"IT'S RIGGED, MA, I swear."
My mom rolls her eyes at me from behind the glass screen of my newly-fixed phone, eyebrows furrowing as she adjusts the camera angle.
"And why do you say that, C?"
"Because," I lower my voice, tilting the device conspiratorially toward my face even though I'm outside on the rooftop where I doubt anyone can hear. "He placed."
"Who is he and why are you whispering about him?"
"Only the bane of my existence."
"Girl, stop all your moaning and just tell me what's going on."
My sigh is loud, melodramatic. "This prick I met at Roselyn's before the program. He's here, and he's named after a dog, and he sucks."
"Prick? You mean a customer from Crafty Corner?"
"Yeah. What other place called Roselyn's do I frequent?"
"No need to get sassy, Daughter of Mine, I'm just trying to understand. What is this ranking thing again?"
"So all of us wrote poems, right?" I wait for my mother to nod. "And then we gave each other feedback on what we could improve on, but, he being the asshole he is, just marked everything on my paper wrong. So, of course, I threw out my old poem and started new. Then, lo and behold—somehow I didn't rank top five, and he did?"
"Well, it's out of twenty people, isn't it?"
"Yeah, and?" I snap.
"Twenty talented people." My sensible mother repeats. "And was his poem good?"
I shrug, answer to her question becoming painfully obvious. "Does that really matter, Momma? He made it personal the moment he came into my shop, during my work hours, and started calling me names. It's my duty as a woman in society to destroy him."
"Wait, he called you names?" I notice the way she straightens, creeps closer to the camera.
"Oh, now look who's interested."
"What kind of names?"
"He called me emo."
She's silent for a moment before snorting. "Emo? Like, uh...that girl, April Lavigne?"
"Momma, it's Avril Lavigne. And either way, that's not the issue here!"
"He a white boy?"
"What? No—"
"Then probably not a hate crime, huh?"
"Ma." I grit out. "You weren't there. He was incredibly disrespectful to me—and he still is. He's like...like, okay, imagine how much Aunt V annoys you but on steroids."
"Cleo, aren't you skilled in the art of putting boys in their place? Either curse him out or ignore him. When a man sees that he doesn't affect you, he goes apeshit. I'm convinced becoming invisible is their worst nightmare."
"Yeah, well, this one's too annoying to ignore."
"You sound like a preschooler, C." She sighs in partial amusement. "I was just calling to have a nice chat with my daughter, see how her first few days are going, and I'm just getting a complaining fest. Try a smile on that pretty face every once in a while. You're exactly where you've always wanted to be."
I groan, and she makes a face at me. After a few seconds of pointed silence, the look becomes more and more intense. Finally caving, I force a big, fake Pennywise smile onto my face, and blinks in impressed disgust before breaking into laughter.
"Girl, you're too crazy. Go get some sleep, 'kay? And stop thinking about that boy. I'll talk to you later."
"Alright, night, love you."
"Love you too, babe."
The screen of my phone fades back into my call log and I stare at it a long moment before powering it to black. In the surface, my eyes bat back at me, corners of my mouth twitching downwards before I lean over the rail to see the parking lot of the hotel.
It's beautiful out here at night, almost enough to distract from my humiliating defeat this morning. From seeing Dane's name at number three on the ranking board and mine nowhere to be found. From having my work singled out in ways I could improve as Dane sat back and felt the need to chime in every few seconds that he actually had made those suggestions to me. From having to see that smug head tilt as he passed me down the hallway outside the conference room.
God, I really wish I could have tested out that murder theory.
"That was your mom?"
I flinch at the all too familiar voice from behind me, almost dropping my phone down fifteen stories.
Speak of the Devil and he shall appear, I guess.
The sudden realization that if he wanted to, Dane Anderson could have heard my entire conversation passes through my body like a shock, and I hurry to patch up its defenses before he can strike.
"She doesn't look like you. I was expecting someone less, you know..." he trails off, wrist rolling suggestively like I'm supposed to know what he means.
"Someone less what?"
"Well...attractive."
My fingers curl into a fist, and he holds up a hand in defense, eyebrow raising amusedly. "You're gonna hit me?"
"I should," I grit out under my breath before letting my hand clang to the railing loudly.
My arch nemesis is in the same outfit from this morning, my-dad's-a-lawyer chic, his handy dandy notebook clutched at his side, hair a perfectly-styled, curly mess that falls into his face a little too nicely.
"Do you ever get tired of following me around?" I let my gaze drag slowly down the length of his body, hoping it'll make him squirm enough to leave me alone.
It doesn't.
"Following you around? I was here first."
"Sure."
"I was. Believe it or not, it was actually peaceful up here until you decided to stomp over and throw a temper tantrum."
"I wasn't throwing a temper tantrum," I state through gritted teeth. "I was simply having a conversation with my mother. When your parents love you, they actually enjoy talking to you."
His lips press together, hand reaching up for the chain around his neck before he stops himself, gaze cutting back over to me reproachfully. "Sure, whatever. The point is you were loud. Australia could hear you."
