Member
AHeartlessNobody
Festive
ezio ac2
Citrus
LovelyComplex
Grimoire Gaming
Bone Chief
NeoAJ
Melissa
AlteredTundra
@Hey Im Jordan & @Fabricant451
Location: The Library
Timestamp: After homeroom
Starring: Michael ‘You Like True Crime?’ O’Connor and Sara ‘Uhm, Ackshually’ Delgado
Location: The Library
Timestamp: After homeroom
Starring: Michael ‘You Like True Crime?’ O’Connor and Sara ‘Uhm, Ackshually’ Delgado
____________________________________________________________________
If Michael said he had a plan, that would have been a lie. It wasn’t even safe to say that he had an inkling of a plan, he’d agreed with what Nicky had requested so quickly that he hadn’t even had time to formulate a plan of attack. There were few options to fulfill his ridiculous request; Dylan’s had felt dumber in the moment, but was success was more immediate. Easier to find. How the hell was he supposed to find someone to date Nicky Snyder? He wasn’t a fucking magician. Nicky was loud and proud about it, and while that wasn’t necessarily a negative in the dating world, it was far from a positive. People like Nicky were supposed to be like Ethan: drowning in pussy. All that unearned and undeserved confidence, and for fucking what?
Nicky needed a special type of girl, Michael knew that much from the five minutes they’d talked together that morning before exchanging Discord IDs. This was a lot to go through for one night of playing Fortnite, but if this guy was as good as Michael assumed he was? Then he’d probably get enough wins in one evening to stop his brother from ever bringing it up again. It had taken almost the entire homeroom period and nearly the entire travel time between periods before it had dawned on Michael.
He knew who to set Nicky up with! Or, at least, he used to. Back in the before times, when he favored his academics over his athletics, Michael had been the captain of the mathletes. He had hardly interacted with his old teammates in the years since, but there was something to be said about being in high school: numbers never changed. Now, he just had to hope that she answered the call when it was put out into the air.
To: Sara from Mathletes 🤓
Hey Sara! It’s Michael, I don’t know if you remember me.
Can you meet me in the library? I was wondering if I could ask a favor! Ten minutes of your time? Do you still have study period after homeroom?
I do! I’ll be in the library waiting if you want.
It took more self control than it honestly should have for Michael to not physically pat himself on the back as he grinned and headed toward the library. In his head, this was already a done deal. What was she going to do, say no? Everyone wanted to roll with him and his friends, so he had that to his advantage. And besides, she was a bit geeky — there was a chance she might know who NIcky was, and then his battle was more than halfway done. As he took a seat at one of the desks in the back corner of the relatively large library, he smiled. All he had to do now was wait.
When her phone buzzed, Sara naturally assumed it was another automated message asking her to vote for some candidate or another spam email notification that she enabled just so the vibrating phone message would make it seem like people were actually interested in talking to her. No one would really need or want to contact her other than her mother or abuelta and one of them was at work and the other was not presently around a phone and certainly wouldn’t know how to send a text message anyway. So when her phone buzz, Sara just ignored it and went about her day, heading to her favorite location in school once home room came to an end - the teacher hadn’t called her name during roll call because of course she was present. Where the hell else would she be?
In the library, Sara checked the tutoring roster. No one had signed up today, at least no for her, and she chalked it up to the fact that on pep rally day the only thing students cared about was getting out of class earlier so they could start the weekend that much sooner. It was no bother, she had doodles and reading to catch up on anyway. To the back of the library Sara went, to the back corner table that was quiet and out of the way of general foot traffic. On most days Sara’s biggest hurdle when studying on the back desk was that some students used the back corner desks for making out, but Sara had gotten quite good at writing notes and studying when hands and asses were right in the corner of her eye. She sometimes cleared her throat to try to get them to leave, but it was like trying to hear a single bell in the middle of a raging concert.
