So I stand there, out of sight from the crowd, watching them play through their first two songs, completely hating myself for how much I like their sound. I know for a fact they didn’t sound this good at rehearsal, which leads me to believe it is all T.K. My suspicions are confirmed as the lead singer takes the microphone between songs and speaks to the crowd.
“Stonewall High!” he shouts. Cheers erupt from the crowd. “I want you to give a hand for our new bass player, T.K. Knight, coming to us all the way from Montreal!” More cheers. I glance at the crowd, waiting for someone to do something stupid like click a lighter or flash the stage. My eyes drift to Katie. I also notice how the singer says “new” and not “temporary.” Apparently, there is no loyalty among musicians.
“For the first time ever, I’m going to hand off the mic to him for our final song!” More cheers. “He wrote this one himself. Hold onto your panties, ladies!”
That one earns them the loudest set of cheers yet, as well as a handful of horrified looks from the parents and teachers in the crowd. Between FLANKED and my dress, Principal Lawrence is going to have to think twice before hosting another event.
The drummer starts the song off with a slow beat as the singer drags the microphone over to where T.K. plays his bass in a deep series of notes. He grabs his guitar and returns to his position at centre stage. He may be letting T.K. sing, but he isn’t giving up his spotlight.
T.K.’s voice fills the gym, the sound deep and smooth, like waves hitting the sand at midnight. The sound is mesmerizing.
“There she walks, away from me, lost to me, gone from me. I see her there, inside of me, still lost from me, gone from me. And I wonder how a girl can shine so bright. I wonder…”
The song is raw and emotional. I can’t help but wonder who he wrote it about. I look up, thinking I might catch him eyeing one of his toys in the crowd, but instead I find him watching me. His hair is damp with sweat, partially covering his eyes as he strums the chords of the bass, not looking at where his fingers are going. I realize I like the way his muscles are moving under his t-shirt, and the way his jeans are adjusted on his hips. Even his sweaty curls are perfect. I can’t remember ever finding someone so breathtaking.
I don’t know for sure, but he seems to be thinking the same thing about me. His eyes are burning, refusing to look away from me as he sings the remainder of his song.
“I know you’re gone. But this isn’t the end. I wonder…”
I’m not sure how I end up on stage, inches away from where T.K. stands, strumming the chords of his bass. It’s like I’m summoned by the music, unable to control my body. T.K. reaches out, wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me up to his chest. The music continues to thump in the background without the rhythm of the bass. The crowd cheers, whistles, and shouts things I cannot hear. T.K.’s eyes hold me captive as he rests his forehead against mine.
Before I have time to process what is happening, T.K.’s lips press gently against mine, testing my reaction. He doesn’t close his eyes.
Kissing T.K. is nothing like it was in my dreams. In real life he is so, so much better. The way he tastes, the way he smells–they are not things a mind can fabricate.
Whatever my reaction is, he likes it.
T.K. brings his lips to mine again, harder than the first time. I’m expecting him to stop after a moment, but he doesn’t. He parts my lips, teasing them open with his tongue. His breath does taste like cinnamon: spicy, warm, and intoxicating, mixed with the saltiness of his sweat. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling myself closer to his body. He’s still holding the bass in his right hand while his left hand works its way up the cut-out back of my dress.
I’m vaguely aware some part in my subconscious that we’re still standing on stage, our entire school in front of us. There are some cheers and obnoxious hollers, but it’s not enough to pull our lips apart.
He is better than any drug I’ve ever had.
T.K. seems to notice the crowd at the same time I do, but rather than let me go, he pulls me tighter against his chest, lifting me off the ground. A faint gasp escapes my lips, and I feel him smile before he resumes his exploration of my mouth, his arm so tightly wrapped around me I can barely breathe.
The stage’s curtain brushes my backside, then my shoulder, followed by the hand wrapped around the back of T.K.’s neck. I feel him shove his bass into the hands of a waiting stagehand as he uses his newly freed arm to grab my thigh and pull me up into his arms, my legs wrapping around his back. He doesn’t break our kiss once.
