Excerpt: Fever to Tell

Rich

Sarah tossed her sun kissed hair over her shoulder. “Oh my god, did you see that?” she asked, pitching her voice high. The car swerved, but still kept between the two yellow lines, then straightened itself again. Cassidy reached up from the gap between the front seats and the volume on the radio. The music blared, and the car windows shook.
“Oh, gawd, I know!” Stephanie, beside her, agreed. She had the visor flipped down, and was outlining her lips in a thick line of cherry red lipstick. “I fucking hate bike riders, it’s like, why don’t you just buy a car?” She smacked her lips together, puckered them into a kiss, and blew the love to herself.
“I know, right?” Sarah agreed. She switched lanes, not bothering with the turn signal. She didn’t need to, right? It’s not like that sort of thing was important, and she turned right, veering her way under the underpass, then up onto the highway.
Traffic was heavy, as it often was at this time of day. People were busy commuting to school or work, and the road was getting busier by the minute. The sun was just coming up over the horizon, and the ribbon of gold over the highway would have been beautiful, had the girls been the types to notice such a thing. Instead they were admiring themselves, in their handheld mirrors, in their reflections in the glass, in the rearview mirror, the side view mirror, the visor.
The heavy bass thumped, and the car shook with the force of the subwoofer tucked in the back trunk. Sarah’s last boyfriend two guys back had been a weekend deejay. He had installed it for her as a birthday present. She had wanted that season’s Juicy handbag and had been pissed at him when he didn’t get it for her. He argued that the subwoofer cost more money, he said, and it was worth more because it wouldn’t go out of season, music was forever, he had said. She had been angry anyway, and they hadn’t had sex last night, though she had really wanted to try the new lube Jennifer had told her about from that party Jennifer’s sister-in-law had thrown for Jennifer’s sister-in-law’s friend’s bachelorette party. Jennifer’s sister-in-law’s friend’s roommate sold sex toys to help pay for her classes. Even though it was against the law to have more than a few dildos or vibrators in your car at one time, she’d drive from house to house teaching sex tips and selling bedroom bliss at parties. Her two busiest times were the week before Valentine’s Day, and May, when all of the college girls were getting married. Sarah hadn’t been able to make it to the party, but alls he heard about for weeks after was how great this lube was, and she had really wanted to try it, especially on her birthday.
She had long sense ran out of the lube, but she still had the subwoofer. She had grown really proud of it, too. She would brag about how she had dated a deejay once, though he wasn’t really as good as she made him out to be. What he really wanted to do was spin in clubs, like Moby, or Melville or what ever that one bald guy’s name was, but there jus weren’t any clubs nearby that wanted that type of music. So he’d play for weddings (did he end up playing for Jennifer’s sister-in-law’s friend’s wedding? Sarah couldn’t remember) or parties up at Greek circle, and spend all of his money on new equipment for venues that didn’t exist, in hopes that a techno following would suddenly explode upon his scene, and because he thought it was cooler, he’d buy music equipment for all of his girlfriends rather than the designer handbags they wanted.
Sarah wasn’t with him long, though he had cried when she broke up with him. The only reason why she even dated him was because he was her brother’s only cute friend, all the rest were too shaggy or wore clothes from discount or thrift stores, and she hated that.
But she really liked his subwoofer, though she’d never admit that to anyone.
“You gotta turn left here,” Jennifer said from the backseat. She was squished between Cassidy and Laura, who were both furiously texting back and forth on their cell phones, despite how close they were in proximity.
“What?” Sarah yelled, snatching a quick glimpse of herself from the mirror. Her mascara was smearing, yuck!
“Turn left here!” Jennifer tried to yell over the heavy music.
Sarah want to switch lanes, but from beside her, Stephanie jerked at the wheel, pushing them back into the center lane.
“No, not this one,” she said. “It’s the next exit. Near the Wendy’s.”
“No, it’s not,” Jennifer insisted. She squeezed herself between the two front seats. The small sedan started to swerve from the movement inside. She pointed across Stephanie’s face and out the window. “It’s that one. I remember when I went with Blake, remember? We laughed about that shady little convenience store on the corner.”
