Today is the day. Lark’s determination was enhanced by the siren voice singing in her ears. Before she could change her mind, she clutched the vinyl tighter and strode to the counter, swaying her hips side to side, something she normally didn’t do.
When Lark reached the checkout, she placed the vinyl on the purple-and-black checkered counter and tugged down her headphones. She tried to both make eye contact with Auden and avoid it—her eyes probably looked like a silver ball in a pinball machine going haywire.
Auden wore a blue jean vest over a David Bowie T-shirt and tight black jeans. A silver earring dangled from his left ear with the same color stud right next to it, doubling the sexiness.
His hazel eyes met Lark’s. With an almost robotic tone, he gave her the price of the record, and she handed him the twenty-dollar bill. He handed her $3.98 back, and Lark felt like an idiot with nowhere to slide the change into. I need damn pockets on this stupid leotard.
“You don’t have quarters?” she asked, staring at her handful of dimes and pennies.
“Sorry, fresh out,” he said with a soft click of his tongue. “Bag?”
Lark’s gaze dropped to the counter. Siouxsie’s image on the album cover stared back at her with those distinct dark eyes of hers. “Sure.”
Auden’s gaze moved slowly down her body as his fingers played with his bottom lip, his expression unreadable. “Costume party?”
“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows lowered in confusion.
He flicked his index finger up and down, indicating her outfit. “You going to a costume party today?”
Lark narrowed her eyes. “In June?” A hint of embarrassment was there, but she didn’t show it.
“Yeah?” He shrugged a shoulder and placed his hands flat on the counter.
“Is that a question?” She tried to avoid staring at how nice his hands looked because she was annoyed that nothing was going how she’d imagined it would’ve.
“Just wondering what’s going on with the leotard.” Smirking, Auden handed her the bag.
“Sorry, I gotta get back to work.” She yanked the bag from his hand, tossed the change in, pulled up her headphones, and left the store.
Outside Music Revelations, she let out a defeated breath, running her hands down her face in irritation. She never really went out of her comfort zone, and she should’ve kept it that way, all while listening to her cassettes somewhere else. Now, she only had one reason to go next door on Wednesdays—music.
As she turned, her body jerked when she noticed the creep with the pork pie hat was back. He hadn’t been there when she’d gone into buy the record.
Something sounded over the music of her headphones. She wrinkled her forehead and pulled the headphones down—a melody floated through the air from somewhere behind her. Familiar, too familiar. “Space Oddity” played in the distance… on a flute? David Bowie’s song was not a fearful one, but something about the way the music seeped all the way to her bones had her captivated and jittery at the same time. Something didn’t feel right about it…
Lark froze. The man’s head was turned toward her as if he was gazing at her from underneath the mask. A chill ran up the length of her spine.
“Hey!” she called, wishing she’d brought her knife with her.
He pushed off the wall as if he’d been waiting for her, lifted the bulky rectangular object into his arms, and strode toward her. The music continued, the flute’s pulses growing fiercer, harder. No one else was outside.
Instead of stopping in front of her like she expected, he brushed past her, dangerously close, and kept walking toward the music.
Sucking in a sharp breath, she hurried to the door at Bubble’s and gave one last glance over her shoulder toward the man. But he was already gone. Had he taken off running? In the distance, an almost-silvery aura flickered—a strange glare of the sun?—and faded at the same time the note to “Space Oddity” ended.
She tore open the door and rushed to the back of the store.
Lark placed the bag on the counter next to the cardboard box, where she found Imani’s head almost fully submerged as she sifted through the contents.
“Did you see a guy over at the laundromat dressed all in black, wearing a trench coat and a pork pie hat when you came into work?”
“No?” Imani slowly rose from the box, then tilted her head as if in thought. “I think I would’ve remembered someone besides you wearing a jacket in the middle of June.”
“What about a flute playing music outside?” Lark’s voice sounded almost desperate.
“I can’t hear anything over the radio in here.” A slow song from the 1960s played through the store. Lark dropped her shoulders, letting the tension diffuse.
“Oh.” Lark threw on her jacket, wanting to just forget about the guy. It wasn’t as though she’d been attacked. She changed the subject and asked, “Going fishing in that box?”
Imani lifted her hands in the air like she was holding a fishing rod, winding up the string and yanking it back. Then she studied Lark’s face. “Trying.” Her hands suddenly dropped, and her eyebrow arched. “What happened next door?”
Lark clenched the front of her jacket and pulled it tighter. “We had a semi-conversation, and he asked me if I was going to a costume party.”
Imani scanned Lark up and down. “I can see why he’d ask that. You do normally dress differently—long baggy skirts, black pants, bulky sweaters, heavy jacket. There’s a consistency in the things you wear.”
“Well, screw this situation,” Lark grumbled.
Imani knowingly grinned. “No back seat time again?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Things may not have gone as planned, but let’s be rational here. I’d have to think about it.” Lark laughed. Imani knew about her crush but not the story behind it. That was Lark’s hidden jewel that she kept for herself.
Lark had been sitting in front of Auden for the entire year, trying hard not to turn around to catch a glimpse of what band shirt he was wearing each morning. Auden had passed up his paper for her to grade during math class.
That day, his homework had the usual doodle on it—a skeleton. Sometimes they’d been punk rockers, horned creatures, or gloomy trees—he was genius. Something had stirred in her as she stared at the skeleton—it was missing something. With her red pen, she drew a speech balloon and wrote Kate Bush song lyrics inside, as if the skeleton was singing them. She didn’t think Auden would say anything or even notice. But he had. The next day, instead of a doodle, there’d been a song lyric from Queen where his new drawing should’ve been, written just for her. The only thing left to do had been to write him a lyric in return.
Months of writing song lyrics back and forth had led to a simple game of spin the bottle. That, in turn, had ended in the back of Auden’s van where he sure as hell hadn’t acted with the same aloofness she’d just witnessed in the store.
“On to more important matters,” Imani said, interrupting Lark’s thoughts. “Look at what I found.” She pulled out a headless Elvis statue wearing a sparkly white suit, exposing too much chest. The King’s neck leaned forward, using his head as a microphone, as he belted out his famous tunes.