Catching Raven

by Smith, Lauren

  Mia: So tell me, what should I do when I get that burning sensation? You’re the expert.

  Smartass.

  Me: I may be a slut, but I’m a clean one. Can you say the same for yourself?

  Mia: Of course. After all, my track record is better than yours.

  Me: And how would you know?

  Mia: Girls talk.

  Me: Really? All the way in Kansas? Because that’s where you live nine months out of the year and I don’t recall ever fucking anyone from out of state. I like my pussy local. Good try, though.

  Mia: Whatever. Enjoy the show because you’re gonna be here for another two hours. Cheers!

  Me: Funny, I keep rereading that last text but all I see is defeat, defeat, defeat.

  My suspicions are confirmed when she doesn’t reply. What can I say? Some people can’t hang. When I look back up, Marilyn is watching me intently with one hand perched on her hip.

  I slap the cash down and grab my drink. But before I can walk away—

  “You don’t come here often, do you?” she inquires.

  “What gave me away?”

  “Who are you here with?”

  What’s with the game of twenty-one questions? I point in the direction of our table. “I’m with them. It’s my friend’s eighteenth birthday.”

  “Which one?”

  “The girl in the plum colored dress.”

  “She’s pretty.”

  “She’s stunning,” I correct.

  Marilyn smiles and winks. “Enjoy the drink, honey. And relax. We don’t bite.”

  I smile back and raise my glass. “Thanks for this.”

  “My pleasure.”

  I take a sip and saunter back over to our table. The girls are all singing at the top of their lungs. When I pull up a seat, Emilio eyes the drink in my hand. “Dude, you couldn’t wait?”

  “Nope.”

  He leans in further so I can hear him over the music. “We need an escape plan, ASAP.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  He nods and leans back.

  “What are y’all talking about over there?” Tori yells over the table.

  “Prostate exams,” I shout back.

  A look of pure disgust paints her face. It’s comedic. Makes me remember the text I sent a few minutes ago. “Hey, check your phone.”

  I fold my arms over my chest and lean back against the chair with a shit-eating grin spread across my face. Tori opens up her clutch and pulls her phone out. As soon as she reads the message, I receive the death stare.

  Eric: 1

  Tori: 0

  When the first performance ends, Coco reappears to make an announcement. “Alright, y’all. Give it up one last time for Miss Ruby Redd!”

  We all oblige.

  Coco continues. “We’ve just been informed that there’s a birthday girl in the house tonight. Where’s she at?”

  Raven stiffens and glances at Tori and Mia, no doubt believing they’re the culprits. They shake their heads simultaneously.

  “Stand up, birthday girl,” Coco orders.

  Raven takes a quick inventory of everyone in the club and stands up on shaky legs. She adjusts the bottom of her dress and raises her hand. “Over here.”

  Coco’s gaze finds Raven. She crawls off the stage and sashays over to our table, coming to stand right in front of us.

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  Raven leans into the mic and answers.

  “How old are you, Raven?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Well, on behalf of myself and every queen in this place, we’d like to wish you a very happy birthday.”

  “Thank you.”

  Marilyn emerges from behind the bar and casually passes Coco a sparkling tiara.

  “Tell me, Raven, how would you like to be an honorary queen for a night?”

  Raven lights up and nods her approval. Coco delicately places the crown on top of Raven’s head, takes her by the hand, and leads her up to the stage. Tori and Mia shout encouragements from their seats.

  “Now, if you wanna be a queen for a night, you’re gonna have to own the stage. Do you think you can do that?”

  Raven motions for the mic. Coco hands it off.

  “Can someone give me a beat?”

  The crowd cheers, luring the inner diva we all know and love to come out and play. The DJ selects “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga. Raven begins to sway her hips sensually, teasingly. I perk up and give her my full, undivided attention. This earns a sharp glance from Emilio. Aside from that, this might not turn out to be such a bad night, after all.

