Unwritten: The Brooklyn Pieper story (continued)

Disclaimer: all characters in this short story are fictional/creations of my own imagination. Sights and locations are based on real cities/towns/National Parks located in the Western United States.

Note: This section picks up where Brooklyn left of in Susannah Marketon's book.

Chapter 15: Check my vital signs to know I’m still alive and I walk alone

Well I made it. First day, sophomore year. It was a miracle, and the only one I have to thank for it is Brooklyn Pieper. 

I saw her nearly every day of freshman year, and I avoided her. Just like I promised. The day after she said hi to me in World Civilization, BT gave us assigned seats. He placed me in the back corner of the classroom and Brooklyn in the second row. I still saw her everyday, but I never had to look her in the eye. That would have been too much. 

But thanks to her and those deep green eyes, I made it to sophomore year. I got good grades, found myself in the top-10 in my class and was allowed to take junior and senior electives if I so desired. I desired to take advanced drawing, so I registered, against my mother’s wishes. She didn’t think art was a smart career path for the daughter of a politician, and she was planning to run for state congress during the next election cycle. 

“I don’t see why you bother taking those art classes Susannah,” she absconded from her throne at the kitchen table. “They certainly won’t help you in your future career.”

An argument broke out. If my mom only knew the progress I made in a year, at how close I really came to ending my life. I thought about telling her, but I just stomped off to my room, like always, leaving my parents to eat a silent dinner without me. 

The next day, I went to the hair salon and chopped all my hair off. I walked in and told my stylist I wanted a new look, one that was not necessarily mother approved. We looked through the style book, eventually settling on a Halle Berry inspired pixie cut. At first, I was nervous about the drastic change, but I fell in love the minute my stylist turned my hair around to let me see in the mirror. The style felt like me, the authentic me, not the mother manufactured version plastered on billboards and campaign ads. 

“I can’t believe you’re still wearing your hair like that Susannah,” mother commented as I joined the family for breakfast. My dad was already seated at the table enjoying his morning coffee, an apologetic look on his face. He went to bat for me a few times over the summer, but it never seemed to curtail my mother’s criticism. Something about me was always wrong, “Your hair used to be so cute when it was long. And professional.”

“I think it looks nice.” Dad’s voice rang out against mother’s criticisms, much louder, somehow, than it had in the past. “Very you Susannah.”

“Ugh,” my mother grunted from the counter as she prepared her coffee. Over the summer, I never had breakfast with my parents. I waited until mother was at the office before leaving my bedroom, but with school starting early, there was no longer a choice to avoid. “At least grow it out for the family picture. I can’t have you looking like a dough-eyed, bleach blond boy.”

“She’ll wear her hair however she wants for the family photo.”

I looked up from my toast in shock. Sure, my dad stood up for me when it came to battles against my mom, but he never like that. He was the least confrontational person on the planet, and he never contradicted the woman of the household. 

Mother was equally in shock, her eyes wide in disgust. I half expected her to start screaming at both of us. “How dare you take her side” or “Who do you think you are to get in the way of my political career” type of comments. But none came. Mother just stood in the middle of the kitchen stunned to silence, until the shrieking of her pager knocked her back on task. 

“I have a meeting,” she said cooly, ruffling her immaculate hair with her free hand. “I will see you both for dinner, and Susannah, please refrain from wearing that horrid leather jacket. The press will be there.”

I rolled my eyes but said nothing as she left the house. My dad was now in charge of getting me to and from school. Apparently, mother could no longer be bothered to look maternal by dropping me off at school, and that was fine by me. I liked the drives to school with my dad. He was quiet and reserved, never nosey, and never accosted me for my looks or clothing decisions. In fact, if we ever did talk in the car, it was always about art, a topic I liked and enjoyed. 

“Can you still help me in the shop after school today?”

I nodded. My dad ran a local mercantile in Estes Park that was popular with locals, tourists and experienced hikers. Over the summer, he started letting me help out around the store running the cash register and restocking the shelves. It wasn’t necessarily labor intensive work, but it kept me out of the house and away from my mother, two things I certainly enjoyed. 

“Great!” Before I had a chance to hop out of the car, dad pulled me in for a hug. “I’m so proud of you sweetie. Attack the day ok?”

