CHARACTERS: Lucy Dunn, Evan Goldman, Patrice Parker, Archie Walker, Charlotte, Kendra Quaker, Brett Sampson
"The Quayle Quails rock and the Quayle Quails kill, — " she forces a pretty, plastic smile but all she wants to do is hurl up the lunch she didn't eat.
"The Thunderhawks won't but the Quayle Quails will! — " maybe she can still just throw the pompoms away and run like hell.
"The Quayle Quails squawk and the Quayle Quails cluck! — " she feels fattest ("but you're so thin, Lucy!" "shut up, Kendra") in her cheerleading uniform.
"The Quayle Quails win 'cause the Thunderhawks suck! — " where's Evan? She needs to get away from all the superficialities and gossip and giggling for just 15 minutes.
All the damn screaming and the people pressed against each other, it's making her claustrophobic. Jesus, she doesn't even like football — she doesn't even like that ass lapping up the cheering on the field.
And Kendra and Charlotte and Molly and Cassie are suffocating her with all that faux pep they cram down her throat (oh, how she wishes she could just shove her fingers down her throat and make it all go bye bye).
A piercing shriek — horrible, like nails on a chalkboard or Brett talking about football or Kendra gushing about how sweet Archie is even if she doesn't feel the same or, actually, pretty much all of it — cues the end of the first half. Finally. Freedom.
It's all elbows and hissing and swearing as she searches for him through the crowd of hormones and chili cheese fries she almost wishes she could have. A hand slips around her waist. He smiles down at her, "Lucy." (They both pray no one notices the cheerleader and the Jew loser.) She slips her hand into his and he follows through the crowd.
They hurry down the bleachers and, for once, she's glad people don't notice her. (And at the same time, not being fixated on is so, so strange and uncomfortable — but his hand is so warm, like the little breaths she feels on the back of her neck.)
The second they're stowed away under the privacy of the bleachers, her lips are on his. Heat, lust, passion — call it what you want.
"God, Lucy," he chuckles as her hands wrap around the back of his neck.
"Shut up and kiss me, Evan," she mumbles, taking a moment to move his hands to her hips.
"Yeah," he breathes out. It's not sweet. They don't get to kiss each other sweetly or softly; she's the cheerleader, he's the geek. This is the 8th grade.
(No matter how much she wants to be with him.)
Their tongues play around with each other, just like they do. It's all a game, or so she tells herself to get those quick winks of sleep.
Aggression, tension, it's all relieved as the kiss grows hungry and her legs — oh, so nimble from cheerleading — wrap around him and her fingers busy themselves in his hair.
His hands slide a little down her hips as he rolls his tongue into her mouth.
And then his pants are unzipped and she's on her knees. He isn't quite sure how any of this happened but God, Lucy is stroking him like Patrice never would and it feels so fucking good.
"God," she whispers, "you're hung."
"5 inches," he breathes out as she begins to pump. Her manicured nails drag ever so slightly against him (and, God, oh, God, does it feel good). His vision clouds a little from ecstasy and his brain fogs up so much he can't even remember his girlfriend's name (he swears it starts with a 'P' and that he's supposed to like like her a lot but dear Lord, Lucy is amazing).
"I wonder how you'd fit in me," she all but purrs, pumping at a painfully perfect pace.
"Tightly," his voice is horse, "I bet your walls would press and press — I bet I'd be able to hit your G spot."
"I'm getting wet just thinking about it," she hums, seductively.
"I'll fix that as soon as I can," he whispers, huskily.
Her lips curl into a smile as she fits her mouth around the head. An incoherent mumble of something, her hands wrapping around the base, and then her head is bobbing along.
And dear, fucking God — Evan swears this is heaven.
"Lucy," he croaks, "God, Lucy — don't stop . . . Please, that feels . . . So, so good."
Seriously, what was his girlfriend's name?
(Patrice and she's the sweetest, nicest, funniest girl in the world, Evan, remember? You should be loyal and faithful, she makes you happy! Then again, Lucy is so special, so amazingly different and tempting in mind, body, and spirt.)
And for that matter, what was her boyfriend's name?
(Brett and he's an ass, he mistreats you, Lucy, he's temperamental and you almost lost your best friend because of him. But Evan calls you gorgeous and smart and is so, so good to you. Why are you still with Brett anyways?)
"Hey, Archie, where's Evan?" Patrice asks, trying to be heard over the roar of noise.
"Patrice? What are you doing here? You hate football," Archie responds, equally naïve to where Evan is and what Evan is doing.
