by CJ Adler
I find Jay resting on the couch. He's so busy these days that when he gets a second of free time, he sleeps.
I sit down beside him and tug on his arm. “Jay?” I call softly.
If he's awake, he's ignoring me.
“Jay,” I try again. “Jay, open your eyes before you make me do something that you will regret.” Still, nothing. “Jay!” Nothing.
At having enough, I lift my hand and hit him upside the head.
He rolls off of the couch before jumping up in fury. “Jeez, Aqueela, what was that for?” he asks, rubbing the back of his head, unintentionally flexing. He catches me staring and smirks knowingly.
“Now's not the time for games, Taylor,” I say in warning, sensing where his mind is at.
“Pity.” He grins tauntingly. “I'm in the mood to play.”
Oh, no! He's overtired. He only flirts when he's drunk or exhausted.
I fidget when he leans down to my level, placing his hands on either side of my face on the couch. “Jay,” I warn.
He flashes me a beautiful yet reckless grin. “Aww, come on, Aqueela. You said I can lead.”
I react on natural instincts and duck my head under his arm, moving off of the couch and out of his reach before he can do anything. He turns around, blinking down at me, puzzled as to how I escaped so swiftly.
I giggle before clearing my throat. “Listen, Jay, I need your help with something. However, you should sleep off the flirty nature first because I can't handle you when you're being like this.” This is the only time when he is able to beat me.
He blatantly ignores me, his mind still focused on other things. He takes a daring step toward me, closing off the distance between us so that he's standing right in front of me.
I take a step back, remembering Max's advice. “I'm done waiting on you to make a decision. I want us to take a break from whatever this—” I motion to the little space between us, “—is.”
“What?” He presses, at a loss for words.
“Let's just be friends for now, okay?” I suggest. “Now can you please snap out of it and listen to me?”
He yawns and nods. “Okay,” he agrees, the playful glint to his blue eyes quickly dying out like a fiery flame under water. “What do you need me to do?” I smile as I begin telling him my entire plan. “So, are you in?”
He shrugs. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
“You should sleep,” I advise, feeling guilty. I think I hurt him.
“I will,” he answers just as I turn to leave. “But, Aqueela,” he drawls, his voice stopping me, “when you're done helping Max, let's talk.”
I frown. “About?” “Everything.”
***
“Again?! You're kidding me! Again!?” Grey shouts, infuriated. “Why am I here? You said it was an emergency. You said that Jay’s in the ICU! I left my race and rushed over here.”
I lied.
“Did I say that?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips. “I don’t remember saying that. You have no proof or evidence of that ever taking place.”
Grey gives me a 'drop dead' stare before taking out his phone. He immediately goes to his voicemail messages. He presses play on one before my voice rings over his phone:
“Grey, quick! Jay’s in the ICU. I don't know how much time he has left. Hurry!”
“That could be anyone,” I argue, trying to snatch his phone out of his hands.
He pushes me away and motions to me to wait for the message to end:
“This is Aqueela Lawson speaking, I repeat, Aqueela Lawson speaking. Aqueela Lawson out.”
The message ends after that.
“That's poor proof. I've clearly been framed. You obviously know another Aqueela Lawson who knows another Jay,” I tell him, completely forgetting that I sent that message on the spur of the moment.
“Clearly.” He scoffs in sarcasm. “Just tell me why I’m here,” he demands, beyond irritated with me.
I pull him aside. “Because we’re pulling off a flash mob and we need lots of people to help out, you included. You're our secret weapon,” I lie to him…again.
“You called me here for a flash mob?!” he yells, his gray eyes swirling in anger as he focuses his bone-chilling gaze onto me alone.
I give him a narrow stare of my own, daring him to refuse me. This time, I'm not playing games.
We keep up the staring competition until he finally caves in with a loud groan. “I’m not dancing, I’m just making that explicitly clear now,” he says in a small voice, knowing he won’t get away with leaving. He knows I've won.