I rolled my eyes but squeezed my dad a little tighter. He no doubt saw my struggle last year, especially as I got closer and closer to ending things. I think part of him was grateful I was alive, and I guess I couldn’t blame him. 

“Love you dad.”

With one last squeeze, I hopped out of my dad’s truck and made my way into school. Almost instantly, I felt people’s eyes on my back, or more specifically, my head. For years, I was invisible among these people. I moved through halls and classes with no one the wiser, save Brooklyn Pieper. She always smiled and waved or said hey when she saw me, but that was it. She was the only one who ever seemed to notice. Now, with my new haircut, everyone did. 

I quickly stopped at my locker on the third floor before booking for Smithers homeroom. Like always, I hid in the back corner, my eyes glued to the blank page in my notebook. Today, I planned to draw my mother’s shocked face from breakfast to make sure it was forever documented. 

“Hey, is that some new kid in the corner?”

I stopped breathing but told myself to focus on the artwork in front me. I accepted kids would make fun of me. In fact, I relished in it for a while. I thought it would be better than being unseen. Turns out, I was wrong. 

“Nah, that’s just Susannah.” One of the big guys in homeroom, Robert or John or some boring name like that, sat down in the seat in front of me. “Hey there Suzie, or should we call you Sully now?”

“Nah Sullivan’s too feminine Robby.” Another boy sat in the desk across from his buddy, determined to make my life a living hell. “Saul sounds better for a girl-boy after all.”

My hand gripped tighter around the pen as tears stung my eyes. I willed myself not to cry, not to let them get to me, but I found myself slipping back into the darkness I fought so hard last year.

“Hey Susannah.” Brooklyn Pieper’s voice rang out like an angel’s as she sat down in the chair across from me. Some of the chubbiness faded away from her cheeks, giving away to sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline, just like I predicted. Her shoulders were broader, her chest more developed. She was becoming the woman I drew. “Love the new hair, by the way.”

“Really,” I stuttered, stunned this girl was even talking to me in the first place, let alone complimenting me.

“Yeah,” Brooklyn smiled, her eyes glowing as she responded. “I think it’s cute.”

And just like that, the bullies left me alone. Even as a sophomore, Brooklyn held a power she didn’t quite understand. Because she liked my hair, everyone else did too. She was a woman among girls who was kind, genuine and beautiful. 

The first bell rang and Smithers called for everyone to return to their seats. Brooklyn didn’t move, though. She didn’t go join her friends on the opposite side of the classroom. She sat in the seat next to me and winked before turning her attention to the front of the room, where Smithers was now talking. 

I felt the feeling in the pit of my stomach again, the same one I felt when Brooklyn looked at me in World Civ the year before. It was something far stronger than admiration. My heart fluttered when she called my hair cute and went into overdrive when she winked.

I weakly returned her wink with a smile and turned my attention back to my drawing. 

***

Four days later, I was working in the drawing room after school. 

I survived the first week of school. Word of Brooklyn’s approval regarding my hair traveled fast throughout the sophomore class, like wildfire in the Colorado plains. Some people still made comments under their breath, and I still felt stares on the back of my neck, but I got used to it. No one ever said anything to my face, and I quickly slipped back into the shadows.

Advanced drawing quickly became my favorite class. The teacher already assigned us a series of projects, each one focusing on different techniques, subjects and mediums. This week, we were working with pencils and refining the basic skills we learned in Art 101. This week, it was hatching and cross hatching, a common feature in many of my notebook sketches. 

The subjects of our drawings were supposed to be simple, inanimate objects. A ball resting on top of a table or a stack of books. Something simple that could be easily drawn in our sketchbooks. We were to stay away from human subjects, though, at least until we learned proper scaling and other techniques. 

The green eyed girl stared at me from the pages of my sketchbook though. While my classmates were busy drawing and shading fruits, I was working on her eyes. Over and over again, I created them, using various techniques to show their depth without using color, trying to get them out of my mind. My teacher was impressed and said I could use the art room after school to continue working on my project, if I so desired. 

That’s what I was doing Friday afternoon. Dad gave me the closing shift at the store but told mother I was working all afternoon, giving me a solid excuse to work on my drawings. I couldn’t bring them home, for fear of mother’s wrath, so I couldn’t waste a second. This was my only time to escape, my only release before a weekend of campaigning. 

“Hey there.”

