[19] "Before"
(Malory)
“Do you always travel home?” Kyle asks, stepping through the front door and taking a slow three-sixty surveillance scan of the house. He shoves his hand into his jeans’ pockets and sighs, pressing his lips together.
“I do,” I say. I chip my way over to the living room and drop my bag onto the couch before collapsing onto it myself.
Kyle doesn’t sit. At first, he seems reserved and quiet as he observes my house –but he’d done exactly the same thing the last time.
“What?” I ask, smirking up at him, tiredly. “Is my house too small compared to yours? I’m sorry I don’t have a filthy rich uncle.”
He shakes his head with a pout, “Nope. It actually feels pretty cozy.”
“I…guess,” I say, suspicious.
“But it’s really quiet,” he comments in a lower tone. “Just like home.”
He continues to scan the room and I observe him as he walks past the couch.
His eyes hurry across the words of a quote painted onto a canvas that’s been framed and hung against a wall. They travel to the floral arrangement that’s slightly off the centre of the coffee table. He walks over to the bookshelf and skims through the titles of my mom’s science books.
“I knew your mom was a vet,” he says, reaching out to take a book that has intrigued him, “But I didn’t know she was such a highly regarded one.”
“She worked her ass off to get to a position like that,” I smile. “She deserves it, too.”
“After everything that’s happened, she probably does,” he says.
There’s another moment of silence as he skims through the pages of the book now in his hands.
“That’s why you took control of the animal rights group at school, isn’t it?” He asks, “Because of your mom?”
Truthfully, it is. It’s not just because I love and care about animals that I took up the position of president for the group. It’s because my mom was always so smart and I just wanted to have this one thing in common with her. Genius as I am, I’m not like her. She’s a lot like Kyle –she can sit at a desk and geek out over math equations all day, list all the scientific properties of a human and animal body, solve a problem in less time than the average person takes to do it.
Though my capacity to retain information is incredibly large and I can memorise any concept or idea fairly well, I’m still nothing like my mother.
Mom influenced me to like animals ever since I was young –but that didn’t mean I was ever going to be good at telling the causes of death of two dead fish found floating upside down in the ocean.
“I did it because even though my mom and I are close, I’m more like my dad was. She was always this smart science kid with a passion for helping animals... and my dad and I would always be the ones beaming over literature books and languages. If I tell people I’m a lot like my dad, they’ll think I was close to him –but that’s just not true. Far from it. I decided to take up the whole group ‘presidential thing’ because I just wanted to have something in common with my mom. I wanted her to be able to talk to me. I wanted to see her eyes light up when I came home to talk about it,” I say. “It made a difference, you wouldn’t believe.”
It did –because my dad caused an excessive amount of trouble in this house –all the time- and it took my mom bare strength to get through each day. The least I could have done was attempt to follow in her footsteps –even if slightly. Her smile means the world to me.
Kyle closes the book and rests it back on the shelf like it was never even removed.
“So about this whole play thing,” I say. “You do know that I’m not letting you touch me, right?”
“You say that like I implied that I want to touch you at all,” he says, scoffing. “I can’t believe they’re actually making us do this.”
“Get over it. We have to. If you didn’t miss so many rehearsals then maybe we could have gotten away with the production. They might’ve eventually thought that we were getting along and given our parts to other people, but we weren’t getting along at rehearsals the few times you were there,” I pause for a beat. “I wouldn’t doubt it if our records haven’t even been halfway cleared yet.” I roll my eyes.
“If you brought me over to your house to argue, Lloyd, I’ll be leaving,” he says, frankly. He shoves his hands into his pockets again, and it’s only now that I realise how much the white shirt hugging his fit body has crumpled from activities throughout the day. It’s not neatly pressed anymore, but it’s also not a complete disaster.
“Shirts suit you,” I say, before I could stop myself. “In general.”
Malory!
What the hell are you saying?
“When you’re wearing those enormous T shirts it’s impossible to know that you’re this fit,” I say.
That wasn’t the nicest save, either.
He looks at me. I sit up straighter on the couch. “You think? It still feels weird wearing these,” he says, shrugging his shoulders to refer to the shirts.
“I think they look great on you,” I tell him.
