while ostentatiously not looking at Carlos, "we've been slacking hard at the uploads."
"Need any help? 'Cos I can totally -- Well, fuck you too," you yell at them as they stalk off. Beta-Mike flips you off.
* * * * *
Of course you're not really that upset. You'd gotten some texts from a couple of people asking if you'd be free for the afternoon, and you'd tentatively scheduled a session of beer and video games with Luis Castillo and some of the other drummers from the marching band, so while slumping inside your Jeep you shoot off texts canceling your attendance. But the beers sound good, so you stop in a liquor store on the long trek across town, and use your -- Eric's -- fake ID to pick up a six-pack. You keep them well out of sight, though, as you rattle along Borman toward the storage complex. Your driving is reckless enough that you're going to get stopped one of these days, and you don't need it to be today, not with beers and a fake ID on your person.
There are two cars by the climate-controlled unit when you slam to a stop at it, and a little pink car comes gliding in while you're hovering over the keypad, trying to remember the code that will let you in. Through the glare on the windshield you can only make out that the driver has a bouffant of hair floating about her face. But when she gets out, there is no mistaking Chelsea Cooper -- the head cheerleader of Westside High.
Chelsea Cooper is a small thing, but she's packed with features. Her thighs and calves are strong and toned, and they connect dainty feet with wide, bowl-shaped hips. Her stomach is a curved pedestal over which hang -- like a balcony -- two great, globular breasts. Her arms, like her legs, are smooth and golden, and her doll-like face with its kewpie mouth, button nose, and glimmering eyes, is enwreathed with fluffy blond curls.
She is giving you a really good look at these assets, for she wearing pink short-shorts, ankle socks with her blazingly white tennis shoes, and a midriff-exposing sports top. Her only concession to the October breeze is a jeans jacket with the sleeves folded back above the elbows. She's pushed her hair back with a simple hair-band.
She is nearly the sexiest thing in school, and in your experience (yours and Eric's, both) just about the snobbiest and nastiest, too. She never looks at you except to wince or to curl her lip in disgust, and she has an astonishing ability to keep her chin turned away from people of your ilk even when she's surrounded on all sides by them. You don't think she's ever said anything more courteous to you than "Get out of my way." And given that her psycho jock-boyfriend is six-foot-four and almost two hundred pounds of purest muscle, you've never said anything to her at all.
Even Eric wouldn't court disaster by trying to talk to her.
But this isn't Chelsea Cooper. It's just someone done up to look like her. So you're not just brave enough to thrust your pelvis and yell, "Hey, sexy thang!" at her. You actually do it. And she titters and covers her grin with the back of her hand. And when you rub up against her, and put your nose in her hair, she giggles. "What you say," you murmur, "we go off somewhere, fool around, make pigs-in-a-blanket with our clothes off?"
"Can't," she gasps, and raises a shining face to yours. "The other guys are waiting for us. That's Maria's car, I think," she adds, looking over her shoulder. "I think, uh, Cindy came with -- " She hiccups. "Eva and Jessica."
"Screw 'em. Or I'll screw 'em after I -- " You put your hand on her ass, and she squeals.
But her phone rings, and she digs it out of her purse, and clucks her tongue. "We gotta go in. That's, uh, Maria, and she wants to know where we are." Sure enough, your own phone buzzes with a similar query just after you're inside the door.
* * * * *
"A, B, C, D, E, F, G, a-uukkkhhhhh," Eva Garner says from inside a long, lingering belch. She laughs into the open can of beer. "Oh, fuck. I can belch the alphabet up to Q in my old body, but this one -- "
"Watch it done right," says her sister, and guzzles back half a can of her own. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out but little clicking noises. Then she throws her head forward. "God damn it, I can't even get a -- Oohh-uuukkkkhhhhhhhhh!" She rips an even longer belch, but can't get any words or other sounds out of it. Both Garner girls collapse in the giggles.
"I like a good beer as much you guys," says Maria primly, and she raises an eyebrow. "And I know we're alone, and can -- "
"Let 'em have their fun," you say. You're laying on your side, with your head in the lap of the delectable Cindy Vredenburg. "Same as me."
"Dude," says Cindy. "I so can't believe I'm letting you do this."
"Someone has to." You raise up long enough to kiss her creamy thigh. "Now that Seth can't."
"Which is one of the things we need to talk about," says Maria.  You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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