“No, it’s a Wendy’s,” Stephanie insisted again. “Blake is a douche and doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”
“Shut up!” Jennifer whined. She gave Stephanie a little push, and the two girls from the back perked up, sensing tension in the air.
“Both of you shut the fuck up,” Sarah said. She smacked her lips again, pink from her newly applied gloss. “I’m driving and say where the fuck we’re going.”
All eyes turned to her, outlined in blues and greens and for the more daring, purples and reds. Four pairs of massacred eyes, painted and wide from all of the adarol they had all taken the night before so they could stay up studying for their test in geo-sciences today. Sarah tossed her hair again, straightened her back a little more. “I’m driving and I say where we’re going,” she reiterated.
There was a pause. The track on the CD switched, and the car was quiet aside from the buzz of the highway asphalt beneath them. “It’s the next exit,” she said, decisively, then switched lanes, cutting off a green minivan behind them. The angry and frazzled hockey mom, thinking about the lipstick she saw on her husband’s collar when he came home late for dinner the night before, gave them the finger, but the five co-eds didn’t notice.
“Oh my gawd I love this song!” Laura squealed. “Turn it up, turn it up!” Sarah brushed her hand over the knob, and Jennifer slumped back, dejected. Soon they were all singing, shaking their heads in time to the music.
“See, I told you it was a Wendy’s,” Stephanie said, eyeing Jennifer in the back seat through her reflection in the visor’s mirror. Jennifer just rolled her eyes, and took out her cell phone.
They girls settled quietly for a moment. The song changed again, just as they rolled past an old gas station, and right next to it, the liquor store.
“Whee, we’re here!” Cassidy squealed, and they all poured from the sedan like clowns from a tiny car.
They had all been to the liquor store before, but never together, and never legally. But this time it was perfectly legit – one of them had turned 21 that day.
They opened the door. A bell chimed, and the clerk looked up. It was barely morning, and he was just about to get off this shift, go home and take a two hour nap, then be up in time for his day job. The only people who came into the liquor store at this time of day were drunk wine-os or college kids on their birthday. He sat behind the counter, tapping his zippo lighter against the plywood countertop, and wondered who it was. It was usually easier to tell with the guys – the one whose birthday it was would walk with his chest puffed out, as if he were some big man. Those with him who were already of age walked on ahead, carrying their age and authority and wisdom on all things alcohol like a badge. Underaged kids did one of two things. Either they would cower and skitter away from his gaze like a roach from the light, or they would walk with nonchalant confidence as if they had nothing to hide, until he carded them at the register.
With college girls, though, it was different. They all looked the same for one, with hair dyed black with streaks of blonde, looking quite like a skunk, or naturally blonde almost to the shade of platinum. Their skin was tanned from sun or spray or makeup, their shorts too short (though he usually didn’t mind that part), their feet either in flip flops or colored plastic heals, and usually some college or Greek circle hoodie, tank-top, or t-shirt. They would flutter around in groups, like the baby ducks he had seen at the lake, or like eager puppies around a food bowl, all of them chattering, speaking in high pitched tones or sometimes over exaggerating their words like a cassette tape on slow motion.
“Ooh mah ga-wd!” one girl said, reaching for a wine bottle shaped like a cat. “This is so! Cute!”
He wasn’t sure if it was their accents, or just the way college girls talked, or maybe all girls talked like this, or maybe he was imagining it. Either way, it amused him. He liked his job well enough. Though he had to deal with drunk bums or bitchy college kids, at least the people watching was fun. The liquor store brought all types. The town may have been divided into different regions with specific grocery stores, where the undesirables might never run across the more-than-fortunate while reaching for a package of toilet paper, but everyone had to use the same place for their liquor. It was the best and worst of society, in the worst of society.
He watched the girls as the reached for the raspberry Smirnoff, the silver bullet, and some wine coolers.
“It’s your birthday,” one girl said. “Shouldn’t you buy yourself something nice?”
“Buy myself?” a girl asked. She put down her lipstick and blinked.
“I thought we were getting shit for the party?” one girl asked, while another over-spoke and said.
“Well, sure. We can’t buy anything here, Cassidy. We’re not of age yet.” The girl cast a quick gaze over to the clerk, then quickly looked away, as if to not incriminate herself. He quickly averted his eyes, adjusted a box of beer salts on the countertop, but kept on listening to their conversation.
