#Score (2 page)

R
amona

I
teeter
on the edge as I reach out to grab the corner, knowing that it’ll all be over if my foot slips. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to wear these satiny black ballet flats with their slippery bottoms. I look down and hold my breath before re-focusing on my outstretched hand. “Last. One,” I breathe out the words, trying to keep myself balanced.

A door slams and my legs wobble. Oh no. Oh
no
.

I let out a short ear-piercing shriek as I slip from the step-ladder and crash to the floor, managing to pull down the entire contents of the pint of cyan paint along with me. I land on my ass so hard I’m pretty sure I bounce, and my once-white bedcovers look like they’ve been dipped in blue. “Goddammit,” I mutter under my breath.

I pull myself back up, and roll my eyes as the noise level in the apartment goes from silent to cackling hens. Their voices are loud and carry down the short hallway to my bedroom, cluttered together in shrieks and laughs. Which only means that I have approximately two minutes until my work is interrupted.

Ignoring the mess I’m bound to clean up at some point, I pull the paintbrush out of the thick bun on top of my head and feather the drops of cyan paint that did manage to make it on the canvas, careful not to smudge them. The filbert brush is perfect for this technique but the more I look at it, the more frustrated I become. Why exactly did I decide to paint something this massive again? Oh yeah, because apparently I’m an idiot.

Taking a few steps backwards to check out the view of the painting doesn’t help and in fact only makes it worse. Now I can see that I really did make a bigger mess of things and the whole damn thing has gone to shit. Again. I bite the inside of my cheek until I dig a tiny hole in it, smoothing it over and tasting a tiny bit of copper like new pennies on my tongue.

The wide expanse of the canvas lines most of one of my bedroom walls, pinned in place by thumbtacks with tiny hearts on them thanks to Brie. It’d been a housewarming . . . apartment-warming? gift from her. “
I know you don’t do hugs so instead, here’s something useful. Make it pretty
.”

But try as I might, the ‘make it pretty’ part has not been going as well as I’d hoped. What started out as a new abstract of mine was turning into a dull, lifeless painting that I can’t wrap my head around. A series of blobs and spatters halfway across my wall. I turn and look over my shoulder at the small can of turpentine sitting on my dresser, so damn tempted to scrap it all and start over again. But that’s a process I’m not up to at the moment, and I decide to cover it up with another layer of paint and keep rolling.

I run my fingers over the tubes of oil paints when my door bangs open.

“Hello, hello. What’s up, slut?” Brie’s throaty voice calls out from behind me. “The party has officially arrived.”

My roommate Brie and our friend Michael are holding hands and swinging them up high, a telltale sign that they’ve already started drinking. Michael gives me a wide grin and pulls me up against him, squeezing the ever-loving hell out of me and sending me into a coughing fit until I extricate myself. He’s a big guy, so he tends not to realize just how strong he is when he’s all liquored up.

Michael pulls away looking aghast, his mouth in the shape of an ‘O.’ “Oh my God, Monie-Baby. I’m so sorry. I’m just excited about this evening, my bad,” he says, adjusting the collar of my shirt and smoothing down my bangs. “You know I’m a terrible drunk.”

I roll my eyes but give him a small smile. He’s right, and luckily for him, he is the biggest teddy bear of them all, even sweeter than his boyfriend, Billy, who just came back from his first mission with the Peace Corps. “Yes, yes you are.”

Brie goes to stand in front of my canvas, scratching at her chin as if she’s incredibly invested in it. “It’s a masterpiece. Beautiful, like nothing else I’ve seen before. Um, what is it exactly?” Her words would probably hurt another tortured artist’s soul, but I’m used to it. Brie isn’t exactly an art lover.

“It’s nothing. At least not yet. I can’t seem to get the feel for what I want to do with it.”

Michael stands between us and also starts scratching his chin. The two of them are quite the weird pair. “I’ve got an idea. Just hear me out, okay? Me and Brie, totally naked, standing up against the canvas and you splattering paint on us. We blend into the canvas, we become the art. We’ll call it
modern day Pollock
. What d’ya think?”

Brie holds her hand up before I can even answer him. “Hey. I don’t involve myself with anything that incorporates the words
naked
and
splattering
. Art or not.”

“Damn. Way to ruin a good idea, Brie. You never let me paint you naked,” I say to her, giving her a fake pout.

“I still stand by my idea. But we don’t have time to worry about that, ladies. We have more pressing matters to attend to.” Michael does the thing where he wiggles his eyebrows in a way that I’ve never been able to do. “I got a text from Billy’s sister. There’s some big invite-only party at The Ruins. She said there’s going to be some pretty big people there. Like maybe even Jude Law. We should totally go. I’ve been dying to get in some action on the Boulevard.”

