Friended

by Kilby Blades

  @A$eVentura – Marilyn Manson's "Sweet Dreams"

  @DeckDeckG00$e – You scare me, @A$eVentura

  I snorted around a mouthful of ice cream.

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx – Jeff Buckley – "Hallelujah"

  I stopped breathing—and not just because Roxy had answered—because Jeff Buckley was my favorite fucking artist, and that song was made for him.

  @DeckDeckG00$e – @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx Touché

  Still floored, I opened my chat window and fired off an impulsive message.

  @moves_like_jagga: Fucking fantastic song.

  I second-guessed myself the moment I pressed send and for the long three minutes that passed before I got a response. Instead of calming when I heard the little chime that signaled her answer, my heart beat faster.

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: Out of all the people who have covered it, JB's is the best, IMO

  I hadn't thought past my opening line, and spent a panicked moment reaching for something intelligent to say. She surprised me by continuing straightaway, as if chatting with me were the easiest thing in the world.

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: I always wondered, though, why he left out LC's last two verses. They really change the meaning of the song…

  Not only did she have taste—this girl knew her music. I fought the urge to pepper her with all the questions that had been plaguing my mind.

  @moves_like_jagga: I'll bet the studio execs made him shorten it. Maybe you could find a concert version where he goes all out?

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: Trust me. I’ve tried. And thanks for the J Mascis—it's a great recording.

  BeCoolBeCoolBeCoolBeCool

  @moves_like_jagga: My pleasure

  There was a lull in the conversation and I scolded myself again to think, damn it!

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: So, I guess I'll see you in class tomorrow?

  I wilted a little. Too slow.

  @moves_like_jagga: Sure thing

  I had "Good night, Roxy" typed and ready to go when her next message came up.

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: Maybe then you'll tell me your favorite cover…I'm not the only one with good taste in music

  My face flushed deeply at the compliment and I imagined I looked like her for a moment, though not nearly as cute.

  @moves_like_jagga: Maybe…

  I bit my lip against a shit-eating grin.

  @moves_like_jagga: Good night, Roxy

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: Good night, Jagger

  Roxy

  My face tilted skyward and a smile found my lips as the sun kissed my starved shoulders. The rarely-used quad was buzzing with students enjoying the same thing as me. I had chosen a picnic table off to the side, and was listening to a playlist. I’d shed my hoodie and put on my sunglasses. Shy girl Roxy was nowhere to be found when something like sun was at stake. Ignoring the chill in the air, I kept myself warm with Air's Sexy Boy, the best finds I’d ever gotten from my Aunt Keri. It was a rare recording I’d ripped off of a CD ages ago. Nothing on this playlist was released on the streaming services, so I had to listen on my old Nano.

  Everything was bliss until a shadow crossed my path and my music abruptly stopped.

  "Motherf—" I started to mutter.

  I opened my eyes to see the retreating form of none other than Jag Monroe. When I caught a faint waft of his scent, my eyelids fluttered. Remembering myself, I glanced down at the table, and gaped at what I saw. My Nano had been stealthily replaced by a little green iPod. Somehow, he'd managed to disconnect my player and attach my earphones to his, all before I could even open my eyes. I snapped my gaze back up towards him and I leveled what I hope came off as a glare. He now leaned with his back against a far wall, one knee bent and foot bracing the brick as he palmed my Nano, too busy smirking to notice my scowl as he shuffled through what I sincerely hoped was only my music.

  That infuriating, brilliant bastard!

  I picked up the iPod and hit Play, then resumed my prior stance with as much disinterest as possible. I couldn't let him see how he unraveled me, how ravenous I was for anything he gave. A familiar folk guitar that I couldn't immediately place eased me into a song I didn't quite recognize but somehow remembered I loved.

  Busted flat in Baton Rouge,

  waitin' for a train and I's feelin'

  near as faded as my jeans…

  Jagger's favorite cover song was the Janis Joplin version of "Me and Bobby McGee"? The same Janis Joplin whose bluesy voice had crooned intensely to me despite ancient speakers and the scratches and flaws in Renee's old vinyl? I was the one who had begged her to get rid of it—to step into the 21st century and buy bluetooth speakers for the living room. I thought of Jefferson Airplane, and Tom Petty, and all the other bands I'd missed out on since we packed away our old LPs.