“I still feel slightly depressed wearing a dead man’s clothes,” he says to me, smirking.
“Hey!” I say, though I’m smiling, “It’s not like they would have done any good just sitting around in a drawer all day here in my house. My mom didn’t know what to do with them anyway. I don’t even think she remembers them. We packed them away so long ago… we might have just burnt them or given them away, otherwise.”
“I still feel like you’re implying that this is some sort of foreshadowing to my death,” Kyle says, squinting at me in suspicion.
“If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it right away when you stepped on my dress and ripped it straight up to my ass in freshman year and embarrassed me. I would have done it when you purposely spilled fake blood on my track pants so I wouldn’t be able to use it during gym –and I lost marks because of that. I would have killed you when you told everyone I was pregnant. Did I kill you? No. I may have beaten you up but I didn’t kill you,” I tell him. “Should I go on? I’ve got a list, you see.”
He scratches the back of his neck, nervously. “Yea, okay, Lloyd. I already apologized for those things the last time I was here. How many times do I need to tell you I’m sorry?”
“As many times as you did me wrong,” I say. I’m only joking, though.
“Are we even going to practice today?” he asks, raising his brows.
“Yea. Depends. Do you have your script?” I ask, reaching into my bag to grab my own.
He pulls his bag off his shoulders and unzips it to find his, saying, “I still think the play is utterly ridiculous.”
“Let’s talk about what we have to do and what we don’t have to do, then,” I say, crossing my legs on the couch and patting the seat beside me aggressively to make him sit. He comes over, dropping beside me. I pull two pencils out from my blue pencil case.
“We’re not doing the kiss scene,” I say, “We’ve already established that. I was thinking maybe we could just run through the entire script first to get a feel of how the lines are supposed to be said and what’s supposed to be done or props that need to be held in certain scenes. That’s usually what we do in class.”
He nods, looking down at his own script as I hand him a pencil. “Okay, no problem.”
“We won’t actually act out the parts for real yet,” I tell him. “So we don’t have to worry about actually holding hands or...” I shudder, “All that other romantic shit. If I could help it, I’d save it for the actual Friday school rehearsals.”
He nods again. “Right. But I’m still shit at acting. How are you going to help with that?”
“You may be shit at acting but Olivia, Ron and I are not. You have three people to come to if there’s ever something you don’t understand. Got it? Don’t be an arrogant ass. Ask the questions if you need the answers,” I tell him.
“Fine,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“Wanna start reading the script now?” I ask. “We’ll make notes as we go along. As you can see –I’ve already done that,” I say, referring to all the horribly highlighted sections of my own script. “Now it’s just for me to make adjustments –new notes- based on what we do here and what we do at Friday rehearsals.”
***
(Kyle)
This script is full of shit.
It’s a chick flick.
It’s for people who have nothing to do but whine over the eighteen-hundreds and daydream about masquerade balls and unrealistic love stories.
Okay. Maybe this love story isn’t all that perfect or unrealistic –but it’s still such a cheesy tale.
How did I get roped into something as cliché as this?
“You’re saying that too aggressively,” Malory tells me. “Think of it this way. Angus is this really cool, laid back guy who has no responsibilities. He’s just chilling at a bar with his mask looking all cool and shit when these guys randomly start talking about how he owes them money. He’s trying to calm them down. It’s not ‘MEN! Such ANGER!’ It’s more like a chill ‘tsk, tsk, tsk, Men... such anger. What use is it to be enraged by such a matter as money? It’s unfathomable –the lack of trust in people when they become acquainted with me...’ Get it?”
“I think so,” I say, squinting.
This is painful.
Not being able to let you know how well I can act is so frustrating.
I try the line again.
After about half an hour of reading, I finally give up and decide to prove I understand how to say some Angus’ line almost perfectly. Pretending to be shit at acting is annoying as fuck –even for me.
I can almost see the grey hairs growing out of Malory’s scalp as she runs her fingers through her hair in frustration and anguish trying to deal with my ‘lack of acting skills’.
“I need something to drink,” she says. “Do you want something? I think I’ll grab a snack, too.”
“Actually,” I say, raising my brow, “I’d love something to drink. This whole ‘drunk Angus’ concept is making me thirsty.”