“Too late, sweetheart,” he thought to himself, “you can’t hide nothing from me.”
The girls spoke in hushed tones now. “Well, yeah it’s for the party,” one said, “but it’s for you, too, sweetie.”
“I’m not sure how much I have left on my card,” the girl, Cassidy, replied awkwardly. “If I have to pay for all of this now, I won’t have any money to-“ she began, but was quickly interrupted. One of her friends skipped up, a bottle of sweet and sour in one hand, whiskey in the other.
“Oh, we’ll pay you back, right?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah, sure, of course, absolutely!” all the rest of them chimed in unison.
“Well, okay,” Cassidy said, albeit reluctantly. She looked around to all of her friends, eyeing the array of bottles and mixers in their arms.
“And anyway,” one girl said, reaching for a bottle of cheap champagne. “Your parents pay for everything anyway, right? It’s not like they won’t put more money in your account if you overdraw.”
Cassidy’s cheeks grew red. The clerk watched her from the corner of his eyes. She was cuter than the others, a bit shorter, a bit chubbier, but her clothes were nicer, not just that she was better dressed, but they looked a little nicer made, more put together. She wore sneakers and not flip-flops. Her purse was a nice leather handbag, and not just a tote embroidered with Greek letters.
“I’m totally right,” the girl said again, and she lead Cassidy over to the counter. The clerk straightened up, looking more alert, less of a lecher who spies on college girls buying hundreds of dollars with of alcohol at eight o’clock in the morning.
Cassidy stood awkwardly before him as her friends piled up cases and bottles up between them.
“Uh, hi,” she said, while the others stood away now, ignoring him, ignoring the transaction going on. They had chosen their favorite drinks, but were no longer involved in the process. One of them would drive them back just in time for class, and that night they’d all get shit-faced hammered, and the last time they’d see this hundred dollars worth of alcohol would be when it came up again that morning, splattered on a sidewalk or backyard somewhere, and that would be the end of it, until next time, until the next girl in the group turned 21. But it wouldn’t quite be the same, because Cassidy was the first, and this time it had special meaning.
“Can I see some id?” he asked. She fumbled in her wallet.
“Oh, yeah, okay,” she said. She handed it to him, awkwardly, not yet used to this gesture. Hadn’t she even gone to any 18 and over night clubs? No, probably not. She was a good girl. He saw the little gold cross at her throat, between the strings of her hoodie. It usually didn’t mean anything, but sometimes, just sometimes, it did.
“Here you go,” she said. He took the id, flipped it around so he could see the date, and barely took a glance. She already knew that she was 21, or at least, just barely. Either way, it was good enough for him to sell her his product.
“Happy birthday,” he said, handing it back to her. She quickly snatched it away and shoved it back into her purse. One of the girls from the group looked to him and laughed, then turned back to the group, rolling her eyes.
He rang up her purchases, bagged then, then told her the total. Her eyes bulged, and he watched as she looked to her friends helplessly. But they were too busy chatting together, looking at the cell phones, in general, ignoring her.
She reached into her wallet again and slipped out a credit card. He glanced at the name etched into the plastic. Mr. Daddy-O might be a little upset about his baby girl spending so much of his money on such a vice, but then again, sending his daughter to a school like this, maybe he had been expecting it. Judging by her group of friends, too, this probably wasn’t such a strange occurrence.
He ran the card, handed it back to her, had her sign the receipt, and watched as she struggled with all of the bags herself, careful to balance them, careful to not clink too many of the glass bottles against themselves. He thought about offering to help her, but that wasn’t his job, and any minute now his replacement would be walking in through the door, and he knew he just needed to get to home and go to bed. He needed to sleep, and he couldn’t start developing a soft spot for rich little girls, not now at least. Some people couldn’t afford such things. But this girl’s family obviously could.
Sarah reached for a bag as they walked out the door and to her car. “Hurry up,” she said. “We’re going to be late for class.”
“Holy fuck, I fucking hate Geology,” said Jennifer. Cassidy corrected her.
“Geo-sciences, not geology,” she said. Jennifer rolled her eyes.
“What ever.”
