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Lock & West

Page 13

by Alexander C. Eberhart


  Jill must feel the shift in my mood because she asks, “What is it, Lan?”

  “It’s her again,” I say as my mother stares at me with a frozen smile from a different life. A life when she had a husband’s love, two perfect children, and only an acquaintance with alcohol instead of a full-blown affair.

  A life when I wouldn’t have thought twice about answering. But that life no longer exists, and its replacement is a convoluted disaster.

  “Should I answer?” The phone ceases the vibration only to start again. Same caller.

  “Do you want to speak with her?” Jill’s beside me now, her work abandoned.

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “You have no obligation.”

  “That’s not exactly true.”

  She’s still my mom. Nothing changes that. As much as I hate to admit it, I miss her, and that ache is enough for me to swipe my finger across the screen.

  “Lachlan?” Her voice sounds through the speaker before I can raise it to my ear.

  “Yeah,” I say. Hearing her doesn’t alleviate the twisted brambles in my stomach, just winds them tighter till it’s hard to breathe.

  “Honey.” There’s a sigh, then her words slur. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Things got out of hand. I never meant to hurt you.”

  My finger rolls down the line of nearly healed, pink skin curving down my arm. The sound of glass shattering still echoes through my head.

  “You know that. Don’t you, sweetie?”

  My lips are stone, and my tongue is lead. “Y-Yeah,” I stammer. It’s the first lie I’ve told her in God only knows how long. “I know.”

  “Good.” There’s a sniffle, and everything becomes surreal. Mom doesn’t cry. Not even at Dad’s funeral. Although, with the recent illuminating backstory, I know now there was a reason behind that.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her.

  “I just miss you two,” she answers over the sound of wine refilling her glass. “It’s time you came home.”

  Jill is watching me with wide eyes. Can she can hear what Mom is saying?

  “I’m…not sure that’s best, Mom.”

  Silence. Time stretches out, endless and terrifying, with only the sounds of her breathing to remind me she’s still alive.

  “Mom?”

  “You know, I didn’t want to see it.” Her voice morphs into something dark and uncharacteristic. “I told myself it was just paranoia. That God couldn’t be that cruel. My child would never be the same. You’d never leave me like he did.”

  My words get caught.

  “Like father, like son.”

  The call ends with a beep. A gasp finally clears the impenetrable wall in my throat.

  “Lan?” Jill’s fingers rest on my arm.

  I can’t answer. Mom’s face fades from the screen. Her words should destroy me, but there’s no pain. There’s nothing to fill the distance that keeps growing between us.

  She’s gone.

  “Lady and gentleman, don’t adjust your televisions. What you’re about to see is one hundred percent real.”

  I reveal the sheet of paper from behind my back.

  “Holy shit.” Chels snatches the test from my hand, holding it up to the sunlight. “You got an ‘A’ on your math quiz?”

  “Hell, yes, I did!” I beam, dusting off a shoulder. “Ms. Moritz even accused me of cheating. How fucking awesome is that?”

  Chels hands me back my moment of academic brilliance. She’s spattered in flecks of colored paint, her ratty white t-shirt tied at the waist so that her navel shows. I’ve always envied her body image. I never leave home without at least two layers, even during the sweltering summer.

  “Congratulations,” Lock adds, looking significantly less speckled than Chels. They’ve been stranded in the back parking lot all week, painting while I’m in rehearsal. Now, the set is nearly done. At least, it would be if Mr. Routon would quit changing his mind every five minutes.

  “I should tell you the same.” I grin, carefully folding the paper and stowing it in my backpack to rub in my parents’ faces later. “It’s all thanks to you and your awesome math brain.”

  “Hey, that brain is more than just a mathlete’s wet dream.” Chels wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling Lock under her wing which is ridiculous because she’s a foot shorter. “It also does a passable job at tedious manual labor, like painting lockers on back drops and lifting heavy shit.”

  “Of course.” I chuckle. “And here I was trying to shove that marvelous cerebellum into a box when it should be free to reupholster that ugly couch Mr. R is trying to use.”