Sara paused as she turned towards the back corner desk and saw that it was occupied not by students engaged in a rousing game of tonsil hockey, but rather a student who looked like he was waiting for someone. Probably so he could play tonsil hockey. Sara didn’t say anything as she took the familiar seat and pulled a book from her backpack. She didn’t exist. The intruder would mind his own business as if she wasn’t even there. Such was the symbiotic relationship Sara had with the school.
Michael didn’t ignore her. In fact. he found himself staring at her. Was she trolling him? Had she checked her texts? Was she ignoring him? Did he deserve this? He racked his brain and tried to think of a time where he had hit on Sara. There wasn’t anything that immediately popped up, but as he gazed at her… he wondered if he’d made the right choice texting her. Seconds ticked away, and Sara was reading a book. This was a punishment, it had to be, but Michael was stubborn. He got it from his mother, one of the most stubborn people on the entire planet.
Seconds turned into minutes, and in the game of chicken they were playing, neither of them moved. Other students walked by the scene, observing it for a few seconds with a scrunched up nose of either confusion or distaste. Michael did not see them. He was focused on Sara. It was on the fourth minute that he decided something had to be wrong with this girl and tapped the table to get her attention.
“Hey, did you get my text message, or…?” Michael left the question rather open ended, unsure what the deal was here. He wasn’t used to being ignored, even when he had been a nerd, he had a commanding presence. This, though? This was fucking ridiculous. “If you didn’t want to help me out, you could have just said so. I know I’m more interesting than that book, dude.” Though he spoke in a whisper, his tone was still firm, almost harshly so. He did not take being ignored very well.
At least he was whispering while he was talking to someone on the phone, though Sara couldn’t remember the last time she knew someone her age to speak to someone on the phone. It must’ve been a family member who hadn’t learned how to text yet. The question by Michael went unanswered for another full minute before Sara reconsidered; he had mentioned something about a book. “Are…are you talking to me?” She had to ask, her voice almost scratchy like she needed water. This was officially the longest conversation she had had with another student. “Did…you want to read my book? Are you interested in the history of toxicology? Charles Norris, the subject of this book, was a pioneer of what we now know as forensic toxicology, it’s a really fascinating book even if you’re not interested in the subject matter. I don’t know if the school library has it, but it’s called The Poisoner’s Handbook if you want to buy your own copy.” It had been so long since she spoke that it all just sort of…flowed out of her. She half expected the guy to have up and left during her lengthy reply.
Had she always been like that? Michael honestly couldn’t remember, even when they’d been on the team she hadn’t been much of a talker. When she started rambling about her book, he started realizing this plan was genius. Both Nicky and Sara were yappers, this was going to go great. He relaxed into his chair and shook his head. “Uh, no I’m not trying to read your book. Check your phone, I texted you like 20 minutes ago.” It could have been an eternity, with how long he’d been staring a hole into her skull. At least he knew he wasn’t being blatantly ignored; it turned out that Sara was just… a little weird. “I didn’t know you were interested in toxicology though, that’s kinda… interesting.” He didn’t want to say creepy, but the message was probably received. He shook his head.
“The Sara I remember wasn’t really like a True Crime Podcast girlie. She brought snacks to all our mathlete meetups.”
“It’s not a true crime podcast, I listen to NPR, true crime podcasts are basically dramatic readings of Wikipedia articles but that’s beside the…you were in mathletes?” Sara paused and looked away from her book and towards the boy who had been able to see the ghost in the library. Sara had been in mathletes but only lasted a semester and a half, not because she was bad at it but because the team never really included her in the competitions against other schools. She warmed the bench even though she knew a lot of the answers and believed she would have been a great asset. But things just sort of went that way for Sara: unrecognized, unknown, unwanted. Her abuelita had said that the best way to fit in was with food but every time she brought homemade cupcakes and donuts, they were simply eaten by the others and assumed to have been bakery bought.
Unlike others at the school, though, Sara remembered faces. Names. The guy didn’t look it now, but if she squinted and added puberty growth spurts…”Are you…Michael O’Connor?” Why would Michael O’Connor talk to her? Why would he text her, if what he said was true? Why would he know her name? “You don’t need tutoring, you already know how to factor trinomials. What…what…what do you want? If…if this is…like…some popular kid prank…just…just do it now, okay?”