“Then you can be the lead singer,” I tease, his face falling at the idea. I bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from laughing aloud at his expression. “I will play guitar. I'm good at it,” he informs me, now willing. “Great!” I smirk in victory, proud that he’s at least doing something.
“I'm going to kill you one day,” he retorts stubbornly, his threats as empty as Troy's head.
“Stand in line,” I retort. “It's a looong line.”
Before he can reply, Max appears behind me and taps me on my shoulder.
“Aqueela, I really don’t know if this is such a good—”
“Nonsense!” I cut him off fiercely. “You can do anything, it’s why you’re not classified under a clique. You can do this. Bell totally loves these kinds of things,” I assure him.
He simply stares at me, in turn.
I smile, placing my hand on his shoulder in comfort. “There’s no way she can deny you. Seriously, trust me.”
“That's asking a lot,” he teases.
I wave him off and glance to Blubber and Simo next. “You two in?” Blubber glares at me, his face pink. “You threatened to slap me on my sunburn if I didn’t comply.”
“So, that means you’re in right?” I state more than ask. I quickly turn to
Simo before he can protest. “What about you, Sims?”
“Simo heart Sprinkle but—”
“He has to work today, Aqueela,” a voice finishes for him.
Uh-oh.
I spin around and send Dylan a sheepish grin. “'Sup, D.”
Thank goodness Bex isn't here or Benley will lose it.
Dylan narrows his eyes at me. “I need to talk to you,” he says before yanking me aside by my upper arm. “You don’t seem to understand that Simo works and actually has a job to do. You always—”
“I’m sorry,” I speak over him before hugging him tightly, still feeling terrible for how things ended on the date. I didn’t have the guts to say it sooner but now that he’s here, I might as well. “I’m so sorry for how I handled things. I never meant to upset you.”
He pulls away from me in anger, at least, I think it’s anger, that is until I see that he’s smiling again. “You make it so hard to stay mad at you. I should apologize too, I left you alone with the check and everything.”
I shrug. “Meh, it’s in the past.”
“Awesome.” He flashes me a grin.
“Do you want to be part of the flash mob too? It will be fun!”
He laughs aloud before realizing that I’m dead serious. “Sure. Why not? It’s the least I can do to make it up to you. Plus, your entourage seems pretty entertaining.”
My entourage? Mhmm, I like the sound of that.
I open my mouth to reply when another angry voice talks over me: “You have the audacity to ask me for help with a freeze mob–”
“Flash mob,” I correct Benley before he can go any further.
He rolls his eyes in response. “Flash mob,” he emphasizes and I smile in satisfaction at him pronouncing it right, “after you literally locked me in a cage the last time I saw you.”
I nod. “Correct. Yes.”
Dylan, surprisingly enough, defends me. “Pal, with the way you treated her in the restaurant, you kind of deserved it.”
Benley frowns, still not satisfied. “I’m not some animal that can be caged. I’m not some guy who can be easily influenced and persuaded to—”
He freezes, caught off guard. “I forgive you.”
As it turns out, he's wrong, he can be easily influenced.
Dylan’s eyes widen in realization. “You manipulated me!” He tosses an accusing finger in my face.
“At least, she didn't send you a voicemail saying that your best friend is dying. You got off easy,” Grey butts in, giving an account of his story as to how he landed up here.
I grin knowingly. He just accidentally admitted that Jay is his best friend. I approach Grey with wide arms. “I'm sor—”
“Don't even try me,” he warns, holding up his hand to stop me.
I pout and drop my arms. “Fine.” I cross my arms over my chest and glower at him.
Grey shakes his head. “You're so—”
“Predictable?” I interrupt. “Yeah, so are you.”
He glares at me. “I'm biding my time with you. I'll be the one calling the shots again soon enough.”
“Ooh!” I squeal in delight, unfazed by his snide remark. “I love game changers!”
“You're so annoying.” He sighs in defeat.
