author note: 'saturday night' is a song by natalia kills. no copyright infringement intended.
November 19, Saturday, 11:59 PM
Henry Tudor and Will Compton are playing beer pong. There are quite a few sorority girls watching them and cheering, but there's not nearly as many people out as when Anna and Brandon were playing against each other. A cocky, handsome well-known jock being losing to an intellectual but little-known freshman girl had been a little too Glee for anyone to resist, apparently.
Anne, bored since Anna, Mary, and Lizzy have all decided to disappear on her, sits down on the plaid blanket that Tom's currently occupying.
"Are you really doing homework?" she quips.
"I really am."
"Why'd you bring it to a party?"
"I was trying to work on it at my dorm at first, but…sometimes quiet is more distracting to me than noise," Tom explains.
"I understand. What's the assignment for?"
"Lyricism in Modern Music. We had to pick a song that had a day of the week in the title, which is harder than you may think."
"Well…'Friday I'm in Love'," Anne offers.
"We don't get extra credit if the song's on the charts."
"And this one isn't?"
"Well, I think it was in New Zealand, but I hope that doesn't count."
"What do you have to do with it?" Anne asks, leaning over the sheet music.
"We have to perform it as a duet, so I'm trying to figure out which parts to split up."
"Interesting. Mind if I take a look?"
"Go ahead."
12:00 AM
"You're not even trying," Will complains, "you're making this way too easy for me."
"Yeah, sure," Henry says, throwing the ping pong ball out of the cup Will landed in his triangle and gulping it quickly.
"Why do you keep looking at the door? Are you expecting Emily Ratajowski to stop by?"
"What?" Henry asks, throwing a ball that hits Will on the shoulder and bounces off the table.
"You're not even looking to see where the ball's going! The fuck, Tudor?"
12:05 AM
"Do you mind if I make a suggestion?" Anne asks, trading the sheets of music she's been reading with the drink Tom's been holding for her.
"Go ahead."
"Are you supposed to pick your own instrument for this song?"
"Yeah, we are. And you're actually drinking."
"So?"
"You usually don't."
"College experience," Anne says with a wave of her hand, taking a sip of her Cosmo, "but anyway, this song seems more like a piano song than a guitar song."
Tom examines the music, tapping his pen against it.
"Y'know, I think you're right."
"There's a piano in the living room. I've used it before when I've been waiting for Mary to come down, and Jen doesn't mind. Want to work on it together?"
It's hard to say no to her. Maybe she's not trying to flirt, maybe she's just being friendly, but Tom can't really tell the difference. She's sitting close to him, head tilted to the side, smiling while biting part of her lower lip. Eyes alight, she pushes her hair back behind her ears, and Tom gets the feeling that this isn't just the kind of girl that songs get written about (he's certainly written a few himself), that she's one men might have risked kingdoms for, in the olden days.
Maybe her sister's closer to Helen of Troy, maybe Anne's not exactly the face that launched a thousand ships, maybe her features aren't perfectly symmetrical, but she definitely has that je ne sais quoi.
But Tom has had this feeling since he was sixteen, so he tries to brush it off best he can.
"Sure," he says, "that sounds fun."
12:07 AM
Tudor has landed absolutely none of his shots into any of Will's cups. In fact, he just raised his arm and so far he has yet to throw, and it's his turn. He's just totally frozen
"You having a stroke there, my guy?" Will calls out.
He follows his friend's gaze over his shoulder. There's Andrea Hastings, who he knows slept with Tudor a year ago, who's been batting her eyelashes at him all night (not that Tudor seems to be noticing, even though she's not exactly being subtle), and her friends, and there's that musician guy, Wyatt, who's leaving with the Boleyn girl that decimated Buckingham earlier tonight.
One of these things is not like the other, Will thinks.
A drunken memory comes trickling back from last night: Will, stumbling out onto the balcony. Tudor and Boleyn, heads close together, them springing apart like repelling magnets as soon as he announced himself. You're not asking her out, Tudor had said, in a tone that brooked no argument.
