by Sonya Jesus
Last night, for example, would be out of the question. Strategically, my actions were unwise, but they felt so damn good. I want to drug her up and repeat it over and over again, until the scent of her skin is permanently mingled with mine. Just like shared mannerisms and words, the transference of scent is a natural consequence of couples who spend a great amount of time together.
It’s calming really. My father, he always smelled like Drakkar Noir with a trace scent of my mother’s Chanel No. 5. The security of their united scent granted me a sense of tranquility that helped control the rambunctious child within me. I even paid for custom aerosols that smelled just like him. I sprayed it in the studio, the same night I killed Bruce. However, the soothing effect it used to have on me no longer comforts me or calms my more impulsive tendencies. Not like Amelia’s aroma does. Laying in her bed with our bodies physically connected, in those serene moments of her peaceful embrace, I was completely at ease. I was not surprised to learn that the physical connection with my Queen calms the Killer in me.
My phone rings. Who dares to call and interrupt me? I answer without a hello, and a hesitant female voice squeaks, “Hey. It’s me. Lacey.”
Why is she calling me? I put the photos down and do my best to pretend her voice doesn’t irritate me. “Hey, sweetheart. Sorry, I didn’t recognize your voice. I was getting some work done.”
“You should recognize my number by now… with all the time we’ve spent together. “
She acts like the time we shared is special, but shies in comparison to the intimacies she’s shared with all the other men who have penetrated her. Instead of sharing my disdain for her loose morals, I take advantage of them. “Some good times that I often think about.”
“When you’re alone?” her voice lowers to imply her deep level of promiscuity.
“Especially when I’m alone, Lacey.” I mimic my voice to match hers, so she thinks I lust after her.
“We should fix that real soon, then. If your new little girlfriend wouldn’t mind sharing you.”
“How do you know about her?” My voice tenses, her comment catching me off guard.
She hiccups. “Did you think the boys wouldn’t tell me?” The words come out slurred, indicating the reason for her unanticipated contact— Lacey Pierce is drunk dialing me. “Weren’t you with the guys while she was in the hospital? From what I hear you and Harper were extremely cozy together.”
“Does that bother you, Lacey?” I play along.
“What if it does?” she answers.
“I’d say if anyone had any right to be jealous, it would be me, considering you were mine before your new friends decided to make you their rotating—“ I pause a moment, emphasizing my fake jealousy. “You know what? Let’s not delve into the past, okay?”
“It kind of revs me up to think you’re jealous.”
Predictable. It’s not even a challenge with Lacey. “Is that so?”
“Come over?” Her pleas do not appeal to me. “I’m lonely.”
“How is that? No soccer suite today?”
“They are busy.” She shuts down my attempts at prying. “And I’m in the mood for something different.” Her voice becomes distant as she admits, “You don’t treat me like they do. You never have.” She speaks as if respect is something I grant her, instead of something I pretend to have for her.
Her mid-afternoon drinking and forlorn voice, in Lacey’s case, usually means drama in the soccer suite. Considering past events, I’m curious enough to ask, “Did something happen, Lacey?” She gasps, and there’s something in the whimper that follows that answers my own question. “Lacey?”
“Did one of them hurt you?” It wouldn’t be the first time a girl complained about not purely consensual situations occurring within those four walls, but nothing has ever been proven. Either way, I don’t particularly care how they get their jollies off, as long as their jollies are nowhere near my Queen. But my job requires that I care, so I ask, “Lacey, is there something you want to report?”
