Status: Active. (Based on the novel by Laurie Halse Anderson.)
Twisted
One
I spent the last Friday of summer vacation spreading hot, sticky tar across the roof of Centennial High School. My companions were Dopey, Toothless, and Joe, the brain surgeons in charge of building maintenance. At least they were getting paid. I was the only girl here, working forty feet above the ground, breathing in sulfer fumes from Satan's vomitorium, for free.
Character building, my father said.
Mandatory community service, the judge said. Court-ordered restitution for the Foul Deed. He nailed me with the bill for the damage I had done, which meant I had to sell my car and bust my ass at a landscaping company all summer. Oh, and he gave me six months of meetings with a probation officer who thought I was a waste of human flesh.
Still, it was better than jail.
I pushed the mop back and forth, trying to coat the seams evenly. We didn't want any rain getting into the building and destroying the classrooms. Didn't want to hurt the school. No sir, we didn't.
---
Joe wandered over, looked at my work, and grunted.
"We done yet?" asked Dopey. "Thunderstorms rolling in soon. Heavy weather."
I looked up. There was not a single cloud in the sky.
Joe nodded slowly, studying the roof. "Yeah, we're done." He turned off the motor on the tar kettle. "Last day for Elise here. Bet you're glad to be quit of us, huh, kid?"
"Nah," I lied. "You guys have been great."
Dopey chuckled. "Don't worry. If the sewer pipes back up again, we'll get you out of class."
There had been a few advantages to working with these guys. They taught me how to steal soda out of the vending machines. I snagged a couple of keys when they weren't looking. Best of all, the hard labor had turned me from Chubby Chipmunk Girl into Elise the Taskmaster, with toned muscles, flat stomach, and more than enough energy to power a nuclear generator.
All I had to do now was lose the glasses.
"Hey, get a load of this!" Toothless shouted.
We picked our way around the fresh tar patches and looked where he was pointing, four stories down. I stayed away from the edge; I wasn't so good at heights. But then I saw them: fallen angels with long hair in their faces, gathered in an open garage at one of the houses across the street.
One of the city's local metal bands. Warrior.
Wearing tank tops and khaki shorts.
Wearing sweaty tank tops and sweaty khaki shorts.
I inched closer. It was a band practice, with amps and instruments scattered everywhere all the way out to the driveway, plugged in to every outlet and cord they could find. Muscled, long-haired guys were headbanging, playing, shredding, drumming, picking, and singing. They were practicing the songs from the EP they'd just released. And smiling their perfect metalhead boy white teeth smiles. Did I mention that?
Take me now, lord.
Then, they fired up their cover version of Volbeat's "A Warrior's Call". They played and picked and shredded and sang again. Then, a god among men rose up from the back of the group. Sean Caine.
He had the oh-so precious microphone held in his hand. He had that signature smirk on his face that could rival Alice Cooper's. Or Jim Morrison's. Hell, even Ronnie James Dio. As he sang, the sun reflected and flashed off his teeth.
My tongue almost fell out of my mouth and nearly sizzled on the hot roof. I took my glasses off, rubbed them on a corner of my shirt, and put them back on. I adjusted my belt that was starting to fall off my skinny jeans.
Sean sauntered around the garage and the driveway, singing the words with his velvet voice.
Sean Caine pushes me against the back of the tallest amp in the garage, a 5000X Watt Line 6. "These amps can get really loud, you know." he whispers, musician's fingers wrapped around my waist, one tangled in my hair.
"Oh, I bet I can be much louder." I say.
"God, you don't know how long I've waited for you, Elise..." His head tilts, his lips open.
I am so ready for this.
He grabs my arm and snarls, "Be careful, dummy. You'll break your neck."
No, wait. I blinked. I was on a hot tar roof with three smelly grown men. Joe was gripping my arm, yanking me back from the edge.
"I said, be careful, dummy. That first step is a doozy."
A greyish-silver 2005 Buick LeSabre rolled into the school parking lot. It came to a complete stop. Left blinker flashing, it turned and parked in front of the building. A man in a blue shirt, tan pants, and white tie got out of the driver's seat. Stood next to the car. Looked up at me and tapped the face of his watch once, twice, three times. I had inconvenienced him again.