“Water, Coke, Pepsi, Mountain Dew, Apple Juice, Tea, Iced Te-”
“-Pepsi’s fine,” I say.
“Unhealthy bastard,” she mumbles.
“Why do you have Pepsi if you think it’s unhealthy?” I ask.
“My mom likes it,” she says, grimacing. “I prefer tea.”
***
(Malory)
“Let me know if you’ve got to leave,” I say. “I don’t want to get you into any trouble…”
“It’s still early. You said we could rehearse until you have to get ready for work, not so?” He asks.
“Yea,” I sulk, “But I’m just… worried about you.”
“Stop worrying. All your hair will fall out.”
“What, have you turned into Olivia? She says the same thing.”
Kyle pulls out his phone to check the time. “It’s four-thirty. Since you almost went bald after rehearsing the first scene but we actually managed to read through the entire script once, let’s stop here for now. Today should just be a run-through. Plus, I’m hungry. I can’t focus like this.”
Why is this sixteen year old genius boy such a baby?
“Yea,” I say. “I should start getting ready for work, anyway. Usually the half hour flies like nothing. And I have to get a taxi.”
“Where do you work again?” Kyle asks.
“Nadine’s Restaurant. It’s not too far away, but far enough that I’m not willing to walk all the way over there.” I say. He gives me a pointed look. “What?” I ask.
“I was going to say I’d walk you to work, but you’re not a very nice person,” he says. “And you have –what was it that you said to me a while ago? A reputation to uphold?”
Kyle Davidson walking me to work?
Hah!
Ahahahahaha!
Heh.
“I’d rather be shot than have someone find out Kyle Davidson was walking me to work,” I say, but my stupid face can’t contain the somewhat bubbly feeling inside me, and I smile. “I can get there on my own. Don’t bother.”
“Go figures,” he says. He packs his script into his bag and sighs, wearily. “So... when exactly are we practicing? Every day?”
“As much as you can manage,” I tell him. “I left all my clubs so I could focus on this, so evenings are free for me –aside from work.”
“Cool,” he says, zipping up his bag and standing. “Well, this has been... informative. And somewhat pleasant… considering we actually cooperated.”
I scoff. “I’ll walk you out.”
***
(Kyle)
Clark greets me with a smile and lets me into the compound. This morning, he asked about how I’d gotten my bleeding lip when I was leaving for school, and I didn’t have a choice but to tell him that I took a punch to the face.
Clark is strange, but warm. I have one memory of a time he had once helped me, but he never pressured me for answers over what had happened.
When I was twelve, and had gotten beaten til’ I was knocked unconscious at the side of the road near that abandoned gas station and left there alone for the night, I woke up to find that I was being taken care of by him.
He was the one who had brought me back to the compound. He was the one who had treated my wounds me before sending me home.
At first he had assumed the worst of things, but I quickly put his mind at ease by making up a vague story. I suppose at twelve I was nowhere near as good a liar as I am now, but he got the memo and decided not to press on the matter. I guess he thought that eventually I’d come around.
He begged me not to go somewhere all by myself like that ever again –he was the only person who was ever truly worried about me.
I stroll to the house and open the small gate to let myself in. I immediately hear the crashing of bottles, and the sound of hysterical laughter coming from men in the house.
“Kyle’s back,” Bill, one of the men, says as he walks over to me –clearly drunk- with a half empty bottle of wine. “Want a drink? This is some goooood shit,” he slurs.
I exhale sharply through my nose and stare at the bottle in his hand that he can’t hold still for a second.
I don’t want to take it.
But if I don’t...
I reach my hand out and he pulls the bottle towards himself to hug it.
“No way,” he says, laughing again, “Get your own bottle, bitch.”
I don’t know how I ever got used to these people.
I don’t know how I find the patience to deal with them.
“Is Ace in?” I ask.
“Boss is in the back having a smoke,” he says. “And he’s been on the phone for the past two hours doing who-knows-what. Can’t wait to find out what good ounce of fuckery he’s up to this time,” Bill says, tripping over his own feet and almost tumbling to the ground.
“Don’t you think you’ve had too much wine?” I ask him, raising a brow.