I have to laugh. “Your delusions of grandeur astonish me sometimes. When was the last time you saw Jude Law in a movie? Even if he did live here in L.A., which I’m pretty damn sure he doesn’t, the last place he would probably be at is some club on the Boulevard. He seems a little too classy for that if you ask me.”

Brie scoffs and pats Michael’s slumping shoulders, giving me the look. “Oh, so what are you, like a celebrity expert or something? If anything, at least we’ll be having some fun. God knows you need to get out and get some fresh air. It isn’t going to kill you, you know.”

It’s an argument we’ve had dozens of times before, not only in our apartment now, but back a few years ago when we were still roommates in college. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what you always say. And yet here I am totally fine without the fresh air. You two can go on ahead.”

Honestly, I’m not a fan of being around a whole bunch of drunken idiots, and while my two friends are one thing, being around the general public is something completely different.

“Come on, Monie baby. Just this once?” Michael whines, giving me that ridiculous pouty look he has perfected so well. His big hazel eyes shine like one of those little anime characters.

“I’m going to have to pass. Sorry guys.”

“Just get off your high horse and come pretend to have fun with us. You won’t have to drink with us or anything. I won’t even make you dance this time.” There’s a softness to the way Brie speaks when she really means something, and I’ll be damned if I don’t fall for it hook, line, and sinker every time. I’m such a sucker, and it’s one of the many reasons I don’t like to go out and be around other people.

I take in the looks on my friends’ faces and let out a long sigh. “
Fine.
I mean I was going to get some work done, but clearly you two are not going to let this go. I’m only staying a little while and then I’m going to come straight back home.”

The resounding high-pitched squeal comes from Michael, and he sweeps me up off my feet and throws me over his shoulder, with Brie seeing an open target and smacking my ass with a quick thwack. “Woohoo.”

To say I’m annoyed by their loudness is putting it mildly, but I’ve pretty much resigned myself to go with the flow for the night. Whatever it takes to get Brie and Michael to shut the hell up. And if I’m being honest with myself, I have been a little lonely lately. Brie’s been out with Michael and some other friends a lot since we moved in together and while I know she’s no homebody like me, sometimes I miss the days where we would stay up all night and study together, sharing a few drinks and commiserating.

Jasmine, my best friend since we could talk, has been busy working with her father at his startup in the Valley. With her modeling gigs on the side, I’ve rarely seen her too. She is one of the few people in this world who know me enough to know that I’m not the partying kind of girl.

We make our way down the steps that lead outside, and the smell of the stale night air hits me. I pull my cardigan tighter around my body, surprised at the chill in the air. January in L.A. is not like January for pretty much the rest of the country, but it has to be at least in the lower sixties out right now.

The walk to the bus stop will only take a few blocks or so, but from there, it’s a bit of a hike to the Boulevard. I zone out while Michael and Brie talk over me, gossiping about their newest favorite reality show. Something about tiny houses, or maybe it was tiny people?

Maybe I’ll actually have fun tonight. If there’s one thing I can say about L.A., it’s that you never know who you’ll bump into. I may not like new people, surprises, or anything party-related, but maybe I’ll see someone there who I can sympathize with. At least it will help pass the time. Then again . . . who am I kidding? It’s not like it’s going to be a life-changing night.

B
enji

I
’m pretty
sure I’m dead. I mean this is what happens when you die, right? Big golden gates that lead you to a bright place, where sexy chicks strut around and people bring you three carts worth of delicious food. I didn’t realize you could order room service and they would keep showing up with tray after tray, steam spilling out of different assortments of platters and dishes. There’s only three of us, but I’m almost one hundred percent sure all this food will be eaten by the end of the night.

“Oh shit, man. They legit have those little bottles of Grey Goose and shit in here,” Joshua calls out from his own room. He comes into my room, pulling open the small refrigerator door. “You know I didn’t even know that was a real thing until just now?”

Cal laughs at him. “Really? I mean it’s not exactly a secret or anything. What else do they have in there?”

I clap my brother hard on the back, laughing. “What, you think you’ll be hungry after all this stuff right here?”

“No, I’m sure we will be plenty satisfied with the food. I’m just not a big vodka drinker. Is there maybe any tequila?”

Joshua lets out a low whistle, and I look at him with a knowing grin. Cal rarely drinks. He gave us notice well in advance that that was going to change this week. At least for the time being, so he could “
fully experience the lifestyle, so to speak
.” Whatever the hell that meant.

“I didn’t realize it was going to be this hard to choose between the steak or the shrimp,” Joshua says.

I snag the fork from his hand and jab it into one of the freshly steamed pieces of shrimp, savoring the buttery taste of it. “Wow. It isn’t for show, either. This shit is delicious.”