Dopey, Toothless, and Joe crawled out of sight. They had seen my father detonate before.
Character building, my father said.
Mandatory community service, the judge said. Court-ordered restitution for the Foul Deed. He nailed me with the bill for the damage I had done, which meant I had to sell my car and bust my ass at a landscaping company all summer. Oh, and he gave me six months of meetings with a probation officer who thought I was a waste of human flesh.
Still, it was better than jail.
I pushed the mop back and forth, trying to coat the seams evenly. We didn't want any rain getting into the building and destroying the classrooms. Didn't want to hurt the school. No sir, we didn't.
---
Joe wandered over, looked at my work, and grunted.
"We done yet?" asked Dopey. "Thunderstorms rolling in soon. Heavy weather."
I looked up. There was not a single cloud in the sky.
Joe nodded slowly, studying the roof. "Yeah, we're done." He turned off the motor on the tar kettle. "Last day for Elise here. Bet you're glad to be quit of us, huh, kid?"
"Nah," I lied. "You guys have been great."
Dopey chuckled. "Don't worry. If the sewer pipes back up again, we'll get you out of class."
There had been a few advantages to working with these guys. They taught me how to steal soda out of the vending machines. I snagged a couple of keys when they weren't looking. Best of all, the hard labor had turned me from Chubby Chipmunk Girl into Elise the Taskmaster, with toned muscles, flat stomach, and more than enough energy to power a nuclear generator.
All I had to do now was lose the glasses.
"Hey, get a load of this!" Toothless shouted.
We picked our way around the fresh tar patches and looked where he was pointing, four stories down. I stayed away from the edge; I wasn't so good at heights. But then I saw them: fallen angels with long hair in their faces, gathered in an open garage at one of the houses across the street.
One of the city's local metal bands. Warrior.
Wearing tank tops and khaki shorts.
Wearing sweaty tank tops and sweaty khaki shorts.
I inched closer. It was a band practice, with amps and instruments scattered everywhere all the way out to the driveway, plugged in to every outlet and cord they could find. Muscled, long-haired guys were headbanging, playing, shredding, drumming, picking, and singing. They were practicing the songs from the EP they'd just released. And smiling their perfect metalhead boy white teeth smiles. Did I mention that?
Take me now, lord.
Then, they fired up their cover version of Volbeat's "A Warrior's Call". They played and picked and shredded and sang again. Then, a god among men rose up from the back of the group. Sean Caine.
He had the oh-so precious microphone held in his hand. He had that signature smirk on his face that could rival Alice Cooper's. Or Jim Morrison's. Hell, even Ronnie James Dio. As he sang, the sun reflected and flashed off his teeth.
My tongue almost fell out of my mouth and nearly sizzled on the hot roof. I took my glasses off, rubbed them on a corner of my shirt, and put them back on. I adjusted my belt that was starting to fall off my skinny jeans.
Sean sauntered around the garage and the driveway, singing the words with his velvet voice.
Sean Caine pushes me against the back of the tallest amp in the garage, a 5000X Watt Line 6. "These amps can get really loud, you know." he whispers, musician's fingers wrapped around my waist, one tangled in my hair.
"Oh, I bet I can be much louder." I say.
"God, you don't know how long I've waited for you, Elise..." His head tilts, his lips open.
I am so ready for this.
He grabs my arm and snarls, "Be careful, dummy. You'll break your neck."
No, wait. I blinked. I was on a hot tar roof with three smelly grown men. Joe was gripping my arm, yanking me back from the edge.
"I said, be careful, dummy. That first step is a doozy."
A greyish-silver 2005 Buick LeSabre rolled into the school parking lot. It came to a complete stop. Left blinker flashing, it turned and parked in front of the building. A man in a blue shirt, tan pants, and white tie got out of the driver's seat. Stood next to the car. Looked up at me and tapped the face of his watch once, twice, three times. I had inconvenienced him again.
Dopey, Toothless, and Joe crawled out of sight. They had seen my father detonate before.
♠ ♠ ♠
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