by Melody Anne
Reggie took a left at a fork in the path, and I followed. The quad was well lit, highlighting every slant of her cheek and freckle on her nose. She strode purposefully, never looking around like she was lost. It was hard not to admire someone like her, so sure of herself in every way.
“Just outside Fernbrooke,” she said, angling her face so I could see her lips without trouble. “So I’ve known this town my whole life. What about you?”
“I’m from here,” I said. “Born and raised.”
“Pretty lame, huh?” she said with a shrug. “I mean, look at us, headed to a poetry reading on a Saturday night. If we lived in a big city, we could go to clubs, or concerts, or something.”
We turned right and a tree cast her face in shadow.
I laughed under my breath. “Clubs and concerts aren’t really my thing.”
Her face reddened to almost purple as we left the darkness and the light hit her cheeks. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about—”
I held up my hand to stop her from feeling like a total idiot. “Actually, the problem is too many people. I could still go to concerts, if I wanted to. When the music is loud enough, I can feel the vibrations in my body. Plus, I still remember the songs of singers I used to like. It’s easy to sing along with them—though I can’t guarantee the quality of my singing. I’ve actually forced myself to go to a few concerts since the accident. It’s the closest I’ve come to feeling like I have my hearing back.”
“I forget sometimes,” Reggie said. “That you’re deaf. I mean, you speak really well, and you don’t really sign or anything.”
“I can sign,” I said. “I learned when the accident first happened. I spent my first few years of high school in a school for the Deaf, learning sign language, doing intense speech therapy, figuring out how to read lips, but I felt different from everyone else. Most of them were born Deaf. I still remember what it was like to hear. It’s funny ’cause my parents sent me there thinking I’d fit right in. Only there, I stood out worse than ever. So I tried to go to Fernbrooke’s regular high school for senior year, but that . . . well, that didn’t really work out. I ended up being homeschooled.”
“Well, that sucks. Kids can be jerks. I dealt with my fair share of teasing in high school. It was actually kind of awful to go there some days.”
“Seriously?” I squinted at her. “But you seem so sure of yourself.”
“I figured, why let them have the power to take my confidence away, just because I didn’t fit in with their ideals? I like who I am.”
A smile crept onto my face. “I like who you are, too.”
She grinned back at me but didn’t reply. We walked the rest of the way without speaking, a shared understanding threading between us.
We stopped outside a squat building with a set of stairs leading down to a wooden door. A piece of white paper with the words OPEN MIC TONITE was taped to the entrance.
“I think we’re here,” I said.
Reggie nodded and bolted down the stairs. She whisked the door open and looked back up at me. “You coming?”
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Sure.”
Then I headed down into the darkness.
• • •
The air of the coffee shop was stale and sat fuzzy on my tongue. It reeked of coffee and old paper.
The place was not empty, as I’d expected. Far from it. The café appeared to be the place to go on a Saturday night. Bodies stood too close together, sucking up the oxygen and rendering the A/C useless.
If I closed my eyes, I could imagine what it sounded like: the gentle hum of the crowd as the voices slithered over one another like snakes with no one conversation fully audible.
A small stage with a microphone stood at the front of the room, lit by a single spotlight. No one dared stand in the illumination yet. We were early.
Lucky us.
Reggie had been wrong when she’d said I’d blend in. Swatches of color surrounded me as pinks mingled with purples and somersaulted with greens. The place looked like a freaking rainbow.
I wiped my forehead and tugged my turtleneck off my skin as Reggie peered past a table of twentysomethings.
“There don’t seem to be any seats,” I said. “Maybe we should go.”
Her face fell as she took in the room and its collection of FU T-shirts. “I guess. Crap.”
“Okay, well, we tried.”
I turned toward the exit and Reggie yanked me backward. My voice hooked in my throat as I found myself pressed into my roommate. She spun me to face her.
“Sorry,” she said, “but do you happen to know an incredibly hot cowboy?”
“What?”
“He keeps shouting your name.”
Reggie pointed to a spot in the corner. I squinted to make out the shape through the clusters of people. Squinting was unnecessary, however, as the hat was unmistakable.
Clint waved at us and pointed to the couch he occupied. He patted the empty cushions beside him. I clenched my jaw as I remembered his invitation earlier that week. He was probably going to take this as another opportunity to ask me out.
“Yeah,” I said. “He’s in my Intro to American Lit seminar.”
“Well, they sure don’t make a lot of guys who look like that around here.”
“You can say that again.”
“What are we waiting for? Let’s go sit with him!”
We weaved our way through the crowd and Clint unfolded himself from the couch to greet us.
“Elise! I had no idea you were into poetry.”
He embraced me with his long arms. I froze, hands tacked to my sides, taken by surprise at his assumption there was anything intimate between us already. He released me with a grin and held his hand out to Reggie.
“And who might you be?”
“I’m Regina. Reggie’s good, though.”
“Lovely to meet you, darlin’. Name’s Clint.”
The blush that rose to Reggie’s cheeks was obvious and only accentuated by the bright light of the lamp in the corner.