Startled, I jumped from my chair and turned toward the door. My work station was in the back corner of the room, like always, only this time I didn’t choose it to avoid my classmates. I chose it for the west facing window. Since the drawing class was in the afternoon, the sun provided a nice natural light for my drawings and kept me warm in an otherwise cool classroom. It also allowed me to keep my back to the door, free of distraction. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” A young boy walked into the room with a shy smile. He looked vaguely familiar, and I eventually realized he was a fellow sophomore. “I’m Toby. We’re in advanced drawing together.”

“Susannah,” I responded, moving my body to block my work. Even though the eyes were nothing more than rough outlines, I still felt subconscious, worried someone might notice and realize who I was drawing. 

“I know.” The boy had a nice smile. When he moved to sit down next to me, his brown hair flopped in front of his face, hiding a matching set of brown eyes. They accentuated the faint freckle line across his nose, though, and the pudginess of his cheeks. “We have advanced drawing and history together.”

I nodded, not really sure what to do or say. I felt subconscious and started cracking my knuckles to get rid of my nervous energy. Fortunately, Toby seemed nervous too. He was fiddling with the wrist on his watch, a much quieter nervous tick than my knuckles. 

“I like your hair by the way,” Toby said against the strained silence. “I think it looks really nice.”

“Thank you,” I nodded my head towards his t-shirt. “You know Green Day?”

A big grin spread across Toby’s face, “Kerplunk is one of the best albums ever, but their next one is gonna be huge. Everyone will know Green Day after this summer.”

We talked about bands for the next hour until I had to leave for my shift. Toby walked with me all the way to the store, even though his car was parked at school. He was one of the old sophomores who could drive but didn’t like to flaunt it. 

Toby drove me to the store nearly every day from that point on. If he had practice or a project to work on, he visited afterwards. We ate lunch in the art room and worked on our drawings. I helped him perfect his form and he critiqued my work. We started doing homework together in the library. 

It took me nearly two weeks to realize I made a friend. 

***

December. Four months of sophomore year gone in a flash. I was halfway to junior year and a different person. Well, maybe not different, just more me. I guess I was trying to be more true to myself, whatever that self was. I was figuring it out as I went, but people seemed to like it. I wasn’t exactly popular, but I wasn’t the school ghost anymore. I had friends, more acquaintances than anything, and Toby. 

Snow fell outside my bedroom window. It was the first day of Winter Break, a Saturday after a long week of finals. I was drawing fractal patterns in my sketchbook, trying to capture Colorado winter through my own eyes. It wasn’t going well. Most kids love Winter Break. No school, hang out with friends, drink hot chocolate by warm fires, go skiing. You know, the things normal Colorado kids are expected to do over the holidays.

The only problem was, December meant extra family for everyone. Toby was going on a ski trip with his family and would be gone for almost two weeks. He invited me, but mother wouldn’t allow it. She was hosting her annual Christmas party after all, and what kind of mayor wannabe congresswoman would she be if her whole family wasn’t in attendance? Laughing and smiling at the camera as though we were the perfect Americana family?

A car door slammed in the distance, but I focused on my fractals. My plan for winter break was simple: never leave my room except to work at the shop with dad. Even meals would be skipped, especially if mother was involved. I would make one appearance at the Christmas party to pose for the family picture, then return to my antisocial lifestyle. Mother would be happy because me and my hair could’t offset the ambiance, and I would be happy because I wouldn’t be by her. I’d be with my drawings. 

Someone knocked on my door, but I ignored it. They knocked again. Mother wouldn’t knock. She would just barge in, and dad was already at work. It was probably the cleaning lady mother hired or a personal shopper coming to spruce up my wardrobe. 

“I’m not here,” I yelled, hoping it would send the knocker away. Instead, I heard the squeaking of hinges as the door slowly opened. 

“Is that any way to treat your favorite brother?

I tore my eyes away from the drawing, sure my ears were playing tricks on me. Tony told me himself he couldn’t come home for Christmas. He had too much going on with work. Mother and I were both devastated, for different reasons. Mother because she couldn’t tote around the golden child, and me because I wouldn’t get to hang out with my best friend. 

But Tony was there, his smile as wide and infectious as ever. He was dressed comfortably, I guess, in a faded red t-shirt and jeans, and his hair was longer, but he was still Tony. My long lost older brother. 