  About halfway through the number, an ensemble of drag queens join her onstage. She looks so happy and carefree. I was worried we wouldn’t be able to salvage her mood, but based on what I’m seeing, nothing remedies a bruised ego faster than being the center of attention.

  Her eyes lock onto mine from across the club. She continues to dance as if I’m the only one watching, single-handedly torturing me with a wicked gleam in her eyes. What’s happening right now? Why does she have so much power over me? If only I had that same hold over her.

  Suddenly, inspiration strikes in the truest form. I know exactly what I’m going to do to give her that feeling. Too bad she’ll have to wait until Thursday night to find out. What I have in mind is arguably the greatest idea in the history of great ideas. Move the fuck over, Edison.

  I pound the last of my drink, feeling a renewed sense of confidence. Here’s to hanging with cool people, taking big risks, and obliterating comfort zones. Oh, and to the fire ants. May their colonies always be vast and merciless.

  SIX

  r a v e n

  “Tori, where are my sunglasses?” I yell through the wall.

  The sound of squeaking bedsprings resonate, followed by a loud thud.

  “Ah, fuck! That hurt.”

  I shake my head and chuckle. Padded footsteps travel across the hall. Two seconds later, my door swings open to reveal a half-asleep Tori, clad in sweats and a sports bra, massaging the side of her head with an irritated expression on her face. “Come again?”

  “Were you napping?”

  “Yeah. Kickboxing wore me out.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  She yawns and stretches, waging a war with grogginess that will no doubt become second nature once college hits. I can already see the late-night study sessions on the horizon. Might as well introduce coffee and Adderall to my diet now.

  “It’s all good. What’s up?”

  “I need my sunglasses.”

  “Which ones?”

  “The Gucci ones.”

  “Would you believe me if I told you I had no idea where those were?”

  I stop applying mascara and glance at her through the mirror. “Not for a second. And if you did lose them, you’re dead. Those cost a fortune.”

  She wanders back into her room to grab them. “What are you getting all dolled up for, anyway?” she hollers.

  “I’m going over to Eric’s.”

  “Oh, right. It’s Thursday. How was your shift?”

  I screw the lid back on the tube and double-check my eyes to make sure they look even. “Insane. We were on an hour-long wait most of the night. I’m surprised I got out of there as early as I did.”

  Ever since my birthday last week, I’ve been picking up extra shifts at the restaurant to replenish my pitiful excuse for a savings account. Apparently, time isn’t the only thing that flies when you’re having fun. Money goes just as fast.

  When I initially told my parents I was moving out, they offered to pay my portion of first month’s rent as a birthday gift to help ease the transition. I took them up on it. That’s how I knew I’d officially reached adulthood. Bills trumped presents. The days of scoring fabulous shoes and accessories are virtually over. I’m on my own now. College tuition is the last remaining link keeping me from somersaulting headfirst into this scary thing known as independence. Failure and poverty are imminent threat
s.

  Tori struts back in and hands me my sunglasses. “Here ya go.”

  I slip the sunglasses on top of my head. “Thanks.”

  “You know, you’re putting an awful lot of effort into tonight’s appearance. More so than usual, which is saying something.”

  “Your point?”

  “Just making an observation.”

  I lock eyes with her in the mirror and bring my index finger up to my lips. “Shh.”

  She grins and nudges me from behind. “Busted.”

  I spin around to face her. “Verdict?”

  She takes a step back and examines the whole outfit from head to toe. I’m rockin’ a gray, V-neck, vintage tee with a black blazer, a pair of boyfriend jeans, and black Steve Madden suede pumps. It’s the perfect blend of dressy cas, without looking like I tried too hard. Eric will love it.

  “Slayin’. Very California girl.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  I fluff my hair one last time, letting the loose curls cascade down my back, then secure my favorite Audrey Hepburn pendant around my neck. It’s a still photograph from Breakfast at Tiffany’s that my mom gave me for Christmas one year. Grabbing my clutch and keys off my dresser, I make a dash for the hall. Tori follows me out.

