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The Last WordRevised
by Quincer
A/N: This story is a thorough revision of my original short story, by the same name, of course. Check my profile, if you are curious.
It was a dewy summer night and she was so happy to find herself at a high school party. Granted, it was because of her cousin Hecter, who was a well-established high school student, that she ever got so close to the mature atmosphere that reeked of sophistication. Even so, she was here and she would take advantage of it to get a head start on high school before starting as a freshman that fall.
Erica examined what would soon be her life for four years—and quite a life it would be.
The rooms were packed with teenagers tapping their feet, leaning against the stair railing, and sitting on pillow-less couches. The crowd constantly moved. The throng itself was a roaming being of at least a hundred flailing arms, many different voices, and approximately six hair-styles.
Despite the high ceiling, it felt very stuffy. Puff of air were shared by ten different mouths. Fresh, blithe words and smiles were flung into the pulsing, heated air. They seemed to flourish and spread rapidly.
Sterile white walls were everywhere. One would not have noticed the walls’ corners if it weren’t for dust and people settling—or slumping—against them. The air had a static, un-lived-in smell. Erica decided that that would be gone sooner than the owners would probably expect.
She grinned as she saw the mass of people laughing and bumping against one another. She admired their positive attitudes to enjoy the party amid the harsh climate. In fact, the austere atmosphere may have been why they so pointedly enjoyed themselves.
“Wow. They go all out in high school,” was a comment she knew she had said, but it was lost to her ears by the music.
She knew this because someone turned his head to her.
She immediately reacted to that, giving him a bold smile and imitating his dancing immaculately. The chorus of the rollicking song reached its loudest point and the boy mouthed it fervently. He lowered his head to her when she sang along with it, too.
Their mouths were level with one another and both over-enunciated the words, hot air reeling from their mouths.
She had never heard this song, but recognized its pattern. First it was tense and lulling, then there was shouting, then a few words of anger were elongated as the electric guitar ascended in notes and volume. The type of breaths her rocker friend would take also gave her a clue as to what was up next.
She could not explain it. She had always had an ear—and an eye—for music. Her new friend seemed to thoroughly enjoy it; he was mouthing it so fiercely, she was getting a shower of spit from him.
He mouthed “Sorry.” She laughed and excused him warmly.
“Do you have a name, Sylvester?” she teased.
“What?”
“Your name. Mine’s Erica Dennart. Who are you?” She held her hand up to her mouth in hopes of making it audible.
He shook his head.
Then, with a jolt, he turned to another person as a beach ball landed on his head.
He cussed at his laughing friends on the staircase. Apparently, the ball was covered with some undesirable, sticky substance. Erica figured she did not want to know and began to walk deeper into the crowd for a quieter place where she could hear herself speak.
Hecter called her and snatched her shoulders.
“Okay. Now, don’t do anything I would do . . .” Hecter laughed as he stuck his hands into his old, dark jacket and brought out a candle and a lighter. Facing skyward, he held the candle in his ashen hand like one of his cigarettes while the other hand flicked and started the lighter.
Erica saw a head of hair behind him now—a girl’s head. The sight of the crimped, red strands scraped some frustration from the bottom of Erica’s stomach.
“Hecter—don’t. You’re going to burn your eyes out someday while you’re dying of cancer.” Then, in spite of herself, she laughed as Hecter lighted the candle, set it on his forehead, and swiveled his body around.
It was like a circus act. Actually, that was how it had started out years ago. Young Hecter was the star of their pretend circus as Pyro Boy, who painted himself with candle wax and never felt pain. Sometimes, he would poke himself with needles. Erica did not know it then, but his secret was that the needle only went through the outer layer and never actually got to his blood. Erica knew he liked it; it probably made him feel immortal.
Erica’s best friend Cassandra was his first lovely assistant. Her brown eyes held nothing but hope when she looked at him. She truly believed he was invincible as a god. Though that was not how she treated him at all. She had to prove she was worthy of him—worthy to be the mistress of Pain—by being unafraid and cynical. Sometimes, Erica saw it. She saw the pain that were bonds holding together her tight circle of friends.