"Evan really wanted to go to the stupid game and he was upset that I didn't wanna come so . . ."
"Oh, you're just being a good girlfriend by coming — " and if she only knew how she was being repaid " — well, I don't actually know. I think he went off with Lucy or something."
"Lucy? That slut? Oh, my God, where are they, Archie?" The panic is evident (and, oh, so rightfully placed) in her eyes.
"I really don't know, Patrice, you better hurry though, halftime will be over in 3." If Lucy does that beautiful thing her older sister taught her where she swirls her tongue and subdues her gag reflex so he can touch the very back of her throat, they'll be done in time.
Patrice rushes and she elbows people, not even bothering with "sorry." If Evan is with Lucy, she knows where they'll be. That rumor that slut started about Kendra and Evan alluded to it. The only place someone would go to do dirty, nasty, pleasurable things.
Under the bleachers.
Patrice just prays they aren't going all the way.
Her heart stops. That cliché golfball rises in her throat with the bile. His eyes are closed blissfully, her head is bobbing up and down.
He moans her name.
"Lucy, oh, God, Lucy."
She moans when his hips buck a little.
It sounds like goddamn music. Them, moaning together. Beautiful, sweet music.
And Patrice dies a little.
Evan's shoulders tense and he grips Lucy a little. He's about to cum, Patrice realizes. Her boyfriend is about to cum in Lucy Dunn's mouth. She wonders how they don't hear her heart break.
She runs. She can't say anything. What the hell would she even say? She just witnessed her boyfriend, a complete and total loser on their school's social ladder, getting head from Lucy, the second hottest girl in school and a cheerleader. What the hell do you say to that?
Nothing.
She says nothing.
"Patrice, what's wrong?" He calls after her. Patrice isn't really the crying type. It must be bad.
"Leave me alone, Archie, just, leave me alone," she sniffles, trying to march on.
"He was with her?" It's the worst case scenario he thought he was ready for so, why isn't he?
"He was getting to third base with her." Oh. God.
"Who was getting to third base with who?" Charlotte interjects.
"Evan and Lucy, okay, Charlotte? My boyfriend was getting head from Lucy. Just, go away."
Charlotte has never seen Patrice cry before. No matter how many insults Lucy has flung her way, Patrice just doesn't cry. And part of Charlotte wants to reach out and hug her. But halftime is almost over. Charlotte has to get back on the field to cheer. So she does.
And Patrice wishes she had hugged her.
"Lucy, I heard a rumor about you." It pours out of her mouth, she can't stop it. (And she really wishes she could keep her fat mouth shut.)
"You what?" The taller girl's articulation scares the crap out of her.
"A rumor. Someone — " she owes it to Patrice not to mention her name " — says they saw you and Evan under the bleachers."
"Oh, — " is that fear flashing in Lucy's eyes? But her tone is so menacing . . . " — and what did they say was happening "under the bleachers," Charlotte?"
"That you two were running the bases." 1 more minute 'til they have to cheer with all that forced pep and those dazzling smiles.
". . . And, and what base were we at?" She whispers. A scared Lucy, not screaming at a horror movie (and really, Lucy is a very squeamish girl), but genuinely scared. Another thing Charlotte has never seen.
"Third," her voice is so small, so barely there, that she isn't sure if Lucy heard. But that look in her eyes (Charlotte wonders if maybe she's thinking of Brett but she knows better, Brett is terrible to Lucy) . . . "Is it true?"
Lucy never answers the question.
They have to put on those dazzling smiles and show off how pretty and flexible they are for the boys.
Her hips don't even sway as she paces back and forth, waiting for him.
"Lucy, I got your text, what's wrong?" He sounds so concerned, exactly like a boyfriend would and it hurts just a little more that "they" aren't a couple.
"Someone saw us," she says.
"Wait, last night?" His hand falls to her hip.
"Yes, Charlotte told me that they told her what they saw. I'm doing everything I can to keep her from yapping," the panic is setting in. Solidifying."Hey, hey, it's okay, Lucy," he whispers, pulling her close and cradling her. God, how she wishes she could really have this.
"But . . . Patrice, Brett," she whispers.
"Don't matter, we'll get through this," he isn't quite sure of the words leaving his mouth but holding her feels so right that it doesn't really matter anymore. And then he leaves a gentle, warm kiss at her lips, one hand on her hip, the other just above, on her waist.
"Okay," her lips curl into a soft smile, her fingers entangle in his hair. For a few minutes they're happy. Just kissing and smiling. "They" aren't a secret, Brett isn't her boyfriend, Evan and Patrice are just good friends, they run in the same circle, people came to his Bar Mitzvah. Perfect. But perfect is a filthy fucking lie.
