The white paper sheet glares at her. The stationary cursor flickers, mocking her to write something. Anything. But her mind's blank. Much like the wordless document reflecting her frown back at Chloe Decker.
"You've been starting at that screen for half an hour," Ella Lopez quips, "Without blinking."
"I know," Chloe retorts, "I'll keep staring until I write some goddamn words on it."
"Maybe you should take a break," Ella suggests, her fingers clacking on the keyboard. With rapid clicks. Chloe's instantly jealous.
"I already had many breaks," Chloe sighs, yawns into her hand. She jabs her forefinger against her laptop's monitor. "Still nothing."
Ella twists her chair so she's staring at Chloe, eyes the laptop briefly. "Nobody reads the school's paper," Ella points out and amends, "except the Drama Club."
"We still have the obligation to write and inform the students something informative."
"Something informative?" Ella lets out this loud, air-choking laugh. "Chloe, I write about Klingons for the school's newspaper."
"Dan already submitted his piece," Chloe groans, ignoring Ella's words, sinking lower into her chair. Maybe she'll melt in her chair and her article will write itself tomorrow.
Ella rolls her eyes. "Dan is in charge of the weather forecast. Of course, he has something to write about every day," Ella gets to her feet, powers the computer down. "When was the last time you go out and have some fun?"
"I'm having the time of my life when I'm writing. I'm writing now."
Ella slides next to Chloe's desk. Hands crossed over her chest. Her dark eyes are impossibly huge, sparkling even. Her saccharine smile is enough to melt even the toughest, meanest student at Vertigo High. "No, you're not. You look constipated," comes out more like a compliment than a riposte.
"Do not," Chloe protests, sneaks a glance at her reflection on the laptop's screen. Nothing to indicate that her profile's haggard and constipated as Ella claims. She leans back into her seat, steepling her hands underneath her chin. She closes her eyes.
"Come with me to LUX," Ella announces, makes a sudden grab for Chloe's laptop. She expertly closes all the twenty tabs Chloe had in a matter of seconds. Shuts the laptop down, Ella places the laptop back into Chloe's backpack.
She lets out a sigh of disgust. "Is that a gym? I hate exercising." Chloe opens one eye, gazing at Ella.
"We're not going to exercise," Ella counters, clasping Chloe's hands and yanks her up from the chair with relative ease. Surprising Chloe with her strength. Considering Ella's petite, at five-two than Chloe who stands at a good height of five-seven. "Maybe lose a sweat or two. But it's less torturing than exercising."
"Ella, please don't tell me we're going to a club." Chloe "The last time I check, we're sixteen and looked sixteen," she says, hands on her hips for emphasis. "Not to mention, my dad's a cop. He's going to kill me after I rot in jail."
"Oh, right. You're new," Ella says, slapping her palm against her forehead. "Relax, it's not a real club. It's the LUX Club." Ella hooks her arm around Chloe's, drags her away towards the door.
Chloe shoots an alarmed stare at Ella, "The what club?"
Ella waves her hand dismissively. Her other hand gripping Chloe's upper arm tightly. "Don't overthink it. It's legal for minors. The school sanctioned club. The club organised a few meetings in the gym every week. All students are welcomed to join. Who knows maybe you'll get some idea from the LUX?"
"Alright," Chloe concedes, "But I'm going home early."
Chloe Decker can't say for sure, if this is really the gym. Sure, she recognises the bleachers. Usually empty on normal days, because sports isn't Vertigo High's strongest suit, now filled with teens lounging around. Sprawled from one end to the other, only teenagers—her fellow students. No teachers in sight.
The music is deafening, as electronic beats ripple throughout the floor from the corners of the gym. Chloe catches some verses spoken in not-English. Not so much as spoken, but guttural growling of musical verses. Sounds gibberish to Chloe's ears, yet everyone finds nothing wrong with the music selection. Dancing away like they're in a club. Just a few drinks away from what Chloe classified as 'high as a kite' condition.
