Laced Steel - M.J. Fields Page 0,3
hallowed halls of Seashore Academy makes my blood boil.
I need to get over it. The rest of my crew is doing just fine here. Not one of them miss attending our private Catholic school, and even though I despised it and the nasty nuns who taught us, I’m not sure that I like this hell hole much better.
So, here I sit, being bitter, while there’s a party going on around me, with people laughing, drinking, and having fun around the blazing fire, like a butt-puckered, pouting asshole.
Fuck this, I think as I push myself up off the blanket that I’m sitting on.
Brisa looks back at me and smiles. “You gonna drink?”
Wiping the sand off my hands as I walk toward her, I shake my head. “Promised I’d stay sober.”
“It’s actually Justice’s turn.”
She’s right; we do have a rotation, and it is his turn, but he’s not here.
“He left with Tags and Bella after the show.”
“First, I’m stoked your dad and mom let him go with them. Second, it’s not like I can’t drive.”
“Well, legally, you can’t.” I shake my head.
“And legally, you can’t drink, but whatevs. It’s a mile away.”
I pull my phone from my Forever Steel hoodie to check the time and see notifications from The Sound.
Brisa jacks my phone from me. “Nope, not tonight. Say it with me.”
“Say what?” I ask, a bit annoyed.
“Fuck them.”
I roll my eyes.
“Come on; say it with me. Fuck. Them.”
“Just pisses me off, you know. Who the fuck do they think they are, talking shit about Kiki and …” I stop.
She finishes for me, “And you.”
“Yeah, and me,” I huff as I kick some sand.
“You gotta find the good in all this and focus on it. Do you think it doesn’t piss me off?”
“Gotta be honest, Brisa, you haven’t been targeted, so—”
“I haven’t allowed them to target me. And I gotta be honest with you, I may be a little offended that you think them targeting you and Kiki doesn’t make me want to cunt punch a bitch, because it does. But”—she holds up my phone—“I ignore this shit. And if I didn’t think you’d get in trouble, or Uncle Cyrus would show up because he tracks your ass on this thing, I’d chuck this in the Atlantic right now.”
I shake my head and try my best not to smile at her. “When did you start becoming a badass?”
She grins. “When I saw that you stepped up when Kiki was down. I’m just following suit.”
I nod and smile at her. “Gotcha.”
“Now, come on and have a drink. We’re celebrating finally being done with that bullshit show.”
“You did great, Brisa,” I say as I follow her toward the cooler.
“Learned from the best. Been watching you dance all my life.” She opens the cooler and grabs a beer.
I shake my head. “Gross.”
“How about a White Claw?”
“Fine, but just one.”
Brisa paws through the cooler, asking, “Black cherry, raspberry, lime, mango, or—”
“Hit me with a mango.”
She tosses one to me, and I snap the tab and hold up the can. “Fuck them.”
Four mango Claws down, and I’m actually enjoying myself; somewhat because of the slight buzz, partly due to the fact that Brisa has yet to give me back my phone, which is clearly a trigger for my foul mood, and partially because we’ve been dancing.
It’s been a while since I let go, got lost in the music, the beat, and not worried about who saw me—judged me. Even on stage, I held back. It’s been that way for about a year now. The only time I haven’t had to hold back is around my family and crew. This is definitely the first time I’ve had fun with anyone at Seashore. Hell, I never even had fun at rehearsals for all those seemingly wasted months.
With Gabrielle and her crew running the show, and being completely on edge at choreography rehearsals, never knowing when the assistant choreographer, one Harrison Reeves, would show up and sit in the auditorium, tapping out notes on his phone that he’d message to the actual choreographer before leaving abruptly, never staying to give us the notes himself.
To think, I had a crush on him due to his bio and good looks. Okay, I still do a ’lil bit, but there’s no way in hell I’m acting on it.
There’s a big difference in confidence and arrogance, and it is all too clear that he’s the latter.
“Get out of your head, T. Steel.” Brisa nudges me with her hip. “Let’s dance!”
I look around and notice