I feel the cool stone of a brick wall press up against my back, T.K. trapping me with his body. My own body is on fire, my mind a steamy cloud of smoke. I can’t breathe. I don’t want to breathe. What good is oxygen, anyway?
“Oh my god,” I mumble as he brings his lips to my neck, working his way down to my shoulder and back up, moving my shoulder strap with his teeth as he goes.
Then he opens his damn mouth.
“You’re a lot nicer when you’re preoccupied,” he murmurs, his lips brushing mine as he speaks.
That is enough to snap me out of my haze.
“Ugh! Get off,” I say, shoving at his shoulder and letting my legs fall to the ground. “Jackass.” I give him another shove, even though he is no longer touching me.
“What did I do now?” He actually has the nerve to appear shocked by my sudden shift in temper.
“Ugh!” I storm around him back toward the crowd. A part of me hopes Lindsay didn’t see the event, because I’m not in the mood to explain it to her–not that I’m able to explain it to myself. I don’t know what the hell happened. It’s like I was under a spell, unable to think rational thoughts or control my own body.
TRAITOR!
“Raye!” T.K. follows close behind me. He reaches for my arm, managing to catch a few fingers before I snatch them away. The brief touch sends shivers down my spine.
My body is a traitorous monster.
“I’m going home,” I tell him, changing paths and heading for the back doors instead of the crowd. My job here is done, and after my final performance, I’m certain Principal Lawrence will be glad to see me go.
“So, you’re not going to tell me what I did to deserve that?” He has no problem matching my pace.
“The kiss? Nothing. Don’t worry, it won’t be happening again.” I huff, actually out of breath from trying to outrun him. Or maybe it was the make out session. My cheeks grow warm.
Traitors!
“No, the kiss I have no problem with,” he grins, stepping in front of me. I almost trip; he catches me without hesitation. “It’s the stopping of the kiss I have a problem with.”
He doesn’t let go of my arm. His eyes are searching mine, curious and cautious at the same time, as though I might actually manage to run away from him.
“Look, clearly this–” I gesture to his whole body, managing to free my arms at the same time “–works for most girls, but I’m not interested. Okay?”
“Definitely not okay,” he replies, finally letting me walk around him into the cool air. I left my jacket backstage. “See you Monday!” He shouts as the door slams behind me.
I scream into the frigid air, my voice creating a fog around my face.
Whatever that was, I’m going to make damn sure it never, ever happens again.
CHAPTER 12
“That wasn’t a random kiss, Raye! You were practically having sex on stage!” Lindsay hisses through the phone after I finally decide to call her back Sunday afternoon. I spent all day avoiding her calls, hoping if I didn’t acknowledge the kiss, time would spin backwards and erase it from ever happening at all. I’m still angry with myself for whatever happened. For the thirtieth time today, I remind myself T.K. is a womanizing player and I hate him.
I. Hate. Him.
“We were not! I was...caught up in the music. It was nothing.”
“Oh, bullshit!” she says. “I have never, ever seen you lose control like that. You hate PDA. Yet, one boy sings you a song
and you throw yourself at him?”
“I did not! I hate him. Okay? It was probably remains of the flu. I’m pleading delirium.”
“I still cannot believe you did that.” I can’t tell if Lindsay is angry with me for acting so out of character, or impressed I actually did something resembling normal teenage girl behaviour.
“Delirium,” I repeat, smacking my head on my dresser. Every time I close my eyes, I see T.K.’s eyes boring into my soul, entrancing me.
“Are you going to go out with him?” she asks, completely serious.
“No! Lindsay, seriously, it was nothing.”
“This isn’t the first time you’ve said a steamy T.K. moment was nothing. Methinks thou deny thy feelings.”
“There are no feelings. On either side. You see the way he is with girls. It was a one-time thing. He got all hot and bothered by my LBD, and I was delirious from the remains of the flu.”