There was nowhere else she could find such social harmony. Her parents—well—they cared, but didn’t show it. They passed on their deep wisdom to her, made their house a safe and loving atmosphere, all without ever really being there. They always worked, and they embraced their jobs. Erica realized this at an early age and sought out relationships on her own.
They were her true friends and finds, for Hecter wasn’t really a cousin to her. She found him on her own and had never met his mother; her parents only ratified the blood-relation when they saw him weeks into their friendship.
Her friends’ involved lives seemed so foreign to Erica and she wanted to ease them away from the pain and problems—stick with them until the end. She feared it. She feared others’ pain like a mother for her child’s. She had the power to protect herself, but not her friends—not really. None the less, she tried.
Erica saw the struggle better than anyone—she studied it, and was entranced by it. Perhaps she truly believed she would never know it—never know the failure plaguing in mortality.
The circus was small, but Erica provided so many enthusiastic ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ in between her announcing as ringmaster that it certainly seemed a magical show. Erica did not seem to get the same talent genes as Hecter, but she was told she had a flare in music—which she also provided for in their circus.
Of course, now was not a time to think on her own talents; it was time to be an audience member.
Hecter continued to balance the candle on his forehead as the red glow deepened from the top of the candle. After slowly maneuvering his thin body around, he pretended to trip almost right into the red-headed girl’s bosom.
She screamed. He held out his hand and let the wax slosh and drip on his palm as he flipped the candle upside-down. Now up from below the buxom girl’s chin, Hecter gave a smug look. She made a coquettish sound of disapproval, pulled out a cigarette, lighted the cylinder with the wick, and drove the candle home into his hand.
He turned and waggled his pierced eyebrow, and Erica, almost out of habit, gave him her one-girl applause. Something about his scarred face added charm to him that she could not resist saying proudly, “That’s my problemed neighbor.”
One thing she had to admit, though: Hecter was good at parting crowds. He shifted his lank hair and a ripple went through the crowd, offers for beer would be inches from his face, and he would step through as he yelled aimless teenager-slogans with Erica echoing as if she were totally privy to the sacred information.
The two eventually found a couch. Past the living room, it was hard to think a party was going on; there were only a few people in the kitchen and the attached entertainment room: there was a small group in a monotone conversation and a girl sitting alone on the couch side table, a sucker in her mouth. Erica sat at the long couch, expecting Hecter to follow.
He didn’t.
She looked up. He had left her for the group in the kitchen, pulling one out to dance with. The rest followed with gales of laughter and remarks.
Erica frowned. Hecter always lightly used the term ‘girlfriend’ when referring to Erica’s best friend Cassandra, who was a year her elder. Cassandra hated him and loved him for it. Erica was always caught in the middle. But, knowing her lifelong friend’s devil-may-care attitude, Erica supposed Cassandra might not even show up tonight.
Tonight, cousin Hecter was still on her good side, idiot that he is, Erica recalled.
Besides, it’s time for me to mingle with the high school crowd, she decided, straightening her hair. Now, facing to the right, she decided this somber sucker girl would be whom she was going to talk with first. She must have been lonely.
“Hi, I’m Erica. Erica Dennart.”
The stranger regarded her from atop her perch on the side table with a nod—and she opened her mouth slightly, as if she were ready to swallow the fresh meat.
The girl’s hair, it seemed, had been dyed at least twelve times in the last few years for it suggested something of a blond and pink swamp. Her eyes, caked with eyeliner, were a subzero blue—all frozen but the pupil.
That was her opening, Erica knew, as she passed the threshold of adulthood:
“Cool party.”
Wow. That sure was a groundbreaking remark, Erica couldn’t help notice. Now put in the ‘Gee golly!’ and you’re set.
The girl nodded—or she could have just twitched--and the dark abyss of her mouth opened wider. Erica cleared her throat.
“They could pick some better music, though. Maybe some rock. I think they play too much rap, y’know? I could say a lot of things about that right now but I really don’t feel like getting pummeled by all these conformists.”
At this, her listener emitted a little laugh. Completely controlled, but it was a laugh, nonetheless. Erica smiled.
“I’ve been thinking about going to this new club, maybe you’ve heard of it? The Flaming Spoon. They have a lot of local rock groups there—completely controversial stuff. They allow anyone to go up there in between and make speeches—political and whatever you want. They also have great coffee, I hear.”