  Damn, I forgot how good this song was…

  I resisted the urge to open my mouth and sing along, settling instead for humming softly. I figured he’d given me just one, like last time, but things became clear when there was a second, then a third, then a fourth. Joe Cocker's version of A Little Help from My Friends, The Sundays’ version of Wild Horses, Iron & Wine’s version of Such Great Heights…and they weren't all studio versions, either. Something sublime took hold as I listened, face upturned, eyes still closed, basking in the warmth of the sun. I’d never heard Tori Amos sing Daniel or Ann and Nancy Wilson sing The Battle of Evermore, and he had a cut of The Indigo Girls doing Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters that was just…amazing.

  This wasn't Jagger throwing me tiny little morsels—this was…alright, I didn't know what it was. But he'd stolen my Nano and made me a fucking playlist. And not just any playlist—a playlist that had, like, ten emo songs on it. What’s more, I’d let him. This was definitely big.

  I spent the rest of lunch in the same position, listening through the songs he gave me. The bell rang at the same time my stomach growled and I realized I'd daydreamed straight through lunch. Before I could come up with a plan for how to shove down enough food to avoid embarrassing myself in Civics, I saw something that hadn't been there before. On top of my books sat a perfect red apple. I think we both know who left it.

  Eight

  The Way

  They made up their minds

  and they started packing.

  They left before the sun came up that day.

  An exit to eternal summer slacking.

  But where were they going

  without ever knowing the way?

  -Fastball, The Way

  Jagger

  I grabbed the plate of cookies as I swept into the house, startling my mother as I tore up the steps, barely stopping to give her a kiss. Once in my room, I kicked off my shoes and flopped down on my bed. I blew my hair out of my eyes as I reached into my pockets, eager for a thorough exploration of Roxy’s Nano.

  I smiled at the memory of her flummoxed expression in Civics as she'd asked for her iPod back. I'd just kept my eyes forward and smiled as I slowly shook my head “no”. She'd muttered a soft "asshole" under her breath, but I’d spied a tiny smile. I pretended not to notice how she reached out to worry the little green Shuffle between her fingers several times during the class.

  Scrolling through her music list at leisure now, I fell more than a little in love. Her collection had some of everything—from Pentatonix to Parliament, from Queen to Queensryche, from The Supremes to Sublime, from Beethoven to the Buena Vista Social Club. She had one hit wonders, and soundtracks, and bands I didn't recognize, but the few unfamiliar songs I listened to, I liked. She had the cutest little names for her playlists, things like "Groggy" and "Aggro" and "Low". Best of all was her "Top 25 Most Played" list, which was full of songs I fucking loved.

  This girl is perfect.

  The thought infiltrated my being, the chant of the mantra chipping away at my resolve with each repetition. Yet as intense as this thing was, we remained oddly estranged. I had to do something about that.

  I went to my computer and opened up iTunes, determined to add some stuff she didn't h
ave to her Nano. It was only six o’clocked, a little earlier than I wanted to start what was quickly becoming my nightly Instagram feast, but I was obsessed, so I logged on anyway.

  The first thing I saw was a friend request from Zoë DuBois. I hit “confirm” immediately. That had only been a matter of time. Her feed revealed an eclectic mix of posts about everything from fashion, to art, to roller derby. A quick scan through revealed that Gunther had hearted them all. Gunther rarely posted anything. I had to talk to that kid. Now that he was getting somewhere with Zoë, he had to step up his game.

  Declan’s feed, as usual, was full of selfies of he and Annika. Annika’s feed was always full of classic cars. The ones they worked on at her brothers’ garage were pretty sweet. I would’ve normally stopped to scan through what was new and look back at some of my favorites. But, today I was on a mission: cyber-flirt with Roxy. I arrived at her feed to find a stop-motion image of a scene with legos: a lego kid with spiky brown hair and an outraged expression chasing a lego storm trooper who was running away. The storm trooper had a teddy bear in his hand and was looking back at the lego kid who was chasing him. The caption read: I’d better get it back tomorrow.