  “Gross.” Chels releases her hold on Lock, who puts a comfortable distance between them. “Isn’t that the one Mary Sincox got knocked up on last year?”

  “The very same. But at least we know those stains aren’t from her and Trent because the poor bastard didn’t pull out.”

  Chels is cackling, and Lock just shoves his painted hands in his pockets, looking moderately uneasy.

  “Hilarious teenage pregnancies aside,” I chime, shaking away the latest random urge to wrap my arms around Lock’s waist. “I think this momentous occasion deserves to be celebrated.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Lock asks.

  “Well, my old people have a banquet to attend this evening, and Claire and what’s-his-face are visiting his family, so I’ve got the place to myself.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Chels gives her best Cheshire Cat grin.

  Lock doesn’t get it.

  “You know me so well.”

  The pool house is the perfect spot for us to hot box. Not only is it far enough away from the house that there’s zero chance of any aromas wafting in, but my parents wouldn’t be caught dead in here. They only use it for storage and a place for the pool boy—sadly, very unattractive—to deflate the floats during the winter season.

  Add an old sofa and two beat up recliners from Goodwill I snuck in a couple of years ago and voila!—instant hideout. Chels and a boyfriend or two have been the only ones I’ve let in on my secret.

  Now, Lock’s here too.

  “I’m still not really feeling the whole nurse thing.” Chels passes the joint to me, fumes hanging in the air.

  “Why not?” I take a hit, holding the hot smoke in my mouth till it cools. My eyes water as I exhale. “I think it’ll look dope. Right, Lock?”

  Lock looms by the window, watching the breeze blow a flurry of orange and yellow leaves into the pool. He seems nervous. Like, more so than usual, that is.

  “Lock,” I say again.

  “Huh?”

  “Come heeere,” Chels beckons, and after a moment of hesitation, he does. She drags him down to the couch, curling her arm through his. “I’m starting to like this one,” she tells me. “Maybe even more than I like you, West.”

  “Those are dangerous words,” I warn, passing the joint. “Don’t let her fool you, Lock. She’ll just use you up and drop you like a hot potato as soon as someone younger, fresher, and gayer shows up.”

  “Someone gayer than you, West? That’s impossible.” Chels leans a head on Lock’s shoulder, offering him the smoldering joint.

  He just shakes his head. “I’m all right.”

  “Suit yourself.” She puffs another cloud. There’s a nice fogginess to the air now.

  My head is swimming, and for the first time in weeks, my stomach has unclenched enough that I might consider eating something other than saltine crackers.

  Chels strokes Lock’s arm with her index finger, and a flash of jealousy flares in my chest.

  Easy, West. It’s just the weed talking.

  “So, West. What did I miss in rehearsal today while I was sweating over those fucking backdrops?”

  “Not much,” I say, kicking my feet up on an old cooler. “Me and Cheng had to run the kiss scene, which was hella weird. You know Cheng is like, a crazy intense actress, so she was really trying to get into it, and I just kept thinking about where to put m
y hands and praying she didn’t try to slip a little tongue on me. Super awkward.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t feel awkward,” Lock says, then his eyes widen a little like he didn’t realize he was talking out loud.

  “That’s usually the case,” I answer. “But when it comes to this… I dunno. Maybe I’m just overthinking it. But I can’t seem to get into Romeo’s head space.”

  “Actors…” Chels uses air-quotes to make sure even deaf eavesdroppers know she’s being sarcastic.

  “Mock me all you want.” I fold my arms, turning my nose up. “But I’m an artist who needs to embody his work. If I can’t feel the character, I won’t be able to give a believable performance.”

  “And what a shame that would be. With a title like Bromeo and Julie from the Net, I think believability is the least of our problems.” Chels detaches herself from Lock, holding the joint between her lips as she rises. “I’m a school nurse who gives advice through interpretive dance, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Duly noted.” I can’t argue the point. The script is a hot mess. But I feel the need to defend myself. Chels is the only one who understands me. That can’t change. “Seriously though, Chels. This is my thing. Like, the thing I always tell myself I’m good at. The thing that sets me apart from everyone else. And it’s my first shot at a leading role, so I can’t fuck it up. Now, use that beautiful lady-brain of yours and help me think up a solution to this Cheng-Conundrum.”