“Yeah. It’s from Coffee Plaza,” her low voice lulled.
Erica grew excited now and allowed some more white lies. “Oh, I love that place! I try to convince my friends to go there, but they always want to get pizza. So formula,” she scoffed at the end.
A ringed hand floated down to Erica. “Yeah, I work there. I’m Lola, by the way.”
Happy to have the name, Erica shook it—but not eagerly. It’s all about pace, she had learned. If one was talked just to talk and was friendly just to be friendly, society considered one a mouse; if one was too slow or indifferent, one was a retard. Erica had found the happy medium.
After a half-an-hour of talking—mostly led by Erica—it got lonely in that corner. It seemed that everyone was in the other room, searing a hold into their eardrums. Erica exchanged phone numbers with Lola and left by announcing her search for refreshment.
There, at the cooler, she met her head-banging partner; he was her first (semi-) acquaintance at the party. His name was Rage. He earned the nickname from his constant head-banging— or raging.
Rage was sitting with a large group of people, speaking intensely to a girl slumped next to him. He had a very demanding voice. Erica was surprised she couldn’t hear him before.
“I don’t care what emo is an imitation of—or whatever. It’s not about the metal. It’s not about the bling-bling or having fun. It’s being true to yourself and sharing your emotions, being down-to-earth.”
“And what do you think music is about? Robots? Magical faeries? Emo is just the same as other rock—except one thing.” She gave a pointed pause. “They’re all liars and whiners.”
“Emo is all about truth—about the Original Sin. It brings us down to bring us up.”
“There you go with the Bible-thumping again,” the young woman shifted back in her seat, setting a pop can down on the carpet. She coolly moved hair from her face.
Rage stood up in—well, in a rage. “God and music are the same thing, so, why not put that out for everyone?”
“Not everyone wants to hear people who want to make rock wholesome. Music is supposed to be hard-edge, make us want to do something just because we’re alive.”
Erica slowly entered the circle, reached for a soda can, and suddenly felt herself in the middle of a group breath—being spit out and scrutinized before she would be violently sucked in. She felt around the ice in the cooler and paused, watching.
Both debaters stared. Nothing was in the air but the sound of bean-bags squishing and grinding like old rockers.
Erica looked from Rage to her opponent. “Don’t stop because of me!” She loved a good debate, full of stinging remarks.
The mellow girl nodded. “Actually, I could use that. My brains might ooze out of my ears if I hear anymore of Rage’s preaching.”
“Well, without religion, there would have been no jazz, soul, or rock music. Or choral,” Erica shrugged.
Rage grinned ear-to-ear.
“Religion is just losing its influence in music and needs rock now to get the attention of our age group. Kind of funny,” Erica continued, chuckling and setting herself in a nook between the two. Her laugh passed through to all of the group except the girl and Rage. “Music’s come full circle.”
Giving an incredulous gesture with her hands, the girl said “Okay, I don’t know what we were arguing about anymore, but your entrance was pretty damn amusing--and brave.”
Erica expertly opened her soda can and took a long sip before answering. “Thank you.”
It was Rage’s turn to lose his defenses. “I saw you earlier tonight, right?”
She turned, smiled with charm, and said, “Yeah, you did, Rage. You left before I could tell you; my name’s Erica.”
He smiled back from beneath his long bangs and scooted closer to her. “You prefer emo, don’t you? You knew all the words to that song.”
“Oh—Rage, please,” the girl put her palm to her face.
“What?—I’m not arguing, Julie, I’m just asking.”
Erica leaned to him and brushed Rage’s shoulder. “I had never heard that song before in my life. You just made it easy for me to get into.”
Rage barked a laugh as he blushed.
Julie’s lips curled in a smile at his split reaction and she stroked Erica’s hair. Erica winked at her.
“Don’t tell me . . .” Rage sputtered.
Julie licked her lips at him. Erica chuckled, shaking her head and taking a swig of her drink. She would let them talk this out among themselves.
“Yes, Rage, I’ve seduced her to the dark side . . .” She threw her head and left arm far back. “Hell-bound,” she said dramatically.
