Caught (21 page)

Death opened his eyes.

I want to get all giddy and relish in the fact that I’m the girl he’s in love with, but I hold it inside. There will be plenty of time to rejoice in that fact later.

I look down momentarily, seeking words. “So what’d you tell her?” I ask hesitantly, before looking back up.

“The truth. Every single piece.”

My mouth drops open before I purse my lips together.

“Your mouth kinda looks like a butthole when you do that.” Chace laughs, throwing my shit right back at me.

I laugh back and smack his arm. But the laughter dies as Finley walks through the bottom door. She glares at me, and I take it because I know I deserve it.

“Chace, can I have a moment with you?” she asks, though it’s more of a demand.

“There’s nothing more to talk about, Finley,” he replies, glancing back at her to do so.

“We have plenty more to discuss. Maybe if you would have answered my phone calls yesterday we could have had more privacy.”

“Maybe if you’d get a clue,” I mumble, trying oh so hard not to get involved, even though I’m caught in the middle.

“What was that, Quinn?” Finley takes her diva stance with her hand propped on her boney hip.

I want to yell at her and shake her out of her snooty stupor. I want to throw some of the blame of this situation on her, because she is equally to blame. But at this point she’s lost enough, and I’m not in the business of rubbing it in. This isn’t the time or place to do so either.

“I’m sorry for how things happened, Fin. I really am.” She huffs, not believing me. “Nothing I say will fix this. But there are bigger things then us right now. Our friend died, and for just the day can we push our bullshit aside and remember him?”

Her face drops, and for a moment her bitchy snare loosens, and remorse is evident. “I did practice the song you sent me.”

“Good,” I say as I look down at my phone. “Because it’s show time.”

The three of us continue up the back stairs where we are greeted with a nerve-stricken Lewis.

“Sorry I didn’t get here in time to practice. My car wouldn’t start,” he says with worry as me, him, and Finley make our way to the back of the stage. I don’t even notice Chace slipping away, but I don’t blame him for doing so quietly.

“I think we got this.” I glance over at Finley, who just gives a hard nod. Guess we aren’t on speaking terms. Maybe I should have slept with her boyfriend a long time ago. Not really.

The lights begin to dim, and Lewis leads the way out on to the stage. The flower covered black casket set up in front of the stage guts me. A sinking feeling of why I’m here takes over. I grab a mic and hand it to Finley and then grab one for myself. We each do a light tap to make sure they’re working. I spot Chace with his mom, sitting a few rows behind Greg’s family. He smiles at me, and I give my best back in return. Then I look beside Chace to see my parents and brother. They look proud and sad all rolled into one. Judd gives me a thumbs up, and it makes me want to go down there and give the little shit a hug. I make a mental note to remember that the next time he pisses me off.

I look back at Lewis, who looks like he was born to sit behind such a beautiful instrument, and I give him the go ahead nod. I turn back to the crowd and close my eyes, and let out a deep breath as the notes begin to play. I do a quick glance at Finley and notice a stream of tears falling down her face. I know what’s responsible for them, and it’s not in the box below.

“I can’t do it,” she whispers before dropping her mic and running off the back of the stage. The crowd looks curious and sympathetic, chalking it up to being overly emotional with today’s circumstances.

Lewis continues playing, and I focus on the notes. And as I begin to sing, I push all this raw emotion I’ve been carrying around into each word, and release it. I let it out. I refuse to hold onto it any longer, or be kept prisoner by it.

Death affects everyone differently. But I chose to gain strength from it.

Top of the 8
th

Chace

We’ve been back at BC for a week and I have yet to see Quinn.  At all.  Not even for our wonderful religion class, which we have our presentation coming up in.  Fuck.  I forgot about the presentation.  I pull my cell out from my gym bag and text Quinn.

Me: Just remembered about the presentation coming up.  We’re pretty much finished anyway, right?

The dots pop up, and it seems like an eternity before her message comes through.  I’ve been a shitty person, and having left things open with Quinn I was sure there would be hell to pay.  Despite telling her that it was over with Finley, I knew it wasn’t enough.  She needed the big gesture.  Something to show her that I was serious.  Because so far, I haven’t done much of anything to prove myself to her.

