Pretty Savage

by T. A. Kunz

  I need to thank him.

  After killing most of my free period in the library, I find myself standing at the intersection of two hallways. I’m torn. Down one hall is Harrison’s locker and down the other is Donovan’s. I have important things to discuss with both of them, but since I know where to find Harrison after school—football practice—I decide to head toward Donovan’s.

  A paper banner trimmed out in our school colors, black and red, is strung up overhead in the hall. HOMECOMING is painted in bold letters in the middle of it followed by details about the game on Thursday. Smaller poster-sized signs line the walls and are painted with bright neon colors advertising the Neon MasqueRave Ball on Friday. There’s a reminder to pick up a blank mask for the dance from the ticket table. WE WANT TO SEE YOUR CRAZY NEON DESIGNS is in all caps at the bottom.

  Being flanked by these posters serves as yet another painful reminder that Lori’s gone. The MasqueRave Ball was her winning idea for a dance theme. It had been a close run for both her and Sophia’s suggestion of “A Night Beneath the Hollywood Lights,” but ultimately Lori’s idea won out.

  Life as a cheerleader meant that pep rallies, sporting events, and dances used to be high priorities of mine. Now they’ve all been knocked down several pegs on the list. And cheerleading is another thing I get to say goodbye to since I plan to tell Sophia after school that I’m officially dropping out.

  My heart’s just not in it anymore.

  I lean against the locker next to Donovan’s and feel the cool metal brush against my bare upper arm. My eyes wander to the clock on the wall and watch the hands tick down to the end of day. These last two minutes feel like they’re lasting an eternity.

  The bell chimes and the halls fill with students. I stand on my tippy toes and try to spot Donovan amongst the shifting crowd. I know he’ll eventually come to his locker, but with every passing minute it gets closer to when I need to go chat with Sophia. I want to talk to her before practice starts so we can have a one-on-one, just her and me. I’ve avoided her inquiries regarding my status with the squad long enough. It isn’t fair to her or the rest of the squad that she’s holding my active spot against the rules. We’re supposed to be allowed to miss three practices before we’re benched until we prove we can change our behavior, but I’ve missed every single one since the start of the school year. That’s way more than three practices, by the way.

  The sound of lockers opening and closing resound throughout the hallway, but there’s still no Donovan. I sigh, then rip a piece of paper from the notebook in my hands and jot down a quick message along with my cell number before slipping it through the horizontal slots in his locker.

  My next stop is the gym.

  The closer I get to the double doors leading into the gymnasium, the more I realize there isn’t the usual warm-up music emanating from within. I actually don’t hear any noise coming from inside at all. It’s deathly quiet. No sneakers squeaking on the court, no cheering, no rustling of pompoms. Nothing. Just silence.

  I peek inside. The lights are lower than usual, but still on, like they’re on reserve or something. I’ve been in this building many times, but in this dim light it almost feels foreign … creepy even. I open the door wider and take a step inside.

  “Hello?” I ask into the vast emptiness of the space.

  No response.

  The sound my shoes decide to make as I cross the court is unpleasant. The bleachers are all still pulled out and the basketball goals aren’t tucked up. A door opens and closes in the vicinity, but I still don’t see anyone.

  “Hello? Is someone there?” I ask again, and I’m met with the same response as before. Nothing.

  An uneasy tingle grows under my skin while I scan the area, hoping to see someone pop out from anywhere just so I’m not alone. The feeling of being watched slithers in. Goosebumps sprout on my arms and legs before spreading across my entire body.

  A noise resonates from the bleachers to my right. My neck twists to the side and focuses on them. One by one, each bay of bleachers begin retracting against the wall. I jump back.

  “All right, this isn’t funny at all. Who’s there?”

  My sudden surge of confidence diminishes when I again receive no answer. The severe sound the bleachers make as they crash against the back wall makes me flinch time and time again, all in rapid succession, booming throughout the entire gym.

  BAM!

  BAM!

  BAM!

  My heartbeat quickens. I try to move, but my feet are stuck in place. I’m almost entranced by the motion of the bleachers. My eyes can’t help but follow each set as they collapse back.

  The left side begins retracting and my focus switches to them. My fight or flight instinct kicks in, finally freeing my limbs to move. I take a step back and am brought to a sudden stop by what feels like a wall. A human wall. A scream is ripped from me as I twirl around.

  “Hey, it’s just me, Drea,” Harrison says.

  My hand clutches the area of my chest where my heart used to reside. It’s firmly in my throat now. Then my eyes explore Harrison from head to toe. He’s wearing a sleeveless black compression shirt that showcases his sculpted arms and accentuates his Adonis-like physique. The pair of black shorts he has on hits mid-thigh and leaves very little to the imagination. I snap back to reality when I realize I’ve been staring for too long.

  “So all of that was you then?” I ask. It’s a toss-up if my breathlessness is from my scare or Harrison himself.

  “No. It’s probably one of the janitors or something. I was just grabbing another football from the supply closet.” He holds up the one in his hand. “Both of the ones we had at practice were flat.”

  “A janitor … right,” I say, thinking that sounds like the most logical explanation.