“I don’t know, Raye.” I can hear the scepticism in Lindsay’s voice. “He seemed pretty into in. Sure, he’s hooked up with a lot of girls in the past couple of months, but I’ve never seen him look at anyone that way. Katie is beyond angry. She called me to demand I kick you off the team, FYI.”
“Going to grant her request?” My voice lifts with hope.
Lindsay makes an indignant sound in her throat. “Not a chance. I told her that’s what she gets for dating a slutty boy, and if she has a problem with you, she will be the one off the team.”
“See, you called him a slutty boy. Do you want me to date a slutty boy?” I ask, knowing I’ve won.
“Fine. Point taken. I’ll stop wishing for your love and happiness.” Her voice is bitter, but I can tell she’s done arguing, at least for now. “I’m never going to be a godmother, am I?”
“I promise to baptise all of my future cats for you.”
“I’m going to drown my sorrows in ice cream.” I hear her sigh in defeat as she ends the call.
Long after I’m off the phone, thoughts of T.K. still buzz through my mind. I miss the simple days of blissful ignorance to the world around me.
I silently vow to reclaim that ignorance, if it’s the last thing I do.
∆∆∆
My journey down the hallway is met with whistles, hollers, and crude comments Monday morning.
“Damn, Raye, if I knew you had a body like that I would have hit you up!”
“If you don’t shut your face, I’ll shut it up for you,” I snarl.
“You know, Raye, I play the bass, too!” says another.
“Your mother must be so proud.”
The fifth guy to make a comment also makes the mistake of grabbing my ass afterward, resulting in a much-earned knee to the groin.
There aren’t any more remarks after that, at least not to my face.
“I hear you’ve taken to assaulting freshmen,” T.K. says, sliding into his stolen seat beside mine in math class. He wears a self-satisfied grin on his face. I would love nothing more than to smack it off him, but he’d probably consider it foreplay.
“This is entirely your fault.” I slam my book on my desk, knocking off my pencil in the process. I don’t feel like taking notes today, anyway.
“Hey, I’m not the one who kneed that kid.”
“It was your need to shove your tongue down my throat in front of the whole school that made him think it was acceptable to talk to me that way.”
“If I remember correctly–and trust me, I do, because I’ve replayed it over in my head about ten dozen times–your tongue was shoved down my throat just as much.”
“You started it.”
“I think your dress started it.” There’s his self-satisfied grin again, my own personal nemesis.
“I hate you,” I say as Mr. Okar begins his lesson, silencing us both.
“So, I’ve been thinking.” T.K. follows me out of class after the lecture, right on my heels.
“Shocking,” I reply coolly, hoping he will go away.
“God, I’ve missed your flirty banter.”
“Think of how much you would miss it from afar.”
“So, like I said, I’ve been thinking. There’s obviously something between us. Can’t deny it after Saturday, although I think we’ve both tried. So, I think the only thing left to do is dinner.”
I stop walking. “You’re not serious.” His raised eyebrows tell me he is. “There is no way in hell I would ever go out with you.”
“But you’ll attack me with your lips?”
“I was delirious.” I start to walk again, my mouth slightly ajar from his horrific request. He actually expects me to be one of his dolls?
“I don’t think so,” he counters, reaching for my hand and pulling me in.
Why does his breath always have to smell like cinnamon?
I narrow my eyes at him and look at our intertwined fingers. “I’m pretty sure you’re attracted to me. I know you liked kissing me. So, why won’t you go out with me?”
“Because you’re a womanizing jackass,” I shout, forgetting my inside voice. I snatch my hand back, angry it wasn’t my instinct to remove it sooner.
The look T.K. gives me almost makes me take back what I said. He looks like I slapped him, as though my words actually made a mark across his face. “Is that what you think of me?” His voice is a whisper.
“Isn’t that what you wanted me to think of you? Girl, after girl, after girl? What did you expect, T.K.? That I would feel an innate draw to your slutty ways?” I remember Lindsay’s words and take them as my own. Slutty boy, indeed.
“It wasn’t like that.” The note of hurt is still in his voice.