“No!” she shouts. “They just kicked us out. Marcus said, ´Sorry, your services aren't required. Now run along.´ After everything that I’ve done for them. They act like my friends and I are nothing more than whores they picked up on the corner.” There is plenty of truth to Marcus’ words, but I swallow my opinions and listen to her rant. “Can you believe that? Fucking arrogant pricks. If I dropped dead in front of them, I doubt they’d give me a tenth of the attention they gave a girl they barely even talk to. Most of them spent the night at the hospital, sleeping on hard plastic chairs rather than in their own rooms. It’s fucking ridiculous. I go over there with the girls to pregame before the pep rally and Aiden completely ignores me. Christian leaves on a date, Dylan keeps bringing up the girl who fainted, and Marcus just sulked in the corner. Not that I give a shit what Marcus does, but this bitch just-”
“Her name is Amelia,” I say, demanding a little more respect.
“I don’t give a shit what her name is! What exactly does she have to offer that my friends and I don’t?” She’s not asking for my opinion. She prefers to hear herself talk, “And isn’t she dating someone? Who the fuck knows what´s going on between her and Christopher? And now, for some reason, Dylan’s posting pictures with her, Aiden is freaking out about anything and everything that includes her and kicking me out for suite meetings. Does that even make sense?”
I wait, making sure it’s my turn to talk. “Lacey, it sounds like you are upset at Amelia for something she has no idea is going on.”
“You would say that because you’re screwing her friend. Which is another problem altogether.”
“Lacey—“ I warn.
“Whatever! I’m just saying... she shouldn’t interfere.”
The menacing words trigger my protective side, but I have to agree with Lacey. Amelia shouldn’t involve herself with the boys in that suite. I know them enough to know the lightness of her soul shouldn’t mingle with the darkness that lingers in some of them. I do my best to keep Lacey attached to the soccer suite. “Who says she is getting in your way? And most of all, who says you have to let her?”
“You say that like I have a choice.”
“Well, you always have a choice.”
“What if I choose you?”
“I’d say, how are things with you and Aiden? Last I remember, you didn’t have time for me because you thought you and Aiden were hitting it off.”
“That wasn’t exactly true,” her voice plummets into an abyss of sadness. “You know there was more to it than that.” There’s an irky silence where neither of us speaks, something completely uncharacteristic of her, but I don’t intrude on her pensive moment. “Aiden, he… he was there for me.“
“I understand, Lacey.” I put as much concern and hurt into those three words that I can, but my indifference still comes across.
“But… but… maybe I was wrong. I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot about us lately and…”
“Don’t, Lacey.” I didn’t mean for her to misinterpret my comment as a segue into a talk about our past relations. Except for the occasional romp that I feel obligated to provide after she gives me information, I need nothing else from her, and I can’t afford an emotional attachment at the moment. “You do what you need to do in order to be happy, that’s all I have ever wanted for you.”
“Why are you so nice to me?”
Because it gets me what I want. “Because that’s what you deserve, hun.” I look at the time. “I have to go. There are some things I have to take care of before the pep rally starts.”
“Will you call me sometime, so we can talk?”
“Sure,” I say, before hanging up. I have a few hours before having to go to a meeting for tonight’s festivities. Even though Medieval Week only officially starts next week, the pep rally is pretty much the unofficial opening for party season, and anyone on duty in the next couple weeks has to attend the procedural reunion. I could really do without the extra responsibility, but afte
r practically bailing on my responsibilities two nights before, I have to be a team player.
I go back out to the bedroom and turn on the television to my Amelia TV Channel, and check on my newly placed cameras. First, I check Harper’s room. It’s empty, as I expected, most of the girls should be heading over to practice right about now. The living room and bathroom are empty as well. I click on the one that turns on Amelia’s webcam and find Mel coming out of the closet with a frilly shirt in her hands. She hands it to someone sitting on her side of the room. I can’t see who it is.
I don’t shut it off. I’ve been wondering where Mel has been lately. I sit on my bed and listen to the conversation between her and her guest.
“Thank you for going to the store for us. I’ve been so crazy busy that I completely forgot about it.” She pauses a moment and comes into the shot again, unwrapping a roll of paper towels and putting it on top of the microwave. “Where are you going, anyway? Have a hot date tonight?