They drove back to campus, after stopping by the Wendy’s for some fries and diet cokes. Sarah’s car went into the parking garage, and from there they took the bus to their class, in a building at the center of campus.
“I’ll keep this stuff until the party tonight,” Sarah said. The girls looked to her, then nodded solemnly. It’s not like they had a choice in the matter. Cassidy suggested they walk to class, since the day was warm and October, and the leaves were changing colors and she liked the way they smelled, but everyone else groaned and complained, so they kept on the bus, had a quick smoke outside of the science building, then rushed in, ten minutes late for their test, but still there in time enough shove someone into the newspaper stand and not help them up, to all get seats together, to check last minute notes, and to each, respectively, bitch about the professor, the class, the school, the test, and their hair.
Though the other girls didn’t know this, Cassidy knew the professor as one of her father’s friends from his own college days. She knew that even if she didn’t do well, if the adaral and other uppers weren’t enough to help her remember, she’d be just fine, and probably he friends, too.
Sometimes it paid to be rich.
But for Karen, all the short cuts she was trying to take here really not paying off that morning. She was renting a house near campus with a friend of hers, her best friend from high school, actually, and the two had stayed up late playing video games, despite the fact she knew she wanted to get to class early that day. On her way to campus she had almost been run off the road while on her bike, though she was in the bike lane, and just now she had been shoved into the paper rack. Papers had gone all across the hall, and kids mostly just stepped over them, or on them, in some cases. She scrambled to gather them up, trying not to rip them or step on them herself, trying to balance her backpack, water bottle and bike helmet in one hand.
“Bitches,” she swore under her breath, watching the five girls rush off, into the large lecture hall. Their heals tore the papers they stepped on, their flip flops leaving ugly smears of dirt over the headlines. Karen stopped to look down at that day’s news.
Nothing good, or interesting, but that was nothing new. She sighed and tossed the stack of papers onto the old wire newsstand, and was surprised to see a dark haired boy helping her.
“Hey, thanks,” she said as he stood, dropping in the last of the papers.
“No problem,” he said with a smile. She smiled back. Sure, she was sleepy, and possibly hung over, and tired from her bike ride, anxious about her upcoming class and angry from almost being run over, and then literally run over by a heard of female dogs, but at least there were cute boys with cute smiles.
She blushed and looked down, adjusting her bag over her shoulders, then watched him as he walked up the hall and around the corner.
Might as well get to class, Karen thought, even though she was early. She had wanted to get some work done in the library, but that would have to wait. Maybe she’d do it during lunch, or after school, but she knew her roommate Marie would want to go out to the taco place across the street for lunch, and then she would want to ditch their last class of the day to go home early, so her extra research would have to wait until Monday.
She swung her bike helmet back and forth as she walked, feeling better than she had ten minutes ago. Class wouldn’t be so bad, right? In front of the classroom was a bench, and sitting on the bench was the boy who had helped her with the papers.
“Hi again,” he said, and he smiled once more.
“Hiya,” she said. She sat down next to him, setting her things aside, then curling her feet beneath her.
“I thought I recognized you,” he said again. He had dark eyes, dark hair, pale skin, a crooked smile.
“Um… really?” she said. Karen bit her lip back. “I don’t recognize you at all. I mean, not counting the newspapers and all.”
He pointed to the thick double doors, still closed and dark inside. “I’m in class with you, with Dr. Davids.” He shrugged, then. “But I usually sit in the back. And get into class late. So you wouldn’t really have a reason to notice me.”
Karen nodded. No, she didn’t recognize him, and he was right. She wouldn’t have a reason to notice him, either. Except for now, sitting here with him, she couldn’t keep her attention from him. Usually she would read or study, or listen to music, even when people sat in the hall with her, but for now, it was nice to just sit and chat.
“So how do you like old Mr. Davids?” she asked. He shrugged.
“I like him well enough. But I’d much rather be doing something else on a Friday morning than going to an class on metaphysics.”
Karen laughed. “I hear ya. I’d much rather be sleeping…”
“Or eating…” the boy added.
“Or fucking,” Karen said, then stopped short, watching his reaction.
He was looking at her, meeting her gaze. “Or fucking,” he said, his voice low.
She glanced around the hall. It was empty, aside from them. The classroom was tucked at the back of the building, with nothing but the one lecture room and a few storage closets, and one large bathroom which blended in with all of the other doors.
