Sequel: Pretty Bird

People Got A Lotta Nerve

Penelope; of Montreal

“I had no idea that there would be so much…substance, in a place like Vegas.”

“Yeah?” His laugh was airy yet proportionate, filling up the tiny bookstore in seconds flat. “Well, you aren’t the only one. I’m surprised this place hasn’t gone under yet.”

“That’d be a shame, there seems to be a lot here.” I was now going through N-P, alphabetizing the fiction and stacking it accordingly back on the shelf. My allergies of course were ruining this quiet moment I was spending with Blake, making me sneeze and sniffle every few minutes. I was trying to fight through it though, and help him fix the mess I had helped contribute to.

“Lots of passion…books hold the answer to every question in the entire world.”

“That’s not true.”

He leaned back onto his hands, his legs, crossed Indian style seemed to jut out at me in such a quiet way, the bones in his knees protruding and grazing against mine. “Humor me.”

“No.” I hate being short with people, I honestly do, but just as soon as those walls come up, the ones that protect the fortress around my heart, it seems as the best safety measure.

He bit the side of his lip, gently chewing as his eyes squinted at me. “I have the hardest time figuring you out.”

I pulled a book off the shelf. “I am not a Nietzsche, that’s for sure.”

He smiled at me, still shyly, the tops of his crooked bottom teeth revealing themselves for just a second. “I love Nietzsche.” He removed all of his weight from his hands, and leaned towards me, his gangly arms grabbing the book with ease. “A friend should be a master at guessing and keeping still: you must not want to see everything.”

I stopped organizing, and sat back on my feet, my legs folded in front of me. “He said that?”

“Mhm,” He smiled again, putting the book back on the shelf. “He was well before his time.”

“Well, you can keep still all you want.” I smiled, wiping my hands off on my thighs, small dust clouds rising from my hands like tiny smoke signals.

“Still doesn’t seem to be your forte.”

“Consider me more like…a bird.”

“Always moving.” He smiled, subconsciously cracking his fingers against his thighs.

I smiled back at him, and stood up, suddenly incredibly self conscious. The dust had left tiny splotches of brown on my black dress, and my knees were bright red from me balancing on my knees to put the books back on the higher shelves. I could feel my ears and cheeks turn a bright scarlet, and inched back towards the door. “Sorry for messing up the shelf.”

No worries, Sparrow.”

“Sparrow?” Here I go again with cocking my head to the side. My hand was lightly resting on the door handle.

“Mhm, Sparrow. Migratory ones, like the Field Sparrow, or Fox Sparrow, Olive Sparrow, Cliff Sparrow…”

I rolled my eyes, a smile somehow escaping and plastering itself on my lips. “Do you know everything, genius boy, or is this just some lucky fluke you have going on?”

“You said you’re like a bird, one that migrates. Therefore, you are a sparrow.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling in the light, even if it was obscured by the plethora of dust.

“Bye Blake, nice to meet you.”

“Ill see you soon, Sparrow.”

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I wasn’t really sure what to expect when I was waiting in the elevator of the Treasure Island Hotel, a family of 4 packed tightly around me as if the elevator had magically transformed into a sardine can. A suitcase was jutting painfully into my good leg, making me pray to God for good balance so I wouldn’t fall and trip into the gaggle of children. The mother’s bag was directly in my face; I could smell the plethora of gum and mints she kept inside; she had a preference for wintergreen. Luckily, 240 was on the second floor, and this family pressed the 5th floor button, so I was in luck.

After squeezing my way out of that claustrophobic’s nightmare, it was easy finding Oliver’s hotel. I am generally not directionally challenged; I am good at finding and following signs and directions. I attribute it to talking less, and observing more. More people should learn that skill.

By the time I had reached the door, my nerves were once again bunching up and congregating in my shoulders, making my hands shake just slightly as I laced them together in front of me, before wiping them on my dress, which was now a more faded brown color than its original black. I was definitely in need of a good change of clothes and a decent washing machine. Before Good Christian had time to call me a pansy for just standing outside his door like an ultimate creeper, I timidly knocked on the door, only 3 of my 4 knuckles rapping against the steel door, which was tackily covered in some wooden patterned linoleum.

I had to knock a few more times before the door opened, and the person greeting me was definitely not who I expected.