Erica stood up at Rage’s flustered expression. She knew it couldn’t get much more amusing than this.
She bent down, gently patting Rage’s legs. “Nice to meet you, Rage.”
A beam of hope appeared in his eyes as he nodded.
“You, too, Julie. See you guys later.” Julie wiggled her fingers at Erica as Rage sank into astonishment so rapidly that his face matched his wild, red hair.
That should be interesting to meet ends with when I start high school, Erica sniggered into her pop. Stepping over the rest of the bean bags to the door, she wondered what else she could do in one night.
Later that evening, Erica was throwing her third pop can away when a blonde, young woman plopped on the couch beside the trash can, giggling. She saw a boy was trying to sit, too. He fervently kissed his dainty companion and fingered her dangling earrings, so enveloped in their own passion. Erica blew out her cheeks, slightly jealous.
They soon got comfortable and the blonde rested her porcelain doll head on his chest. Erica noticed he was wearing a highly decorated varsity jacket as he popped a piece of chewing gum into his mouth. She batted her huge lashes several times into his jacket
“Nice jacket. What sport do you play?”
“Huh?” the high school guy’s muscular body tensed at the discovery of another person on the couch. His gaunt face was perfectly tan, contrasting his stark, blond-bleached hair.
His girlfriend—Erica assumed that was her role, anyway—stroked his hair genially as she beamed at Erica, “Basketball.”
“Oh.” She groped for any bit of sports information she had in her mind.
“We won last night; 38-2!” The blonde whooped more of those teen slogans, calling the air of a cheerleader to Erica’s mind.
“Sweet!” Erica used the unfamiliar term with unfaltering excitement. “I didn’t know we were so good.” More white lies—though flirting with the gray area. But the girl eagerly nodded, eating it up.
Now sprawled out on the couch, the athlete pulled the girl closer to him, until they were mouth-to-mouth. Erica began to look away until the girl sat bolt upright.
This girl’s spontaneity amused Erica; she also could not help noticing how tipsy she appeared. “Tonight’s our anniversary. I knew it was, like, vital that we do something.” She giggled, positively aglow—or intoxicated--with her cleverness. She turned to look at him, “Last night I wanted to pounce on him so bad.” She laughed between crackling her gum in deliberate smacks that made her look like a puppy dog after his meal, taking in the very last of the taste.
“If you had, the other team would have loved you for helping them win. Hey, you might have had more dates that way!” Erica was eased into the conversation now, having made the blonde giggle.
“In fact, I should try that . . .”
Facing Erica, the girl’s giggle descended into a chuckle in her throat at her last words. She flashed a Hollywood smile. Erica returned the smile as the stranger playfully pushed at her shoulder.
“Tanya Banks,” the slim girl said as she extended her delicate—though shaky--hand in an eager handshake.
Erica took it, “Erica Dennart. I hope to see you at school sometime; I could use a fashion advisor. I’m a little new.”
Tanya Banks immediately launched into an insightful chat to rival Erica’s:
“Well, those shoes are wicked cute!”
“Great; thanks. I love them, too—“
“—They remind me of what I saw on a music video once."
“Oh, yeah? Which one?”
Her boyfriend’s right foot dropped from the couch after he rubbed his temples. Whether he passed out or sighed, Erica never knew . . .
“So call me sometime!” Tanya pushed Erica’s shoulder for the fifth time that night. “I love ‘recruiting’ fresh meat and see them ‘inherit the school properly,’” she flipped her hair as she quoted Erica.
“I won’t disappoint you,” Erica placed her hand on her bare, cold knees as she placed hair behind her ear.
Tanya crackled her gum.
A booming base swept across the floor as a new hip-hop song ensued.
“Oh-my-god, I love this song! It just makes me feel so wild and . . . womanly.” She stroked her boyfriend’s knee. Erica smiled, getting up to dance and whirl with the blonde.
“Runnin’ through the barn,
Girl, I love it when you get in the tar—‘n
Nothin’ but us,
So let’s call up your girlfriends,
Nature’s callin’,
Show ‘em how good it’s been to you.
Rough ‘n tumble, that’s what we do.
Tough ‘n rumble, that’s when we twist it.