“You know, we have some time,” she said playfully.
The boy looked at his watch. “Not much time. I mean,” he added. “We have time for some things, just not the good things.”
She raised a brow. “Are you implying we should go fuck, rather than going to class?”
He blinked, the thoughts passing through his mind, then he shrugged. “Either that, or eat or sleep.”
She slumped back against the wall. “Oh, in that case,” she said, then trailed off. He was still looking at her. She could feel his gaze.
Then he leaned in, and kissed her hard. She could taste mint on his breath, from gum or mouth wash or something, and the menthol made her lips tingle. It was a rough kiss, and she barely had time to react as his hand groped for her breast, tugged at her nipple.
“Whathe?” she swore beneath his lips, and he began to pull away.
“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I just thought that –“ but the she was reaching for him, too, her hand finding the warm spot between his legs. He gave a little moan as they fumbled against one another on the bench.
Down the hall a door opened and they both froze, moist flesh to moist flesh. Their eyes met and froze, then at the same time they both rushed up, and stumbled, half dressed, half lust crazed, their way to the bathroom. Karen barely thought to look the door behind her, and hoped no one would steal her things as they were left on the bench in the hall, alone and unsupervised now.
But now he was doing amazing things to her with his hands, this boy, and they were falling all over one another against the toilet seat and the sink, grasping onto the handicapped handholds, feeling the cold metal against their flesh.
No speaking at all.

Date With the Night

“I’m Rich,” he said. She looked over her shoulder at him as he tugged on his pants. She had been brushing her hair, tying it up in a high knot above her neck.
“Oh,” she said, offering a slight chuckle, then turned to shake his hand. “I’m Karen.”
He nodded, gave a crooked smile, then slid on his A-shirt. “It’s nice to meet you, Karen.”
She nodded, too, then blushed, finishing her freshening up. “I think we missed class,” she said, lowering her voice for a moment, as if missing class was a greater offence than having sex in a bathroom in the science’s building.
“He rarely takes attendance, anyway,” Rich said. He sat on the floor, legs spread out, trying to get a knot out of his shoe now.
“With my luck he’ll start docking my participation.”
Rich smiled up at her. “Oh, you always have plenty to say during class. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
She cast a gaze over her shoulder at him again, then gave a slight, shy chuckle. Why was she feeling shy around him, especially after what they had just done together?
“Yeah,” she said. Her voice trailed off, and she reached for the door. He slipped on his last shoe and stood close behind her as she peeked into the hall. Class was still in session. The lights were on now, in that old room, but the hall was empty.
Karen slipped out of the old bathroom, and Rich followed. Toeing quietly to the bench, they snatched up their things, then quickly rushed down the hall, sneakers squeaking against waxed linoleum.
Rich went to go left, and Karen turned right, and the they both paused, turning around to look at one another again.
“Okay, so…” Karen began, and Rich ran his hands through his hair awkwardly.
“Yeah, um…”
“Well, see ya later,” she said and began to walk away, but he shouted after her.
“You busy tonight?” She paused, raised a brow as she looked to him.
“No, not really,” she admitted. Sure, she and her roommate would probably hang out, drink some cervesas, play video games, but aside from that…
“I’m having a party tonight, well, me and my roomies,” he said. “You’re free to come, if you like.”
Karen observed him for a moment. His hair was still messy, but he was still cute. Why had she never noticed him before? He was nice, too, and polite. And a good lover, even if the cramped little bathroom was less than an ideal location.
“Maybe,” she said. His expression crumbled.
“Maybe? Oh, well,” for a moment he looked like a sad little puppy, but he approached her. “At least let me give you my address,” he said, “in case you change your mind.”
He fumbled in his backpack for a piece of paper, and couldn’t find any, and instead pulled out an old folded and crumpled album cover taken from the crystal case of a disk. Karen wondered what type of college kid was he, who didn’t have at least paper for notes, and who had a backpack full of CDs and nothing else. But she took the address from him, anyway, shoved it into her backpack, and smiled.
“I’ll see you tonight, then?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she said again. She flashed a smile over her shoulder, then walked down the hall.
“Maybe,” he repeated.