Wannabe More

by Billie Dale

  Paris edges forward, her eyes locked on Hendrix. “You’re new.”

  “Wow, so perceptive,” Pres retorts. “Working that neuron, huh? This is my brother, Hendrix. My twin brother.”

  Paris and Brooklyn glance at each other with identical soured faces. Dallas reaches out a hand to greet Hendrix but Paris slaps it away. “Don’t touch. Their cooties might spread.”

  “Jaysus, are you five? Go back to Asia, your cell is palpitating for oxygen.”

  Preslee never backs down from the bullies. She’s prettier, smarter, and all around superior; she knows it so she gives them back every barb they throw using words I’ve taught her. “Clocks ticking, minions. You let that one slice of gray matter die and you’ll all turn into drooling cum bags. Well, more than you already are.”

  Dallas fights back a snicker but the other two huff, calling her a bitch before flipping the strands of their hair and sashaying back to their own pod of people. Dallas hesitates, blinking dopey eyes at Hendrix. “It was nice to meet you. Can we talk later?”

  Forever honest and without a care, “Doubt it,” he replies, ignoring her fallen smile.

  MY LEGS AND BACKSIDE are numb. Preslee ventured off returning with a bottle of water for me, and red Solo cups full of something frothy and pink for her and Hendrix. I’ve spent the last sixty minutes watching Mazric work his way from clique to clique with Asia hanging on his arm, staking her claim. High-fives, back slaps, and waggling eyebrows convey the others boys’ thoughts on his ‘sure thing’ status. Joey Holmes arrived fifteen minutes ago, offered us a wave followed by a smirk, before attaching himself to Maz’s other side.

  “My gawd,” Preslee drawls, “can we be any more pathetic?” I can’t help noticing with each cup of punch she drinks the louder and more obnoxious she gets. Hendrix nurses his second as he slouches back on the couch, people watching.

  Asia steps up on a small stage made up of black painted skids topped with plywood. “It’s karaoke time!” she cheers into a microphone, trilling her dog whistle voice through the speakers. She assigned a poor schmuck the task of DJ, ordering him to stay and play tunes. Her hand curls to her friends, telling them to join her. They stand; spotlighted by one white light brightening the stage. Matching minuscule skirts, midriff baring crop tops, high-heels, and coiffed hair make them look like a gaggle of Bratz dolls.

  Asia signals the DJ and they gather around. The drum beat of Big & Rich’s “Save A Horse” pounds through the air. With Brooklyn, Paris, and Dallas sexy swaying and adding backup, Asia sings off-key and sloppy to Mazric about riding a cowboy. The intent of the song isn’t lost on me nor are her striptease moves. No matter how many times I clutch at my necklace and wish, the lust in his gaze stays. I hate it.

  My empty water bottle crinkles under the clench of my fist. Watching Mazric watch Asia breaks a piece of me and I crave oblivion. Hendrix seems to have found it in the bottom of his cup, so much so he isn’t even ragging on the awful singing. Wanting what he’s found, I steal his drink and chug it.

  Two drinks later, the room is fuzzy and funny. Mazric stands at my knees with a wavy head and shining halo of handsome. Brooding with his arms crossed and lips pressed into a thin line, he looks like a hot cartoon character.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he seethes through a gritted smile.

  I bust out laughing over his caricature-esque form. “Maaaazzzzric, my best buddy, ole pal. Be a lamb and get me another cup of this glorious unicorn piss,” I ask shaking my empty red cup, but the words sound funny in my ears.

  “No. It’s time to go home,” he snarls.

  Preslee jumps to her feet swaying into Mazric, who stops her fall, which starts another fit of giggles from her and me. She grabs my hand pulling me to my feet, where we both wobble. “Not happening, Mazman,” she cheers, dragging me forward. My mind is so free I don’t even care she’s led me to the stage.

  Fifteen

  MAZRIC

  MY DRINK IS PISS WARM from the clench of my hand. Asia promised after one cup I’d feel amazing, bragging about dipping into her dad’s stash of vodka. At the time I gave her a wink and took the liberty to grope one round ass cheek, groaning when my finger met the bare skin at the hem of her super short skirt.