And she's much too good an actress.
"I can't believe Evan, how could he do that to you?" They both know his name is tarnished and it's hell to hear. "I bet Lucy seduced him."
"Do you blame him, Archie? I mean, look at her - what guy wouldn't go for her over me?" Archie wonders what in hell happened to his friend. Patrice doesn't care about these things. But he doesn't know how bad it hurts.
"Sure she's hot but that's it, Patrice. Evan likes her for her tongue and that stuff, he likes you for who you are - "
"You don't know that, Archie. I know Lucy, I was friends with her. She's funny and clever and talented and interesting and hot, okay? I'm just Patrice, his neighbor." There's a broken bitterness to her voice. He can't stand it. He can't stand it and he doesn't care if he gets killed for spilling.
"What if, what if I told you that I know someone who likes Evan's neighbor, Patrice? Who thinks you're funny and clever and talented and interesting and hot?"
"Archie, you're sweet but — "
"No. No. Not me, I'm still holding out for Kendra," he clarifies.
"Oh. Then . . . Who?" There's a tentative pause. Should he let her keep hurting and breaking and wishing she could die or should he let himself live another day?
Another day. God. He's dying anyways. What kind of pathetic, scum of the Earth "friend" would be so selfish?
"Brett."
She didn't do it. She could swear to God that she didn't because she really didn't.
But someone did.
Someone saw, someone took a picture, someone made dozens of copies of the picture, and someone put them up around school.
The picture?
Lucy Dunn, under the bleachers, giving head to Evan Goldman.
And Patrice Parker didn't do it. She swears (cross her heart, hope to die — and she would give anything to die right now) when Charlotte asks her. She doesn't lie. She did nothing.
Other than cry her fucking eyes out over Evan and scan her yearbooks for any hint of Brett Sampson liking her. (She finds a few photos where his eyes are locked on her and a couple where he's gone out of his way to touch her. All from before middle school.)
But she didn't take that photo and she didn't put those photos up.
"Then who did?" Charlotte asks.
"I don't know, why would I do that though? I don't need the whole school knowing Evan cheated on me with Lucy," she defends.
And then they hear it. Her. Lucy.
Crying.
Lucy Dunn is crying over the photos. Not because Brett dumped her (she beat him to it after the game). Not because she broke a nail. Not because she didn't get what she wanted. Because everyone is calling her a slut.
(And for a second, Patrice cringes at the memory of her saying that about Lucy because for a second, Lucy isn't Lucy, the cheerleading bitch and second hottest girl in school, Lucy is Lucy, Patrice's childhood friend.)
It's the longest second of her life.
And not rushing over to the brunette to hug her is the most painful decision of her life yet.
But she blinks and Charlotte is hugging Lucy and Kendra is there too. Kendra gives her this look, somewhere between, "I'm so sorry" and "what are you doing?" and Patrice knows she deserves it. She should be reprising her role as friend. (But wasn't it Lucy who kicked Patrice out of that production?)
She swears Lucy whispers, "I'm sorry. For everything," as she passes. But she can't have.
It had to be Patrice's imagination. She won't be able to live with not hugging her otherwise.
Evan walks in late, busied by the clutter in his bag. The photos are all long gone, not a trace left outside the hushed murmurs and the judgmental eyes.
("I hear they're waiting to ask her about it 'til he gets here" "She's such a slut" "Isn't he dating the loser?" "OMG, he cheated on Gollum with Lucy!")
They all gawk at him. 4 minutes to class be damned.
"Uh . . . Hi?" He takes a step back. They haven't paid him this much attention since he got them into The Bloodmaster. Tsk, tsk, tsk. That's a very bad thing, Evan. Don't you know? Brett was so mad then . . .
"Hi? My girlfriend sucked you off while you're dating Patrice and you say, "hi," Brain?" Speak of the devil and he doth appear. Steaming mad, fists clenched, Brett Sampson glares at Evan.
"I'm not your girlfriend anymore, Brett," Lucy speaks up. There's that usual fire in her eyes and the perfect articulation she does so well but he can hear the welt up pain.
"But you were when you let that loser get to third and that's what counts, Lucy," the blonde snaps right back.
"God, you're such an ass, Brett. What did I see in you? You treated her like crap, like you owned her. Leave her alone," Kendra's voice shakes. Kendra Quaker, telling someone off. What a sight for sore eyes. Evan remembers all too well, the last time Kendra called Brett an ass, the last time she stood up to Brett, he almost got killed.