“What do you think this is, a Mean Girls sketch? I’m not… me and the boys don’t do that.” That was mostly true, though Michael knew that there was one person in the Elite in particular who was cold-hearted enough to actually pull a prank on someone of ‘lesser’ social standing. But that definitely was not him, he just needed a favor. Why was she making this so difficult? He’d needed to wrack his brain hard as fuck just to find a name that he thought would fit, and now that he was talking to her, she didn’t even seem interested in him. That wasn’t really surprising, something told him that shredded jocks were not Sara’s type. “Sounds to me like you know a lot more about true crime podcasts than you want to admit,” he mused, circling back to Sara’s comment about dramatic readings of Wikipedia articles.
This was going to be perfect, he reasoned silently. Sara, it seemed, needed friends… and sooner, rather than later. Nicky, as far as Michael knew, had friends. They could share! It worked out. “Since you didn’t check your phone I guess, I’ll just repeat myself.” He hated doing that. “I was wondering if you could help me out with a favor? I have a friend who really needs a date to the dance and the party tomorrow. I was hoping you didn’t have anyone in mind already?” He paused, letting her chew on it before he launched in again, this time focused on sweetening the deal.
“He can come pick you up from your place for the dance, then at the party you guys can hang out with me and the rest of the crew. There will be free food, booze, and weed. You gotta like at least two of those, right?” Having shot his shot, Michael sank back into the chair and relaxed. What was she going to do? Say no?
Sara hadn’t been to a dance or a party in her four years of going to BHHS, but even if she had, would anyone have even noticed her presence? Dances were one thing, but parties? Parties were basically the social events of any given month; she’d heard that Halloween parties were particularly crazy and that one year some people woke up the morning after in the hospital. Hardly her idea of fun. If she went to a party, she’d somehow find herself on a couch sandwiched between two different couples each engaging in drunken, sloppy makeouts but be too timid to say anything and too squished to prise herself away from the situation. Not that she was speaking from experience, of course.
“I don’t…alcohol and…weed…they…impair senses…I just…isn’t there someone…better for this? I…I have plans…” She didn’t. Not unless making a steak torta and watching a Ken Burns documentary about the Central Park Five counted as plans. “I think…I…I don’t…I never…I…plans…” Was she hyperventilating? Why did it suddenly feel so hard to breathe? Was she sure this wasn’t a prank? “No…ticket…I…”
“Don’t worry about that. Me and the boys will handle your ticket, you just need to get a dress and be ready when he’s there to pick you up. If you don’t like him, ditch him at the party and find someone you do like. Trust me, Sara. A little alcohol and weed impairs your senses and you’ll have the time of your life.” Was there a chance that it ended poorly? Sure, there were usually a few bad decisions made, but Michael felt pretty confident he could keep an eye on Nicky and Sara for a couple of nights. “You’ll have a ride there and a ride back… and we’ll keep you entertained.” He didn’t say it, but part of him wanted to point out that after a weekend of hanging out normally, she might even have a couple of friends.
“I feel like I never see you at the parties. This is our last year, so party hard and see where it goes.” Michael hadn’t been expecting any resistance from her, let alone basically a panic attack… which he hadn’t really addressed. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his sports bottle, filled with a red substance. “Here, drink some water. Well, I put a pre-workout packet in there, but it’s fine… water is good for you. It’s fruit punch flavored. Well… watermelon and strawberry.” Technically, it was called ‘Tiger’s Blood,’ but something told him Sara wouldn’t drink it if he said that.
“Just drink it and take a breath before you pass out, dude.”
Under normal circumstances, Sara would have questioned the drink offered to her. Water wasn’t supposed to be red and people who put the little flavor packets in their water were better off just drinking juice, but this was an unusual and unprecedented circumstance so she grabbed the offered bottle and half of the contents were rolling down her throat before she stopped, panted to catch her breath, and quietly handed it back. “You’re not supposed to accept drinks from strangers…” Sara didn’t think Michael had any nefarious plot in mind, she was just reverting to general trivia and information like a loading screen of a video game.