  “What are you doing in here? Cheerleading practice perhaps?” His tone is hopeful.

  I nod. “Which seems to not be happening today.”

  “Yeah, I think at lunch Sophia mentioned something about moving it to tomorrow.”

  There goes my whole quitting today in person plan.

  “Thanks for the update,” I say.

  “Sure. Anytime.” He tosses the football from hand to hand as he holds my gaze. “Does this mean I’ll be seeing you on the sidelines again soon?”

  I stare at his mouth for a moment, distracted. “Perhaps,” I blurt. The sting of my lie is exacerbated by the pleased expression on his face.

  “I do believe that’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” he says.

  Doubt over my plan to quit enters my mind. Is this a rash decision? Or is my heart just confused by the sweet sentiments from the guy in front of me?

  “Well, I better get back to practice,” he says, gesturing to the entrance. “Can’t really play football without this.” He chuckles with a wave of the ball.

  Thank him already!

  I return his laugh, but it sounds forced to my ears.

  Do it now!

  “Hey, Harrison? About the detention.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts in a half-smile. “You don’t have to say anything.”

  “No, I know, but I want to,” I reply, which adjusts the curve of his mouth into a full-blown smile. The look in his eyes makes it harder for me to find the words I want to say. “I just wanted to thank you. You didn’t need to do what you did, and I appreciate that you did it.”

  I breathe a small sigh of relief over the fact I was able to get all of that out. I nibble on my lower lip when he doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he just stares at me with that same debilitating smile.

  “Well, that’s all I wanted to say,” I toss out.

  “You’re welcome. But I did it because it was the right thing to do. I’m trying to work on that whole thing. Besides, you didn’t do too much damage to the chin, remember? So it’s all good.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “See you tomorrow?” he asks as he starts toward the exit.

  “Yeah, see you tomor
row.”

  He holds my gaze, and after a few steps backward, he decides to turn and fully commit to walking away. When he reaches the door, he tosses me one last flash of a grin before leaving.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text light up the screen. It’s from Sophia.

  Hey Drea! I know you’re still taking a break, but practice has been moved to tomorrow, just in case. Miss ya!

  Guilt wreaks havoc on my stomach as I stare at the “miss ya” part of the text. I’m not surprised she sent this to me. She’s made a habit of checking in before every practice. Not necessarily to see if I’m coming back, but just to do a mental health check, which I appreciate. She’s also been in contact a few times since Saturday night. It’s nice to know that someone like Sophia is looking out for me, though I hate she’s having to bend the rules. And all of this doesn’t help me feel any less guilty for wanting to quit on her.

  I want to reply but I don’t know what to say, and I most definitely don’t want to have this conversation over text. I feel bad since I’ve been avoiding the whole squad today just so I didn’t have to deal with this on top of everything else.

  I can’t keep avoiding everything though.

  Donovan

  I feel like absolute shit.

  The stuff I wasn’t able to put back in my locker at the end of the day—because I’m a terrible person—isn’t fitting into my work cubby at the café. It’s like the worst game of Tetris ever. It’s also the karma I deserve for actively avoiding Drea all day due to my fear of not being able to keep this massive secret that claws at the back of my throat, wanting to be screamed from the hilltops. The worst part is I saw her waiting for me at my locker, but I couldn’t pull myself to see her knowing what I know. Not until it’s officially announced.

  I don’t think I could keep this from her face to face.

  I snap my apron over my head and twist the strands behind my back, securing it in place. I go to pin my name tag onto the breast pocket and drive the pokey bit right into my thumb. It goes deep.

  “Shit,” I growl as I watch the blood flood the grooves of my fingerprint.

  If that wasn’t yet another obvious result of karma, I don’t know what is.

  I blot away the blood with a paper towel I snatch from the holder by the handwashing station in the back and apply a bandage. The blood soaks through the bandage and oozes a bit out the side, so I double it up.

  “You all good back here?” Marcus asks, surprising me. “Sorry, I heard a small girl’s scream and had to check it out.”

  I crack the first smile I think I have all day. “Just me, I’m afraid,” I say as I struggle to adjust the apron to rest flatter in the front.

  “Sorry, humor is my way of dealing with crappy situations. You can thank all those repressed emotions I have buried deep inside for that,” he says, leaning against the frame of the door leading into the back area. “Enough about me. How are you doing? Really.”

  “Honestly, I’ve been better,” I reply, finding it increasingly more difficult not to shout what really happened to Lori.

  “Do you need a hug from a muscle queen?” he asks, extending his arms to me. “Because I could sure use one myself.” When I take him up on his offer, he adds, “Aren’t Miz Markie Marc hugs the best?”

  “They’re all right,” I tease.

  He pats my head. “I’m just going to pretend you agreed and said they’re the best.” He releases the hug and moves his hands to rest atop my shoulders. “You good?”

  I nod.

  “Great, now get to work,” he orders.

  Even though he grins when he says it, I send him a sarcastic glare before moving to the front of the café and taking my position behind the counter. It’s surprisingly dead here today. More importantly, there isn’t any sign of Connor or his group yet. I wonder how they’re doing after finding out about Lori. Then the thought of them hearing about her potential death by suicide crosses my mind and I become overwhelmed again about knowing the truth. I know my aunt was just trying to give me a heads up on what was really going on, but I really wish she hadn’t.