I threw my sketchbook on my nightstand and ran over to my brother. I poked him first, to make sure he was real, before wrapping him in a hug. It had been over a year since I saw Tony, but we talked almost every day. He’d been there through all the ups and downs, and it was so nice to finally have him here. 

We hugged in silence for a few minutes before we migrated over to my bed. Apparently, Tony planned the winter surprise over a month ago. He built up a ton of vacation at work, so he took two weeks and flew home. 

“Dad was in on everything,” he explained, popping two M&Ms in his mouth. “The surprise was really for you and mom. Where is mother mayor anyway?”

I rolled my eyes, “She’s meeting with the caterers, I think. Or a psychologist.”

“Psychologist?” My brother’s one eyebrow hitched halfway up his forehead. “Have her constituents finally pushed her over the edge?”

“Oh please, I’ll get to her long before they do.” I responded, picking up a sketchbook and paging through. “If she doesn’t admit me first.”

“She doesn’t hate you Sissy.”

I scoffed in response. It was the one thing Tony never could understand, my relationship with our mother. He always stood up for me in family arguments and thought mother treated me unfairly, but he didn’t see behind the scenes. He didn’t know how bad it really was, how complicated it really was, and I doubt he ever could. 

“Are these your drawings,” Tony asked when I stayed silent. I nodded. “Can I see?”

I smiled and passed the sketchbook off to my brother. A slight pang of nerves hit as he flipped back to the first page. I knew it was foolish. Multiple people had seen my work at this point, my art teacher and classmates for starters. It already faced wrath and judgement but not from my family. Dad hadn’t seen some of this stuff yet, and I suddenly felt self conscious. 

“Susannah, these are amazing.” Tony turned through the pages, wonder in his eyes. My shoulders dropped as my body started to relax, relieved to have Tony’s approval. “The improvement throughout the semester, you’ve really got some talent.”

I blushed. My teacher said the same thing, but somehow it meant more coming from my older, wiser brother. 

“Who’s this?” My brother shifted so I could see the sketchbook, and my cheeks suddenly grew hotter. He found the green eyes girl pages, the ones I desperately tried to keep hidden from everyone, especially Toby. My deepest fear was someone would see the pictures and recognize the woman, even though she was a fictional older version of Brooklyn Pieper. Despite that fear, I still made the green eyed girl my final project, creating a series of drawings highlighting every part of her. 

“Just some random woman.” I wasn’t sure why I lied to Tony. Usually I told him everything, and he was by far the safest person to admit the truth too. It’s not like he knew Brooklyn personally, and I wasn’t actually drawing her. I was drawing an adult woman who happened to have green eyes and blond hair. 

My brother responded with a whistle, “Well, if she looks half as good as she does in these drawings, she’s beautiful. You’ll have to introduce me.” I punched him in the shoulder and he feigned pain, “They’re just drawings Tony. I’m not even sure that’s what she really looks like.”

“She clearly left an impression,” Tony continued to stare at the drawings, his fingers running gingerly over the pencil lines. “Seriously Sissy, these are your best works by far. The maturity, the depth, the poise. It’s like looking at a pro’s work.”

“Tony,” I cautioned, trying not to get too far ahead of myself. As much as I loved art, I didn’t think I was that good, at least not good enough to make a career out of it. 

“I’m serious Susannah,” Tony closed the book and gave it back to me. “You should submit this for the summer art show, especially the green eyed girl. Or at least let me hang them in my office.”

I looked out the window at the falling snow. Summer was a long way off, and mother would hate it if I entered the local art contest. She thought art was a waste of time, especially for someone like me.

“I’ll consider it.”

Chapter 16: I got a girl crush. Hate to admit it but, I got a heart race. Ain’t slowing down

“Seniors please organize yourself in the back hallway. You will be presented after the juniors. Barbara, can you and Jacob try to keep your hands to yourself for ten minutes?”

Myself and the other well dressed seniors were ushered into a small hallway behind the high school theater. It was the night of senior prom, and miracle of all miracles, I was there. In a dress. Not sitting in the back corner making fun of my classmates and their horrendous fashion choices. I was actually one of them, and no one was more shocked than me. 

I never thought I would go to a prom, let alone be asked to be someone’s date. But I was. Mother was so proud when I shared the news, she even paid for my dress. Dad was over the moon excited, and Tony even flew back for the grand march. It was the Marketon family event of the season, and for once, I was at the center. 