Rough-what,
tough,what
Gr-rough-tough.”
“Oh, I gotta go out and dance—my friends are probably wondering what happened to me!—Hey, wanna come, Erica?” She nudged at her groggy boyfriend.
Erica calmly shook her head. “No, thanks. I think I’m going to get a drink.”
“My God, Erica, it’s like you’re made of water!—Well, buh-bye, then! Love ya, girl!”
Erica had drifted throughout the room by the time the night was almost over—and she only saw Hecter once. Just then, the curtain of boisterous teenagers swept aside where into the opening slouched Cassandra. As the newcomer stepped-and-dragged through, Erica blinked at the deluge in the form of her best friend. Her dark hair was soaked with sweat and much of it was in her eyes—for which Erica was glad. Cassandra always liked to think of her eyes as ‘night sky with a thunderbolt,’ and that thunderbolt pulsed when she was angry. Erica paced herself.
“Hey, Echo . . .”
Erica looked up at her friend in reproach; she had not called her ‘Echo’ in over a decade. When they were young, Cassandra called Erica ‘Er’ca’ until she learned the word ‘echo’—then she confused ‘Er’ca’ with ‘Echo.’
The smell of alcohol invaded her senses and Erica winced. “Are you drunk?”
Cassandra cracked her knuckles and hovered closer to her friend, “Dude, I’m havin’ a good time . . . I’d really like to dance like those—where’s a damn boyfriend when ya need ‘im?”
In her shock, Erica sidestepped into the couch. “You are drunk! Cassandra, why are you doing this to yourself? You shouldn’t—“
“You’re covering for him again, aren’t you, traitor?” she slurred.
“Cass, I’m serious. First of all, you don’t have your license yet, and you could have gotten yourself killed! I’m sorry, but you’re making a lot of stupid decisions tonight-”
Erica was cut off when Cassandra shoved her shoulders with the palms of both her hands. Erica withdrew a sharp breath and grew bolder in her worry, “See? It’s got you all messed up! I know you didn’t mean—“
“My God, do you ever shut up?! Jesus! If you were my friend, you’d be loyal to me and only me! You’re always defending Hecter—you and me are blood! But you just deny me when you want to—“
“That’s not true and you know it! I love my friends more than anyone.” Erica flicked her gaze across her best friend, frightened by the haze of electricity that was billowing about Cassandra. “I think I’ve put up with enough. We’ve been through too much; don’t let a boy get in the way of it. When you were pregnant, I helped you through it and took care of you—I made you that blanket. Where was the fath—?"
“Screw you!” Her face contorted as she noticed the pun in what she had said. Spitting in her hands, she laughed. A grinding, hollow laugh. “Well, at least, then, you’d know half of what I’ve gone through. You were always little Miss Perfect—hell, you don’t even freakin’ get sick!—No, don’t talk. Because, you know what? You can’t be on everyone’s side! You never have these problems, and you butt yourself into others’ lives, trying to help the pathetic creatures that we are. But ya can’t bring the baby back to life—I made my decision and I’m tired of being pressed by your stupid morals.”
“Even then, I admitted I couldn’t talk you out of it. I do not press you with morals. If anything, I encourage you. You told me a circus was going to have a parade in our town and you wanted me to help you make a costume. The next time I saw you, you said, ‘What parade?’ Your first dance, I went against your mother’s wishes and ripped a midriff in your dress. Cass, with all your faults, I love you . . . I’ll always be there with my sewing kit, always keep you from danger—even if it requires lying about Hecter, Cass—“
“I don’t need you! And I don’t love you!” the deluge snarled as her calloused palm streaked Erica’s cheek in a vicious blow; a few heads were turned to them now. Despite the loud music, Erica was surprised by how few heard her. Satisfied, Cassandra found strength to snicker sharply out of her drunken rage, “You’re just one big handkerchief to blow my nose on, dear . . . And now, you’re too slimy to charm your way out of this.”
Cassandra’s words echoed in Erica’s own mind so sharply that they caused an avalanche of shivers. Erica choked back a sob as it, bringing her hands to her struck cheek. The fingers stopped short as her grasp fell on her neck. All words she could think to say were trapped within her, as a confusion of forgiveness and a burst of anger fought--neither would ever win out.
