Frightened By The Bite

2005

Clara bumped into his arm, laughed at his comments, and even brought up mistletoe, twice, but still nothing from Rory's end. The movie was okay, but the silence of the theatre really made her smile. Now, they dragged behind Rory's parents, talking about every subject imaginable as they wandered the streets of the Downtown Mall and searched for the parking garage. Cold air blew into Clara's eyes. Rory's parents were whispering to each other, occasionally looking back and smiling. Live music blared from the band playing at the end of the brick street, tickling everyone's eardrums. A long line twisted into an ice cream shop as people waited to get in to the event.

"I wish you got tickets," Clara muttered as she stared at the people, ranging from newborns to the elderly, waiting to hear the band sing. Children ran out from a play museum and caught up with parents or babysitters halfway through the line.

"I do too, Clara. The tickets sold out in, like, ten minutes," Rory replied, rattling the chains inclosing a small outdoor restaurant. Waiters dressed in black danced as they served food, the aromas fading into the night sky. Clara shrugged and caught a piece of hair between her lips. She pushed it back to her teeth and began to grind it. Rory chuckled when he noticed.
"That looks so weird," he said in his squeaky voice. They were only nine at the time, and everything was weird to them, even Rory's glasses.
"I know it does," Clara mumbled. She flicked Rory's black glasses and peered down at his red jacket-vest and the blue sweater sleeves that popped out of it. They brushed away the fallen leaves, clearing the path for any who walked behind them.
Rory noticed that his parents had ducked into a store and halted his friend.
"Do you want to go in?" he asked, turning to her and twisting his head. Clara took a deep breath and shrugged.
"We can stay outside," she suggested. Rory noticed she was holding her breath. Her cheeks weren't puffed out, but they were red. Clara slid her hand up to cover her mouth and tapped her feet awkwardly on a grate below.
Rory leaned in slightly. "Are you okay?"
"Y-yeah," she stuttered, her cheeks glowing brighter. She began chewing on her hair again as people raced by holding cones of dripping ice cream.
"Hey, I still have five dollars. Do you want to go to Splendora's?" Clara nodded. "Okay, I'll ask my Dad."
Clara's feet followed Rory like a magnet as he popped into the pottery shop. She blinked and watched him return with a small grin on his face. The two crossed to the other side of the outdoor mall, patted the cold, bare trees, and entered the ice cream shop.
Just then, two loud bangs sounded from across the mall. They split Clara's ears and she let out a small yelp. Rory almost did the same, but he saw people rushing out of the pottery shop as quickly as they could, dropping expensive and decorative vases along the way.
"Come on." Rory shouted. He burst through the door of the ice cream shop and darted to the store to find his parents. Clara trailed behind him, trying to figure out the situation. Her stomach tightened. She brushed the water from her eyes when another loud bang fired. She could now see a masked man holding a gun, screaming for jewelry. Stopping dead in her tracks, she whirled her head around to see Rory's mother lying on the bricks. Her golden watch broken, bits of it all over the floor of the pottery store. The man fired another shot at Rory's father, who was aggressively trying to beat the shooter into a pulp, and then ran. Rory choked. Clara tried to wipe the tears from her pale face, but new ones replaced them just as quick. Bystanders surrounded the two bodies, lying in the street. Rory let out a deafening scream.

6 Years Later

"This house is a circus, berserk as ducks. We tend to see that as a perk though. Look what it's done to your friends, their memories are pretend and the last thing that they want is for the feeling to end." Lockers clacked and slammed shut, the sound echoed through the hallway. Clara trudged out of her math class, hugging her binder to her chest and singing. Rory Weylin stood at his locker, staring off into the chipped, green paint. Clara dragged herself up to him and opened her locker. He rarely spoke when Clara was around. It was hard to see him speak at all, but when she was around, he completely shut down.
A small, orange stain marked her green locker. The paint almost completely overtook the stain, but it managed to remain the most interesting thing on the entire wall. Rory disappeared into the crowd and left Clara alone at her locker with her thoughts.
"Cee." someone called with a mellow Irish accent. A girl with pale blonde hair broke from the crowd and tugged on Clara's skirt. She saw that Clara's eyes were pointed at the ground and drew a smile on forehead.
"Maggie."
"Come on, at least get some 'appiness into ya before Mr. Raymond throws it all away with a lecture about tanks or forts or somethin'."
"Yeah, I will." Clara and Maggie slipped into their history classroom and slumped into their seats. Clara's desk, cluttered with scratch marks or doodles, could barely fit her both her binder and whatever work she had. Most of the time she crammed everything to the side and hoped it worked.
"So, what's on your mind?" Maggie whispered, disregarding the lesson. Clara shrugged, peeking up at Rory for a split second. He was playing an air guitar and whispering to himself. The sun's glare bounced off his rectangular glasses, blocking his eyes from view. Maggie sighed, "oh."

