Just Keep Your Head Above

I awoke peacefully, a lazy grin etched onto my face. Letting out a long, contented sigh, I stretched my arms over my head. As I relaxed back into the pillows, I noted the rays of light streaming through my shutters and dancing across the wood floors of my apartment.

This was the first day in three weeks I had woken up after the sunrise. It was a Saturday, and I had no plans. No homework, no meetings, no errands, no nude men to deal with, nothing. I was free and clear to do whatever the hell I wanted for the rest of the day. And doing “whatever the hell I wanted” consisted mostly of seeing how long I could revel in the comfort of my bed before I got hungry enough to move.

So there I lay, resting comfortably between a mound of pillows and blankets, when I felt a stir beside me.

Now, in the event of an emergency, when the body comes to the instinctual crossroads of: fight or flight? My automatic response is always, without fail: freeze where you are and hope you can get your newly soiled pants clean with some Tide.

So instead of screaming, or—say—turning around and smacking the intruder across the face, I proceeded to do my best corpse imitation, and ceased all movement. Suddenly, I was drenched with cold sweat and claustrophobic, buried beneath the heap of bedsheets.

The prowler’s arm wrapped itself around my waist snugly, and he/she/it hummed contentedly against me, warm breath fanning itself across my neck.

I recognized that hum.

Oh, hell no.

“Jack Bassam Barakat!” I hissed, sitting up abruptly, “Get your fat ass off of me!”

The 17 year old boy awoke with a start, looking at me perplexedly, like he couldn’t figure out who I was or how I’d gotten there. “Piper?” he asked, mind addled.

“Yes, hi, hello. How are you? How’s your life? How are things? What the fuck are you doing in my bed?” I interrogated, examining the questionable state of his hygiene irritably.

“Your –“ I watched him stumble over his words as he attempted to process the information I was giving him while slowly reviving from his dreamy state. Finally, my words clicked. “Your bed?!” He screamed, yanking the covers off to determine whether or not he was clothed.

When he had managed to assure himself that he had not, in fact, slept with me, he breathed sigh of relief and immediately flopped back down onto the pillow to return to his peaceful slumber. Within moments, he was snoring softly next to me.

That was Jack for ya. Zero to screaming and back in less than a second. He had kind of filled the “class clown” quota for the band he was currently in, All Time Low. Fans loved his spunk and wild personality, as did I, but sometimes he hit the booze a little too hard. And when Jack was inebriated, god only knew where he’d end up the next morning. One time, we found him in front of a tea leaf reading shop, three towns over, wrapped around a lamp post, wearing nothing but a tutu and some long-johns.

I was incredibly agitated, because:
1) He was a disheveled mess.
2) He reeked of booze.
3) He had ruined my peaceful morning.
4) He had ruined my peaceful morning.

So, in an impeccable show of tact and empathy, I unceremoniously shoved him off the bed and onto the cold, hard wood floor below.

He groaned, holding his ass in pain. “Piperrrrr,” he whined, pouting, “what the fucking hell?”

“You promised me you’d lay off the booze, Jack.” I responded, unaffected by the sullen look I was receiving.

His eyes cased my expression for any signs of compassion. No such luck. I remained stoic. “Bagpipessss,” he whimpered, attempting to regain my sympathy by using his pet name for me, “It was one time. All the guys went out after the show to celebrate, and I was just having fun. No biggie.”

I rolled my eyes, unmoved. Jack’s normal gangly clumsiness increased tenfold when he was intoxicated. And because of his uncanny knack for being at the exact wrong place at the exact wrong time, I was convinced that one of these days, he was going to seriously injure himself on one of his drunken escapades.

Jack must’ve understood that his words were the shovel with which he was digging a very, very deep hole. He shut his mouth, instead opting to hold out his arms as a peace offering, smiling sheepishly. I looked at him, incredulous. Then I shook my head and turned away, lying down once again.

I expected him to start whining again. Instead, I was met with silence. Curious, I turned back around to see if he had left, only to find him perched at the foot of my bed, devious smirk plastered across his goofy face.

“Don’t you dare.” I threatened, aware of what he was planning on doing.

He didn’t even bother responding. In one sudden, uncoordinated movement, he jumped and perched himself above me on all fours.

“Say you forgive me.” He replied.