Her friend stormed out of the room and Hecter immediately let himself melt into the blur of people, unscathed and unchanged. Cassandra did not even seem to notice him there. Erica was astounded, outraged at the boy who once said he would watch over her, at the boy who joked that she was his little sister to his friends. There Erica stood, taking the fury that would forever leave her scarred, while he watched, his mind in the clouds, uncaring to those below.
Erica grew tense all over. A sliver of sunlight glared over her eyelashes. She fell into shudders and gripped the edges of her sleeve for some kind of feeling against her numb arms.
Cassandra never talked to her again and Erica never spoke out again. Her eloquence of speech eventually disintegrated from disuse. Nothing stirred her quiet life again until her sophomore year of high school. This stir turned out to be a ripple that set her life into a swirl of solitude and shadows.
Almost two years went by before she allowed herself to be thrown into that fascination of flaw that bound her to Cassandra and Hecter for so long. This time, the flaw was deeper, and it took a trained eye to find the heart of. But, it wasn’t guaranteed that the trained eye could give it a name before it was too late.
A herd of teenagers dripped from the gym to the cracked, old pavement with several bounds. It was a soggy day in June and the anticipation for the last days before summer vacation was a spark that had passed through and shocked the students in rounds since March.
Floating in the middle of all of this was Erica, now a young woman with careful eyes and a subtle mouth.
She watched her feet, counting the cracks in the sidewalk. As a child, she used to walk so gently that she never heard her feet land and felt weightless. She would have been ashamed to admit that she feared her legs might dissolve! So she grew accustomed to it by watching the cracks roll by beneath her. Some habits never die.
A sudden bump to her side sent Erica stumbling almost-uncontrollably. She looked timidly to the person responsible.
She found a girl rubbing her side, and the rest of the crowd Erica was going with had gone ahead of her. A gust of wind brought her hand to her upper arm, grasping for mental security. She felt so bare. She was a target for gazes and voices now.
“Oh, sorry,” the girl’s voice seemed to be thrown at her, like a dirty towel. Erica saw nothing apologetic in her mien and voice. She spoke out of mere habit; Erica could tell she could care less.
“Sorry,” Erica said warily.
At a scoff, the other walked purposefully in the other direction. She finally met with a big, dark boy, who greeted her.
“Oh, thank God. That girl is so weird . . . She never says anything, just repeats what you say.” The girl then walked on with her nose high in the air, assuming he would follow.
He didn’t. Instead, the boy made a sympathetic sound as he looked around hesitantly.
“I dunno . . . Maybe she’s just trying to say something. Artists are different that way . . . “
Erica looked away as he spoke, avoiding his gaze. She almost laughed; what made them think that? Was she wearing a black beret and beating Congo drums?
No. She worked hard to fit in. She would hate to concede that, no matter what, she would always be a drooping, white flower in a field of garish yellow ones.
Through her silence, Erica’s senses had grown keener. With this, she doomed herself further into isolation. She used this to meld into the backdrops of school and observe. At that moment, she somehow wove through the tangle of rushing teenagers to catch glimpses of a familiar site.
A clever, calm smile. A waxy, brown mass of hair. Two dark, deep-set eyes. And a flawless complexion that gently glowed under the sun. At the end, Erica always came to the same conclusion: Nathan Allemen was beautiful. Beautiful enough to make Erica a melodramatic poet.
Before she knew it, he had nearly backed into her, laughing at a friend’s joke. She gave a start as he spoke, “Don’t worry, boys, we’re havin’ panther meat tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow,” Erica whispered in awe as she realized she could smell his hair.
His companions gave him crooked grins as they turned to leave. Erica was oblivious to it all and intoxicated by his cologne. Nathan stumbled; if she were not against the wall, Erica would have stumbled, too.
He whirled and gave a fleeting smile, as to say, “Sorry that I almost crushed you.” In her imagination, she concocted his rich voice directed at her, saying those words echoing through her shaken frame:
You . . . you . . . you.
Then he was gone. She fell out of her reverie when her brother honked impatiently from his truck. It was time for his birthday dinner; perhaps there would be no fighting tonight.
