by J. M. Pierce
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and could hear the television on in the living room. The guys were watching Sports Center. Mildly afraid to proceed, she sat quietly on the bottom step and listened for a while.
“The Kansas City Royals drop yet another game in the ninth . ..,” said the announcer on the television.
“Unbelievable!” yelled Chad. “How can you score more runs than anyone in your division and still lose so many games?”
“No pitching, buddy, none at all!” replied Justin.
Chad Cooper was eighteen and at the top of his game. He was the starting quarterback for the top high school in the division, with a full-ride scholarship to the University of Nebraska. As if that wasn’t enough, he was dating the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in town. What more could he ask for? When he walked through the hallways of school, people noticed him. They wanted to be seen with him. People got out of his way, for the most part anyway. Chad’s reputation on and off the football field was comparable to that of a piranha. Once there was a trace of blood in the water, he couldn’t stop until there was nothing more to pick at.
Justin Evans was a follower. He followed whom he perceived to be the power player in his world. If Chad told Justin to whistle, he would whistle. If Chad told Justin to dance, he would dance. If Chad told Justin to smash a windshield, the windshield would be smashed. Interestingly however, Justin wasn’t just a mindless follower. He was actually quite the opposite; he was very intelligent. His flaw was that he couldn’t be his own catalyst. Right or wrong, he needed someone to give him the initial push and then he would proceed.
Tracy and Heather were standing behind the couch, each behind her man. Heather looked at Tracy and rolled her eyes. Every movement made was of conscious design, intended to let anyone and everyone know her displeasure.
“Where’s Nicole?” she asked.
“I think she’s still upstairs,” replied Tracy.
Heather walked to the side of the couch and sat on the arm. “What does she see in that guy? He’s so not right for us.”
Tracy looked at her innocently and replied, “He’s all right.”
Heather sprung from the arm of the couch and approached Tracy aggressively. “Are you serious? I think you better shut your mouth!” she scolded with her index finger in Tracy’s face. She held her stare, burning her intent into Tracy’s conscience, turning away only when she’d felt satisfied that her point had been made. Now thoroughly annoyed, she leaned over the back of the couch and blocked Chad’s view of the television.
“So, what are we doing tonight?”
Without taking his eyes off the television, Chad replied, “This is good for me. I have a comfy couch, my hot girlfriend, and Sports Center on the tube. What more could a guy want?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me! A house with no parents and all you want to do is sit and watch television?”
“You know what . . . you’re right,” he replied as he looked around her, trying to see the latest on the Yankees’ game. “Beer would be the perfect addition.” He pushed Heather from over top of him and turned to holler at Nicole. “Hey Nicole, where’s the beer in this place?”
Nicole stood up from the step, enraged at the conversation that she had just heard. She walked quickly around the corner and tried to give the impression that she had just come to the doorway. It was all she could do to keep a smile on her face, let alone speak in a civil manner.
“I think my dad has a few; but I don’t know, guys. He’ll know they’re gone,” she replied as she walked into the room.
“Aw, don’t worry about that! We can go get some more later from my house and replace your old man’s stuff with that. He’ll never know,” replied Chad with a thumb’s up and a cheesy grin.
Heather interjected with an insulting stare. With her arms crossed and sticking one hip out, she lashed out at Nicole. “Come on, Nicole, don’t be lame!”
Nicole quickly turned and matched her stare. Instantly, Heather unloaded on her.
“What’s your problem, Nicole? Do you have something to say to me?”
With a manufactured smile and a sudden overabundance of hospitality, Nicole answered without hesitation. “No problem at all, Heather. Let me go get those beers for you guys.”
She stormed out of the room and headed for the kitchen. She was furious with Heather and with herself as well. Why had she let Test go just so she could save face with these people? She did have feelings for him, and in listening to his words, she knew what she wanted. And now that she knew what she wanted, she knew what she had to do.
She entered the kitchen and walked deliberately to the giant stainless steel refrigerator that took up a large section of the north wall. She opened the door and found the fresh six-pack of beer sitting on the bottom shelf. Her dad didn’t drink much, but he usually kept some around. He would have the occasional beer while doing yard work, but that was about it nowadays. She picked up the six-pack and set it on the counter. As she pulled the first can out of the plastic rings, the cold and sweaty cans slipped out of her hands and dropped to the floor.
Wanting nothing more than to scream, she whispered intensely with clenched fists at her side. “Damn it!”
Frustrated and angry, she knelt down to pick up the cans. One of the cans had sprung a small leak, and a small stream of beer shot out several feet. Watching the arching liquid shower onto the floor gave her an idea. What she really needed right now was to be alone. She really didn’t care what her guests thought of anything. All that she could think about was Test, and the fact that she had hurt him. Gaining her focus, she picked up the cans of beer, pulled four of the six out of the plastic rings, and walked into the living room with bubbly enthusiasm.
“Here you go, guys!” gushed Nicole, handing the first beer to Heather, who responded with a look of disgust.
“I don’t drink beer, Nicole. Doesn’t your mom have any wine or anything a little more sophisticated?”
