Inconsolable » Squid [Holes]

29: Past is Prologue

This was a mistake.

Alan rubbed at his chest, a futile effort to ease the tightening vice on his lungs. But the more they stared the tighter the vice became. His pulse pounded in his ears beneath their scrutinizing gaze, and he couldn't figure if they were supposed to be on him or he was just caught in the crossfire. Fussy moms and dolled up girls covered nearly every inch of the holding room. That's what it was referred to anyway; no amount of sparkly vanity mirrors, traveling makeup cases, and clouds of hairspray could cover up the generic motivational posters hanging on the walls and the scent of stale erasers lingering around the history classroom. Weekends at school were a different world; holding a dance competition there was setting foot on a different planet.

Alan moved through the throng of impossibly stretchy and limber girls dressed to the nines in glitzy costumes. A few gave him a second look, their heavily lashed eyes fluttering so much they could have cleared a few inches off the floor. Not that he noticed. The hem of his denim scraped against the ground, scuffing with every step of his smudged and stained Converse, his fingers curled against the ends of his sleeve, knuckles whitening, and his eyes moved from side to side on a constant swivel, and he finally laid eyes on her and his whole body relaxed with a content sigh.

He approached and blue eyes met brown and he watched the smile bloom on her face in the reflection of the mirror, rivaling the high wattage of the bulbs running around the rim of the vanity. Mickey turned in her seat, and his walk stuttered at the sight of her, thunderstruck how this girl, his friend, who he'd known for years, was the same as the beautiful, ethereal being he'd just watched float and glide across the stage, twisting and contorting her body to reflect the lyrics of the song pouring through the speakers.

"Hey! I didn't know you were comin'." Her eyes sparkled, like glitter scattered across the surface of a crystal-clear ocean.

Alan peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth and managed a nonchalant shrug. "Yeah, well, I was bored so..."

Mickey's bright red lips quirked up at the corners. "So...you decided to come lookin' like you robbed a scarecrow?"

"This, I uh...your dad let me borrow it," Alan explained, tugging at the collar of the large jacket. Mr. Mason had taken one look at him when he showed up at his house and beckoned Alan to follow him into the bedroom. He sorted through a few hangers until he chose a navy sports coat. It really went with the dinginess to his used-to-be bright white shirt and the holes in his jeans. But even as Alan shrugged it on, Mr. Mason looked at him with this weird smile and all he could say about it was, "Trust me." And when Mrs. Mason saw him, she got an odd look in her eye too. The Masons had a way of saying a lot while saying little at all.

The apple didn't fall far from the tree: Mickey's head tilted as she looked at him, his skin burned beneath her gaze, igniting pinpricks as she looked him over head to toe and all he wanted to do was turn around and leave. Because this was stupid. His heart beating so hard and his pulse racing like this was stupid. It was Mickey of all people; his best friend, his oldest friend, the same girl he'd seen dance for years. And now...this.

"Are those for me?"

He blinked and followed the line of her sight to his tightly wound fist, his fingers choking the life out of the daisies resting on his palm. Their roots reached towards the floor, clumps of dirt hanging on for dear life, curling and spiraling within their strong hold. Grumbling, he thrust his arm out towards her, "My momma said you might like 'em." Well she said Mickey'd like something. He decided on flowers and what kind. Not that it was a big deal. Mickey loved daisies. It was just a fact.

He rubbed at his neck and whispers shot around him, hissed bullets flying behind raised palms and pointed fingers. Sparks popped against his skin when she took the flowers from him, fingers brushing against his sweat-slicked palms. He shoved his hands in his pockets, snuffing the ignited flames coursing through his veins before they could get too far.