  Through the large bank of windows near the front of the café, I recognize Drea and her straight, dark blonde hair moving toward the entrance. I immediately duck down below the counter and crawl on my hands and knees to the doorway leading to the back room. I come face to legs with Marcus’s bare shins, which are shaved and smooth as hell, and I raise my gaze up to meet his.

  “Uh, what are you doing?” he asks with a cocked eyebrow.

  “Please take care of the girl coming in now,” I say as the chime from the door opening rings throughout the entire café. My eyes grow wide. “And I’m not here, got it?”

  He rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders before throwing me a thumbs up. I scramble in my crouched position to the back area and am finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. I fully acknowledge how ridiculous I’m being right now, but in my mind, this is all justifiable behavior given the situation.

  I really am a terrible person.

  Marcus sticks his head into the back room a few moments later. “She’s gone. It’s safe to come out. And what the hell was all of that about anyway?”

  “Long story,” I reply as I make my way to my feet. “Thanks, Marcus. I owe you one, seriously.”

  “Damn right you do,” he says, planting his hands firmly on his hips. “Oh, and if you were curious about what she wanted, she told me that when I see you to tell you that hopefully you got the message she left for you in your locker and please text her when you can. Something about it being urgent.” He uses air quotes around the last word.

  So she was the one who left me that note? But I didn’t see her number on there.

  “Thanks again,” I say.

  “You’re welcome, obviously.”

  Then his face shifts into an expression like an idea just occurred to him. He sends me a mischievous grin that would make the Grinch jealous. The overly self-assured expression makes its way up to his eyes.

  “What?” I ask, not knowing if I really want to know.

  “I just thought of how you’re going to repay me for our little game of espionage.”

  “And how’s that exactly?”

  “We’re putting on a special benefit gig tonight at Mae’s, and you’re going to help me with it,” he says.

  “Hold up, on a Monday? Who goes out on Mondays?”

  He scoffs. “I just said it’s a special gig, didn’t I?” His expression eases into more serious, contemplative lines. “It’s a fundraiser we’ve been organizing for weeks to bring awareness to self-harm. It was just National Suicide Prevention Awareness Month.” He pauses to clear the emotion from his throat. “And given recent events, it seemed like a good time to finally do it. Not to mention our community struggles with this on the daily.”

  I come so close to yelling that Lori didn’t die by suicide, but that’s not all this event is about. My inquisitive eyes meet his.

  “What, exactly, am I going to need to do?”

  “I’m doing a little number to the song ‘Firework’ and I’m going to need you to strike some poses on stage. Nothing too complicated. Your only goal is to accentuate my beauty. Do you think you can handle that?”

  My eyes narrow. “What am I wearing during this little number of yours?”

  That mischievous grin slowly fills his face again. “Oh, you’ll see,” is all he replies.

  “But what about my aunts? They’re not going to let me be out that late on a school night.”

  I’m certain Aunt Helen will refuse to let me go for obvious reasons. She wasn’t even that keen on me going to work today after school.

  Marcus places his hand on my shoulder and pats it. “Rest easy, young buck. We’re out of here at eight. The show starts around nine and then we’ll be closing the show at ten. I’ll have you home by ten-thirty, eleven at the latest. Plus, you owe me, remember?”

  “Yeah, well, good luck explaining that to my aunts,” I r
etort.

  “Oh, ye of little faith. You just leave that to me,” he says as he lightly taps my cheek.

  How is he going to pull this off?

  Drea

  There’s no way around it. I have to pass by Lori’s street on the way home. I’d consciously avoided taking my usual route this morning, but I guess due to force of habit, I’m now approaching her street.

  Is it too late to turn around and go the other way?

  Her house is three streets down from mine in the same neighborhood. I remember the first time we realized we lived so close to each other. It was during our first conversation over a mutual frustration with a certain heroine from a popular teen book series. I was rereading the first book in the library while waiting for my dad to pick me up after school, and Lori was nearing the end of her first ever read-through. It was the beginning of sophomore year and I’d just moved from Northern California to Haddon Falls. The thought of starting a new school after just getting used to all things high school was both terrifying and exciting. But Lori quickly became my reason for wanting to stay in Haddon Falls. It was all history after that.

  Contrary to how I was feeling moments ago, I’m compelled to flick my blinker and turn onto Lori’s street. Not sure why, but something pulls at me to obey. While traveling down Winter Haven Avenue, my mind floods with memories of us driving through our neighborhood late at night … all the trouble we got into and the countless times we stayed out living our best lives while making the town of Haddon Falls our own personal playground.

  Lori’s house approaches on the right. I slow the car to stall in front of it. The lawn is covered in an array of colorful foliage shed by the surrounding trees, making them look sparser than the ones in their neighbor’s yard. A gust of wind jostles them to and fro, tearing even more leaves from their twisted branches.

  There are no cars in the driveway and no lights on in the house. All the windows are pitch black, and there’s this sadness that looms over the property. My heart pains seeing her house looking empty and dark, just as she was the night we found her.