A grin broke out across my face. No matter how much I wanted to, it was absolutely impossible to stay mad at Jack. “Never.”

“You asked for it!” He yelled, as he began to tickle me mercilessly.

I squirmed, managing to choke out a quick, “Jackie, stop!” between giggles.

“Say it!” He cried, as he continued his assault.

I was flailing wildly, begging him to stop, when the door opened.

“Hey, Colins, I know it’s your day off and all, but this is like, borderline comatose—“Alex stopped, mid-ramble, as he caught wind of the scene unwinding before him.

I immediately ceased giggling, and Jack dropped his hands, an inexplicable guilty look etched onto his face as he looked at Alex, almost—apologetically?

I didn’t have time to fully process Jack’s expression, because as soon as I glanced back at our intruder, I realized Alex’s mood had also taken a sharp nose dive. In the process of about two seconds, both boys had become involved in some silent battle, communicating not through words, but exclusively through their eyes: Jack’s conciliatory and regretful, and Alex’s icy and agitated.

What the fuck is going on here?

Finally, it was Alex who pulled out the white flag. “Well,” he said in a cold voice so unlike him that it was disconcerting, “I guess I leave you two to it.”

He shut the door forcefully, and I heard his angry footsteps stomp down the stairs.

I looked at Jack, perplexed. “Mind telling me what the fuck that was?”

He looked undecided for a minute, as if he had hit a fork in the road and was deliberating what path to take. Finally, he looked up nonchalantly, meeting my eyes with an ingenuous smile. “It’s nothing. Alex is just on his man-period. I’ll go take care of him.”

And with that, he was running, a mess of hair and limbs flying across my floor. When he got to the door, he turned, blew me a kiss, and in a flash, was gone.

Boys are so fucking weird.

I shrugged, and rolled out of bed, too wired from the aforementioned weirdness to even think about any form of relaxation. After showering quickly, brushing my teeth, and throwing on a fresh pair of jeans and tee, I headed down to the store.

“Morning Sunshine!” called Carter, munching on a doughnut behind the counter. Since his “exposure” the prior week, he had been practically living at the store. Although we hadn’t managed to unearth his mysterious past, we had learned a lot about him: he was an excellent bassist, possibly the best I’d ever seen, he was an avid Sudoku player, he knew every line to every Disney movie ever created (Literally. I am not exaggerating. Every. Line.), and he loved, loved, loved Telonovelas, even though he didn’t speak a word of Spanish.

He was quirky, easy to talk to, and had a fantastic sense of humor. In the short amount of time we’d known one another, we’d managed to become practically inseparable. I could easily picture him becoming one of my best friends.

“Cheerio, chum!” I replied, walking behind the counter and taking a seat at a stool.

“I thought you were sleeping in today?”

“I was. But I was interrupted by an, ahem—unexpected—guest.”

“Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans…” He replied, shrugging.

“No, I don’t think I do. Please, enlighten me.”

“… often, they are led astray by inebriated Lebanese boys.”

I snapped my fingers and shook my head. “Damn. If I had only known that, I might have been spared the disappointment.”

He smiled, handing me a doughnut. “Probably. Say, you wouldn’t happen to know the reason behind the dark thundercloud of fury hanging over Gaskarth’s head, would you?”

I finished the chunk of breakfast I had been chewing on. “Jack said PMS. I’ll grab him some Midol. He’ll be fine. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“It wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the fact that he found you and Jack in the same bed, would it?”

I examined every sprinkle atop the doughnut, as if trying to memorize each and every color in its sugary rainbow. “No,” I replied, flushed, “what would that have had to do with anything?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the jingle of the door opening.

I turned to see my best friend, Oliver Hewes, stumbling through the door. She was skinny and tall, with long red hair and piercing blue eyes, underlined by a smattering of freckles. She was lanky and long-limbed, and she moved by tripping, not walking. Even after a lifetime of living with herself, she still seemed unsure and awkward in her movements, like a preteen after an exceptionally quick growth spurt.

I could see Carter watching her intently, eyes trailing over her bumbling figure, lips curved into an admiring smile. He had met Ollie just days after “the incident”, and had been secretly infatuated with her since. He had been watching her longingly for days now, shooting her sidelong glances and flirtatious smiles. She was, of course, oblivious. She offered us each a toothy grin and a cheeky wave before turning and heading for the back lounge to put her things away.