I place a hand over my heart. “Hurtful.”
“You just cause mayhem and anarchy wherever you go,” he points out the facts.
“Hey!” I feign offense. “Catch these hands!” I show him my fists before whacking him on the chest.
When I don't get a reaction out of him, I keep swatting at him.
Not bothering to stop me or even look at me, he sighs aloud to himself, cursing up at the ceiling before finally catching my hands in his. “Have you not embarrassed yourself enough?”
“Please,” I push his shoulder playfully, freeing myself from him, “I'm just
getting started.”
He rolls his eyes at me before changing the subject. “So, what's the play here?”
“Get Max a girl,” I tell him simply.
“How many people are here?” he asks me, curious.
“All ofthem,” I answer as accurately as possible.
“How'd you get so many people to come?” he asks in bewilderment, having now spotted Oog too.
“Face it, Ferrot,” I clear my throat in a serious manner, “I'm just that likable.”
“Unlikely,” he comments, in turn, not buying it.
“Oog dance,” Oog chips in, trying to impress me as he bobs about before hopping on the spot, resembling a dog that has fleas.
“You’re in, Oog!” I say, accepting his phenomenal audition.
“No, no way,” Grey speaks up again after having watched Oog's amazing performance. “I refuse to be affiliated with these idiots.” He gestures to Oog and the others messing around.
That's an insult to idiots everywhere. “Even me?” I query in interest. “Especially you.”
***
It's a day later when we're all standing inside the school's cafeteria with everyone gathered around to watch us, including a very perplexed Bells.
I probably should've first got permission from Principal P before doing this. What the heck, I’ll deal with the consequences later.
“Aqueela, shouldn’t we have rehearsed at least once?” Max asks me, incredibly anxious, judging by his constant fidgeting.
I shake my head, adamant. “Rehearsing is for losers.”
I signal to my group to just go with the flow as I get up onto a random table, making it my stage. The people at the table immediately scatter as if afraid of me. I automatically capture most of the school's attention, just as planned.
“Yo, folks! Please welcome my very own flash mob, Aqueela's Entourage!”
Everyone boos when they realize that it’s just another one of my stupid antics. Everyone in my own team send me daggers with their eyes for naming the flash mob after myself. If looks could kill, I'd be killed.
“We didn’t discuss the name!” Max hisses in my ear, not satisfied with
'Aqueela's Entourage'. It's all Dylan's fault really.
I guess it’s a little unfair naming the flash mob after me seeing as I'm not participating in it. However, I'm the producer of it as I put it all together. It's fair gain in my opinion. Also, being the head supervisor isn't easy, especially with these morons.
“This one goes out to our school's very own beauty queen, Bells Bensten!” I glance over at Bells to see her eyeing me warily, her eyes full of questions . Then there 's Mason sitting not too far away from her, both of them among the other jocks and cheerleaders – Laiken and snot-nosed Melinda included.
“And one, four, eleven, nine, go!” I shout, waiting for my band to begin. However, they merely all look at me with bland stares as everyone in the cafeteria wait silently, so silent that a cricket's chirps can be heard.
“Is that the signal?” FeeBee whispers loudly, clueless, for all to hear.
Dylan shakes his head in response. I forgot the signal. Oops.
Max sees the team’s confusion and takes over from me. “And five, six, seven, eight!”
They all start playing on cue.
Oh yeah, those were the numbers we agreed on…
To cut the long story short, Max can't sing…like at all. He's awful. He's below amateur. I think my ears are bleeding. The crowd begins booing us all over again as my entourage move toward Bell's table.
“We can come back from this!” I encourage them but, in actual fact, I have no faith in them at all.
“We really can't. I doubt there will be any calls for encores,” Jay says from beside me. He's deemed himself as director so that he doesn't have to participate either. “Didn't Max tell you that he sucks at singing?”
“He might have mentioned it…several times,” I answer him in hesitance.
“But cut me some slack, people usually say that and they turn out to be amazing.”