Toby was my date, which made sense since he was my boyfriend. He was standing next to me, dressed in a black tux that was just a little too big in the shoulders. I guessed it was his dad’s, but it didn’t matter. He wore it and even bought a corsage to match my dress, which was as simple as it could get. While most of my classmates wore tulle skirts and separate types, I was wearing a plain dark green spaghetti strap dress with minimal sparkles. According to mother, it complimented my white blonde hair and pale skin. It was the nicest thing she ever said to me. 

“Seniors, it’s time.” I sighed and interlaced my arm through Toby’s. He gave me a kind, reassuring smile and a peck on the forehead. Toby was a perfect boyfriend by everyone’s standards, like he popped right out of a storybook. He was respectful to a fault. He opened every door, paid me every compliment and wasn’t overly reliant on PDA. He called my mother Ms. Marketon the first time they met, and she was over the moon. He helped my dad out around the store and was the biggest supporter of my art career. 

“Brittney Ackert, escorted by Daniel Pinkerton.”

The announcer, our theater director, started reading off the names of the senior class. We were organized alphabetically by the last name of the female date, meaning Toby and I were smack in the middle. Slowly, we wound our way behind the back of the theater, following the couple in front of us. As we moved, I gathered the small train of my dress in my left hand while continuing to clutch to Toby’s right elbow, terrified I would trip in my meager one half inch heels. 

“Molly Mainard, escorted by Robert Bunnington.”

“We’re next.” Toby leaned down and whispered in my ear. He was nearly a foot taller than me now, having suffered through a major growth spurt between our sophomore and junior years, but his comforting smile was still the same. “Promise to catch me when I trip down the stairs.”

“Susannah Marketon, escorted by Toby Nelson.”

Still laughing at Toby’s joke, I dropped the dress from my left hand and confidently left the confines of backstage. The theater lights temporarily blinded me, but I heard Tony’s whooping and hollering from somewhere in the audience. I smiled, feeling truly confident as Toby and I walked toward the arch. We paused, as instructed, allowing the school and city photographer to take our photo. At the last second, I planted a kiss on Toby’s cheek, causing an eruption of applause from the audience. 

Toby and I made our way off the stage and toward the back of the theater where the rest of the juniors and seniors gathered. Neither one of us fell down the steps, but I still silently cursed the man who invented heels. My feet were killing me, and I couldn’t wait to put on my converse when everything was over. 

A few people complimented my dress as we joined the hoard of students. Others commented on my uncharacteristic display of public affection. Most people were too busy with their own conversations to notice another couple joining the pack, which I didn’t mind. I found conversation and small talk draining to begin with, and so did Toby. We spent most of our dates in silence drawing or watching a movie. We didn’t really need to express ourselves with words. 

“Brooklyn Pieper, escorted by Parker Allenton.”

All conversation ceased as Estes Park’s golden couple graced the stage. Toby and I were the cute couple, the adorable introverts who found each other at the perfect time, but Brooklyn and Parker were on another level. They were the high school’s very own Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston, the it couple, the hottest duo Estes Park had ever seen. They had been since sophomore year, when Parker convinced Brooklyn to go out with him. 

There was a collective sigh from all the women in attendance as Parker graced the stage. A year older than Brooklyn, he came back for her senior prom and looked every bit the college hockey player he was. A small bit of stubble was growing in around his sharp jawline, and his body was a bit more filled out, his muscles more defined under the dark suit. Parker’s hair was longer than it was in high school, reminiscent of the 1980s athlete. It wouldn’t work for Toby, but somehow, it worked for him. 

That night, though, Parker was just arm candy. It was Brooklyn who was the real star of the show. Dressed in a simple, long sleeved black dress, Brooklyn looked both like the hero and villain of a story. She was intimidating and beautiful, her blonde hair pulled back in a simple ponytail to highlight her feminine facial features. The blackness of her dress and smokiness of her eye makeup brought out the deep green in her eyes, and her body was morphing from that of a girl’s into a woman’s.

“Wow,” Toby commented, both our eyes glued to the stage. “They don’t look like high schoolers.”