  The burn from one gulp hit my stomach like lava and the pure sugar mix settled like a brick. But the music is loud and Asia’s smokin’ fine chest is rubbing all over my arm. Life is good.

  Until.

  On my rounds to say hello to my friends in each clustered group, I keep glancing to Elvis, Jimmy, and Splinter, noting how miserable they look clumped together in the far corner. My goal is to work a path through and settle in with them. Jackson and his goons are the first clique to piss me off. Not at first, no, the rage comes after the girls hit me with questions about who the mysterious hot dude is, sitting with Preslee. I explain Hendrix the best I can, encouraging introductions while inside I’m laughing over how awkward Jimmy will be if it happens.

  As I’m stepping away, Jackson pulls on my shoulder. “Who is the hottie with the long legs and dark hair, Vortex? Man, I’m gonna have to find out what those strands feel like fisted in my hands before tonight is through, boys.”

  He laughs and I see red. “It’s Sam,” I respond, thinking he’ll recant because of his dislike for my friend.

  “Well hell, Spammy Gentry’s all grown up, isn’t she?”

  The glint in his eye sends my pulse rushing to my ears. Pressing to his chest, nose to nose, I warn, “Stay. The. Fuck. Away. From. Sam.” If it were possible, I’d singe him with the fire shooting from my eyes.

  “Chill.” He raises his hands. “It’s all good.”

  With a mumbled asshole, I work to the next group swallowing another chug, but this one is nastier than the other. The females want Hendrix and the males call dibs on the new chick. Even when I inform them who she is they don’t back down. When Joey arrives, I’ve spent so much time putting out fires I haven’t had more than a handful of seconds to talk to Sammy. Round and round I move, discouraging all communication with any of them. Ain’t gonna lie, I issued a few threats to bring my point home.

  Asia announced karaoke time and for three glorious minutes I enjoyed watching her use all her God-given curves to show precisely how to save a horse and ride a cowboy. The song ended and Joey nudged me in time to see Sammy Lee down her first cup of punch.

  Now she’s up there with Preslee and a retro song by the Spice Girls begins with laughing. Elvis sings and when she says her brother got all the talent, she’s dead wrong. Her bubbly on tempo pitch hits each chord of Wannabe then she hands the mic to Sam. For a microsecond she freezes. Her glassy green eyes blink, but with a nudge from Pres she comes to life. The two dance around each other as Sam’s rough low voice sings upbeat about being her lover. I’m not the only one to notice. All the guys who made sick comments stand at attention as her cropped shirt rises higher, showing more of her flat stomach. Her body moves and shakes, glistening with perspiration under the lights. She sheds her coat and my fist itches to find the teeth of the fucker who tells her to take off more. Watching her freedom to laugh without the weight of intelligence, or the responsibility to be what her dad wants, tugs at my chest. In our four years as friends, I’ve never seen her this relaxed or uninhibited. She’s a beautiful star flaming to vibrant life.

  On the verge of a nervous breakdown, I breathe easy when their song ends and they flounce back to the couch. That full second dies when I see the way Hendrix stares at my Sam.

  The music stops and Asia takes the stage. “All right, gang, Paris and I are coming around with a hat. Every girl’s name is in it and each boy will take one. No switching or take backs. But we have a few more females than males, so unless one of you generous guys want two, some will be left out.” She eyes Preslee and Sam, signifying which two will not be in the hat.

  “I’ll take two,” Joey hollers, followed by another happy volunteer from the back corner. Asia’s shitty grin fades. The air she huffs e
choes through the sound system. With a snap of her fingers Brooklyn adds two more slips to the hat. “Everyone ready for seven minutes in heaven?” The room erupts in a roar of hell yeahs and hoots. She breaks it down for everyone, explaining two couples at a time will enter the designated closets set up in the hall, before she moves around to all the boys. When she reaches me, her thumb raises a piece of paper from behind the hat. I grab it and sure enough it reads Asia. After everyone’s chosen, she waves a stopwatch and tells Joey to read the first name of his two.

  Joey grins ear to ear and shouts a random girl’s name. Another guy and girl join. They vanish into the closets and a riotous chant fills the air. Sean Paul’s Get Busy plays through the speakers while the timer counts down.