Interesting.
"Your turn!" he yells.
Tudor shakes his head, then makes the shot into one of the many of Will's remaining cups.
"You win," says Tudor, the most competitive friend Will's ever had, "I'm going inside."
"Tudor-"
Andrea Hastings watches him leave, then follows after him.
So, Will thinks, Wyatt is following Boleyn, and Tudor is following Boleyn, Andrea Hastings is following Tudor, and no one is following Andrea Hastings.
Fucking tragic, is what that is.
12:10 AM
Tom plays the intro to the song and sings the first few lines:
mama, you're beautiful tonight/movie star hair and that black eye/can't even notice it/when you smile so hard through a heartfelt lie
Anne joins in and sings:
go kiss the liquor off his laugh-
But is cut off by someone clearing their throat loudly behind her.
Anne turns around to see the tiny but intimidating Jen Parker standing behind her with her arms crossed.
"Yes?" Anne asks innocently.
"What are you doing?"
"Singing," Anne answers, "is that a prob-"
"I mean, I'm playing music. Specifically picked party playlist music."
"Oh," Tom says, "we're sorry, we can sing more quietly-"
"I can't have that," Jen says with exaggerated patience, tugging at her necklace, "I just, I can't have two things playing at the same time because that would be chaos."
Anne thinks this is the first time she has ever seen a woman literally clutch her pearls in real life.
"Well, we can stop," Tom offers.
"No, I mean, I kind of like the whole impromptu concert thing. It's like, a good vibe. I just don't know…this song kind of seems like a downer."
"It picks up on the chorus," Anne reassures her.
"It really does. It's also called 'Saturday Night'," Tom informs her with a rakish grin, "so, hey. Fitting, right?"
"Can I see the song?"
"Sure," Tom says, sliding the music off the piano stand and passing it to her.
Jen scans it quickly, leans down and whispers something to Tom.
Tom, in turn, whispers to Anne: "She says the third verse is a little too 'Virgin Suicides' for a party, so we have to skip it."
Anne nods.
Tom and Anne throw Jen a thumbs up. Jen nods, then goes to the back of the room to unplug the speakers.
12:15 AM
"Thought you didn't follow girls," Will whispers.
"What the fuck are you on about?" Henry asks.
Will's standing with him against the wall in the living room. There's a lot of people milling about. Tom Wyatt's not exactly as popular with the girls on campus as, say, Tudor or Brandon, but musicians always pull in their fair share of female attention. And his is probably the most popular among campus bands, so there's a niche there.
They're flitting about Wyatt, some glaring outwardly at Anne Boleyn, but she seems unfazed, reading through the music with Tom and laughing, pointing things out.
"Nothing."
Will can smell Henry's drink. It's probably more rum than coke.
"Hastings has been checking you out all night, just FYI," Will informs his friend.
"Good for her."
Tom, after marking something on the paper he and Anne are looking at, starts playing again.
12:17 AM
Anne sings:
go kiss the liquor off his laugh/another suitcase filled with cash/shiny apologies in a velvet box/what a real good man
Unbidden (maybe it was talking about her last night, he almost never talks about her), memories come to Henry of his mother: her gentleness, her kindness, her long, golden hair and the pins she used to put it up every morning.
Her only defiance of his father had been in the keeping of her name: Elizabeth York.
Tom sings:
we drive brand new cars/and we light fine cigars/we shine like small-town stars/through the best days of our lives
Otherwise, she pretty much lived to serve him. When Henry Tudor I wanted her smiles to stop lighting up the TV screens of housewives every afternoon at three, they did. When he wanted more children, she had them.
They sing in unison:
we will walk right down the pavement/i know we're gonna be just fine/and i'll put on my dancing shoes real tight: 'cause it's just another saturday night!