Carter turned back to me, a small smile still adorning his face. “Anyways, as I was saying: you and Gaskarth have obviously got some—“

“—pent up sexual frustration for one another.” called Ollie from the back.

I turned scarlet. “Nonsense. Alex and I aren’t even friends. At all. In fact, I have to physically restrain myself from—“

“—jumping his bones daily?” cut in Carter, shooting a wink at Ollie, who had returned and taken a seat next to him.

“—killing him daily.” I concluded, glaring at the now snickering pair.

“Oh, come on. I see how you two look at each other when you think nobody’s watching.” Ollie argued between giggles.

Gritting my teeth, I stood. This was getting to be too much for me.“Yeah, like we hate each other with the passion of a thousand burning suns. Because we do. Hate each other, that is. He is the bane of my existence. Literally. He makes my life hell. You know that better than anyone, Olls.”

Carter shook his head, sharing a knowing smile with Ollie. My blood boiled.

Calm down, Piper. I chastised myself silently. They weren’t intentionally trying to get a rise out of me, I knew. Regardless, I was seeing red. I needed to regain my composure, or this wasn’t going to end well.

“Okay, well, I’m going to go in the back,” I said tersely, “and see if I can help with a lesson or something. In the mean time, you guys can begin an enthralling conversation about anything not related to my personal life, or lack thereof.”

I turned on my heel and stalked down the back corridor, looking for a distraction to sedate me. I didn’t understand why this was bothering me so much. It wasn’t like people hadn’t done this before. Everyone always assumed that Alex and I’s unstifled, uninhibited hatred of one another was just a way for us to cope with some sort of mutual, carnal attraction. They were wrong. I couldn’t quite pin-point the reason I disliked Alex as much as I did, but I was absolutely certain it had nothing to do with repressed chemistry. Frankly, I was quite tired of the insinuations. And Team Ollie&Carter was the final straw. I was fuming, and I needed an outlet, a stress ball, so to speak.

Instead of watching one of the lessons going on in the back rooms, as I had originally planned, I ended up sitting in a room alone, strumming some chords on an abandoned acoustic guitar I had found in the corner, next to some bongos.

I had hoped playing would release the pent up fury inside of me. No such luck. I sat, picking angrily at the chords, still contemplating what it was about Gaskarth and I’s relationship that seemed to scream, “Sexual tension: up ahead” to the world, when a girl walked into the room.

She couldn’t have been taller than 5 feet. She had a halo of short black curls framing her face, and big, chocolate -brown eyes. Her olive skin glowed against the light blue tank top she was sporting . I had never seen her before, but her presence comforted me instantly. She shot me a small, but warm smile, and took a seat next to the bongos. She gestured for me to keep playing, and without a second thought, I did. Slowly, and ever-so-quietly, she began to lightly drum her fingers across the surface of the bongos. Gradually, she added a light, even tapping, creating a steady rhythm to back my fingers’ ambiguous movements across the fret board.

Eventually, the simple musical pattern transformed into an intricate melody. My haphazard strumming and picking became more precise, and her soft beating became fuller and more deliberate. What had started as two instruments being played simultaneously became a harmonic duet. In that moment, I wasn’t worried about my friends or Alex or the store or anything, for that matter. I had entered the inbetween space, the place you only got the privilege to penetrate when you connected with somebody musically. We were suspended in time; the outside world had vanished. The only thing that mattered was the music we were creating, together. My brow furrowed in concentration and I heard her breath quicken as she focused intently.

With one, final, quiet strum; we floated back down to earth.

“Mara.” She said after a moment, her voice feather-soft. She stuck her hand out, “Mara Finner.”

I shook her hand, grinning blissfully. I had come looking for a distraction, and a distraction is what I had gotten. I had completely forgotten why I had been so angry in the first place. Everything that had happened before seemed minute and obsolete, a thing of the distant past. My body had relaxed noticeably, my fingers were plucking lazily at the strings under my hand. A new sensation was washing over me, something I had never experienced before. Nothing had ever felt so amazingly, indescribably right in my whole life. I knew then, that this was not something random, fleeting, juvenile; it was the beginning of something big.

I could feel it.