He leans in closer to me and glares as if he’s suddenly regained soberness. He breathes his reply into my face, “Never...” and the putrefying scent of the alcohol lingers in the air around me. My nose itches. He pulls his face away and laughs again.
“I win, Bill,” says the other guy, Franco, sitting at a table in the distance. “A monkey would take longer to get drunk than you. Get yourself together.”
Bill turns to him, clearly seeking the ability to see him with ease but failing, “Real funny, jackass. That’s coming from a guy who trades pills as often as he breathes. Don’t get me started on the overfilled containers I found in your locker at work, you son of a bitch.” He laughs again, wiggling his brows.
“That has absolutely nothing to do what I’m talking about,” Franco says, folding his arms and rolling his eyes with a sigh. He turns to me. “Yo, Kyle. Boss wants to see you.”
Of course he’d want to see me.
He always wants to see me.
***
(Malory)
School begins. School ends. Kyle meets me at the exit doors as I’m stepping out. Ron and Olivia have already parted ways with me and headed off on their journeys home.
There’s a silence as Kyle stands beside me –a silence I can’t decipher with words. It’s not awkward, nor is it tense. It’s kind of a… content moment.
We exit the school compound, and I turn right to head up the hill where I’d find a taxi to get home. Kyle grabs my hand.
Kyle grabs my hand.
Kyle grabs my hand.
And he pulls me one step backwards.
“Let’s walk today.”
“What?” I ask, surprised. I blink a few times at the suggestion. “Kyle I live like fifteen minutes away and I travel frequently but that doesn’t mean I’m fond of walking.”
“That’s no excuse. You used to go to the gym,” he tells me pointedly.
“I still go sometimes –on Thursday. Well, I used to. But the play-”
“-We’re walking today,” he says, stepping down into the other direction.
I turn to watch him. He glances back at me and pauses.
“Come on,” he says, smiling.
“What is up with you?” I ask, suspiciously.
He shrugs. “Just felt like walking is all. And I think we could both use the exercise.”
I raise my brows. “What are you trying to imply? That I’m out of shape? Go to Hell, Davidson. I don’t care what you think.”
“Shut up, Lloyd. I just want to walk today.”
So we walk.
We walk silently for a while. Part of the journey is filled with awkward throat-clearing, swallowing, humming and suspicious glares as we internally try to figure out what to talk about.
When we finally try to talk about certain things, we realise we shouldn’t elaborate too much on them, or those topics just aren’t interesting enough.
We get silent for a while again exhausted from trying too hard.
Eventually, we look at each other and realise we’re being stupid, and we laugh, beginning to enjoy the silent walk.
“If there’s ever a day I can’t make it to practice,” Kyle says, suddenly, “I’ll tell you I can’t come. I forgot to mention that yesterday and I just didn’t feel like texting to be honest.”
“So you decided to walk me all the way to my house to tell me that?”
Liar.
“It’s...” he stops suddenly, and I feel forced to follow him, he turns to me and forces a quick smile before dropping it, “complicated.”
We start walking again.
“Listen...” he says, after a while, “Malory. I know that you know about my uncle, and I just wanted to say... thank you.”
Thank you?
For what?
For not saying anything?
“Not just for not saying anything about it given our patchy friendship but... because you care. You were right yesterday about what you said. My life is pretty pathetic,” I open my mouth to interject but he continues, “But I shouldn’t... be the way that I am around Ron or anyone else. And… thanks for telling me that you actually care. I know that even though we fight a lot, usually we fight about relevant things. Usually. It wasn’t like that before.”
“Before,” I say, feeling the word on my lips, “Before we got along –Before we became friends –Before I found out about some pretty messed up things –Before we had relevant reasons to get along –Before we knew anything. Stubborn, immature ole’ Kyle and Malory.”
He stops and looks to his left. We’ve arrived at my house. “Looks like we’re here,” he says, smirking.
***
“Men,” he says, “Such anger. What use is it to be enraged by such a matter as money? It’s unfathomable – the lack of trust in people when they become acquainted with me. I will repay you the moment I acquire the funds. It won’t be long, I assure you.”
I blink a few times as Kyle goes through the lines.
It’s like he was never bad at acting.
Did he practice?