Anne's brow furrows before she begins to sing the next part, and she sings with great carefulness:
another first, another wall/we lose ourselves, we lose it all/i wrote him a hundred times/can you hear my heart through the prison bars?
Tom sings:
the boys i kiss don't know my name-
"GAAAY!"
Henry turns, startled, to Compton, who's suddenly coughing violently. Henry punches him in the shoulder and he yelps in pain, "not cool, man."
"Don't be a jackass," Henry says.
"Sorry," Tom says sarcastically, "I don't change the pronouns in songs for 'no homo'."
"Sorry, man," Compton says, "ah…continue?"
Tom rolls his eyes, then goes back to playing, starting over his lines:
the boys i kiss don't know my name/the tears i cry all taste of blame/bad luck and dirty cops
Anne and Tom sing the last line together:
i'm a fucking teenage tragedy
And then, Anne sings, alone and passionately:
i walk lonely streets/and i talk big time dreams/so hold on before you see that you're better off without me
Before they both sing the chorus together again:
'cause when i look up from the pavement…
Anne's eyes flit up from the sheet music to Henry as Tom plays the interlude after the chorus. She holds his gaze, and he can't help but feel that she's singing to him:
i promise i'll be the one you want/don't tell me i'm unfixable/you don't know what it's like/to be seventeen with no place to go
She takes a deep breath and sings:
but give me just one night/and i'll be almost fine/remind me, one more time/it's the best days of my life
Anne and Tom segue into the chorus again, singing about five or six more 'it's just another saturday night's before he lets his hands slide off the piano and into his lap.
The room claps and they bow their heads.
12:21 AM
Will is clapping politely (I mean, they weren't that great). His eyes slide over to his friend, who is applauding and smiling like a kid on Christmas morning.
And, Will guesses, Anne Boleyn is the Christmas present.
Which would make Wyatt…the inconvenient wrapping paper? A ribbon that won't untie? Some kid trying to unwrap the Christmas present that Henry wants?
Whatever. Will's not really an analogy guy.
But, he thinks (as he watches Henry rush over to her and give her a high five). she's definitely the Christmas present. That much he knows.
November 20, 2016, Sunday, 1:03 AM
"Remind me to lose more often," Brandon says, out of breath.
Anna laughs, sitting up in bed and pulling her hair up into a ponytail.
Brandon watches her as she slides the straps of her bra back on, hooking it from behind.
Her skin is slick with sweat and covered in freckles.
She gets out of the bed and picks her shirt up from the dresser (giving him a nice view of her bare ass), pulling it over her head.
"Where are you going?" he asks, puzzled.
"I'm going back to my dorm to change," she explains, picking her skirt up from the floor and pulling it up over her legs, "and then I have to come back, get the sheets, wash them in the laundry room…put the new sheets on that my friend left for me...dry them, put them in here, and then I'll either sleep over or go back to my dorm, since she said I could have it for the whole night. Probably sleep over," she says, nodding to herself like she just decided on it.
Brandon sits up, pulling the sheets up with him.
Anna zips up her skirt and walks over to the vanity and smears some lip gloss over her mouth. She takes a tissue from the sparkly box that's next to a basket of makeup, licks it, and tries to wipe away some of the eyeliner that's smudged under her eyes.
"So…can I...have your number?" he asks.
"Why would you need that?"
"So we can do this again sometime."
Anna steps away from the mirror, turns around and looks at him through squinted eyes.
"...why?"
"Because it was fun. You seemed to enjoy it, anyway."
Anna sighs, pushes her glasses back up her nose, and leans against the vanity.
"I did. I don't fake anything for the sake of male egos," she informs him, crossing her arms, "not IQ, not orgasms."
"Noted."
"So it was fun," she explains, "for the night."
"Why wouldn't it be just as fun...another night?"
"Brandon, have you never been one night stranded before? Because I'm trying to tell you, as gently as possible, that I'm one night standing you."
"So there's like...nothing I could say to make you give me your number?"