“Who are you?” He asked, another thick Yorkshire accent I could barely comprehend.

“Uhm…Christian..” I managed to somehow force out, my lungs collapsing in my chest. I was surprised I still managed to look him in the eye; it was intimidating having to look up at tall people like that, its like giving up all your power.

“Oh…” He said, still staring down at me. His eyes were dark, like Oliver’s, but didn’t catch the same amount of light.

“Oliver was expecting me. We left the party together…” I spoke again, trying to regain some of my confidence.

All of a sudden, the boy’s eyes lit up, but still held nothing on Oliver’s. “Oh! Christian!” He stood aside, pressing his body against one of the doorframes. “Come on it.”

I smiled at him, raising my eyebrows just slightly and bowing my head down as I walked inside the hotel room, which still looked as it did when Oliver and I left for breakfast, minus of course all of these new faces that were peering at me with curiosity.

“Im Curtis,” the boy who had let me in said. He closed the door, and flipped the lock on again. He let out a quick laugh under his breath, and came to my side. “We lock everything, we’ve had bad experiences.”

“Yeah, with fangirls!” One of the faces exclaimed. He was sitting on the floral patterned chair, the same one my dress was on this morning. “I’m Matt!” He smiled, waving his hand at me, the action over exaggerated and larger than life.

“Christian.” I smiled back, waving my hand as well, but my action paled in comparison. He looked friendly and outgoing, I looked sheepish and confused.

“Oh, we know all about you!” Matt singsonged again, rolling his eyes at the other boys in the room and laughing, the other boys following suit.

Besides Curtis leaning on a wall to my side, and Matt sitting in that hideous chair, there were 2 more boys in the room, both of them laying on the bed, stomachs down. Their shoes were resting on the pillows while their heads rested on their hands. All of them were congregated around the boxy television, but I had yet to see what they were watching. Ever since I walked in, it had been an endless cycle of commercials. Both of the reclining boys had long hair, which seemed to be a reoccurring theme in this band, as with the ridiculously tight jeans and quick, loud accents I was barely getting the hang of understanding.

“I’m Lee.” One of the reclining ones smiled at me, instantly reminding me of Peter Pan for some reason. Not in some green tights wearing, fairy dust toting way, but his facial features were young and boyish, with bright eyes and constantly upturned lips.

I smiled back at him, making mental notes so I would be able to remember all of these names later. I knew it wouldn’t really be a big issue, but I didn’t want to embarrass myself later.

“And this silent bloke is Matt, again.” Loud Matt introduced, as the ‘silent Matt’ was glued to the television.

“Keane.” He said, still not even meeting my eyes.

I shrugged, and leaned up against the wall parallel to the wall Curtis was leaning on. “Where’s Oliver?” I tried to ask, as passively as possible. If all of these band mates had heard of me, I’m sure it was only because my name had gone through the gossip mill a few times, Oliver probably giving them all kinds of stories.

“Shower.” Curtis smiled at me, his eyes glancing over to the bathroom door. Just over the television noises, I could hear the faint sound of water running. “He just woke up about 20 minutes ago, but he was hoping he could be out of there before you came.”

“Oh, well I thought I took my time actually…” I mused, my neck becoming hot again and my ears probably turning a noticeable red color.

“No worries.” He smiled again, which was strangely comforting. He then turned back to the television.

I followed his eyes and began watching the program, which actually turned out to be some shark documentary on the Discovery Channel. All of the boys seemed so into it, watching these majestic animals use all of their power and strength to create massive carnage in the water, the normally navy waters turned tinged with blood after the feeding frenzies.

“I was always more of a fan of hammerheads,” Lee said, his eyes still transfixed on the Great Whites tearing apart some unlucky seal. “They look cooler.” He shrugged and let a tiny smile escape his lips.

“They do not, they look like God fucked up when making them or something.” Matt howled, throwing some random dirty sock on Lee, taking his eyes off the television long enough to aim the sock perfectly at Lee’s face. From the corner of my eye, I could see Curtis roll his eyes, but still laugh as his friends threw the sock back and forth at each other, instigating some kind of mini-fight.

As I watched alongside him with mild interest, I heard the water shut off inside the bathroom, and the sound of two feet smack against the cheap linoleum.
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Sorry it took so long, writers block and a mix of exhaustion/laziness are never good.

Enjoy :)