  “Twenty bucks says you won’t be back tonight.”

  “Oh, whatever.”

  “Y’all are going to happen. It’s inevitable at this point. If you’d pull your heads out of your asses and admit how you really feel about each other, then we could all move on already.”

  I wink over my shoulder, then close the front door behind me.

  * * *

  I tiptoe over the grass, being extra careful not to dig my heels into the ground. Instead of using the front door like I always do, I head straight for the back. I make a leap for the less-than-impressive slab of concrete Eric insists on calling a patio. Believe me, it’s not a patio.

  I adjust my shirt and peer inside his windows like a bona fide stalker. His eyes are glued to the TV screen, enraptured by his Xbox game.

  Shocker.

  I press my torso up against the door. He does a double take and pauses the game. I take it a step further by smushing my nose up against the glass and making a pig face.

  He sets the controller down and comes to stand directly in front of me. His gaze drops to my cleavage, then travels back up to my pig face. He leans forward and uses his breath to fog up the glass and writes a message.

  I lean back to read the word “sexy” spelled out backwards.

  “It’s backwards you idiot.”

  “No it’s not, dumbass,” he says, his voice muffled by the glass.

  “Let me in.”

  “Say pretty please.”

  “No way.”

  I seize the handle but he locks the deadbolt before I get a chance to turn it.

  “Eric Matthew Hansen, open this door right now.”

  He laughs. “Or what? You’ll take away TV for a week?”

  I rattle the door and search my brain: What do I have the power to take away? There’s gotta be something he loves. Clarity strikes. “I’ll refuse to make you homemade lasagna for a year.”

  His smile disappears. “You’re bluffing.”

  “Try me.”

  His eyes dart back and forth between the doorknob and me. Reluctantly, he succumbs and unlocks the deadbolt. He drags his feet over to the couch and free falls backwards into the cushions. “That threat was uncalled for.”

  I squeeze inside, shut the door, and carefully remove my heels. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  He saves his game and turns off the console. I toss my clutch, keys, and sunglasses on his coffee table and head straight to the fridge for a drink.

  “Stocked up on snacks.”

  “Which is why I stick around,” I retort.

  I steal a tall glass from one of the cupboards and fill it up with Gatorade. I down the first half and let out a satisfying moan, because I was parched, but it comes off erotic. That sound is all it takes to set the tone. Eric’s intense gaze falls on me. I pretend to ignore it by staring down at my beverage. It’s awfully quiet in here. Why is it so silent? I’m pretty sure he’d be able to hear my stomach gurgle all the way from the couch. I swallow thickly and raise the glass back to my lips, eager to drink my way out of the sexual tension. If this glass doesn’t do the trick, I’ll just pour another. And another. And another. Until there’s no more Gatorade left. Shit. Then what am I supposed to do?

  Why are things weird between us? Is it because I broke up with Brandon last week? Is it because I’m eighteen? Is it because we’re all alone? We’ve been alone a bazillion times before, but it’s never felt so...acknowledged? Maybe it’s because for the first time in four years, we’re both open to blurring the lines. No more pretenses. No more hiding. No more friend zone. A scenario I’ve fantasized about since freshman year. So why am I such a nervous wreck? And why is he still looking at me like that? It’s distracting.

  I tap my nails against the counter and purse my lips. “What movie did you say we’re watching again?”

  “We aren’t watching a movie.”

  My surprised eyes flick to his. “We aren’t?”

  “Nope. I owe you a belated birthday present.”

  My nerves dissipate. “Oh, my God! Where is it? Show me the package. Size is important. I don’t care what the other girls say.”

  He closes the distance between us and takes my hand. “Follow me, smart ass.”

  He leads me to the bedroom. I’m intrigued, to say the least. Eric’s not one to get overly excited about anything, so this must be good.