“She’s absolutely beautiful.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. It was totally within the realm of normal for women to call each other beautiful, but something felt deeper than my admission. That feeling was back, the one I felt whenever Brooklyn Pieper looked at me, only it was stronger somehow than ever before. I wanted her to look at me. I wanted her to see me. I wanted to be close to her and hang out, just like in my old, childish dreams. 

“So is he,” Toby admitted nodding toward Parker. The two of them were leaving the stairs now as gracefully as one would imagine. “You know, Brooklyn kinda looks like the green eyed girl. The one you’ve been drawing all these years.”

I stopped breathing all together, worried I was caught. Brooklyn matured, as any high school girl did, but her face still held it’s innocence. She wasn’t the thirty year old woman in my drawings, not yet, though now, I had no doubt she would get there. It was only a matter of time. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I announced before breaking away from Toby. He offered to go with me, but I shook him off. Brooklyn was about to join the pack, and I couldn’t be there when she and Parker arrived. My heartbeat was threatening to beat out of my chest. She was getting too close, and I felt the desperate need for air. 

I pushed my way to the side door of the theater and slipped out to the hallway. I was instantly greeted by a rush of cool air and the lingering smell of too much perfume. The announcer's muffled voice floated through the walls, ticking off the remaining couples of the senior class. Soon they would announce prom king and queen. Brooklyn should win queen. She was by far the most liked girl in the senior even if she wasn’t the most popular. She got along with everyone, even the outcasts like me, which gave her more power than the ever popular Barbie’s. 

I tried to think about anything other than Brooklyn as I made my way to the bathroom, giving credence to my lie, but I couldn’t get her out of my head. The black dress was modest, and yet it highlighted every curve of her body, the yellow in her hair and the depth of her eyes. Her beauty was terrifying because it made me feel things I couldn’t explain. I’d been drawing the green eyed girl for years, and still I couldn’t get Brooklyn Pieper out of my head. 

I steadied myself outside the theater after my quick trip to the bathroom. It wouldn’t be totally weird if I disappeared altogether. That was probably more like me than the dress and heels I was wearing, but I had to see this through. Toby was in there waiting for me, and I couldn’t abandon him. 

“Susannah?” 

I turned my head as an elderly gentleman walked from outside. He was tall and stately, dressed in a sharp light grey suit with a white dress shirt and paisley blue handkerchief tucked in the pocket. 

“Mr. Herd,” I nodded my head in respect. One of the richest men in town, William Herd was in charge of the annual Estes Park Art Festival and the head judge of the local art contest. We met two months earlier when I submitted one of my drawings for the contest, though I was still waiting for the results. “It’s lovely to see you again sir.”

“Likewise.” The man had one of those million dollar smiles, the one a person develops after years of meetings within elite society. “Your drawings were outstanding, some of the best ever submitted. At any level.”

“Thank you sir,” I nodded again, just as my mother taught me. She and Mr. Herd were close friends, and I believe he was an important donor for her campaign. “That is very high praise coming from you.”

He smiled again, “We are very excited to display it at the summer art show. The Green Eye Girl will have a prominent place in the gallery, with your permission of course.” “Yes! Oh my God, yes. Of course.” I fumbled through my response before eventually regaining my composure, “I mean, I would be honored Mr. Herd. Thank you for your careful consideration.”

Mr. Herd laughed. He reminded me of a slimmer, wealthier Santa Clause, bringing joy and happiness to ostracized teenagers. 

“I look forward to your art career Susannah,” he reached out and shook my hand. “I have no doubt you will do wondrous things in the future.”

With a wink, Mr. Herd let go of my hand and disappeared around the corner, into the very hallway I stood in moments before. If I wasn’t leaning on the doors for support, I would have fainted. My head was swimming, overwhelmed by a litany of facts and emotions, and I felt a stream of happy tears fall down my face. My drawings had been selected for the summer art gallery. If I wasn’t in a fancy dress and some over exaggerated high school event, I would be screaming at the top of my lungs, running around the hallways like an over sugared five year old. My art was going to be featured in the Estes Park summer art show. My art. Mine. 

I didn’t even care that thousands of people would see the green eyed girl. I didn’t care if anyone put two and two together. Right then, I was just happy, the happiest I think I’ve ever felt in my life.

I slipped into the back of the theater and returned to Toby’s side. He moved to the back of the pack, eagerly scanning each door, waiting for my reappearance. Sweet relief flooded his body when he caught sight of me, and he wasted no time wrapping his long arm around my nearly bare shoulders. 

