From Very Real Pranks to Something Like Love

Ms. Taylor Has Entered the Building

My heart clenched as Ace and Lizzie ushered me out of the car, leaving me standing alone at the front door of the police station. I glanced back at them and they gave me a reassuring thumbs up through the window, gesturing for me to go inside.

Smoothing out the dress I had dawned last night and finger combing my hair, I took a deep breath and appeared to look more like a respectable, presentable young woman and less like a stupid, naive young girl doing the walk of shame.

With butterflies in my stomach and a shaky breath, I climbed the short flight of steps to the large double doors, cautiously pulling one open and stepping inside.

The smell of dusty papers and wood polish enveloped me as the doors swung shut behind me, lightly hitting me in the back and ushering me in. I glanced around, noting the deep brown wooden desks and shelves wrapping around me.

My heels loudly echoed off the hardwood floor as I approached the man at the front desk, giving him a nervous, awkward smile. He peered down his nose at me, saying nothing.

My smile fell, and I cleared my throat.
"Ahem." I started. "I'm looking for, uh, Ian Taylor?" It came out as a question, my voice softening as I trailed off.

The man looked at me, his brown eyes silently interrogating me. I watched quizzically as he pondered my request, taking in his short salt and pepper hair which matched his chiseled beard and mustache, his lips almost fully claimed by the whiskers masking his face.

He made a strange noise, his voice gruff and deep, and rose from his chair.

"Relation?" He asked simply. I could see his name tag now, Officer Willoughby. I wished Officer Handsome was here.

I fiddled with my fingers, my eyes darting away from him and around the room nervously. Relation? How the hell was I supposed to know. We were enemies, became friends, then dating, and now ... enemies? Frenemies? Officer Willoughby cleared his throat authoritatively and my eyes darted to meet his.

"Friend." I stated, with so little confidence that I felt his eyes questioning my answer.

He was silent for a moment, staring at me.
"Mr. Taylor is being held until his parents arrive later this afternoon. The victim and his family have decided not to press charges, but no visitors are allowed at this time." Officer Willoughby stated. I stared at him, my eyes glazing over at his monotone voice. It sounded as though he was reading from a script, void of any emotion or personality.

He met my gaze. "Wait, did you say you were his sister?"

My heart leapt and I saw the glint in his eyes, and it happened so fast I couldn't be sure but I think he even winked at me. I quickly understood what he was doing and nodded eagerly. After writing something in his log, he handed me a small laminated visitors pass and beckoned for me to follow him down the adjacent hall.

My heels clicked even more loudly against the floor as it transitioned from wood to tile. I heard voices coming from every direction but saw no one in the empty hall. We stopped outside a large door with a small window, and he ushered me inside. There were tables all around, the bright lights reflecting harshly off their surface. Officer Willoughby beckoned for me to sit and disappeared around the corner.

I carefully sat in the closest chair, smoothing the skirt of the dress and playing with my hair nervously. I licked my chapped lips and waited, my knee bouncing in anticipation.

After what felt like hours, the officer emerged with a disheveled Ian in tow. My brows furrowed when I saw how defeated and broken he looked, but as he approached and saw me seated in front of him his eyes glistened. He suddenly looked more alive, more excited, like the guy I always knew and grew to love.

Officer Willoughby gently pushed him down into the adjacent chair, muttering something about 15 minutes, and walked out. I could still feel his eyes, so I knew he was carefully watching through the small window in the door.

I started to open my mouth to say something but Ian cut me off.

"Pen shut up for two seconds, okay?" he pleaded. I almost protested, irritated that he had told me to shut up, but the look on his face prompted me to nod and wait. He sighed, clearly thankful he was able to speak.

"Penny, that video was only partially true," he started. I felt tears prickle behind my eyes as I remembered why I had drank myself to oblivion the night before, why I was mad at him, why the whole school was talking about me.

"I wish it wasn't true, but the part of the video where I made Chase an inside man, that was real." He admitted bashfully, unable to meet my eyes. "And it was true that after he got caught, I was going to take over. I was always so jealous when I saw you both together, but I could never admit to it, I thought you hated me." His eyes flickered up to mine and I felt a tear roll down my cheek, but I stayed silent. I had to know.

"Penny, why do you think I started pranking you of all people this year? I was a terrible person, and there are so many ways I could have done better at getting your attention. Maybe I was scared, or maybe I didn't know how deep my feeling for you ran, but I do know. When we were at that dinner, I was supposed to be pranking you, it was supposed to be fake. But it wasn't. None of our kisses were fake, or my feelings, or my jealously. It was all just bottled up, suppressed in the deepest part of me."

Tears were freely falling from my eyes now, rolling down my cheeks in waves as my eyes remained clamped shut. I felt his thumb begin wiping away tears, catching them before they reached my lips, and my body shuddered at the contact.

"Pen ..." Ian whispered. I could feel his breath fan across my face. And no, it didn't smell good after a night of drinking followed by being holed up in the slammer. But not even I, Penny Harris, wanted to ruin this delicate moment.

My eyes opened slightly, squinting at his blurry face through my tears. His face was a mere inches from mine, his eyes swimming with so many emotions I couldn't begin to decipher them, but his brow was creased with worry and sorrow.

Just as I opened my mouth to respond, the door swung open and Ian's parents flew in, both out of breath and glowering at their only son.

"Ian Marshall Taylor, what have you done?" His mother demanded, her tone just as lethal as her gaze. Before Ian could respond, I stood and faced them, my eyes still so puffy they probably looked closed and tears streaking my face.

"It was my fault, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor," I offered. Both of their eyes snapped to me, their faces filled with surprise as if they had just acknowledged my presence.

"He was protecting me. I got drunk last night, something I never do, and clearly I don't know how to hold my alcohol." I continued. "The guy Ian beat up, he was taking advantage of my drunken stupor. If it weren't for Ian, I don't know what would have happened."

As I finished retelling a rather toned down version of the night, my head dropped and I stared at the floor, unable to meet anyones eyes. After a painfully long stretch of no one speaking, I felt arms wrap around me and inhaled deeply, smelling a woman's perfume and realizing it was Ian's mom.

She said nothing in that moment, no one did. But the silence spoke loudly and meant everything to me. I hugged her back, cautiously at first and then deeper, appreciating the moment. I didn't realize I had begun crying again until she pulled away and, like Ian, began wiping my tears.

With her arm wrapped around me and Ian and his father trailing behind, we walked out of the station in silence, simply appreciating each other's company in that moment.