"Then why didn't you just leave?"
"I was busy."
"Stalking me? Or writing more romantic poetry?"
His expression slowly morphs from pissed back to that stupid, sarcastic smile that I want to punch off of his face. "You think my poetry's romantic?"
"In a tryhard kinda way, yeah. I figure you wouldn't know real romance if it smacked you in the face and made you sing your ABCs backwards at gunpoint."
"Vivid. Maybe incorporate some of that into your next piece and you'll actually be able to rank."
My body tenses at the jab. "Funny, really."
"Is it, Cleodora?" He leans against the railing next to me now, head craned my way, eyes posing a challenge. "'Because I can't help but feel like whining about losing to me to your mommy must be hitting some new type of rock bottom, yeah?"
"I didn't lose to you."
"I didn't see your name on the board this morning. Did you?"
"You know what?"
"What?"
"You're just the opening band."
"Explain."
"The little act no one gives a shit about before the big performance." I draw nearer, cocking my own head mockingly. "Enjoy your few seconds of stardom."
"A metaphor—nice." He doesn't look affected by the words in the slightest, changing the topic with ease. "I really just came over here to pay my respects for your loss. But if you don't want my sympathy then I'll gladly keep it to myself."
"Please, for the love of god, do."
Dane leans forward so far that his nose is almost touching the railing, arms folded against concrete, eyes following cars creeping through the lot, random flickers of light illuminating asphalt. "Fine."
"Fine." When he doesn't move, I wave my hand in his direction. "You can go now."
"What's the rush, Cleodora?" A smirk seems to tug at his lips in the faint glow of the lamplight. "Scared I'll bite?"
I swallow, not liking the look he's giving me. Condescending like he's speaking to a child who just learned how to say her first word. "Did you lose your muzzle on the way here?"
His lips part slightly, no sound coming out before he shakes his head, flipping open the cover of his notebook to write something down.
Curiously, my body takes me a step closer into his personal space, trying to read over his shoulder.
He takes notice with a wrinkled nose, eyebrows slanting down before the cover's thumped shut. "Is there an issue?"
I jab my nail into the front of the notebook, eyes narrowing. "What's in there? For real, I mean."
He slides it over—away—at my touch. "Paper, ink, words."
"About more angels?" His eyes narrow now as I start to bat my lashes. "Or maybe fairies and pixie dust this time?"
"I don't see why—"
"Or Heroes...hidden treasure. Oh, or dragons and—" I gasp dramatically, hand going to cover my mouth, and he straightens as if caught red-handed.
"What, what is it, Cleodora?"
"True love's kiss."
My theatrical whisper seems to snap him out of some momentary daze. Some daze in which he realizes he's not supposed to engage with the enemy—a rule he's screwed up on more than one occasion. "Why, is that what you write about? Fiction?"
"Fiction? Are you questioning the power of true love's kiss?"
"Not questioning the power but declaring it irrelevant as true romantic love does not exist."
I laugh despite myself, leaning back against the rail to study him. "You would be one of those people."
"What do you mean, one of those people?"
"Hurt? Lonely and miserable? Daddy or mommy issues? I don't know, buddy, take your pick."
He flinches just barely at my vague assessment of his character, and I surprisingly feel my something in me constrict at the reaction.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I mean, it's not like I care or any—" My words start, instantly ready to let it drop, but he interjects, talking fast.
"I'm not hurt, Cleodora, okay? And neither am I lonely or miserable, for that matter. Just—The day you learn that it's in human nature to disappoint, you'll feel much better, trust me."
"Okay, believe what you want to. I said it doesn't—"
Down fifteen stories below us, a sudden smack of steel on steel disrupts the conversation. Then yelling, loud yelling.
We look down to see a car wreck, a woman screaming her head off at a man with his hands up, trying to quietly console her. The cars look expensive.
I heave out a sigh at the break, heart racing uncomfortably at the idea of having possibly brought up a sore topic for Dane. I wasn't even aware that someone like him could be capable of having a soft spot.
Why do I care though?
Because you're not a shitty person like he is, my brain reminds me. I nod, once then twice to confirm. This is the most sensible reason. I don't care about him, I'm just not shitty.
"Look, if I hurt your feelings, I'm—"
I'm cut off for a third and final time, Dane putting an end to whatever's about to come out of my mouth with a thud of his fist on the railing, something that looks strangely like discomfort creasing his brows, floating through hazel. "To hurt my feelings, you'd first have to be important enough to be a thought in my mind."
I decide to stay silent as he walks away, biting my tongue to keep from blurting out anything I'd probably regret, taking in the muted screams sailing through the night like a siren's call.
***
oops
yeah i really have nothing interesting to say tbh, but uh?? hope you enjoyed!
i think i'll try to get on a posting schedule of some sort for this story cuz surprisingly i update my draft fairly often lmao but we'll see
Q: do u feel bad for Dane? lmao