“What…what were you talking about?”
This was an experience. Michael had never dealt with someone with so much anxiety. How was it even possible to cram that much anxiety into that small of a body? He didn’t want to fuck this up by being rude, so he took the sports bottle back. It was nearly empty, but he supposed that was okay, at least she was able to talk to him now. With a sigh, Michael repeated himself — again, a landmark moment for him, but then this was a desperate time and called for a desperate measure.
“I want you to go to the dance and the party over the weekend with a friend of mine. He will pick you up, you just need to have a dress and an overnight bag. And maybe slightly more willingness to get drunk.” Without wiping the nozzle clean, he slurped at some of the drink still in his bottle. “Come and have fun. The library will be here on Monday.” This time, he hoped, she wouldn’t launch into an immediate anxiety attack this time. “Do you have Discord? I can give you bro’s.”
The library might be here on Monday but Sara had no guarantee that she would be. She paused and let hundreds of questions pour through her head, each one starting with the damning phrase ‘what if’. What if something bad happened, what if she got in trouble, what if someone died, what if what if what if what if. And within the storm of anxiety and excuses her thoughts went back to her bedroom, to that empty cell of a room and to the desk she did her homework and studies at. To the college acceptance letter that greeted her and the loudest question in her head became ‘What if I go to college with zero experiences?’ followed ever so closely by ‘What if I do something I regret?’ The question swirled and morphed and silently she pondered the more important question: would I regret not going? It wasn’t like they could…unaccept her from college…right?
“What…what’s Discord? I don't have to..like…” Sara looked around. The only ones within earshot were herself and Michael but even so, Sara leaned in and whispered like she was confessing to a priest. “I don’t have to…[size=64]have sex…[/size]right?”
“That’s between you and your date, not me! But I’m not hiring you to be a prostitute! That would be insane, I just need you to be this guy’s date, okay?” He felt like she’d agreed, but he was holding off on telling her her date’s name for now. He was worried that giving her a name would make it too real. “How do you not know what Discord is? How do you keep in touch with like… anyone?” He asked, frowning as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contact list; at least he’d had the brain power to get his phone number too, rather than just a Discord contact. What kind of person didn’t have discord?
“You’re agreeing, right? I honestly can’t tell, man. This’ll be good for you.” I think.
“My mom texts me or calls me if she needs to contact me.” Sara responded to the rhetorical question before she realized it was, in fact, rhetorical. Her social stock was already in the gutter but now it had to be barrelling its way to the core of the earth. “I…” Sara closed her eyes. The voices in her head were screaming, debating one another like the ancient philosophers in Greece, but sometimes the voices had to be silenced. Sara knew many and more things…but that wasn’t a skill so easily learned by any book or research paper. Her second most important mentor of her youth always said to take chances, make mistakes, get messy…maybe it was time for Sara to try one of those. “...Okay.”
“NICE.” Mikey couldn’t help but pump his fist in front of himself as his voice went a few decibels above where it should have been in the library. It was like a huge weight had lifted off of his shoulders as he was locked in for his deal with Nicky Snyder. Things were put into motion, and he was going to do his best to make sure the adopted nerds had a good time. He scribbled down a number on a piece of paper and pushed it across to her. “There’s his number. Text him if you want, maybe if you’re all mysterious and anonymous it’d be cute, I dunno. If you don’t wanna do that, tell him you got it from me.” He stepped up out of his chair and shouldered his pack again, grabbing his sports bottle and starting to walk away. As he departed, he dropped the library whisper and added. “Hey bring some of those Mexican donuts you used to bring to mathletes, yeah? Fuckin’ loved those things.”