“I’ll take that, asswipe,” he replies, glaring at me.

“Hey Benji, did you hear about Infantino looking at a proposed change to accepting international players? I overheard Martin talking about it last week,” Cal says around a mouthful of food.

I shrug my shoulders, careful not to get my hopes up. “He can look all he wants. Infantino isn’t about to change anything, so whatever. Besides, since when do baseball players give a shit about IFL laws?” I ask, grinning at my brother.

He ignores my usual dig and continues on. “I’m just saying it might be worth looking into. West Turkey United would probably take a raft across the Atlantic just to come to America and draft you.”

My knuckles go white from grabbing the back of the chair in front of me. I’m not going down that road tonight. “I’m not here to talk about West Turkey. I’m not here to talk about Infantino or IFL’s stupid-ass laws that make no goddamn sense. I’m here to have a good fucking time, and that’s what I intend on doing. Cool?”

As much of a genius as my brother is, he sure can be an idiot. “If you insist.”

I give him a quick nod and turn back to Joshua, nudging him with my elbow. “Enough of the buzzkill. We’re not going to be drowning our sorrows tonight—we’re going to be filling up on beautiful women and plenty of alcohol. Especially since Cal here has decided to partake with us for once. It’s about that time . . . ” I began.

Joshua picks up on the cue quickly. “Yes, Benji. It is about
that
time.”

Cal looks between the two of us, clearly confused. “What time is it, exactly?”

At the same time, Joshua and I yank Cal up from the edge of the bed and shove him between the two of us, hyping it up like we always did pregame style. “It’s time to party.”

It doesn’t take long to get ourselves looking fresh. I take a shot with Joshua and even manage to get Cal to drink a beer with me before we head out the door. Our hotel is in the middle of everything down here, with lights surrounding us on all sides. I look at my friend and my brother, grinning at both of them, all three of us knowing that this is going to be the best week of our lives.

The first place we hit up is pretty solid. They’ve got live music playing and the tap is flowing, and Cal graciously pays our first tab before we leave, wandering off to the next place. The second club is more of a bar really, but there’s a long line waiting to get in right outside of it with some sexy-as-hell chicks in fuck-me heels somewhere in the middle, immediately catching my eye. In my head I’m already calling the little blonde, checking out her fine body from afar.

Damn, this sure as hell beats being in South Carolina right about now. Aunt Melissa left a message on my phone telling me they just got three and a half inches of snow out of nowhere. I’ll take a balmy sixty degrees in L.A. over that shit any night.

My brother pulls me aside as I’m getting ready to walk over to Short N’ Blonde. “Whatever we do tonight, Benji, we have to remember to stick to the schedule. No matter how much we drink, got it?”

I wave him off. “Sure, sure.” Cal may be a stickler for routines and schedules, but I’m not. Not even remotely close. I’m sure he’ll keep us all in line tonight because as much as he tries to pretend otherwise, he’s basically like Mother Hen.

I see my chance and take it, sidling up to the girl and giving her my best smile. “I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation, ladies. First question. Have you ever heard of The Dirty Trinity?” Might as well try and take advantage of it when I can.

“The what?” the taller blonde asks.

“Never mind. You’ll figure it out soon enough. Second question. Do you happen to know the bouncer upfront there?” I ask, pointing to the hulking mass of a guy standing at the front checking IDs.

Short N’ Blonde giggles, and her slightly taller friend smirks at me. “If we did, do you think we’d be standing here right now?”

I playfully shrug, my eyes still on the prize. “Touché. Well see, I do happen to know him. And my friends and I were wanting to know if maybe you would like to join us, perhaps?”

Cal, who’s caught up with me, nudges me from behind, hissing something about lying, but I ignore him as usual.

Short N’ Blonde finally speaks up. “You know the bouncer? And he’ll let us all in, no problem?” Her voice is high-pitched and squeaky, almost like Minnie Mouse. It grates on my nerves, but I don’t plan on doing a lot of talking with her tonight.

“Sure. Let me go talk to him really quick.”

I give the girls a quick wave and walk past the front of the line, head held high. Obviously I don’t know this guy from Adam, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get us in. Joshua and Cal are quickly walking behind me to catch up, whispering to one another. I smile as I approach the guy, not letting his enormous size intimidate me.

“You a Universe fan, by any chance?” I ask him, folding my arms across my chest, mirroring him.

The guy looks me up and down, flicking the toothpick that’s hanging out of his mouth between his teeth. “Maybe. Who wants to know?”