  I chuckled out loud, and for the second time in as many days, sent her an impulse chat:

  @moves_like_jagga: Or what?

  This time, she hit me right back.

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: Or you’ll find out just how L.A. I am.

  I snorted.

  @moves_like_jagga: I bring you music and an apple and you repay me with threats?

  Shit. I was grinning again.

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: The apple was the least you could do.

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: What do you want with my iPod, anyway?

  It's a key puzzle piece in my obsession to know everything about you.

  Yeah. That one I didn’t type out.

  @moves_like_jagga: It's collateral while you hold onto mine.

  Yeah. What I actually wrote was a lot less creepy.

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: The Shuffle isn't even your real iPod—maybe you ought to let me hold on to that black Nano of yours

  The thought was mildly terrifying. Showing her my iPod would mean showing her…everything.

  @moves_like_jagga: Ha! Fat chance, Vega.

  I ignored the significance of just having put her on a last-name basis.

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: Just watch your left pocket—that's all I'm saying…

  I tried to quell the strange combination of lust and realization. Her talk about holding my Nano and reaching into my pocket to grab my iPod was causing my body to react. Something else was significant: she wouldn’t have known the color of my iPod or my habit of keeping it in my left pocket unless she'd paid attention. How long had Roxy been paying attention to me?

  @moves_like_jagga: Did you like the songs, at least?

  From the look on her face, it seemed like she had. That vision would stay with me for awhile: Roxy sitting on top of that picnic table, shoulders bare, face upturned toward the sun. Every day it became clearer: she and I had a lot more in common than I’d ever stopped to consider.

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: They were all great…but you still haven't answered my question: which one is your favorite?

  I had to know what she thought of me, which was why I told her to…

  @moves_like_jagga: Guess

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: (rolls eyes) Or, you could tell me…

  I really liked this version of her.

  @moves_like_jagga: Best song is "Hallelujah" but best improvement on the original is "Mad World"

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: ::nods approvingly::

  I fucking laughed. We spent what felt like just a few minutes but what I later realized had been an hour chatting about other covers, and other bands, we liked. I realized I'd been stalling on dinner for longer than I thought when I heard my dad's footsteps outside my room.

  @moves_like_jagga: Uh-oh. Dinnertime.

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: Fuck—I just looked at the clock! I need to get to dinner, too.

  With little time left, I grasped for parting words that would make me seem cool.

  I can't remember the last time I enjoyed talking to someone so much, Roxy.

  I'm really starting to like you, like you.

  I'm kind of fucked up, but you make me want to be better.

  So, what do you say…will you go out with me some time?

  @moves_like_jagga: Good night, Vega

  @Roxxy_roxxy_roxx: Next time, Monroe

  Tomorrow, I was going to talk to that girl.

  Nine

  Hot and Cold

  You overthink,

  always speak cryptically.

  I should know

  that you're no good for me.

  -Katy Perry, Hot n Cold

  Roxy

  I tried not to blush at Jagger’s slight bow as he opened the door for me the next morning. Zoë and Gunther were flirting obscenely as the four of us walked into school. Unsurprisingly, Jag didn't actually speak, which was probably just as well. His hair was still damp and his scent was strong. His aroma held no notes of the Axe body wash most of the other boys used—Jagger smelled ten times better, like tobacco and cedar. When I realized how freshly bathed he was, thoughts of water on his skin and the things that teenage boys do in the shower pretty much rendered me speechless. It was a short walk to homeroom, which only Zoë and I had together, and the four of us stopped at the door.

  "See you later, Zoë," Gunther drawled in a hush.

  "Bye, Gunther," Zoë smiled coquettishly.

  Gunther grinned like an idiot. I turned to Jagger, expecting he'd be enjoying the show, but he was laser-focused on me. I have plans for you, his green eyes seemed to say, as a smirk played across his lips. It was the first time he'd ever regarded me directly. Its intensity tilted my world.