When class was let out, Maggie left without saying a word. Clara and Rory were the last two in the room. A photo of a well guarded castle was projected on the wall. Chirps and squeaks from outside broke the silence of the classroom. Clara slipped a few hairs into her mouth and chewed. The urge to go up to Rory was overtaken by the urge to get something to eat. She headed for the cafeteria, checking behind her to see if Rory had followed. He hadn't.
The portraits of former principals lined the wall. Most of them used dark colors; gray and blue being the most prominent. Only one was different from the rest. A man with a charming mustache and wearing bright yellow clothes. He held a treasure map in his hands, pointing to the X with his ring finger. Leading up to the X was a red dotted line, most of which was smeared in finger grease from passing students. Clara always made sure to look at it when she passed it.

Rory was talking with a girl Clara barely recognized. His hand covered his mouth as he spoke, and his food was untouched. Other than them, no one occupied the round table.
"My favorite is 505, but Do Me A Favor is pretty-" Clara set her tray down next to Rory's and slid down into the plastic red chair.
"Oh, hi. My name's Tracey." The girl offered her hand for a shake. Clara accepted, sliding a hair into her mouth.
"So, are you guys dating?"
Rory's face went red. Tracey chuckled. She pointed to a boy sitting at another table.
"Ted's my boyfriend. We were just talking about the Arctic Monkeys. Mutual favorite band."
"Y-yeah, I have their first album." There was silence. Tracey glanced at Clara, then at Rory, and smiled.
"I get it." She left the table and went to sit with her boyfriend and four others. Clara stabbed her food with a fork and swirled it around on the plate. Rory fingered guitar strings, muttering to himself. Taking the fork and grabbing a knife, Clara began a soft beat, using the plate and a bowl as drums.
"Well now then Mardy Bum, I've seen your frown and it's like looking down the barrel of a gun and it goes off." She peered at Rory, who was still looking down at his hands and strumming the air. "And out come all these words, oh there's a very pleasant side to you, a side I much prefer. It's one that, laughs and jokes around-"
"Remember cuddles in the kitchen, yeah, to get things off the ground-" Rory paused, looking up at Clara and then sinking into his chair. "Sorry."
"Don't be," Clara sighed.
The bell rang and blurs of colors raced by the table, dashing to the doors, leaving cuff marks on the floor. Clara stood, watching as the room dispersed students in all directions. Rory left before she could catch him. Alone in the empty cafeteria, she continued to sing. "And it was up up and away. Oh but it's right hard to remember that on a day like today when you're all, argumentative, and you've got that face on."

After dinner Clara bounded up to her room and fell into the stool behind her drum set. She downloaded 505 along with the rest of the album, setting a five dollars and twenty-eight cents into a small jar on the table. Her room was small, and there wasn't a closet. Clothes were piled up onto striped bed.
She played the song a few times to get a feel for it. It became one of her favorites almost in an instant. The lyrics brought out memories long buried in the filing cabinets of her mind. Nine year old versions of Clara and Rory sitting in a movie theater, innocently watching Chicken Little and stuffing cotton candy into their mouths. Only a short time before life balled it up and threw it in the garbage.
The third time she played 505, Clara followed along, hitting as many beats as she could. Each time after that, the song became more and more familiar and it pushed her farther and farther back in her mind.
At ten o'clock her Mom told her to give it a rest. Clara opened her phone and started typing a message.