Quinn: No worries.  I put the finishing touches on it the other night.

Her straightforward, vanilla answer lets me know where I stand with her.  In the dog house.  With shaking hands I type out another text. 

Me: At least let me help you get it across campus.

I wait for a text back.  But it never comes.  Just complete radio silence.  Shit.  I consider shooting her another text, but just as I’m about to do it the locker room fills with guys.  It’s almost practice time anyways.  I shouldn’t start something I can’t finish, so instead I toss my phone back into my bag.

I focus on tying my cleats as the guys around me talk about their latest conquests and excessive partying.  Part of me is jealous.  Envious that they are leading such carefree lives while mine is such a mess.  The other part of me feels sorry for them.  What a boring existence.  A string of faceless conquests and meaningless fun.  But even still, I can’t help but wonder if their lives are really that carefree or if they are just attempting to cloak themselves as assholes.

I consider contributing to the conversation, but decide that’s not such a great idea.  Things are still a little rocky from my idiotic move at the party.  I should have heeded the warning and just walked away. But seeing Quinn in that situation with someone else infuriated me beyond belief.  I should’ve known then that my number was up. And that Quinn didn’t just have it, she
was
it.

“What’d you do last night, Donahue?”

I look up at Steven briefly before standing up and stretching my arms across my chest.  “Nothing.  By the time I got back to my room all I wanted to do was sleep.  And I did. Hard.”

He finishes up with his cleats and grabs his mitt before standing up and shaking his legs out.  “It’s a big adjustment, for sure.”

“Yeah, I thought I was in decent shape.  Turns out I’m not.”  My screaming muscles are a reminder of that. 

“Nah, you’re fine.  It’s just practices are intense. You’ll get used to it.”

“I hope so.”

We walk together out towards the field in silence.  I’ll never get tired of seeing the lush green.  Sometimes I feel like I need to pinch myself; that this is all just a dream.  But all the fucked-upness reminds me day after day that this is real life.  I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I snap my head to see Steven giving me a sympathetic look.  “I’m sorry about your friend.” We stop outside of the dugout and it becomes abundantly clear to me that Steven wants to give me some advice.

I run my hand through my hair. “Me too.”

“Life sucks.”

“That’s for damn sure.”

“Listen, I know that things haven’t been kosher between you and all the guys since the party.  But everyone gets it.  It was obvious to all of us.  You’ve got it bad for that girl.  Life’s too short to let shit fester out of control.”

“Obvious, huh?”  I let out a chuckle.  I always thought that I was doing a good job hiding what was going on, but the more time that passes the more clear it becomes that I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Steven nods.  “Very.  But that’s usually how it is.  Obvious to everyone else except yourself.”

“I see that now.”

“Death usually does that to people.”  Steven looks over his shoulder quickly as coach blows his whistle, signaling for us to start stretching.  The guys all start running towards right field and circling up.  Steven and I immediately follow suit.  “I just want you to know that we’re here for you, Chace.  We’re not just your team, we’re your friends.  But most importantly we’re your family now.”

We join the circle side by side and I smile.  “Thanks, man.  I appreciate that.”

“Now make it official with that girl so I don’t have to watch you self-destruct anymore.”

I nod, continuing to stretch in silence.  The time has arrived.  Time for that big gesture, and I have
the perfect idea for it.

Bottom of the 8
th

Quinn

Lying back on my bed, I hold my cell up above my head, staring at his last text message.  Really?  An offer to help me carry the project across campus was all I got.  It’s been nearly a week since Greg’s funeral.  We rode back to campus together, but neither of us had much to say.  Guess we had too much on our minds or something.  And since then I haven’t gotten much from him.  No contact at all.  He didn’t even show up to religion class.  Kenna tried to make me feel better by telling me that the baseball team usually hits it hard before the first snowfall, but I call bullshit.  If I was worth it, he’d make the time.