  SAM’S EYES DROOP TO slits and despite my dick campaigning for me to stay and play, I need to get her home, past my mom and in bed. Asia plots with her three cronies, whispering behind her hand and throwing devious looks to my friend. Almost every person here has coupled up and ventured to the closet. Those who hit it off continued after the short interlude, finding a dark corner or grinding their bodies on the dance floor. Since Asia decides who goes next, she’s deliberately saving my friends and me for last.

  Sam slumps against Hendrix’s shoulder with her head more on his chest than not. Her hair spreads across his shirt in a silken puddle. His one hand taps out a rhythm on his thigh, but it’s what his other’s doing that’s keeping me on edge. He mumbles about how soft her strands are as his hand plays in the length, and if I see him sniff her one more time, I’m gonna hit him so hard he won’t be smelling anything for months.

  One more longing look at Asia’s chest and a farewell nod to the potential to get my hand between her thighs, I urge my friends up so we can leave.

  “No,” Preslee whines, “I haven’t gone yet and I really want to spend time in the closet.” She laughs at her own words as Joey steps next to me.

  “Dude, don’t go yet. Pres is my second for the night. That first chick was flat as a pancake, I need boob action and Preslee Carmichael has plenty to go around,” he slurs.

  “Damn it,” I growl, fisting a handful of my hair. Dealing with these tipsy and drunk idiots would be more tolerable if I were imbibing too. Four more people stagger out of the make out rooms and Asia singsongs Joey and Jackson’s names. I swear on my life if Jackson calls Sam’s name, I’m dragging her out the door.

  He doesn’t.

  Joey grabs Preslee’s hand, pulling her from the sofa and to the door as Jackson and Paris disappear behind the other. As Asia starts the timer, I realize there are only four people who haven’t taken a turn: me, Asia, Hendrix, and Sam.

  Hell. To. The. No.

  “You have her name? Been sitting here for over an hour knowing and you didn’t say a word? What the fuck, Hendrix? You’re not taking Sam in that room.”

  “Would you rather someone else have her?” His drunk lids narrow.

  My chest burns and I want to snap off the fingers he’s weaving through her hair. “You have my name?” Sam raises her head smiling around her words.

  He cups her jaw. “Yes, Samantha.” She sits up with more energy than I’ve seen her have in the past thirty minutes and interlaces her fingers with his.

  “No, no, no,” I roar. “This ain’t happening. Hendrix, she’s twelve years old. TWELVE!”

  He bolts up, bumping his chest to mine. Guess he’s not as drunk as I thought. He’s taller than me and looking up at him adds to my rage. “Yes, Mazric. She’s younger than us, but it didn’t stop you from bringing her or exposing her to alcohol and whatever drugs those guys are smoking in the back room. No, you had one goal in mind and didn’t give shit one about how it would affect poor little twelve-year-old Samantha. Nor has her age changed the way you’ve been looking at her since the moment she came downstairs. YOU put us in this situation and if you pull her out of here now, you will destroy more than your friendship. At least with me she’s safe.”

  Asia calls time, yanking the closet doors. A dopey-eyed Preslee tumbles out followed by a Cheshire cat grinning, crotch-adjusting Joey.

  “We’re up, Samantha.” Hendrix pulls her up, ringing his arm around her waist he leads her away as Asia drags me.

  In the small space we’re chest to chest. Asia kisses a path up my neck; working her way to my mouth. My hands lay limp at my sides, no longer wanting to touch her. Eyes wide open I see nothing but darkness. She grabs my unwilling hands, moving them to her chest she begs me to touch her in a breath fanned against my lips. My thumb rubs the center, bringing her nipple and my cock to life. I press harder, swallowing her moan with my lips while grinding into her hips. Our tongues dance as I slip under her shirt, forcing up one bra cup. My nuts tighten from the heat and weight of her bare in my palm. My cock swells hard enough the teeth of my zipper dig through the material of my briefs. A low rumble shakes my chest as my eyes fall closed. Behind my lids I see Sammy Lee with Hendrix’s hands on her body. The thought hits like a bucket of ice water.

  “Stop.” I grab Asia’s shoulders, pushing her back. “I can’t do this.” Someone beyond the oak door calls out, jerking open the door, flooding the small area with light.