“Nah,” I recognize Haley’s voice. “I just want to look nice for the pep rally.”
“Hm?” Mel tilts her head to the side. “You don’t usually like those kind of scenes. Are you meeting someone special?”
She laughs. “No, just going to support the girls tonight. I’m going to meet up with some friends afterward and work on a project.”
“Working on a project looking like that?” Mel laughs, and playfully says, “Fine, don’t tell me.”
“Oh, it really is just to work on a project. This,” Haley comes into the frame, looking a lot better than she usually does, “is because I have never felt better about myself.”
“That’s really good to hear, Haley. You look so hot, and you are so pretty…”
I shut off the screen, unwilling to watch the whole emotional support thing women do for each other. I don’t understand why women lie to each other when what they are saying is obviously false.
Chapter 13: Mad Lib Pep Rally
Lia
“You are late!” Meg bellows as I make my way to the gym. The whole team is all pepped out in uniform, standing in line formations, and I’m still glitter-free and rocking yoga pants. Meg stops the music and calls for a five-minute water break. Everyone disperses as I brace myself for the bitch fest that is undoubtedly about to commence. I take a deep breath when I see the anger on her face. You are 30 minutes late, Lia. The rally starts in an hour.” I look around the gym nervously. I hate audiences.
“Sorry,” I say reluctantly. “I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.” I see Jaime out of the corner of my eye, scrutinizing me from a distance. I bet the reclassification of my relationship status will make her extremely happy. The jealousy already starts brewing inside me. I squelch it down and remind myself the whole nonexclusive thing was my idea. I quickly scan the gym for Robins and see him nowhere.
Meg presses her tiny lips together, and her eyebrows scrunch. “You didn’t lose track of time. You were with the Freshman?”
I don’t even know where she gets her information from. What I do know is I cannot seem to get on her good side, ever. Shit, if she ever found out what I did in Robins’ room, or how intimate our nonintimate sleepover got, or that I was making it my mission to talk to Robins tonight, she’d kill me. So, I play nice. “I still haven’t recovered from passing out the other night. I’ve just been overworking myself. It won’t happen again.”
“It is unacceptable Lia. One more time and you are out.”
“What? Because I was late?” I pause, noting that the other captains were watching us.
“Yes, because you were late and you missed mandatory practice yesterday. Having Christopher and your suitemates call out for you doesn’t replace you calling one of us. Now go upstairs and change. We have a routine to get through.”
I back up and exit the gym, taking the stairs two at a time until I reach the dance studio. The whole time I can’t help but think about how Meg’s super calm demeanor makes me nervous, like she’s planning something, and I need to watch my back. Knowing her, she’s going to wait for my next false move and do everything to kick me off the squad. She must think that would be a total tragedy.
I remove my hoodie as I step inside the dance studio and head over to the locker area on the far end. I place my bag on the bench, remove my t-shirt and throw it into the bag.
The studio door squeaks open, and I quickly grab my cheer top and put it on. I remove the skirt from the bag and put it on over my yoggies. I pull my sneakers off, bending over to pull down my pants and lift my head up to the locker room door.
I left that door open. I was sure of it.
A weird feeling crawls over my skin as I tiptoe over to the door, finding it unlocked. Just in case, I cross the dance studio and head to the front door in just my socks, poking my head out, to find only a few people deep in conversation, waiting for the pep rally to start.
What were you expecting, Lia? I ask myself as I head back inside. The whole prankster thing still fills me with unease. And that unease I’m feeling is the aftermath of my afternoon.
I head back to the locker room and sit on the bench to slide my shoes on. Something sparkly catches my attention. I reach into my bag and pull out a gift wrapped in gold paper, exactly like the snow globe. My hand trembles, almost dropping the surprise gift on the floor.
After finding my nerve, I ask, “Who is in here?” Too bad I didn’t find courage; my voice is filled with trepidation. I’m attentive to every single sound around me, and nothing stirs in the distance.