  We pass the joint back and forth a few times in silence. It doesn’t seem like either of us are going to be struck with inspiration, and the munchies are starting to set in.

  “You could rehearse with a boy.”

  Chels and I exchange looks. Neither of us said it, so that only leaves...

  We turn on Lock, who’s staring at his phone with a neutral expression.

  “What did you say?” Chels asks.

  “Huh?” Lock looks up at her.

  “Did you say something?”

  “Oh.” He scratches the back of his head, gaze on the ground. “I was just thinking, it may be easier for him to relate if he tried rehearsing the scene with a boy. That way, the emotion can be real, and he can draw from that when he’s doing it with Cheng.”

  “Ha.” I snicker. “You said doing it with Cheng.”

  Chels slaps me on the shoulder. “Would ya look at that? Not only is he a mathematical genius and painter, but now we can add directing onto the growing list of talents.”

  “It’s a pretty good idea, I guess. But that may just be because I’m stoned.” I stand up, swaying slightly as I walk to the mini fridge in the corner to grab a Coke Zero.

  “Don’t listen to this dumbass,” Chels says, throwing me under the bus. “It’s a brilliant idea. And I think we should try it out, right now.”

  “But Chels,” I start, doing a three-sixty to confirm my suspicions. “There’s no one for me to rehearse with.”

  “Um, sweetie?” Chels’s eyebrow cocks. “What do you call this?” Lock’s eyes meet mine as she presents him like she’s some game show bimbo.

  My heart is in my throat.

  “No!” I say much louder than I intend. “I mean, there’s no rush. We can wait until tomorrow, and maybe Jared can come over. He’s been dying to kiss me since last summer, so he’ll totally be down.”

  “What are you talking about?” Chels asks, standing to slap my shoulder a second time. “You’re not kissing that skeeze. Lock, honey, would you be a pal and help him out?”

  “Chels, stop pressuring him—”

  “Yes.”

  I stop mid-sentence. “Wait, what?”

  “I want to help,” Lock says, joining us. Jesus, I keep forgetting how tall he is. “I’m not really good at it, though. The lines, I mean.”

  “You’ll be fabulous.” Chels pulls him beside me. “Let me go grab my script. I’ll be right back!”

  She hurries out the door towards the house. I need to put a stop to this. I snuff out the joint.

  “We don’t have to do this,” I tell Lock, reaching for his arm but then thinking better of it. “It’s a great idea, of course, and it’s probably going to work wonders, but that doesn’t mean it has to be with you, ya know?”

  Lock is quiet, which is all kinds of frustrating.

  Why exactly am I fighting this so hard? It’s not like I don’t want to kiss him. Hell, it’s been all I can think about for days now. How it would feel to kiss him again without the fuzziness of alcohol.

  “It’s okay,” he tells me finally, a faint smile playing on thick lips. “I want to help. You’ve been so great to me. If I can do something to repay it, I’m going to.”

  Have I been great? I question his judgment. In my own opinion, I’ve been decent at best. At worst, I’m the reason his home life fell apart. Not exactly what I’d consider being a great friend. Then there was the sex thing…

  “Are you okay?”

  The question sounds strange coming from his mouth because it’s usually me asking it.

  “I’m fine,” I say, more for my own benefit than his. I am fine. This is fine. I just have to keep telling myself that. Hide it, West.

  Chels comes back, script in hand.

  “All right.” She flips a few pages in before handing it over to Lock. He looks nervous. “I’m going to be your audience/romance thermometer. If the heat isn’t there, you’re going to put me to sleep. Got it?”

  Lock nods, and I just roll my eyes.