  I wandered, dazed, into the room, and sank into my seat. I heard nothing—not roll call, not announcements, not the bell. I came to at Zoë's nudge.

  "Meet me at the usual place?"

  I had no idea what she was talking about.

  "For the pep rally, Roxx—weren't you listening?"

  This, from a woman for whom, minutes before, nothing outside of Gunther had existed.

  "Uh, when is it?" I managed, pushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

  "Right after lunch—they've cancelled sixth and seventh."

  I wanted to whine like a petulant child: "But sixth period is my class with Jagger!" Instead, I nodded at Zoë and we agreed to meet near the trophy case outside of the gym.

  By 9AM, I was still annoyed that I would not be seeing Jagger. By 10AM, I was feeding an ornate fantasy of him kidnapping me from the pep rally, of us lying close on the football field and listening to his iPod from the same set of little white earbuds. By 11AM, I was chiding myself for having ornate fantasies about Jagger Monroe in so undignified a class as Trig. When, by lunch, my vision had morphed into us dry humping on said football field, I snapped myself guiltily out of fantasizing about him at all.

  I'd been in Rye for six solid months without hooking up with a single person. Just because no one in Rye was my type didn’t mean I wasn’t still a red-blooded American girl. In L.A., I'd gone the friends with benefits route with my neighbor, Jason. But here, I had no friends to have benefits with. It didn't help that Jagger was sex incarnate, and was suddenly being nicer to me. It was easier to keep it in check when he'd been a complete asshole, but was it any wonder I lusted after him now?

  Take a number, Vega, some insidious voice taunted.

  My eyes slid across the cafeteria to where Lauren Halloran sat. I'd always been embarrassed about her desperate plays at Jagger—and when I say “embarrassed”, I mean embarrassed for her. Apparently they’d dated. He wasn’t a jerk to her or anything, but she was the only one who didn’t see how disinterested he was. I could admit that I’d judged her harshly, branding her as foolish and insecure and weak.

  But what about me?

  Because wasn’t it me who purs
ued him now? And wouldn’t it be the watchful eyes of my classmates who might soon judge me? It occurred to me then that trifling with Jagger could turn me into Lauren Halloran—if I didn't get a fucking grip.

  Had he seduced her with mix tapes? I wondered, unclear on the details of their relationship and not even sure it had been a relationship at all. Whatever had happened had happened last year, before I came, and I was still too secretive about whatever this was to just ask Zoë for the backstory. Before I could speculate on how Lauren had gotten so obsessed with Jag, a flash of his tousled hair invaded my vision. My traitorous lips curled up in a smile…until I saw who he was with.

  Ex-hookup number two was Jamie Victor, and her advances were bolder than Lauren’s. She'd draped her hand on his shoulder, with her forearm down his back, and she leaned in to whisper in his ear. Their backs were to me, so I couldn't see his face, but I noted how he didn't brush her off. God help me, but I was suddenly seething with anger at everything—at her, at him, at myself.

  Was this my fate? To become one of his harem? His friend list on Instagram confirmed a sizeable herd.

  You cannot fall for Jagger Monroe, I admonished myself with forced resolve.

  So we'd bantered on Instagram and liked a few of the same songs. So he made me a playlist—he was probably just bored.

  More like on the hunt for his next victim.

  At that, I flew out of my lunchroom chair before Zoë—or anybody—could find me. I did go lie in the football field then, all by myself, with the little green iPod in tow. The polar opposite of the day before, I stared, open-eyed at the sky. I was sprawled out and laid open and futilely hopeful that something would give me a sign. My instincts told me there was something special about him, that he wouldn't hurt me, that I made him drop his defenses. But he wasn't really letting me see him, either. He just kept pushing towards me, and I had no explanation as to why.

  By the time I met Zoë to head into the gym, I was as clueless as before. Ten minutes after taking my seat on the bleachers, my mood became foul. My voice of reason had beat the hell out of my hopeful delusions. My lack of sustenance left me irritable and weak. Zoë's radiating bliss as she texted with Gunther only reminded me of what I didn't have. And the last thing I needed was pep.