I fortify myself, voice cold. I do not care if I’ve hurt his feelings.
You do not care, Raye McKenna.
“That’s not my problem.”
I do not look back as I storm away.
∆∆∆
When I don’t see T.K. for the rest of the day, I feel like luck is finally on my side. I would have expected him to try a little harder, if I had expected him to try at all. After The Incident, I thought T.K. would brush off the kiss like it was nothing, another notch on his already full belt.
The only issue I have now is with Katie. Even though cheer practice is suspend until after winter, we have enough classes together to make the situation uncomfortable. In one day she manages to turn me into a boyfriend stealing harlot, earning me nasty glares from nearly every girl who crosses my path. Girls aren’t as easy to deal with as boys–I can’t knee one of them and wait for the message to spread.
“Maybe you should apologize,” Marcella suggests, standing by my locker next to Lindsay. They told me about an awful message scrawled on the first floor girls’ bathroom wall. I know I should be upset, but I don’t care. Popularity has never been my concern.
“You’re taking this all pretty well,” I say to her.
Marcella shrugs. I notice her hand brush against Lindsay’s. “I’m used to girls falling all over him. This is actually fun, because he’s into you and you’re so clearly not reciprocating.”
“I told you he’s into you,” Lindsay says, her face flushed, but not from the conversation.
“Yeah, because he would tell his sister.” I shake my head. T.K. does not like me. Not truly, at least.
“Actually, he told Darien. You’ve had quite the effect on him, you know. Plus, he likes a challenge,” she adds. “Remember how he chased you around at the beginning of the year?” The memory fills me with more anger than it should. “It’ll be like that all over again. The second you show interest, he’ll lose his. And around and around we’ll go.” She makes a little circle in the air with her index finger. Lindsay gives her a playful shove. “What? I’m being honest. I know T.K.”
Lindsay blows out an annoyed huff. I realize she is still hoping T.K. and I will get together, even if she’s stopped being so vocal about it.
I leave them by my locker and head to my car, walking by Mitch on my way out. His nose still looks terrible. I try my best not
to smile.
“I never would have thought you’d have it in you,” he says, falling into step with me as I pass.
“What?” I’m annoyed he’s speaking to me. Isn’t punching someone in the nose a pretty good sign you don’t want to interact with them?
“On stage. I know how you are about PDA. When we were together you wouldn’t even hold my hand in public.”
I’m not planning on being mean, but the cruel glint in Mitch’s eyes tells me he is preparing to take the conversation in a nasty direction, so I decide to beat him to the punch.
Figuratively.
“Oh, Mitch, did you ever think you were the problem?” I smile so he knows I don’t care about his stupid comment. “Maybe you were never able to turn me on enough to elicit such a response.”
I walk away before he can think up a comeback; a faint muttering of “bitch” is all I catch. To my horror, T.K. is leaning against my car, completely within earshot of my comment.
He gives me a knowing smirk and opens my door for me, hovering as I slide into my seat. Leaning his head into the car, he whispers, “It’s good to know I’m able to turn you on so much.” He shuts my door and walks away.
My face has never been so red.
Who does he think he is, hovering about?
I drive home speedily, anxious to put as much distance between T.K. and myself as possible.
My initial plan once I arrive home is to bury my face in a sea of blankets and watch a horror movie to forget my mortification. The last thing I need is for T.K. to know the extent he gets to me. I need mindless slashing and dicing of human flesh to distract me.
Less than an hour into my Saw marathon, my mom walks in the door, letting in a frigid gust of wind. I look at the clock on the wall; it reads a little after four, a good five hours earlier than her usual arrival time. “Mom?” I call, poking my head out of the blankets.
“Hi, honey. I’m glad you’re okay. Have you seen the news?” She turns off my movie and switches the TV to a perky woman in a perfect suit with bottle-blonde hair.
“A fire has shaken the town of Stonewall, Manitoba this afternoon as a wing within the town’s small hospital erupted in flames, seemingly without warning,” the woman says, switching to video footage of a fire.
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