  “Lock, you’ll be playing Julie. In this scene, she and Romeo are meeting in person for the first time after chatting for a few weeks online. They don’t know they’re both students at rival schools. They don’t know their relationship will be seen as betrayal to their respective friend groups. Right now, there’s only infatuation and, for the briefest moment, a glimpse of love.” She pauses then lets out a heavy sigh. “Understand?”

  “I-I think so.” Lock swallows hard, pages trembling in his hand.

  Chels takes her place on the sofa, excitement radiating from her grin. “All right, action! I’ve always wanted to say that…”

  With a sigh of my own, I take Lock’s paint-spattered hand, his vibration ceasing at my touch. His skin is warm, and his palm is smooth. I recite from memory. “These hands, I know them. For once they did type out the words that caused my heart to flutter. I feel unworthy to be touching such saintly beauty in human form. But if my touch does offend, then perhaps my lips, two pilgrims blushing, can balm the wound with a kiss?”

  I look back to Chels, but she’s pretending to snore in her seat. What a bitch. I’m doing my best up here.

  “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Lock says in a stiff and shockingly monotone voice. “Just by holding my hand, you show your devotion, whether to sainthood or to me is yet to be discovered. And isn’t holding one palm to another like a kiss in itself?”

  “I suppose that’s true.” I smirk, doing my best to catch his eye. My pulse races. This is worlds different than when Cheng and I practice. Kudos to the idea, Lock. “But don’t saints also have lips?”

  “Aye, they do, pilgrim. With which they use for prayers and blessings.”

  “Well then, your saintly-ness. Let lips do what hands do.” I pull his hand till he faces me, bodies parallel to each other. “I pray that you kiss me. Grant my prayer, lest faith turn to despair.”

  “Saints do not move.” Lock looks up from the script, dark eyes finding mine. “Granting the wishes of those that pray.”

  “Then remain still while I grant my own prayers.”

  Chels’s eye is cracked as she watches, sure not to miss what’s supposed to happen next. My palms are sweating, which is also something that doesn’t happen when I’m standing in front of Gwen Cheng. I look back to Lock, and he’s lowered his script, his fingers intertwining with mine.

  I swallow. He does the same.

  The distance between us disappears, my body folding into his in an instant. He’s way taller than Gwen, so I tilt my head back slightly. We
kiss, slow and soft. Warmth blooms in my chest, sinking until it finds a home in the depths of my body like smoldering coals.

  I break away, exhaling as my mind scrambles to think of the next line.

  “M-My prayers are answered,” I stutter, any resemblance of character gone. “Sin taken away by your lips.”

  Lock raises the script. “Did you spread that sin to my lips now?”

  “Sin from my lips?” I can’t bear the distance between us. My fingers grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer again. “Then I must take it back.”

  The second kiss is urgent, lips parting to make room for breath and tongue and teeth and something else entirely. Romeo fades, his motives morphing into mine, thoughtful actions replaced by instinct and passion.

  The script falls to the floor in a heap of pages, and there’s only me and Lock and this kiss that transcends everything.

  When we separate, neither of us look away, holding each other in a moment that stretches on forever, rife with possibilities both terrifying and exhilarating.

  Chels is on the edge of the sofa. “Holy shit. I’m so wet right now.”

  And just like that, I’m back to reality. Lock releases me, and I’m surprised I don’t float away. He takes a step back before retrieving the script from the floor.

  “That was so hot,” Chels reports. “Like, I might need to change my panties.”

  “I don’t know if I should be flattered or disgusted,” I say, slapping the side of my legs because they’re gelatinous.

  “Both are legitimate,” she says through a grunt as she crawls from the weathered couch’s clutches. “But, in all seriousness, if you kiss Gwen with even half of that intensity, she’s going to need to freshen up during intermission.”

  “That is the last thing I want to think about.” I cringe. “Thanks so much.”

  “My pleasure.” Chels smiles at us. “Trust me, it really was a pleasure watching the two of you. Any chance we could do that again so I can record it?”

  “Fuck you.” I laugh.

  Lock hands her back the script. “Was that good?”

 

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