Clint barely seemed to notice. His gaze lay firmly on me as his hand swallowed hers. I lowered my eyes and settled into the end of the couch, pulling Reggie beside me as a barrier between me and the cowboy.
“Can you see the stage?” Reggie asked with a poke in my side.
I nodded. “If they stand too close to the mic, I might not be able to read their lips, but we aren’t too far away and I’m not gonna cry if I miss a poem or six.”
“Awesome.”
She sat back against the faux velvet cushion as the lights flashed to let us know the show would begin shortly.
The cowboy leaned forward. “Can I wrangle you gals a coffee before they start?”
The congestion of the room and the softness of the couch had already started to seep into my bones, and my eyelids grew heavy. Caffeine would be a necessity if I expected to stay conscious for the next few hours.
“Yes, please,” I said. “Two cream, one sugar.”
“Hot chocolate for me,” Reggie piped in. “With extra whipped cream.”
With a tip of his hat, Clint stood and disappeared into the crowd, headed for a counter I could barely make out through the slew of young bodies.
A touch on my wrist brought my attention back to Reggie. She bounced on the couch with such vigor, the entire furnishing shook beneath me.
“Clint has to be the hottest guy I’ve ever seen,” she gushed.
I glanced over at him leaning on the counter, his legs stretched behind him, an ass I hadn’t really noticed before perfectly filling in his dark denim jeans. Blinking, I focused back on my friend.
“I suppose,” I said. “If you’re into that type.”
“I’ve always had a thing for cowboys. Horses, hats, boots, and . . . ropes.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
I snorted. “He isn’t even a real cowboy. He’s from Chicago or something. He just wants to be a cowboy. It’s kind of weird.”
“I thi
nk it’s adorable,” Reggie said. “And I love how he isn’t afraid to be himself.”
I bobbed my head in response—there was no question the cowboy was comfortable in his own skin, leather vests and all. Clint returned with our drinks and handed me a bone-colored mug. Closing my eyes, I wrapped my hands around the steaming cup of heaven and took a long sip. The bitter liquid slid down my throat with ease, and I moaned a welcome to it. When my eyes snapped open, Reggie and Clint were staring at me, laughter evident in their features.
“What?” I asked.
“Well,” Reggie said. “We know Elise really loves coffee.”
I ducked behind my oversize mug, cheeks flaming. “Sorry. I had no idea I was so loud.”
“Perfectly fine,” Clint said. “It’s nice to see a woman who appreciates the finer things in life.”
Reggie opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. She turned to the stage and I followed suit. A guy in a deep-blue hoodie had taken the stage and tapped on the mic. Based on the reactions around me, it was loud enough to make a person grimace.
“Good evening,” he said. “Welcome to open mic night! Are you guys ready for some poetry?”
Reggie bounced beside me and clapped her hands. Clint cupped his hands over his mouth and hollered something.
Wow. These people really liked their poetry.
“I’m going to call the first poet. Would Shaylynn Brant come up here?”
People clapped around me. I reluctantly joined in after a nudge in the ribs from Reggie. A small, dark-skinned girl took the stage and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
Love is pain!
Love tears us up from the inside out and sucks on our entrails.
Love pulls us apart like straw dolls and sets fire to our flesh.
It pecks at us as though it were a thousand crows out for our blood!
Love fucks us from every angle and doesn’t call the next day.
Yet love is the thing we want.
The honeysuckle we need to taste upon our lips . . .
I shifted my gaze from the stage. That was about all I could take of that. I started placing bets in my head about how many poems would contain either love or death.
Despite the fact that I wrote fiction about young lovers, I’d never been in love. I wasn’t even sure the kind of love I conjured in my books existed. My fingers slipped under my carefully placed mane and fingered the scar on my cheek. Not many heroes clamored after the girl who was broken.
Another nudge in my side brought me back to reality. Reggie glowered at me. She clapped her hands and motioned for me to do the same. I glanced at the stage. The girl had finally finished her ballad about love and headed back to her seat. One down, I had no idea how many more to go. How long did these things last, anyway?
Hoodie boy moved back to the stage, but this time the mic blocked his mouth from me. Not that it mattered. He was probably telling us we were in for more shitty poetry. I took another sip of coffee and urged the elixir to get me through this.
At the other end of the couch, Clint stood and straightened his beige vest. I shot a questioning look at Reggie and she grinned. With all the swagger of John Wayne, Clint made his way onto the stage.
“What the—?” I said.
Reggie placed her index finger over her lips.
Clint pulled a crinkled piece of paper out of his back pocket and I immediately recognized his unruly handwriting filling the front and back of the page. He held a hand to his mouth and his body jerked in what I assumed was a cough.
Gripping the paper with both hands, he raised it and began to read:
In the West we were wild
In the West we were free
We drank in saloons
And tied our horses to trees
In the West we downed whiskey
In the West we fought hard
We paced five times at dawn
In the town’s dusty yard
I would like to go back
To that old Wild West
To tip my hat to the maidens
To duel with the best
To ride with the heroes
Or maybe on my own
’Cause I’ve always felt, deep inside,
The Wild West is my home.