"Nothing comes to mind..."
Brandon racks his brain, trying to think of something.
She's pretty hot, actually (he amends his previous just-cute opinion, after seeing her naked, it's changed considerably), which he never noticed before, and she kicked his ass at beer pong and asked him to hook up right after (also hot) and she likes sex as much as she said she does, and she's also really, really good at it.
And she didn't even want to cuddle? Like, what the fuck, honestly. When does that happen?
Basically he wants to tug on her ponytail and make her scream his name. Like, as soon as humanly possible.
"Can I go down on you?"
"In exchange for my number? That seems vaguely prostitution-like."
"Hardly."
"Besides," she says with a shrug, "you already did."
"As a segue. Not as the main event."
She considers this. Sighs, chews on the end of her ponytail (which should be kind of gross, but it's actually just making him think about tugging it more).
"I just changed," she says.
"You're wearing a skirt, but not underwear," he counters.
"Okay…deal."
From: Anna Seville
To: Anne Boleyn
Sent November 20, 2016, Sunday, 3:35 PM
Hey, can I ask you a favor?
From: Anne Boleyn
Of course. What's up?
From: Anna Seville
My Creative Writing grade has been in dangerous A- territory lately (dumbest elective choice of my liiiIIIFE), so I've been working on this extra credit thing for it.
From: Anne
Sounds intriguing. Where do I come in?
From: Anna
Well, I had to write a play. My prof needs to see it performed. It's just a read, though, everyone can hold the scripts in their hands, you just have to follow stage directions from me.
From: Anne
Sounds fun.
From: Anna
Should be! Someone already agreed to be the lead but they flaked. So you'd have a lot of lines, hope that's ok…
From: Anne
It's ok. What time is it at?
From: Anna
It's on Tuesday. We perform at 3:30 but be there like 3ish?
From: Anne
I can make that.
From: Anna
Great! Oh, one more thing…it's kind of a romantic play?
From: Anne
So?
From: Anna
So…Tom's playing the romantic lead, opposite you. Is that ok?
From: Anne
Yeah, it's fine.
From: Anna
Yay! Ok so I'll message you on Facebook with an attachment of the script. Thanks so much!
From: Anne
No problem.
From: Anna Seville
To: Charles Brandon
Sent November 20, 2016, Sunday, 5:35 PM
Hey, can I ask you a favor?
From: Charles Brandon
To: Anna Seville
Is it dirty?
From: Anna Seville
No.
From: Charles Brandon
Oh. Well, if I do it, will you do a dirty favor for me?
From: Anna
Oh my GOD. Never mind.
From: Brandon
Relax. Just giving you a hard time. What is it?
From: Anna
I had to write this play for extra credit and I need a reader for one of the roles.
From: Brandon
You need extra credit?
From: Anna
Yes…why?
From: Brandon
How the mighty have fallen.
From: Anna
What?
From: Brandon
We're just not so different, that's all.
From: Anna
You're asleep in Chem class half the time and I'm top of that class. I know because I've seen the curve. We're a little different.
From: Brandon
Ha ha, so you watch me sleep ;-)
From: Anna
I hear you. Sometimes you snore.
From: Brandon
I've definitely never snored in my life.
How many lines?
From: Anna
Well, then apparently you're dead.
Ten.
From: Brandon
Do I have to memorize?
From: Anna
No, it's just a read. Everyone will have their scripts with them.
From: Brandon
Sounds alright. What time is it at?
From: Anna
It's at 3'oclock this Tuesday.
From: Brandon
Okay, I'll be there.
From: Anna
I'll send you a copy of the script. Can I have your email?
From: Brandon
You can have anything you want.
From: Anna
You have $250K? Omg, thanks so much!
From: Brandon
No. Athletics scholarship.
From: Anna
Brandon, do you know what "anything" means?
From: Brandon
Seville, do you know what "annoyingly literal" means?
From: Anna
Touché