It wasn’t quite how she imagined it happening, but Sara got her first phone number from a classmate. It might not have meant much to most people, but it was quite the big deal for Sara. Was she supposed to bring the pan dulce to the dance? Was that allowed? Wouldn’t that be weird, showing up with sweet bread for an entire dance? How many was she supposed to bake? That would take her, like, most of the night and into the morning if she wanted enough to go around. How many people showed up to a dance? To a party? Like…sixty, right? That seemed right. Sara looked at the slip of paper and looked over the number, already doing little equations with the number in her head. It was fun for her. Maybe she’d try sending a text after school - doing it during school hours was against the rules after all. “Wait…” Sara paused, looked at the paper. At the numbers. That’s all that was there. Numbers.
“Who the heck am I going to the dance with?”
Nicky needed a special type of girl, Michael knew that much from the five minutes they’d talked together that morning before exchanging Discord IDs. This was a lot to go through for one night of playing Fortnite, but if this guy was as good as Michael assumed he was? Then he’d probably get enough wins in one evening to stop his brother from ever bringing it up again. It had taken almost the entire homeroom period and nearly the entire travel time between periods before it had dawned on Michael.
He knew who to set Nicky up with! Or, at least, he used to. Back in the before times, when he favored his academics over his athletics, Michael had been the captain of the mathletes. He had hardly interacted with his old teammates in the years since, but there was something to be said about being in high school: numbers never changed. Now, he just had to hope that she answered the call when it was put out into the air.
To: Sara from Mathletes 🤓
Hey Sara! It’s Michael, I don’t know if you remember me.
Can you meet me in the library? I was wondering if I could ask a favor! Ten minutes of your time? Do you still have study period after homeroom?
I do! I’ll be in the library waiting if you want.
It took more self control than it honestly should have for Michael to not physically pat himself on the back as he grinned and headed toward the library. In his head, this was already a done deal. What was she going to do, say no? Everyone wanted to roll with him and his friends, so he had that to his advantage. And besides, she was a bit geeky — there was a chance she might know who NIcky was, and then his battle was more than halfway done. As he took a seat at one of the desks in the back corner of the relatively large library, he smiled. All he had to do now was wait.
When her phone buzzed, Sara naturally assumed it was another automated message asking her to vote for some candidate or another spam email notification that she enabled just so the vibrating phone message would make it seem like people were actually interested in talking to her. No one would really need or want to contact her other than her mother or abuelta and one of them was at work and the other was not presently around a phone and certainly wouldn’t know how to send a text message anyway. So when her phone buzz, Sara just ignored it and went about her day, heading to her favorite location in school once home room came to an end - the teacher hadn’t called her name during roll call because of course she was present. Where the hell else would she be?
In the library, Sara checked the tutoring roster. No one had signed up today, at least no for her, and she chalked it up to the fact that on pep rally day the only thing students cared about was getting out of class earlier so they could start the weekend that much sooner. It was no bother, she had doodles and reading to catch up on anyway. To the back of the library Sara went, to the back corner table that was quiet and out of the way of general foot traffic. On most days Sara’s biggest hurdle when studying on the back desk was that some students used the back corner desks for making out, but Sara had gotten quite good at writing notes and studying when hands and asses were right in the corner of her eye. She sometimes cleared her throat to try to get them to leave, but it was like trying to hear a single bell in the middle of a raging concert.
Sara paused as she turned towards the back corner desk and saw that it was occupied not by students engaged in a rousing game of tonsil hockey, but rather a student who looked like he was waiting for someone. Probably so he could play tonsil hockey. Sara didn’t say anything as she took the familiar seat and pulled a book from her backpack. She didn’t exist. The intruder would mind his own business as if she wasn’t even there. Such was the symbiotic relationship Sara had with the school.
Michael didn’t ignore her. In fact. he found himself staring at her. Was she trolling him? Had she checked her texts? Was she ignoring him? Did he deserve this? He racked his brain and tried to think of a time where he had hit on Sara. There wasn’t anything that immediately popped up, but as he gazed at her… he wondered if he’d made the right choice texting her. Seconds ticked away, and Sara was reading a book. This was a punishment, it had to be, but Michael was stubborn. He got it from his mother, one of the most stubborn people on the entire planet.