Maybe this was already in here, and I was just hearing things. It’s not like I ever actually pay attention to what’s in my bag. I unwrap the gold foil and find a square cardboard box. Opening the box, I stare at it for a minute. “What the flipping shit?”
I drop the box to the floor and pull out another box. This one was black and stamped with lips that had dagger-shaped tongues. What the hell kind of logo is this? I flip the box around and find a little arrow on the bottom. I push inward on the arrow, and the tab lifts up. I lift the other tabs and find yet another box; a much smaller jewelry box.
“Connor?” I shout into the empty room. “I swear to God if this is you pranking me I’m going to be so pissed off.”
Again, no one answers me. I groan and open the box to find a beautiful horse-shaped pin filled with cubic zirconia. I lift it from the inner velvet slit and pull out the tiniest note. I set the pin to the side with the boxes and open the note: “For Luck … because you're going to fucking need it.”
A shuffling noise stops my thoughts before they can freak me out. I sprint over to the dance studio and find no one, again. I stare into the mirrors, running along the entire front of the room, analyzing every crevice. I’m much too scared to move from my freaking spot, but I can see the whole studio from here. The only thing I don’t have access to is the storage room.
Do you really want to check in there? My Vixen warns me, advising me that she is not the one to come to in scary situations unless there was a sexy guy involved.
I take a full deep breath and take my time as I approach the door, hoping to God Connor is standing on the other side of it. Or Robins, or even Dylan. Shit. I’d even take Aiden being my prankster right now.
I tentatively lift my hand and rest it on the doorknob, silently counting down.
Three.
Two.
Shit. Shit. Shit. A clamor comes from inside the room, making my heartbeat race out of control. My hands clutch to my chest. This can’t be healthy. I take a deep breath. Someone is definitely in there, and whoever the shithead is, he’s responsible for freaking me the hell out. I muster up all the courage I can get it and place my hand back on the doorknob.
Okay, here goes nothing.
I turn the knob, and it only moves an inch. It’s locked. I put my ear up to the door, closing my eyes in order to concentrate on listening.
“Amelia?”
I scream so loud, my whole body shakes from the force.
“Whoa? I’
m sorry.” The voice says.
It takes me a second to figure out who the voice belongs to, and that it in fact, is not coming from the storage room. She squats down beside me, and I try to find my voice again.
My Vixen is cranky and not helping take the edge off. I bet she’s going to enjoy the new terms of your relationship.
“Haley, what are you doing here?” It comes out a little bitchy.
“I wanted to wish you luck before the show.”
I blink rapidly, unintentionally staring at her while I recharge my brain. Luck. You’re going to need it. It isn’t possible. Is Haley the prankster? “How did you know I was up here?”
“I went downstairs first. Harper told me you were up here changing.” She looks around the room. “She told me to come get you because you were taking too long. The pep rally is about to start.”
“Oh.” How could she possibly be the prankster if the prankster is in the closet? I get up and pound on the door behind me. “Get out you little shit.”
“Lia?” Haley says, trying to conceal the worry on her face. I roll my eyes and stop pounding on the door. “What’s going on?”
“Wait right here! Don’t take your eyes off that door.” I run into the locker room, grab the pin and the note and hand them to her. “Someone has been pranking me for a few weeks now, and the prankster is behind that door.”
She reads through the note and holds the pin between her thumb and forefinger. “At least you prankster gives you jewelry.”
“This is not funny anymore,” I snap. “I’m calling Public Safety.”
“And tell them what?” She chuckles. “That someone sucks at being romantic?” She holds the pin out to me. “It’s really pretty, actually.”
I turn my back on her. I’m not in the mood for her sense of humor at the moment.
Just outside the door is a Public Safety Officer and I give him the scoop, not leaving anything out. I start from the prank calls to the video, and end by telling him the culprit his hiding in the storage room of the dance studio.