The lights are dizzyingly colourful on the gym's court floor. Bodies squashed together on the dance floor, transferring slick sweat and other bodily fluids Chloe doesn't spend her time speculating between exposed skins. Hardly leaving any space for anyone to move around properly. Without being fondled or touched.
The refreshment table is located nearby the stage. Bottles, empty and full, piling up on the table sky high. Inside each bottle, liquid sloshing around due to the music's boisterous soundwaves. Tawny-coloured liquid. Like the colour of whiskey, bourbon and scotch. Booze.
Somewhere between the dance floor and the refreshment table, Chloe swears she'd seen a boy, shirtless and horns protruding from his temples, running passed by her. She blinks twice. No horns, but still shirtless. It must be just her imagination. Ella returns with two red plastic cups, thrusts one to Chloe.
Chloe sniffs it once. Smells harmless enough. But John Decker taught her to be suspicious of any drinks in a wild party. Even if that drink comes from sweet and church-going Ella.
"That's just soda," Ella chimes in, noticing Chloe's apprehension towards the red cup. "Don't worry, the LUX Club guarantees all their parties are illegal substances-free. No booze, drugs or any form of alcohol," Ella reassures, sipping from her cup. "This is a clean club."
Chloe casts a sweeping gaze around the gym. The stench of wild, probably unprotected sex hangs in the air, thick that one could choke on it. Mingled in that stench is a scent Chloe can't put a name to. But it smells terribly awful, Chloe almost gag. Clean club, this ain't it. And Ella's right. Chloe Decker might find her story in this gym after all.
"What is this place?"
"It's the gym," Ella replies, and adds a soft 'duh'.
"I know this is a gym but—" Chloe's next word dies on her lips, as she ducks. A stray shoe—no, three inch stiletto—flying through the air, close to taking Chloe's right eye out.
"The club's dedicated to having a good, fun time," Ella comments, like it's supposed to answer all Chloe's unasked questions. It doesn't.
"Oh," Ella says, suddenly draining her cup empty. She crushes the cup and tosses it into the bin. "It's about to start," she mutters, grasping Chloe's wrist. Her free hand motioning at the stage.
"What's about to start?" Chloe asks, as they fight their way through the packed dance floor to the stage. A singular black baby grand piano rests on the stage, centre-wise. The baby grand isn't big, but its mere presence feels like it takes up the entire stage. Standing next to the baby grand is a sharply dressed teen.
"Who's that?" Chloe whispers, because the music stops without a warning. Despite the fact the gym's filled with chatty teenagers, the gym's deathly silent for more than a few seconds. And she finds this a little creepy.
"That's Lucifer Morningstar. President of the LUX Club," Ella murmurs. "The concept of LUX is his brainchild."
"As in the devil? Like that's really his name," Chloe retorts, incredulous shining in her tone. She regards the teen on stage briefly, taking note of his black tux customised to fit his form like a glove. She can't quite make out this Morningstar kid's profile. She figures he'd be one good looking kid, from the expressions of his audiences.
"Uh huh," Ella's head bobs up and down, "like the devil himself."
"Who names their kid after the devil?"
Ella shrugs, keeps her eyes on the stage. "Olivia thinks his parents were either some part of a satanic cult or just hippies."
Chloe's mouth is half-open when Ella shoves a finger to her lips, "Hush. He's going to play the piano soon. He rarely performs, but I heard he's wickedly fantastic with the piano. One could say he plays it like he's being possessed by some music-lovin' demon."
"R-right," Chloe says, tearing her gaze away from the stage to the dance floor. With all eyes on him, no one won't pay attention if she disappears to the 'toilet'. Her dad always said 'stranger things has happened in the toilet more than he could count on four fingers'—and maybe that's not the way his metaphor ends, but it fits the occasion.
If she looks hard enough, there's a story somewhere waiting to be written. Chloe just has to discover it first.