Seconds turned into minutes, and in the game of chicken they were playing, neither of them moved. Other students walked by the scene, observing it for a few seconds with a scrunched up nose of either confusion or distaste. Michael did not see them. He was focused on Sara. It was on the fourth minute that he decided something had to be wrong with this girl and tapped the table to get her attention.
“Hey, did you get my text message, or…?” Michael left the question rather open ended, unsure what the deal was here. He wasn’t used to being ignored, even when he had been a nerd, he had a commanding presence. This, though? This was fucking ridiculous. “If you didn’t want to help me out, you could have just said so. I know I’m more interesting than that book, dude.” Though he spoke in a whisper, his tone was still firm, almost harshly so. He did not take being ignored very well.
At least he was whispering while he was talking to someone on the phone, though Sara couldn’t remember the last time she knew someone her age to speak to someone on the phone. It must’ve been a family member who hadn’t learned how to text yet. The question by Michael went unanswered for another full minute before Sara reconsidered; he had mentioned something about a book. “Are…are you talking to me?” She had to ask, her voice almost scratchy like she needed water. This was officially the longest conversation she had had with another student. “Did…you want to read my book? Are you interested in the history of toxicology? Charles Norris, the subject of this book, was a pioneer of what we now know as forensic toxicology, it’s a really fascinating book even if you’re not interested in the subject matter. I don’t know if the school library has it, but it’s called The Poisoner’s Handbook if you want to buy your own copy.” It had been so long since she spoke that it all just sort of…flowed out of her. She half expected the guy to have up and left during her lengthy reply.
Had she always been like that? Michael honestly couldn’t remember, even when they’d been on the team she hadn’t been much of a talker. When she started rambling about her book, he started realizing this plan was genius. Both Nicky and Sara were yappers, this was going to go great. He relaxed into his chair and shook his head. “Uh, no I’m not trying to read your book. Check your phone, I texted you like 20 minutes ago.” It could have been an eternity, with how long he’d been staring a hole into her skull. At least he knew he wasn’t being blatantly ignored; it turned out that Sara was just… a little weird. “I didn’t know you were interested in toxicology though, that’s kinda… interesting.” He didn’t want to say creepy, but the message was probably received. He shook his head.
“The Sara I remember wasn’t really like a True Crime Podcast girlie. She brought snacks to all our mathlete meetups.”
“It’s not a true crime podcast, I listen to NPR, true crime podcasts are basically dramatic readings of Wikipedia articles but that’s beside the…you were in mathletes?” Sara paused and looked away from her book and towards the boy who had been able to see the ghost in the library. Sara had been in mathletes but only lasted a semester and a half, not because she was bad at it but because the team never really included her in the competitions against other schools. She warmed the bench even though she knew a lot of the answers and believed she would have been a great asset. But things just sort of went that way for Sara: unrecognized, unknown, unwanted. Her abuelita had said that the best way to fit in was with food but every time she brought homemade cupcakes and donuts, they were simply eaten by the others and assumed to have been bakery bought.
Unlike others at the school, though, Sara remembered faces. Names. The guy didn’t look it now, but if she squinted and added puberty growth spurts…”Are you…Michael O’Connor?” Why would Michael O’Connor talk to her? Why would he text her, if what he said was true? Why would he know her name? “You don’t need tutoring, you already know how to factor trinomials. What…what…what do you want? If…if this is…like…some popular kid prank…just…just do it now, okay?”
“What do you think this is, a Mean Girls sketch? I’m not… me and the boys don’t do that.” That was mostly true, though Michael knew that there was one person in the Elite in particular who was cold-hearted enough to actually pull a prank on someone of ‘lesser’ social standing. But that definitely was not him, he just needed a favor. Why was she making this so difficult? He’d needed to wrack his brain hard as fuck just to find a name that he thought would fit, and now that he was talking to her, she didn’t even seem interested in him. That wasn’t really surprising, something told him that shredded jocks were not Sara’s type. “Sounds to me like you know a lot more about true crime podcasts than you want to admit,” he mused, circling back to Sara’s comment about dramatic readings of Wikipedia articles.