As polite as she had ever been to anyone in her life, Nicole replied, “No, I’m sorry, my mom doesn’t drink. Beer is all we have.”
“How redneck!” replied Heather as she grabbed the beer from Nicole’s hand.
Justin was the first to crack open his can, but the other three were just behind. In an eruption of foam and liquid, the beer cans exploded everywhere and on everyone.
With beer dripping from her nose, Heather screamed, “Oh my God! My hair, my shoes! What the hell, Nicole?”
Chad followed Heather’s yelling with a roar of his own. “Are you kidding me?” he asked as he quickly jumped off the couch. He stood with arms outstretched and let the beer drip from his fingertips.
“That’s really lame, Nicole!” exclaimed Tracy with a giggle as she brushed foamy beer off her shirt.
Nicole could hardly keep a smile from her face. “I’m terribly sorry, you guys. I don’t know what happened. Maybe you should go home and take a shower, change your clothes, or jump off a cliff?”
As she wiped her beer-soaked hair out of her face, Heather moved face-to-face with Nicole.
With their noses only an inch apart, Heather spoke softly but with malicious intent. “You stupid little bitch. There is no doubt that we’re leaving, but before we do, understand this. We’re done with you. Do you understand?”
Nicole stepped even closer to her, her anger seconds away from boiling over. As she stood poised, ready for a fight, Heather pushed Nicole out of the way and walked quickly to the doorway in her beer-saturated heels. Waiting for one more word from Heather to act on, Nicole stood with her back to the TV. Suddenly, she could feel a presence behind her and was overcome by fear. She spun around blindly, running into a wet and muscle-filled shirt. Chad stood motionless, towering over her; his eyes focused on her in complete silence. With a blank face, his eyes flashed with an intensity reminiscent of a Charles Manson picture. His breathing was eerily calm and relaxed. Now she was terrified.
“I always knew that you weren’t right for us. Thanks f
or proving that I’m always right.” He spoke calmly, but with a tensed jaw. “We show up, and you got that dipshit Test over here. We ask for beer, and you try to go lame and say no. Then, to top it all off, when you do give us the beer, the cans are loaded!”
He slowly reached out his hands and put them on her shoulders. Nicole trembled. He pulled her in a little closer and leaned down to be closer to her face.
“You are done.” He spoke firmly, squeezing and then releasing his grip with a push.
He calmly walked to join the others waiting in the doorway, leaving Nicole standing motionless, with her back to the group and barely breathing.
Tracy, pulling her hair back and squeezing the last remaining liquid from her hair, giggled. “Bye, Nicole; thanks for everything.” Within her voice resided the naïveté and innocence of a five year old.
Heather pushed at Tracy’s left shoulder. “Shut up!” she said.
Tracy’s face turned red from embarrassment. She lowered her head like a beaten dog, and slowly backed away from Heather and slid into Justin’s arms. The four of them, led by Chad and Heather, turned and left the room.
After hearing the door open and close, Nicole was overcome with emotion and sat with her legs crossed on the cool hardwood floor. The noise in her mind drowned out the storm outside. She sat silently, staring at the back of the couch, unsure what to do next.
****
Test hated his home. It was never a pleasant place for him to be. But as bad as his home was to him, on this night it actually felt good to be there after what had just happened. He closed the front door and walked into the kitchen area, noticing a note on the counter. It was a simple note from his mother.
“DON’T WAIT UP”
“Never do,” he said aloud as he wadded it up and threw it away.
It wasn’t the first time, and he knew that it wouldn’t be the last. Maggie was gone far more than she was home, and it really didn’t faze him anymore. Hot date, sleepover, whatever, he didn’t care. He was used to being by himself. He knew where she hid her stash of booze, and right now that was all that he needed out of his mother. He didn’t make a habit of drinking, but tonight had been a disaster, and if he was going to screw up, he was going to do it all the way.
A half hour of sipping out of a glass was followed by another half hour of gulping. Bottle of vodka in hand, he poured what must have been his fifth or sixth vodka and Coke and, before putting the bottle down, took a stiff pull. The more he drank, the more he thought. The more he thought, the more emotional he became, forcing the fire within him to blaze.
He often referred to it as the light switch. Once the switch was turned on, it was hard for him to turn it off. When he was a young boy, his mother had him put on medication for his mood swings. But in the last year, unknown to Maggie, he had stopped taking the pills and for the most part felt fine. Lately, however, he had felt a bit more out of control at times.
The painful look on Nicole’s face as he was getting ready to leave was a visual that he could not shake from his mind. He tried to decipher whether or not he was the cause of her pain or if it was something or someone else. He painfully remembered the moment of Heather and Tracy’s arrival; the quick descent of feeling high from Nicole’s scent to the itch of irritation that was Heather’s presence. He had been so close to bliss. He could have sworn that, with his lips only inches away from Nicole’s, he had felt a connection with her. If I’d just moved a little faster, he thought. He tried to convince himself that he would have another chance, but his growing frustration and self-doubt continued to fuel the fire. As it grew, his thoughts drove his anger, and his anger drove his thoughts. It became a vicious circle that was impenetrable by logic.