She never lost her ability to hope those impossible hopes.
The next day, delicious Birthday cake was still settling in her stomach and memories of her encounter with Nathan were still dancing her mind; she was joyful that morning. The day was hers. She knew it—she felt it.
To make today even more perfect, there was a big basketball game during the last two hours of school, and she had tickets. Today she would cheer for her team; she would cheer for him.
After the game, enthusiastic teenagers burst from within the gym at the sound of the bell. Everyone had something to say:
“Great game; my throat’s killing me!”
“That was so cool!”
“We kicked their panther a—Ow! Dude, watch it!”
Many animated conversations came to Erica’s ears; she saw banners waving; and peals of laughter rang in her ears and made her heart flutter. They had won--Nathan had won. Erica had watched in glee as he darted across the floor like a fox and threw the ball with ease and grace, ensuring the Tellmoth Trojans’ triumph.
Soon, most of the spectators had made their way out of school and Erica stood, alone. She habitually bounced her ankles, listening, for the first time, to a squeak of the sticky floor that only reluctantly let her feet move. No matter where she stood, that gradual squeak came from her shoes.
She winced at the annoying sound. All that sugar and carbonated water in the soda had already contributed to the certain spring she had in her step, but now it would embarrass her terribly as she squeaked and bounced like a toddler alongside the coolest guy in the school.
I’ve got to do this; get some of my old confidence back, somehow, she reminded herself. Nathan. She smiled.
Yeah, I’ll walk up and say, ‘Great game, Nathan, my throat’s killing me.’
Mid-squeak, he appeared. He was out of breath and laughing. He regarded her; Erica’s qualms were all deadened at that and she took a step.
“Great game, Nathan--my throat’s killing me.”
A shout of a teammate resounded through the hall from the main doors when she stuttered, and he turned.
Erica bit her lip, pursuing him further. She was incredulous at how obedient her body was. A spark seemed to be shooting through her blood and her tingling fingertips landed on his shoulder.
He immediately turned in surprise. “Uh—If you don’t mind, my friend’s waiting for me.”
“Wait for me?” she heard herself ask, trying to be coy.
“Don’t touch me! I don’t even know you!” His pure, brown eyes stared down, belittling her.
She quickly tore her hand away from him, a dark veil of tears coated her eyes. Her eyes darted over his beautiful, soft features, pleading the sympathetic side she knew must be there.
He paid no attention and laughed in disbelief. He knit his brows in a cruel, pointed gaze.
“Don’t you see everyone is gone, weirdo? The game’s over. Are your parents here? Anyone that loves you?” He cooed menacingly, then laughed at her blank gaze.
“Love me.” Her throat constricted at this echo.
“What a freak! “Have fun with the janitor! I’m out of here,” Nathan called, as he backed away and elbowed his way out of the door.
A dark hand of Reality stretched through the dimming halls where Erica stood, staring, until the blackness swallowed her
“Love me.”
Nathan Alleman, of course, went on through high school as the star of his basketball team and dated many beautiful girls—all social butterflies with similar ambitions, pouting lips, and even the same chewing gum and cell phone. Each he eventually cast aside at his own tainted whim.
During his last days as a senior, he found himself staring proudly at his and his last girlfriend’s golden reflection. The golden plaque had been made to thank him for his athletic accomplishments. His embossed name distorted their faces so that their chins appeared doubled, or tripled. His girlfriend’s pretty, huge eyes glittered above it all with a bored look.
She sighed as she turned to tell him it was over. He never seemed to hear. He didn’t know that his vanity was taking hold of him the more he stood and stared at himself. She turned, shaking her head as she walked down the hall and never looked back.
Many years later, he still stared back at his golden features and names with an immeasurable thirst as he swept pop cans off of the old school hall tiles.
First, I knew I had to make Erica more of a character--more nymph-like, since she is based on a water nymph in Greek mythology. She is emotionally gullible, like humans, but doesn't quite understand the human's sense of tragedy and mortality--until she has her own. The other characters were blown to larger proportions, as well.
Secondly, I decided to add many new concepts to poke fun at my fellow-teenagers' culture of music which many seem to live for. I enjoyed adding them.