“Everything ok,” he asked, the worry still present in his eyes. 

“Yes,” I answered truthfully, leaning in to give him a quick kiss. “Everything is perfect.”

***

“Hey country girl! Another round over here.”

I sighed from my spot on the opposite side of the bar. Moving to New York for college was one of the best decisions of my life. Mother hated it, but it gave me a chance to breathe and figure out my life on my own terms. I felt like I could finally be someone out there, more than just the mayor’s daughter or the weird girl in the corner. 

“You know, I’m not from the country,” I responded as I poured four another round of tequila for a group of rabble rousing boys. They were upperclassmen at one of New York’s many universities, there celebrating a frat brother’s twenty-first birthday. “I’m from Colorado.”

“If you’re not from the city, you’re from the country bumpkin,” the tall blonde responded with a wink, grabbing the shots for his friends. “I’ll be seeing you later cutie.”

I flipped him the bird as he and a buddy walked back to their table. Dealing with drunkards was my least favorite part of the job, but it paid the bills. The owner let me live in the apartment above the bar at a discounted rate, so long as I was willing to basically run the restaurant most weekends. I didn’t mind. It beat working in the cafeteria at school, and I made good money with tips. I also could paint, draw and work on my art whenever I wanted, something I wanted, and get quality practice running a business, something mother wanted. She only agreed to pay for school if I got a business degree in addition to art, a trade I was more than willing to make. 

“Be careful. Sonny see’s you flipping him the bird, his daddy will sue you faster than quicksand.”

I turned and saw a young woman sitting on the opposite side of the bar. I moseyed my way over, grateful for the distraction from the frat boys. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Mother would have been proud of my courteous response, just like she taught me at her many campaign parties, “What can I get you to drink?”

The woman studied the menu above my head. Even with glasses, she still had to squint to see the tiny writing, something I was trying to get changed. 

“What’s good here,” she asked, her turquoise blue eyes still pouring over the menu. 

I shrugged in response. “I don’t know. I’m eighteen. I can’t drink yet, but most people like the Sex on the Beach.”

“Then I’ll have a Long Island.” Her voice reminded me of a singer’s after a concert. Overused and tired, but smokey and sexy, the kind of flavor I liked in a burger. “And don’t go skimpy on the Triple Sec.”

The woman winked as I started prepping her drink. It took the owner a few weeks to teach me the trade, but eventually I became a master mixer, one of the many reasons he had me working the weekends. 

“You’re an art student right?” She continued talking as I poured her drink. The talking was my least favorite part of the job, but I pretty much had it down to a science. All I had to do was ask the customer a general question, and usually they spouted off their life story. They never once asked me anything, other than my number every now and again. 

I nodded and slid the drink over to the woman. Before she continued talking, she took a small sip and gave a nod of approval. My heart fluttered. I felt a desperate need to impress this person, though I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like she was a professor or anything. She was a student, like me, only a few years older. Probably a senior, if I was a betting girl, based on her stature and poise. 

“You drew the green eyed girl.” It was a statement, not a question, so I nodded again in agreement, wondering how this woman knew so much about me. She simply smiled in response, revealing straight, immaculately white teeth. “Who was she?”

I shrugged, wiping off a nearby wet spot on the bar, “No one. Just some random woman I saw on the street one day.”

“Ha!” The woman cocked her head back and cackled, revealing a long, slender neck under her turtleneck. “The first crush is always the hardest.”

I cut my eyes in her direction, “What did you say?”

“Let me guess.” She propped her head up on her interlaced fingers and peered at me innocently. “You have a perfectly fine, perfectly sweet high school boyfriend waiting for you back home. He loves you, and you think you love him, but he just doesn’t do it for you, does he.”

“We do just fine,” I responded, not wanting to get into my sex life with a complete stranger. The first time happened after senior prom. It was fine, awkward, probably like all high schoolers' first times right? 

The woman reached out and placed her hand over mine. A spark ran through my body, and I felt myself being drawn in towards her. 

“Bet I can make you feel better than he ever did,” she whispered seductively. That same feeling came back, the one I always felt when I looked at Brooklyn, just as this woman slid a little white card across the table. “Call me when you’re ready to find out just how good.”