  “Fuck you,” Asia whispers shoving past me.

  I hazard a look at Sam and she looks the same as she did when she went in. No kiss-swollen lips or tousled hair. She staggers next to me, resting her head on my shoulder. “Can we go home now?” The stench of vomit hangs on her breath but I don’t ask why. Instead I wrap the coat around her shoulders and the four of us exit the way we came. Vivianne waits for us in the circle drive.

  Hendrix takes the front seat and the rest of us squeeze in the back, putting Sammy between Preslee and me. “You sure you two don’t want to just spend the night at the house?” Viv asks, eyeing Sam on my shoulder in the rearview mirror.

  “Can’t. Paps demanded we be home in the morning to help with the fields.”

  “And how will you get her past your mom? She’s too far gone to appear normal, hell you’ll be lucky if she’s able to walk in. I can make sure you’re home first thing.”

  Hendrix glares at Sam and me. “I’ll deal with it. Take us home please.”

  THE OLD FARMHOUSE IS dark, save for one light left on in the kitchen. Vivianne was right; Sam is out cold by the time we get there. Preslee offers to help but folds over to vomit instead. Every muscle in my body strains when I scoop Sammy in my arms.

  With silent steps, I ease through the screen door, breathing a sigh of relief when no one waits at the kitchen table. I can’t carry her up the stairs and leaving her on the couch isn’t an option. I stand her on her feet, whisper-begging her to wake up enough to make it to bed.

  She melts like ice cream, puddling on the bottom step, pleading for me to let her sleep. I hoist her up; she falls. “I don’t feel so good,” she groans, and her loudness echoes through the quiet house.

  “Shhh. Come on.” I pull her again.

  “I can’t,” she complains then giggles.

  “Come on, boy, let’s get her upstairs before she pukes all over the carpet,” Pappy calls from a darkened corner of the living room, scaring the shit out of me.

  “Shit, Paps.”

  “Watch your mouth. Now move on before your mama wakes up, I’ll carry Sam.” His old bones creak but he scoops her up as if she weighs nothing and moves upstairs.

  My head lowered I follow, careful to avoid the creaky steps. He lays her on my bed, telling me I can suffer the cot for the night. He brings in a bucket placing it next to the mattress, warning me I’ll be the one to clean it up if she gets sick.

  “This is your one free pass, Mazric Jason. I gave one to your daddy too. You’re sober as a judge, but you should’ve taken better care with her. I better never see Sammy Lee in this shape again. She’s mature beyond her years, but you’re older and know better. Get some sleep, Son, sunrise comes early and she’s gonna have a rough one tomorrow.”

  After the door snicks shut. I remove Sam’s shoes and cove
r her with blankets before lying on the cot to face her. I don’t sleep for fear she’ll get sick. True to Pappy’s words; morning comes quick.

  Hours into chores, Sam is sweating buckets and has puked too many times behind the barn, cursing Asia’s unicorn piss and swearing to never drink again. I ask her about her time in the closet with Hendrix, but she claims she can’t remember though her eyes never meet mine when she says it.

  The first of many barriers form between us under the unrelenting sun.

  Sixteen

  Three Years Later

  SAMANTHA

  WE ALL CHANGED AFTER Asia DeMarco’s party. At first, we tried to stay the same but I started my classes at the Carmichael Plantation with Hendrix and Preslee and Maz stayed at school.

  Freshman year Mazric broke the basketball barrier and made starting varsity. We worked all summer with the new math on adjusting his shot after a large growth spurt. He’s still one of the shortest on the team, topping out at six-foot-three, but he’s the star of three-point and beyond baskets. We worked tirelessly to make him able to shoot above the towering other players. He’s the best in the state and colleges have been taking notice since sophomore year.

  Preslee stole Dallas from the Townies. When other tortured members of their posse discovered life didn’t revolve around the girls named for a location, they formed their own level of popularity. Asia, Brooklyn, and Paris are still the queen bees but lost some of their sting.

  Mazric and I spend most evenings together but between his games and practices we’re not as inseparable as we once were. Camps monopolize his summers and classes consume mine. Most weeks our only time together is when he climbs in my window, vanishing like a dream by morning.