"Yeah, you're problem is with me, not Lucy," he adds, not wanting Kendra to get hurt again. He's screwed up enough times, this time, he's going to take full responsibility.
Even if it comes with a black eye and a bloody nose.
"My problem is that she's a slut who has no problems giving head to complete losers like you, Brain, but wouldn't let her boyfriend get past The Tongue," and the real problem comes out. That word.
"She's not a slut, Brett. You're just an ass who never treated her right — you never told her how gorgeous she is, you never mentioned how smart she is, you never realized how funny she is, you took her for granted all that time. You didn't and you still don't deserve her!" What can he say? Brett stomped on his berserk button. And he doesn't give a fuck if he gets punched for this.
"I don't deserve her? And you do? You cheated on your girlfriend with mine, how do you deserve either of them?" Brett is screaming. Screaming and Evan is braced for the attack.
"You're right, Brett. I cheated on Patrice and that's unforgivable and stupid because she doesn't deserve that. There is no excuse. But at least I realize how amazing they both are. And at least I don't treat either of them like I own them — "
"Shut up! You cheated on your girlfriend with that slut — "
"Don't call her that!" Evan lunges. Brett goes down. It's a pile of fists and limbs and insults. Lucy screams. Kendra hugs her. Then something surprising happens. Something Lucy never thought could happen.
Patrice is there too. She doesn't break up the fight or start one of her own with Lucy. She helps Kendra sooth the brunette.
The girl who pushed her away, who decided she didn't fit, who ruined her life.
And Lucy barely even sees the teachers drag the boys away from each other.
The questions are a blur. To all of them. No one is really paying attention — save for consequences; Brett gets a week long in-school suspension, Evan gets suspended for 3 days, Lucy gets off scot free.
They have no idea who did it.
Charlotte didn't, Patrice didn't, Archie didn't, Kendra didn't, Brett didn't, Lucy and Evan certainly didn't.
So who the hell has an axe to grind with them? Or is someone lying?
. . .
It doesn't even matter anymore.
Charlotte links arms with Kendra and walks off quickly to find Molly and Cassie, leaving Lucy and Patrice to their lonesome.
"Why?" Patrice asks. They both know what's really being asked.
"Why what? Why did I let Evan get to third base? Why did I steal Brett from Kendra in the first place when I knew what an ass he was? Why did I — "
"Lucy. You know what I mean," Patrice cuts off the taller girl's list.
"Alright. I . . . I was sick of it. Of being in Kendra's shadow. I was the one who got her popular so it pissed me off that she was more popular than me.
"And I could see it, you were getting prettier everyday, you were so nice and smart and pretty (and Kendra has always just been nice and pretty and then I've always been just smart and pretty, if you were all 3, there was a problem) and I didn't want to be in your shadow too. It hurt like hell, it still does, to be the second hottest girl in school because of Kendra. I didn't want to be the third hottest girl in school because of you so I cut you out of things.
"I made it about the stupid things, about your jeans, about your studying, about your refusal to smoke. (God, I don't even like smoking, it's terrible.) And it was one of the dumbest things I've ever done and I hate myself for it, okay?" Lucy admits, this pain in her voice she's determined to hide.
But Patrice can still see through her.
"You . . . You were jealous of me? But, Lucy, you're . . . You. You're gorgeous and smart and funny and talented and any guy would be lucky to have you," she whispers.
"Any guy. And I took yours. I'm so, so sorry, Patrice. For everything. I miss being your friend, I hate calling you Gollum and avoiding you because "I don't hang with hobbits" and writing "we hate you" on your locker," Lucy apologizes. Lucy. Apologizes. For everything. Patrice wants to scream. They've been awful to each other for much too long and it's still killing her.
"Then . . . Then let's be friends again."
Friends. Them.
Lucy should laugh. She should laugh at Patrice's proposal because Lucy is the mean, popular cheerleader and Patrice is the geeky loser. But she doesn't.
Being enemies hurts too much.
"After everything that just happened, you want there to be an "us?" Are you kidding?"
"Why not? Just tell me that."
"We're like toxic. "Us" means people will get hurt."
"Are you seriously going to deny how we both feel? We can make "us" work."
"I just got her back as a friend, "us" might destroy that."
"Then we'll sneak around."
"Like star-crossed lovers?"
"If it means there can be an "us," yeah. Anything you want."
. . .
"Toxic," she mumbles after their lips pull apart.
"Beautiful," he mumbles.
But dangerous is the word.
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