Or is he just such a genius that he picked it up effortlessly...
Why am I surprised?
“Right,” I say, clearing my throat and sipping some water from my glass. “So then the other guys will say they’re lines ‘Tarry any longer I’ll be sure to kill you,’ ‘I want the money now,’” I run my finger down the lines of the other men to skip them, “Blah Blah Blah, whatever, and then you hear the swish of metal against metal and you move out of the way.”
“Then I say ‘So it’s come to this’,” he says, “then I have to pull out my sword and aim it at... which one of the guys? –it wasn’t specified here...”
“I guess you’re pointing it at them in general as you sort of back away towards the closed door of the bar...” I say, unsure.
He pauses and drops his script into his lap, raising a brow at me. “You guess?”
“Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it?” I ask, defensively.
“Yea,” he says sarcastically, “Aren’t you supposed to know like... everything?”
“Oh, give me a break,” I say, hitting him with my script. “These are things the director works out with us individually. You’d know that if you were at rehearsals more often. Let’s continue.
“So after that, the fight begins in the bar. Valerie –obviously masked- is already intrigued by this guy and sees a drunk man with a blade running right towards him and she jumps down from the roof of the bar and opens the door just in time so that the drunk man runs straight into the door and falls. She pulls her dagger and aims it at Angus’ neck, holding him tightly in place so if he moves she can just literally slit his throat and she goes ‘Don’t come any closer. His final dealings shall be with me,’ and all the other men start laughing because who the hell does this woman think she is? But they’re amused by the thought of a woman ending this man’s life. Valerie pulls him away without moving the dagger from beside his neck until they’re out of sight –they bump into soldiers who have come off duty and they’re assumed to be criminals because they’re the only two people wearing masks –like some idiots, obviously-, so they start running. She gets onto her horse, he gets onto his, and they leave. Then there’s this messed up barn scene.”
When I look up, Kyle is staring at me. Worse yet, Kyle has the audacity to not look away when he realises that I’m aware that he’s staring at me.
“Did you even hear a word I just said?” I ask, bored. “If you don’t get this I’m literally going to end you.”
“I’m listening,” he says. “I am.” He looks down at his script again.
“So like I told you yesterday –we don’t have to practice these... touchy... scenes until Friday. Personally I think I’d be better to just do it then because I’m really not comfortable with doing that,” I say.
He scoffs. “You say that as if I’m comfortable with it.”
“Whatever,” I say, grimacing. I look down at my script before glancing over at his. They’re both messy with notes now. I guess he did some extra script analysis at home. “Your acting has improved,” I say. “Like... a lot. But don’t get big-headed about it. You can still improve.”
“I’m glad,” he tells me, smiling softly.
“Why do you keep doing that?” I ask.
“Doing what?” he wonders, his smile unwavering.
“That,” I say, gesturing to his face, “You look at me and… smile like an idiot. And you stare at me like a creep –just with less of a creepy face.”
“It’s just interesting watching you be a smartass up close,” he says, smirking. “I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing it very often since we haven’t been in the same class for three years.”
“Ha ha, Davidson,” I say, sighing and flipping my hair. “Take it in. I can get way more focused.”
You might even think it’s hot.
***
(Olivia)
“It’s like he was a part of the class all this time,” Malory says, baffled. “You should have been there, Olive. The guy’s got potential. In fact, he’s got the skill. We’ve only gotten through with a couple scenes but he has the act down like-” she snaps her fingers.
“Wow –sounds like there’s no need to worry about anyone looking like a fool at the actual April Fest, then. If he keeps at it, the show is bound to be a hit,” I say.
“How’s practice with Ron, though?” She asks.
Practice with Ron has been rather pleasant. We’ve made more progress than Mal and Kyle have, that’s for sure. It’s a pain for the both of us to learn lines, though –because there are just so many other things to do besides sit and read the script. The more practice, the better, I guess.
“It’s been great –but if things are going as well as you’re making it sound, I don’t think we’ll even be needed.” I sulk.
“You guys will get your night to shine, regardless,” Mal says. “Look at the bright side. You’re still getting a night to perform and you won’t have to do anything else backstage at all. They already have other students for the crew.”