  In the twelve steps it takes to go from the kitchen to his bedroom, my heart rate has doubled. He reaches over to flip the lights on. A warm glow casts over the room. A plastic tarp is spread out on the floor, protecting the carpet. There’s an easel with a blank canvas staged in the center of the room. I haven’t seen him whip out one of those since we were neighbors. We’ve upgraded to painting walls since then. I’m sure you can imagine how ecstatic his landlords get. To his credit, he always paints them back to white before he switches places.

  “What’s up with the canvas? Are we kickin’ it old school?”

  “Not exactly.”

  My brows furrow in confusion.

  He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and pins me with his stare. “I want to paint a portrait of you.”

  Best. Present. Ever. “I’d be honored, Eric.”

  “There’s something else,” he says cautiously, studying my reaction. “Promise me you’ll keep an open mind.”

  My breathing slows. “Why? What do you have in mind?”

  “You. Topless.”

  I blink a few times, processing his request.

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he assures. “But if you’re into the idea, I’ll make sure everything’s covered. I have a certain pose that’ll prevent anyone from seeing anything on the painting.”

  Sounds very Titanic-esque.

  “What’s the pose?”

  “You’d be standing with your back towards me, looking over your shoulder. Only your back would be exposed.”

  I’d be way more exposed than that, but I don’t bother to correct him. Am I comfortable with being partially nude? In front of him? He’s never seen that much of me. No one has.

  “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

  His face goes serious. “You have no idea.”

  I bite my bottom lip and glance around the room. My eyes settle on the window. I nod in its direction. “Will that be open?”

  “I’ll need to keep it open to air out the fumes but the blinds will be closed.”

  Before I can list all the reasons why I shouldn’t do this, the more daring side of me pipes up. “Alright, I’m down. But I have a couple stipulations.”

  “Name them.”

  “The blinds stay closed, and your mouth stays shut. No exceptions. If I’m gonna do this, I can’t ha
ve you making side comments and psyching me out.”

  He slips his hands into his front pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels, struggling to contain his energy. “Deal. I’ll grab the brushes and paint while you get situated. If you need to use the bathroom, now’s the time to do it. I’m using spray paint and acrylics. The acrylics dry really fast, which means no breaks. Holler when you’re ready.”

  He turns and exits the room, leaving me with some much-needed privacy and a ton of information to digest. I crack the window open and draw the blinds. Incessant pacing and nervous knuckle popping help kill the time. I can’t seem to make myself stop. What if I look better with clothes on? I don’t want him to be disappointed by what he sees. Sometimes what’s left to the imagination is better than what’s presented in reality. Please, God, let me look good naked.

  I conjure every last shred of boldness and shrug off my blazer, letting it fall to the floor with a whoosh. I yank off my tee and unhook my bra, adding them to the pile. Deep breaths, I remind myself. I look down at my bare feet and wiggle my toes. My eyes scan the room for a mirror. Much to my dismay, there isn’t one. I flip my hair over my shoulder and take my place in front of the easel. A light knock on the door catches me by surprise.

  “You ready?” Eric checks.

  So much for waiting on a cue.

  My eyes flutter closed. “Yeah?” It comes out more as a question than an answer.

  I mentally kick myself for my lack of confidence.

  The door creaks open. He sucks in a sharp breath, making me all too aware of my current state. I swallow hard and open my eyes, keeping them fixated on the wall in front of me. Rustling noises commence. After what seems like an eternity, he speaks.

  “Look over your right shoulder, Rave.”

  I follow directions without giving an ounce of sass. I’m not sure whether I should feel proud or disappointed by this unusual turn of events.

  He emerges from behind the easel.

  “Don’t panic. I’m just going to make a few minor changes. I won’t peek, I swear.”

  He tilts my chin a little further down and fixes my hair. His warm hands caress my shoulders. A rush of chills break out over my skin and I tense up.

  “Relax, Rave.”