I clapped my hand over my mouth to stop a giggle and glanced at Reggie. She seemed transfixed by the performance. She gaped at me and I dropped my hand into my lap.
“He’s so good!” she said.
My body shook as I tried to contain my laughter. I could only manage to nod at her proclamation. Reggie jumped up from the couch and burst into applause. I fixed a smile on my face and clapped as Clint bowed and left the stage, his cheeks flushed and eyes glowing beneath the brim of his hat.
My roommate threw her arms around his neck the moment he reached the couch. His eyes widened and he limply hugged her back before giving me a questioning look over her shoulder.
Unsure of how to react to a poetry success, I gave him a thumbs-up and said, “Great job.”
“You really liked it?” he asked after Reggie had untangled her limbs from his.
“Sure.” I swallowed the last of my coffee, grimacing as a few bitter grounds bit into my tongue. I set the cup on the table in front of us. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”
At least that was true.
“Well, that makes my night,” Clint said. “Nothing like the approval of a beautiful woman.”
“Uh, sure,” I said.
He and Reggie sat down at the same time and the couch protested by pushing up into my rear and almost jolting me out of my seat.
It was as good a time as any to make my way to the restrooms. Apparently the coffee had already kicked in. After scouting out the red light in the shape of a dress, I excused myself and maneuvered through the crowd.
When I was two people away from the door and my bladder was about to rejoice, something buzzed against my leg.
Jin had the best timing.
Prying my phone out of my pocket, I squinted at the screen, my eyes focusing and refocusing as the white light attacked my retinas.
Not Jin. My agent. What on earth could she want at this time on a Saturday?
I tapped the screen to open her e-mail, only to have someone poke me in the back. It was finally my turn to use the facilities.
A tall blonde graciously held the door for me and I slipped past her into the dark recess of the bathroom. Flickering fluorescent lights blinked overhead as I locked the door and returned my focus to the screen.
“Fuck.”
The word had become all too familiar with messages from my agent lately. I almost felt bad for Steph. She was probably so sure the news she relayed was cause for excitement. She had no way of knowing her client’s stomach dropped with every word.
Hi Elise! Just wanted to let you know the studio is so excited about the VM show, they bumped up the filming dates because they want to have it out for next season. Production starts in two weeks! I’ll be forwarding you the filming schedule and locations once I get them from the director. I’m so excited for you and VM! Speaking of, how’s the last book coming? I can’t wait to read it!
The words faded in and out of my vision like the crappy bathroom lighting.
Two weeks.
I had two weeks to figure out what to do. And if I couldn’t come up with something, everything I’d worked for would unravel around me.
My legs buckled under me, and I sank onto the cool porcelain of the toilet, all thoughts of the reason I’d originally entered the bathroom vanishing from my mind.
I had no idea what to do. I could tell her I was sick. They certainly wouldn’t want a sick person around the stars. But filming lasted more than the week a fake illness would remain believable. I could come clean to my agent and maybe she’d be able to figure something out. But that was probably beyond the scope of her job, and it hardly seemed fair to put my mistakes on her. Besides that, I had no idea what the legal repercussions could be. She’d probably cance
l my contract—or worse, sue me for leading her astray about who I really was.
I stood and pocketed my phone before moving to the sink. The cool water soothed my warm cheeks as I splashed it across my face. Cursing at the empty paper towel dispenser, I wiped my face on my sleeve and opened the door to find a fuming redhead in my line of vision.
“What took you so long?” she asked. “Didn’t you hear me pounding on the door?”
“Nope.” I walked away before she could answer.
Skirting the crowd, I found Reggie yapping to a bored-looking Clint. He practically leaped into my arms when he spotted me.
“Elise, darlin’. Everything all right? You’re lookin’ mighty pale.”
“Not really.” I cleared my throat. “I’m heading back. I’m not feeling so hot.”
“Oh no,” Reggie said. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. Just a headache. I need to lie down.”
“Well, I should walk you home then.” Clint moved closer, concern marking his clear eyes. “It’s getting late and I can’t have you wanderin’ the campus alone.”
I glanced at Reggie, the brightness disappearing from her eyes as she pouted at me. “Really?” she asked. “But it’s still early. I’m not ready to go yet.”
“You know what,” I said to Clint, “I’m okay. It’s really not far and my mother made me take so many self-defense classes, I’d feel sorry for anyone who even attempts to attack me. I’ll be fine.”
Clint pursed his lips and tapped the cleft in his chin. He shook his head, the shadow of his hat twisting on the wall behind him. “Nope. Can’t do it. I can’t let a beautiful woman walk home alone in the dark, darlin’. It’s not the gentlemanly thing to do.” He nodded at Reggie. “You keep our seats warm. I’ll be back when Elise is safe at home.”
Reggie opened her mouth like she might protest, then stilled as a knowing smile crossed her lips. “Sure. You walk her to the dorm, and then it’ll be just the two of us. Sounds cozy.”
She popped up from the couch and gave me a hug, her warm curves mashing against my straight-backed angles. “Feel better soon,” she said when she’d pulled back. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”