With clenched fists, he punched at his knees. Preceded by a low and airy growl, he said aloud disdainfully, “Why did she have to invite them over?”
Blinded by tears of resentment, he reached for his glass. As he did, the world abruptly entered into slow motion. The glass that he was reaching for became molten. Dripping like a candle with hot wax flowing over the brim, the glass slowly pooled onto the table. Then, as suddenly as the world had slowed, it snapped back to real time. It was like waking up from a daydream. He shook his head back and forth to clear the fog, and then stared at the object in front of him. He squeezed his eyes open and shut, struggling to comprehend the reality that was this moment. He reached out to pick up the pancake of glass. Expecting it to be hot, he tapped it repeatedly and to his surprise, it was cool to the touch.
Did I do this? How is this possible?
He looked at the vodka bottle and reached out his hand, trying to recreate the moment. The bottle remained intact and in place. He then panicked.
“What the hell did Mom put in that vodka?” He rubbed his forehead vigorously. “I have got to be trippin’!”
He had now found yet another reason to be angry, not that he needed it. He felt like a boiling pot of water, the bitterness and anger ready to boil over at any second.
“What else can happen tonight? WHAT?” he screamed.
His fury peaked as he reached out to grab the bottle, but before he could touch it, it hurled across the room and smashed through the television on the entertainment center in front of him. In stunned silence, he stared at what had just occurred. He looked at the palms of his hands. They appeared normal, but felt warm. Not warm in the sense that he had just touched something hot, but warm from the inside out.
He placed his hands palm down on the coffee table and sat silently, waiting for something to happen. Minutes went by and nothing. Panic overtook him. Was the house haunted? Was it possible that there was a spirit throwing things in his home? That would explain the bottle, but what about the glass? He had never heard of anything like that before. The more he contemplated the cause, the more emotional he became. Softly at first, but gradually increasing, the coffee table trembled. He removed his hands, and the table went still. Again he looked at his hands, and once again he noticed nothing but the warmth. Once more, he rested his hands on the coffee table, again feeling nothing.
In an eruption of emotion, he threw his arms into the air and then thrust them down forcefully. Before his hands struck the table, a burst of splinters filled the air around him, and the house shook violently. No smoke, no fire, just chaos and debris.
As the dust settled, he viewed the coffee table in front of him, or what was left of it. A foot in front of where he sat was now a hole in the floor, jagged edged and with carpet dangling down to the earth below.
Amazed and fearful, he whispered as he stood up, “Oh my God . . . It’s me.”
Overcome with nausea and exhaustion, he laid back down with his right leg dangling off the side of the couch. In a matter of seconds, he was passed out cold.
Chapter 4
Discovery
The bell rang for first period. Nicole had been anxiously looking for Test since her arrival thirty minutes prior. She had band first period and, since the band room was next to the orchestra room, she waited in the hallway for Test to walk by. Disappointed by his absence, she walked into the band room. As she walked to her assigned chair, she removed her backpack and noticed something around the back of her seat. On the seat and the back of the chair was silver gray duct tape, wrapped several times in each direction. On the tape, the words “I AM LAME” were written in all bold black lettering. Indifferent, she stood in silence. She knew who had done it. Quickly, she looked around the room. Tracy and Heather were not in band, and she wondered who they had gotten to do their dirty work. As she was looking around the room, a soft voice from behind her spoke.
“Hello, Nicole.”
Nicole turned to see Marcy Jackson standing behind her with a pleasant smile.
“Hey, Marcy,” replied Nicole, trying to sound upbeat.
“How did it go with Test last night? I know Mark said that Test was pretty excited.”
“Last night . . .” Nicole paused. “I screwed up more than I ever thought possible.” Her botto
m lip quivered, and her eyes welled up with tears.
“Are you okay, Nicole?” asked Marcy, noticing the tape on Nicole’s chair. “What’s that all about?”
“Oh, I’m not too worried about that. I’m more worried about Test. He was really upset when he left last night, and now he’s not at school this morning. I have to talk to him, Marcy,” replied Nicole with a tear running down her left cheek.
Marcy reached out and softly placed her hand on Nicole’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay. I can talk to Mark after class and see if he’s heard from him.”
Smiling, Nicole wiped the tear from her cheek. “That would be great. Thanks so much, Marcy.”
“Everyone, please take your seats,” Mrs. Steel, the band director commanded. “If everyone would practice their instruments as much as they talk during class, we would have no trouble at state.”
“I’ll try to find out about Test for you, okay?” said Marcy.
At a “hurry up” motion from Mrs. Steel, Marcy turned and walked away. Nicole stared at her chair, more specifically the tape, and took a couple of deep breaths. With her final exhale, she had made up her mind that Tracy and Heather were not going to occupy even one percent of her thought process ever again. She then turned toward Marcy.
“Thanks again, Marcy.” She spoke the words more sincerely than she had ever spoken them in her life.