Like To Be You ✓

seven

Gusto's is too crowded for a small coffee shop which hosts slam poetry competitions every Thursday and offers a total of one type of coffee. 

It's the noise, that incessant buzzing that makes me realise that there's something wrong.

Wrong is an understatement. It's horrible. Obnoxious group is here. 

I take a step back from the threshold with the intention of leaving when someone says, "Excuse me." 

My limbs lock up and I move to the side, allowing Rylee Manson, Class President, to enter. Her boyfriend Bruce, a literal scumbag with eyes for all girls apart from his girlfriend, brushes past me. I recoil in disgust. He gives me a dismissive glance.

Zayne calls out my name as I get ready to turn away from the crowd. I grit my teeth, annoyed.

He jogs over to me and thrusts a chocolate croissant in my hand. "Stop making that face and be thankful that Tyler isn't here."

I grudgingly accept the croissant and angrily bite into it. Possessiveness over this coffee shop has turned me into a raging maniac. I'm a hair's width close to protesting with the cause of throwing them out; these high-schoolers who claim every corner of the shop as if it's a cheaper Starbucks and "hang out". They're not here for the shitty poetry and coffee, or the dim walls and bright makeshift-stage. They're here to chatter away and laugh loudly while clapping and cause even more noise pollution. 

"You cut the phone before I could warn you." Zayne shrugs his shoulders. He starts towards the couches surrounding the stage and I follow him. I settle down beside him, stretching my legs and scowling at my half-eaten croissant. It's too fucking delicious and I can't enjoy it because of these morons around me.

"Here we go." I look up when Zayne mumbles under his breath. I watch as a lanky dude nervously trips his way to the center-stage. He clears his throat into the mic. 

The topic's "love ain't fair" this week, and it's on-the-spot. I scrunch my nose at the glittery pink banner that's held up by strings tied around the lights. LOVE AIN'T FAIR is written in red and tiny sparkly hearts flutter around the words.

I go back to scrutinising the lanky dude who is in dire need a box of tissues with the puddle he's sweated onto the ground and the tears that I'm sure will spill in a few moments. He stutters out uh's and um's for half a minute while awkwardness grows in the air, then he clears his throat again.

"Love ain't fair," he begins. "She's got those lovely, uh-blonde hair, she's got me trapped in her lair, love just ain't fair."

Next to me, Zayne covers his face. He's one of the judges for the night. His reactions make the competitions even better.

"It sounds like he's talking about a lion." He says. I laugh. Zayne can be lame at times, but so can I, so it works wonderfully for our friendship as well as our egos. It's a win-win situation.

"When she laughs with him and not me, my heart breaks into three..." It sounds like he's asking us whether his heart breaks in three or not. I nod my head.

"...and I need her no matter what, her eyes are like a-" monkey butt "-blue ocean."

Goddamnit, that doesn't even rhyme.

"She looks at him the way I look at her, and it hurts so much." The guy fidgets with his fingers. He looks scared and lost and like a wounded puppy. For a brief moment, we make eye contact. I offer an awkward smile.

"Love ain't fair, to love is to... dare," he pauses again, then continues, "Love ain't fair, it's a gift that's rare."

I don't quite agree, because I love a lot of things, and everybody loves a lot of things, which makes it really common, but I don't point it out. I open my poetry book to page 141 and begin reading. Four poems later, the tiny audience claps. Zayne even hoots, which earns him a nervous smile from Lanky Dude. I watch Zayne mark Lanky Dude's performance, whose name is Dax.

I get up from my seat at one of the many couches as they're calling upon the next contestant and order two grilled sandwiches and another croissant. I watch them plate it and offer me the tiny tray. I pay and step around the next customer.

I halt for a solid half minute and blink at Tyler, who appears to be sitting with his right side facing me. He's furiously chewing on gum and staring at the Rubik's cube clenched in his hands. His knuckles are white, I notice, and his foot taps against the ground in what I know is frustration.

It's too easy to read him.

I stare at the Rubik's cube, which the tips of his fingers are rubbing against. The veins in his hands protrude with effort, and I have the strange urge to hold his hand, press down the veins, and calm him.

When I look up, I realise he's glaring at someone across his table, a someone who turns out to be Bruce McAllister, our school's very own pervert extraordinaire. Bruce says something, then Tyler says something, and then fifteen seconds later, they're both on the ground with Tyler beating the shit out of Bruce.

I watch, wide-eyed, as Tyler throws punch after punch and wrestles against Dylan Padalecki's and Max Conan's hands, which try pulling him away. I curl my hands tighter around the tray when Bruce lands a hook to Tyler's jaw. Tyler's head snaps to the side, and he looks up at me for a moment, red-eyed. Then he blinks, shakes his head, and punches Bruce again.

My hands are shaking with what's unfolding. We've gone from a boring café scene to a raging boxing match. People are staring, all with the same expressions as mine. The Rubik's cube is a few feet away from me, on the ground. Baristas and waiters have crowded around, trying to pry apart the wrestling duo. Finally, Tyler backs off and gives in to the restraining hands.

"Don't you fucking say anything about him!" He roughly brushes off the people trying to calm him down and pushes past them.

He's breathing hard. His knuckles are split and bloodied, blood seeps from his lip and temple and under his eye, and his jaw is red. He gives me a momentary glance when he rushes ahead. I watch the doors close behind him.

With trembling hands, I set the tray on a table and follow him. 

o-o-o

a/n 

Any theories on what happened? O.O