This was going to be perfect, he reasoned silently. Sara, it seemed, needed friends… and sooner, rather than later. Nicky, as far as Michael knew, had friends. They could share! It worked out. “Since you didn’t check your phone I guess, I’ll just repeat myself.” He hated doing that. “I was wondering if you could help me out with a favor? I have a friend who really needs a date to the dance and the party tomorrow. I was hoping you didn’t have anyone in mind already?” He paused, letting her chew on it before he launched in again, this time focused on sweetening the deal.
“He can come pick you up from your place for the dance, then at the party you guys can hang out with me and the rest of the crew. There will be free food, booze, and weed. You gotta like at least two of those, right?” Having shot his shot, Michael sank back into the chair and relaxed. What was she going to do? Say no?
Sara hadn’t been to a dance or a party in her four years of going to BHHS, but even if she had, would anyone have even noticed her presence? Dances were one thing, but parties? Parties were basically the social events of any given month; she’d heard that Halloween parties were particularly crazy and that one year some people woke up the morning after in the hospital. Hardly her idea of fun. If she went to a party, she’d somehow find herself on a couch sandwiched between two different couples each engaging in drunken, sloppy makeouts but be too timid to say anything and too squished to prise herself away from the situation. Not that she was speaking from experience, of course.
“I don’t…alcohol and…weed…they…impair senses…I just…isn’t there someone…better for this? I…I have plans…” She didn’t. Not unless making a steak torta and watching a Ken Burns documentary about the Central Park Five counted as plans. “I think…I…I don’t…I never…I…plans…” Was she hyperventilating? Why did it suddenly feel so hard to breathe? Was she sure this wasn’t a prank? “No…ticket…I…”
“Don’t worry about that. Me and the boys will handle your ticket, you just need to get a dress and be ready when he’s there to pick you up. If you don’t like him, ditch him at the party and find someone you do like. Trust me, Sara. A little alcohol and weed impairs your senses and you’ll have the time of your life.” Was there a chance that it ended poorly? Sure, there were usually a few bad decisions made, but Michael felt pretty confident he could keep an eye on Nicky and Sara for a couple of nights. “You’ll have a ride there and a ride back… and we’ll keep you entertained.” He didn’t say it, but part of him wanted to point out that after a weekend of hanging out normally, she might even have a couple of friends.
“I feel like I never see you at the parties. This is our last year, so party hard and see where it goes.” Michael hadn’t been expecting any resistance from her, let alone basically a panic attack… which he hadn’t really addressed. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his sports bottle, filled with a red substance. “Here, drink some water. Well, I put a pre-workout packet in there, but it’s fine… water is good for you. It’s fruit punch flavored. Well… watermelon and strawberry.” Technically, it was called ‘Tiger’s Blood,’ but something told him Sara wouldn’t drink it if he said that.
“Just drink it and take a breath before you pass out, dude.”
Under normal circumstances, Sara would have questioned the drink offered to her. Water wasn’t supposed to be red and people who put the little flavor packets in their water were better off just drinking juice, but this was an unusual and unprecedented circumstance so she grabbed the offered bottle and half of the contents were rolling down her throat before she stopped, panted to catch her breath, and quietly handed it back. “You’re not supposed to accept drinks from strangers…” Sara didn’t think Michael had any nefarious plot in mind, she was just reverting to general trivia and information like a loading screen of a video game.
“What…what were you talking about?”
This was an experience. Michael had never dealt with someone with so much anxiety. How was it even possible to cram that much anxiety into that small of a body? He didn’t want to fuck this up by being rude, so he took the sports bottle back. It was nearly empty, but he supposed that was okay, at least she was able to talk to him now. With a sigh, Michael repeated himself — again, a landmark moment for him, but then this was a desperate time and called for a desperate measure.