I put it on the line, hoping that I’m not wrong, and get closer to him, beckoning for him to lean in and listen as I whisper something. “I’m not supposed to do this, but I’m the Universe’s newest player, just got drafted. And you see them fine ladies back there?” I say as I turn around and point to them. “They’re with me. You give me your name, and I’ll make sure that my manager has season passes to all the home games delivered right here to you, no questions asked.”

I don’t expect him to believe me right off the bat, and he takes one good look at me, screwing up the corner of his mouth. “And why should I believe you?”

If I were anybody else I’d probably be panicking right now, but I’m not. I’m Benji fucking Lundgren, and I look around until I see my saving grace. Across the street, there are a couple of teenagers who just happen to be kicking a hacky-sack around between them. It’s not a soccer ball, but it’ll have to do.

“Give me a sec.” I quickly dodge between the cars on the Boulevard and walk up to one of the boys, pointing to the hacky sack. After I convince them to take a twenty and let me do a little demonstration for the bouncer, I come back over in front of him and hold up the hacky sack. “Watch.”

I drop it so that it looks like it’s going to the ground, but instead it lands on the inner arch of my foot before I dribble it around in the air, kicking it this way and that. My final trick is to kick it up but have it land right between my shoulder blades, a trick I picked up from our Clemson coach. The small crowd of people who are paying attention all clap and a few people let out a whistle, Cal being one of them.

I give the bouncer a little bow and hand Cal the hacky sack for him to rocket all the way across the street at the teenagers, no problem. One of the pros of being related to a professional baseball player, I guess.

“All right, Beckham, you’re in. You and the ladies only, though,” the bouncer growls, jutting his beefy thumb in the direction of the club.

Behind me, Cal and Joshua immediately protest, but I motion for the two girls to follow me up into the club, taking one of them on each side and linking arms. I look back over at my brother and friend and mouth my apology before turning around, unable to stop myself from laughing at their fate. Not everyone can be me.

Short N Blonde’s friend disappears pretty soon after we enter and leaves the two of us to it. We walk up to the bar and I order us a couple of drinks. Then another round of drinks. Then a shot or two more. The lights are pulsing, not only in the club itself but in my head, the music pumping through my veins. It’s like I’m the speaker and everything is going through me.

The girl ends up leaving with her friend but it’s no matter, because I end up in the middle of the dance floor with a few other girls instead, taking turns dancing with all of them. Two of the girls are practically all over me, grinding on me and swaying up against me while we all get lost in the beat. But I’m not ready to go yet and ease them up off me, figuring it was time to find out what happened to Cal and Joshua. The whole point was for all of us to hang out together anyway, and I decide that I’ve had enough fun and go try to find them.

My buzz has definitely kicked up a notch or two and it’s getting harder to walk straight. Everyone’s faces in the crowd is becoming a blur of color, shadows, and sweat. I push past them but it’s almost like I’m moving in slow motion. I get a couple looks from people, but I don’t care. It’s not like they’ve never seen a drunk person before.

I circle around the outside of the dance floor, looking for them, wondering if they even made it in yet. The line was pretty long, but I know I have to have been in here for a while now. I wipe the beading drops of sweat from my forehead and blink my eyes a few times, trying to let them adjust. Even though I know it’s completely pointless, I start calling out for them, my voice scratchy and dying in the middle of the loud music and laughter around me.

Part of me knows that I should just pick up my phone and call them but when I do, I accidentally knock into something solid but light and end up toppling over someone. There are people around us, but they clear a small path of space so that I can try and help the person I ran into back up, though I’m failing miserably.

“Shit, shit. I’m sorry ‘bout that,” I slur, trying my best to help the small woman up to a stand. Her arm is soaked, and then I realize that she’s holding an empty cup, the floor beneath us soaked in a reddish-colored liquid. “Fuck, I even made you spill your drink. Here, let me buy you another one.”

The woman looks up at me with clear annoyance but I see past it, completely distracted by the way the strobe lights are reflecting off of the whites of her eyes. Even in the dimness of the club, I can see her face clear as day. She is close enough to me that I can make out the outline of her, but her face is lit up like Christmas from the colored lights above us. Her eyes are a darker color, but what catches me off guard are the small dark freckles that spread across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, offsetting the warm brown of her skin. It’s reminding me of something that I can’t quite put my finger on. Until I do. “Cinnamon,” I mumble to her, mesmerized.

She arches a dark eyebrow at me. “What?”

I repeat myself, almost forgetting what set me off in the first place. “Cinnamon. Your freckles look like cinnamon on your face. My aunt . . . she makes this hot chocolate? The best damn hot chocolate you’ve ever had. But there’s this secret behind it,” I say, stumbling over half the words. The girl jerks her head back, but I keep going and lean in even closer to reveal what the secret is. “She puts a tiny bit of cinnamon on top, enough to give it a little kick. Your freckles . . . they kind of look like that.”