After an awkward silence among the three of us—the only sound being the thudding of footsteps on the pavement, we finally walk into the hazy establishment. It’s exactly what I pictured in my head. A little hole in the wall pub. Stools line the bar, an old jukebox sits in the far corner next to a couple of pool tables, and booths line the opposite wall. The center of the room is filled with tables, and there is an open space in front of a stage, likely a dance floor.
“Does he work here? At the bar?” I question. It doesn’t seem likely that a high school student would be serving alcohol. Then again, what do I know.
“Yeah, Knox has been washing dishes here since last summer. Nice boy.”
“He sure is,” I agree, again.
I’m not usually so passive, but I’m not given much choice. If I start voicing my opinion around here, I’ll be forced to skip town next week. If anyone really knew the thoughts in my head and how much I despise things like small talk and pity, I wouldn’t stand a chance here.
The cards I’ve been dealt have made me a bitter and angry person. The thing is, I have no one to blame but myself. That’s the most painful part of all. I’m my own worst enemy. Aren’t we all?
I purse my lips together, as I fight back the urge to just breakdown. The depression looming over me, almost sucks the air right out of my lungs. Loneliness in a room full of people. Kind people at that. Ones who try to befriend me and have invited me to come here with them for weeks. I’ve always made some lame excuse. It’s not the fact that I am probably the youngest of the staff at Redwood High. Or even that I am just a long-term substitute. It’s my fear that if I get too comfortable, I’ll endure the pain of having to pull my roots up and leave. It’s also my inability to socialize. It’s my fear that every time I hear the sound of a door opening, I jump. It’s also because I feel as if I’m living a lie, and if I take down my walls, if I let people in, we will all burn. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next year—but someday, he will find me. I just haven’t decided yet if I’d rather end my life or die a thousand times as his prisoner.
I follow Zeke over to a few of the staff members. Kari, the senior English teacher, is seated between a man I don’t know and the PE teacher, Matt Wright.
Matt waves us down. “Claire. You made it. Go ahead and take a seat, first drinks on me.”
“I found Claire, here, at the door.” Zeke hooks his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in, as if we’re old friends. “She took a stroll with me to my car.” He holds up his phone, pleased with himself. “Found it, right where I left it.”
Suddenly, feeling intensely uncomfortable, as all eyes are on us, I can’t help but wonder what thoughts are going through their minds. Do they think that Zeke and I have something going?
The bartender makes her way over, and I could hug her for her perfect timing. “I’ll have a glass of Dom Perignon, please,” I blurt, without even thinking. It's a habit. It’s my favorite. And, it’s far too expensive for a substitute art teacher to be ordering.
“Aha,” Matt points his finger at me with a chuckle, “good one.”
I giggle, nervously, in return. He thinks it was a joke. “Kidding. He said he was buying, so I had to get his heartrate up there a little bit.”
“My morning job and a school full of teenagers did that enough today.” He tips back his bottled beer.
“I’ll just have a glass of your cheapest champagne.” I take a deep breath, and on the slow exhale, the large wooden door creaks open. I turn my head instantly, my pulse remaining at a surprisingly normal rate.
Closing with a thud, Axel Thorn walks in with his crew behind him. Hearing the drawn out sighs from the company beside me, I assume that they have just as many daily encounters with this boy as I do. Mine, being more on the intimidated side versus the authoritative.
“Hey,” his voice is buoyant, yet sarcastic at the same time. “If it isn’t the selfless souls who teach me about pertinent information for a living.”
There it is. This boy is a spitfire. He just has to use words he probably doesn’t even know to make himself feel superior.
All four of them fill the empty seats beside us, and just my luck, their leader has to be right next to me. The bartender returns with my drink and sets it down on a white square napkin. I thank her, although she acts as if she didn’t hear me. Her eyes are zeroed in on the newcomers.
“Axel, you know you can’t sit at the bar. I don’t know how many times we’ve been over this. Kip and Luke, yes. You two,” she points to Axel and Bryant. “You two have to sit at a table.”
Like a hyena, he starts laughing hysterically, then his hand lands on the bar, startling me. Not in an angry way, but in a way to get the attention of everyone sitting here. Even Knox has come out of the kitchen at this point. “Honey, I don’t know how many times I’ve had to tell you, this is my bar, and I can sit wherever I want.”
His bar? Is this kid on drugs? Now that I think about it, it’s very possible. Maybe that’s why he is always so happy and angry at the same time, walking around like he owns everyone and everything in this town. Like we all owe him some sort of bow when he walks into a room.
Zeke stands, as his stool slides behind him in a swift motion. “Son, just do as you're told. You can’t sit up here until you’re eighteen. She doesn't make the rules.” He walks over and places a hand on his shoulder, and Axel senses his need to make him obey.
“I’m not your son, get your hands off me.” He nudges his shoulder until Zeke’s hand falls freely. “I’m not sure if you’ve all forgotten, but my dad owns this place, just like every other establishment in this town. Hell, he pretty much owns every single one of you.” He turns his head, and his eyes meet mine. A sour feeling pools in the pit of my stomach. “Except for you,” he swipes his thumb under my chin with a devious smirk, “not yet, anyways.”
Disgust. That’s what I feel. This kid is disgusting to think that he can use the power of his parents and their money to manipulate people. I’ve known far too many people with his same repulsive attitude.
I turn my head away from him swiftly, killing the idea in his head that he will ever have any power over me. Although, I’ve probably already given it to him with my submissiveness towards him in class. He knows my weakness, and he uses it to his advantage, just like Malcolm does.
I take a sip of my much-too-bitter champagne and rub my lips together.
At this point, Zeke pulls Axel away to the center of the pub and is gritting his teeth, while speaking to him in a demeaning voice. The others just sit there quietly, as their leader is getting a lecture on respect and laws. I just ignore it. I didn’t come to this town for drama. I’ve managed to stay away from it up until this point. Now, I imagine everyone will be talking about Axel’s anger and daddy issues—whatever his problems are, and I’ll have to sit back and listen to the gossip.
This is why I avoid people. This is why I have no friends, no life.
I snap out of my slumber and realize that I’ve shredded the white napkin in front of me like a bored child. Dampened pieces lie in a pile beneath my fingertips. I look up abruptly to see if anyone has noticed, but they’re all engaged in their own conversations. Except for one person. Knox Burton is standing at the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, as he leans against the doorframe, watching me. He doesn’t roll his eyes or turn away. His eyes just bore into mine, as his mouth slowly curls upward. The sourness in my stomach dissipates, and it’s suddenly filled with a new feeling, a giddiness. I break the gaze and take another sip of my champagne, licking a drop of the bitter liquid from my bottom lip. I look back, and he’s still there. Instead of looking away, I surprise myself.