“I want you to go to the dance and the party over the weekend with a friend of mine. He will pick you up, you just need to have a dress and an overnight bag. And maybe slightly more willingness to get drunk.” Without wiping the nozzle clean, he slurped at some of the drink still in his bottle. “Come and have fun. The library will be here on Monday.” This time, he hoped, she wouldn’t launch into an immediate anxiety attack this time. “Do you have Discord? I can give you bro’s.”
The library might be here on Monday but Sara had no guarantee that she would be. She paused and let hundreds of questions pour through her head, each one starting with the damning phrase ‘what if’. What if something bad happened, what if she got in trouble, what if someone died, what if what if what if what if. And within the storm of anxiety and excuses her thoughts went back to her bedroom, to that empty cell of a room and to the desk she did her homework and studies at. To the college acceptance letter that greeted her and the loudest question in her head became ‘What if I go to college with zero experiences?’ followed ever so closely by ‘What if I do something I regret?’ The question swirled and morphed and silently she pondered the more important question: would I regret not going? It wasn’t like they could…unaccept her from college…right?
“What…what’s Discord? I don't have to..like…” Sara looked around. The only ones within earshot were herself and Michael but even so, Sara leaned in and whispered like she was confessing to a priest. “I don’t have to…[size=64]have sex…[/size]right?”
“That’s between you and your date, not me! But I’m not hiring you to be a prostitute! That would be insane, I just need you to be this guy’s date, okay?” He felt like she’d agreed, but he was holding off on telling her her date’s name for now. He was worried that giving her a name would make it too real. “How do you not know what Discord is? How do you keep in touch with like… anyone?” He asked, frowning as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contact list; at least he’d had the brain power to get his phone number too, rather than just a Discord contact. What kind of person didn’t have discord?
“You’re agreeing, right? I honestly can’t tell, man. This’ll be good for you.” I think.
“My mom texts me or calls me if she needs to contact me.” Sara responded to the rhetorical question before she realized it was, in fact, rhetorical. Her social stock was already in the gutter but now it had to be barrelling its way to the core of the earth. “I…” Sara closed her eyes. The voices in her head were screaming, debating one another like the ancient philosophers in Greece, but sometimes the voices had to be silenced. Sara knew many and more things…but that wasn’t a skill so easily learned by any book or research paper. Her second most important mentor of her youth always said to take chances, make mistakes, get messy…maybe it was time for Sara to try one of those. “...Okay.”
“NICE.” Mikey couldn’t help but pump his fist in front of himself as his voice went a few decibels above where it should have been in the library. It was like a huge weight had lifted off of his shoulders as he was locked in for his deal with Nicky Snyder. Things were put into motion, and he was going to do his best to make sure the adopted nerds had a good time. He scribbled down a number on a piece of paper and pushed it across to her. “There’s his number. Text him if you want, maybe if you’re all mysterious and anonymous it’d be cute, I dunno. If you don’t wanna do that, tell him you got it from me.” He stepped up out of his chair and shouldered his pack again, grabbing his sports bottle and starting to walk away. As he departed, he dropped the library whisper and added. “Hey bring some of those Mexican donuts you used to bring to mathletes, yeah? Fuckin’ loved those things.”
It wasn’t quite how she imagined it happening, but Sara got her first phone number from a classmate. It might not have meant much to most people, but it was quite the big deal for Sara. Was she supposed to bring the pan dulce to the dance? Was that allowed? Wouldn’t that be weird, showing up with sweet bread for an entire dance? How many was she supposed to bake? That would take her, like, most of the night and into the morning if she wanted enough to go around. How many people showed up to a dance? To a party? Like…sixty, right? That seemed right. Sara looked at the slip of paper and looked over the number, already doing little equations with the number in her head. It was fun for her. Maybe she’d try sending a text after school - doing it during school hours was against the rules after all. “Wait…” Sara paused, looked at the paper. At the numbers. That’s all that was there. Numbers.
“Who the heck am I going to the dance with?”