Then to make matters even worse, Finley has fallen off the face of the planet.  But I can’t say I blame her.  I’d probably avoid everyone as well.  I sigh and drop my phone onto my mattress before flinging myself onto my left side dramatically.  Kenna looks at me with raised eyebrows.  “Why don’t you just go find him and ask him where the fuck you two are?”

“Because I shouldn’t have to.”

She throws her legs off the side of her bed and leans forward in my direction.  “You’re being a drama queen.”

I flip her the middle finger and curl my lip.  “I have every right to be.”

“Maybe so, but I can’t sit here and watch you throw a pity party for one.”  She hops to her feet and grabs her purse.  “Get up and get some decent clothes on.”

“If sweatpants are wrong, I don’t want to be right.”

“You’re insane.  Put on some pants that require zipping and buttoning.”

I push myself off my bed, slamming down onto the floor in dramatic fashion before crawling over to my dresser.  “Where are we going?”  I open my drawer and grab my favorite pair of jeans.  Never standing up, I slide myself into them and look up hopelessly at Kenna.

Her nose is crunched up in disgust.  “I’m pretty sure that was the most pathetic thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I whine.  “And I can’t get up.  I’m so tired.”  For dramatic effect I fall onto my back and hold my hands up in the air, gesturing for Kenna to help me to my feet.

She rolls her eyes before taking a step towards me and grabbing my hands.  “This is why I don’t have girls as friends,” she says as she pulls me to my feet.

I push my bottom lip out and frown.  “Well, that’s mean.”

“Seriously, you’re all so….” She pauses, seemingly searching for the perfect word.

“Fickle,” I finish for her.

“Yes, that’s exactly it.  Girls are so fickle.”

“But you’re a girl,” I argue.

She cocks an eyebrow at me.  “I certainly don’t act like one.”

“That’s only because your heart is as black as the Grim Reaper’s hood.”

We both laugh as I put my shoes on.  It feels good, and in the moment I’m thankful that I have someone like Kenna in my life.  Someone that isn’t going to pussyfoot around me being a baby.  Someone that is going to force me to keep moving on.  “So where are we going?”  I ask again as I grab my purse from my desk and head for the door.

“We’re going to Mick’s.  I think it’s about damn time you scuffed up that virgin skin of yours.”

****

Getting a tattoo hurts.  But the pain is welcome, because it takes my mind off all the shit going on, or better yet, not going on in my life.  Mick’s hand pulls the skin behind my ear tightly as he continues to shade in the small tattoo I had picked out.  “Just about done,” he says as he dips his gun into the black ink.

He leans back over my head, and the gun buzzes to life again as it makes contact with my skin.  It only lasts a few minutes before he sets down his stuff and leans back to admire his handiwork.  Kenna looks over his shoulder.

“How does it look?” I ask nervously.

“It’s not exactly what I had in mind for you,” Kenna sighs.  She was disappointed I went with something so small.  “But I guess for your first tat it’s okay.”

Anxious, I hop to my feet and go stand in front of the full length mirror.  I pull my hair away from my neck and lean towards the mirror, looking out the corner of my eye at the black ink that is permanently etched into the skin behind my ear.

“What do you think?” Mick asks as he starts to clean up his station.

“I love it.”

The small quarter note is sitting there perfectly, accented by a breath mark near the top.  The note was always something I wanted to get. Ever since I was a little girl I talked about getting a music note tattoo.  I can even remember attempting to ink myself with pens.  But the breath mark was a last minute decision. 

When reading music, the breath mark has always been something I have the tendency to forget about despite its importance.  It always felt foolish to me that singers needed to be reminded to take a breath while singing; it just seemed like something that should come naturally, but in actuality it didn’t.  With everything that has gone on the last few months, it seemed fitting.  I wanted a reminder to take a breath.

“What’s with the comma looking thing?” Kenna asks, not really understanding.

“It’s a breath mark.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to,” I say with a smile.  “But I think it’s safe to say I could use the reminder of the importance of stopping and taking a breath every once and a while, even if it is only a quick one.”