I don’t feel much better. Truth is, after I’d read out the script, the whole concept of being intimate with a guy –even if it’s scripted- has been on my mind. My parents won’t let me get near a boy, otherwise. It sounds dumb, but I do want to experience something like the chemistry between Angus and Valerie in the play in my own life. Not that I think it’ll happen for a while, though.
Based on what Malory told me about Kyle walking her home and the way he looks at her –I guess I’m a little jealous. I think he’s either starting to like her or already likes her.
I mean, who wouldn’t see that coming anyway, right?
Malory is blessed with so many opportunities –to be a genius –to be talented –to have an uninterrupted chance at her own love story, even if she doesn’t quite see all of that for herself yet.
Granted, she’s missing out on family life and she’s been a victim of depression and there is baggage in her life that just lies dormant.
She deserves so much happiness.
We walk through the corridor and Adrien appears from his classroom.
“Hey guys,” he says, with that beaming smile of his.
“Adrien,” Malory says, though –knowing my best friend- she doesn’t sound too pleased to see him.
“Hi,” I tell him.
I don’t understand how the guys always spot Malory first. It’s typical, she’s gorgeous and smart… but gosh it would be nice to be noticed first.
I often wish I could be more like her; confident, noticeable, free-spirited. I wish guys noticed me first. I wish I could do more than dye my hair strange colours every once in a while. I wish I was a heavy reader like Mal –but I’m just not. I’ve tried accepting the fact that everyone is different, but sometimes we just can’t help feeling like we’re not good enough, can we?
Feelings.
They suck.
***
(Ron)
Lessons after lessons after lessons... I’m trying really hard to ace my subjects but it’s starting to feel like a burden to keep up with everything now. I just want to be over with finals and done with school.
I’m getting too old for this.
Nobody’s really talking about it right now –but there’s a lot of tension among the seniors. Everyone’s trying really hard to pass –others are passing, and passing excellently. Then there are people like me who are trying but struggling –we’re just so burnt out. Sure, literature is my favourite thing in the whole world… Everything else, though?
Bleh.
“I swear all I need to do is fail one more math quiz and I’ll probably drive myself off a cliff,” I tell Joanne –the girl sitting beside me in class.
“Take me with you,” she says. “Take us all with you. Nobody understands the shit this teacher says. It’s like she’s teaching it to herself.”
“In general, I think everyone’s sort of… started keeping more to themselves, don’t you think?” I say.
“Yea. Everyone’s worried about their grades –and exams, of course. Everyone’s worried about passing. Nobody has time to mess around and do random shit anymore. There are fewer fights among senior guys, more breakdowns from those ‘softie’ students who really can’t handle the pressure, and more breakdowns from the ones that can, too.”
“You guys are making me depressed. I can’t even listen to this conversation. I’ll feel guilty. I didn’t finish any homework last night,” says Wale –the guy sitting on my left. “I was so exhausted after school that when I got home and saw my bed I said to myself, ‘Fuck this shit, I’m going to sleep.’”
“I wish I could do the same,” I say. “I really wish.”
***
(Kyle)
It’s Friday night. After a long week of rehearsing with Malory and dealing with school, all I want to do is crawl into bed and make a cocoon out of my blanket with myself inside of it.
But no.
Instead, I’m here in the lounge with Ace.
“Nine o’clock sharp,” he says; his voice slow and stern. “Sharp. If you throw off my plan, you know what happens.”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
I’m sweating in this all-black get up, but I can’t do anything about it.
“And you know what I’m about to tell you,” he says, pointing his index at me while swaying his glass of whiskey around a bit, “Don’t come back here until you’ve properly completed the transaction.”
“I won’t, sir,” I say. I raise my wrist to check the watch on my hand. “I should head out. It’s already eight o’clock.”
“Right,” he says, nodding.
He stares down at my feet and back up to my face.
I don’t dare to look into his eyes.
I don’t dare to look right at him.
There’s a long pause as he sips his whiskey. I nod and turn to leave the room. He grunts. The next thing I feel is his whiskey glass hitting my back, the liquid soaking my black T-shirt and dripping onto the floor as the glass falls and shatters.
“I’m getting real fucking sick of looking at you,” Ace says.