“Not in this case.” He chuckles, grateful that he's not part of it.
I didn't think for one second that Max would be this horrendous. How do his parent's still love and accept him when he's got such an atrocious singing voice? They deserve trophies for raising this mess. I'm pretty sure he's killing some angels right about now.
Then there's Grey who can't play guitar at all. It sounds almost as awful as Max's singing. He just did this so he wouldn't have to dance. He lied!
He, himself, seems to realize that he can't play either. As a result, he throws a tantrum and begins bashing the electric guitar against the cafeteria floor in aggravation. “Stupid damn guitar!” He roars in fury, hitting it over and over again.
I wince, watching hopelessly as the guitar gets smashed to pieces. Typical of Grey to blame it on the instrument.
“You owe me a new electric guitar,” Jay comments from beside me in nonchalance. “Scratch that, you owe me a new best friend,” he jokes. “Mine's clearly broken.”
“Woah! Temper!” One of the cheerleaders from the popular crowd yell at Grey, the jocks mocking him too. The outcome is a guitar flying across the room in their direction. I watch on in horror as it hits a bunch of jocks.
Okay, so Grey has aim, duly noted. He also has a talent in shutting up crowds of people.
Fortunately, my band keeps on going, ignoring the insults like I trained them to do. I had a feeling this might happen.
As expected, it only gets worse.
Simo and Oog go off script and decide to do the flash mob behind Boss Man. Boss Man ends up tripping, after being pushed, before falling down onto Blubber. Blubber's stomach hits the tiles before he cries out in pain because of his sunburn. “Mother savage ape attack!” He screams, rolling on the floor in pain.
Simo and Oog fall into fits of laughter while Boss Man joins Grey back on the sidelines, refusing to continue. Simo and Oog both end up tripping over Blubber's body like the dummies they are. In turn, Blubber ends up having the last laugh.
Then there's Benley who's carrying us all home. He's absolutely amazing on the drums.
He sounds like some rock god. He's brilliant! We're only succeeding in our efforts because of him. He's already got a fan base cheering him on.
“Maybe there's a happy ending after all,” Jay reasons.
Benley grins, bobbing his head to the beat, as he shows off some more. He gets carried away by the female attention and eventually loses focus under all the pressure. When he goes to throw his drumstick in the air, preparing to catch it like he'd been doing the entire time, it slips from his hands and hits Gland on the forehead.
Gland, having lost it, turns around to face Benley. “Oh, you did not just throw that at my head, BoyBand!”
'BoyBand' is his personal nickname for Benley.
Benley instantly stops playing, holding his hands up in surrender, sensing the seriousness of the situation. “It was an accident! I swear it, bro! Chill.”
Gland picks up the drumstick that had hit him before going after Benley.
“I'll show you accident, BoyBand!”
“If you want to see an accident, look in the mirror,” Benley replies, unable to hold himself back, and because of that he'll have a broken back.
“Imma make you dead!” Gland shouts, angered.
And just like that, Benley — our star, the one who we solely relied on — is sprinting away, shouting profanities at the top of his lungs as Gland chases after him. They end up jumping over cafeteria tables in the process, lunch flying up everywhere as a result.
“This is a disaster,” I mumble from beside Jay, tempted to close my eyes and denounce them all as my friends.
Jay chuckles in delight, amused by it all. “Really? 'Cause I'm having a blast.”
Of course, he is!
FeeBee, the airhead, is dancing really well. Unfortunately, she's gotten so into it that she is the only one who hasn't noticed that she's danced across to the other side of the cafeteria.
Dylan, whom I made the hip-hop dancer alongside FeeBee, has no rhythm whatsoever. In fact, I'll go as far as saying that he's a dancing disaster.
Jam is rocking that triangle he's playing. He's talented. The only problem is the spotlight. Jam wants it and it seems he's willing to fight for it, seeing as he's now shoving Max out of the way, craving for the attention and limelight—the one he never seems to get.