The Girl I Was Before Page 5

  “What’d you say this event was again?” I ask, pulling myself out from under the table, moving to my laptop, which I’ve loaded all of Casey’s programs onto.

  “Some frat house is having an end-of the-year party,” he says, his fingers practically twitching while he waits for me to get out of his way. I step to the side when I get everything pulled up, and he starts testing mixes and sound.

  “This school has a lot of parties,” I say.

  “Yeah, like you’d know,” he laughs.

  “Har dee har,” I say. Casey twists his head in my direction, pulling his sunglasses down to look at me—sunglasses he doesn’t need, because we’re inside, in a very dimly lit bar. “What?”

  “Har dee har? You sound like an old fart,” he snorts, pushing his glasses up and moving through a few more screens on the computer.

  “Yeah, well you look like a tweaker in those sunglasses, so fuck off,” I say. He raises his right hand and flips me off, never taking his eyes away from his work. Of course, maybe he did look at me. I can’t tell, because the douchebag is wearing sunglasses inside.

  Casey spends the next thirty minutes pre-loading a series of songs, mixing them into each other, overlapping and coming up with a pretty cool vibe. What he does is really damn impressive, especially to a guy like me who can’t even sing along with the car stereo. I wish his parents saw it that way. Casey’s parents are both mechanical engineers at a big oil and fuel company in Oklahoma City. Casey has been bred to follow their footsteps, and while that’s what his degree is for, his heart is for something else. His father cut him off last year, dropped his tuition payments, and told him he couldn’t live at home. That’s when he started taking the deejaying seriously, and so far, he’s been able to pay his bills. He’s finishing out his degree because he’s only two semesters away.

  “You want something to drink, man? I’m buying,” he says, pausing in front of the stage, a twenty in his hand.

  “Just a Coke,” I say, and he rolls his eyes.

  “One day, I’m going to get you drunk, just like the old days,” he says over his shoulder as he walks to the bar.

  “Yeah, well I was sixteen in the old days,” I say to his back. He doesn’t hear me, but I flash to those simpler days for a few seconds. High school was so much better than being twenty-one. I had no idea how much five years would change my family’s life.

  Besides, Casey’s gotten me drunk since then—a few times over the last year. That usually ends with me waking up somewhere I don’t belong with a bellyache made of guilt and remorse. I think I’m capped out on regret for the year.

  The bar isn’t very crowded, and there’s an old country song on the jukebox in the corner. It’s funny how the bars near McConnell shift throughout the day, catering to the old-timers until the late-night crowd of college kids starts to stream in. I can tell we’re on the cusp when a Taylor Swift song plays next.

  There are a few old men shooting a game of pool in the back room. I look at my watch and kick away from the stage, picking up my Coke from Casey on my way.

  “I’m gonna get a game or two in. What time do things start?” I ask.

  “They start paying me at ten,” he says. I nod and head over to the pool table, introducing myself to the guys and calling the next game. They’re playing for money, but when they ask me if I want in on the action, I turn it down. I’m rusty, but I would probably still kick their asses at nine-ball. Something doesn’t quite feel right about taking twenty bucks from sixty-year-old men, though—even if I could use it.

  “Make sure you have the good shit on tap. We’re not paying for that piss you usually serve!” I’m fairly confident I recognize the voice without turning around, so I don’t bother. I wait for him to say something else, because if it’s that guy who Paige is seeing—Carson, I think?—I know he won’t be able to shut up. My suspicions are confirmed when, after a short-lived five seconds without having to hear his voice, he begins singing loudly with the country song finishing on the jukebox.

  “Dude, get this shit off! You—isn’t it time for you to start playing the real music?” I turn around to see him snapping his fingers at Casey, who only glances up for a second, looks down at his watch, then returns to Carson’s attention shaking his head no. Casey comes from a large Italian family, and I’ve seen his dad work him into a corner, screaming at him and threatening to hit him. He never did, but Casey’s four older sisters would take over, smacking him until his skin was practically pink all over. Carson may be large, but the worst thing he could do is punch Casey and knock him out—and in Casey’s world, a nap isn’t so bad.

  “What the fuck. You’re fired!” Carson’s moving closer, and as funny as it is to watch my small friend sit there, finishing his sandwich—as if the Neanderthal yelling at him were invisible—it’s also almost ten at night in the middle of the week. If I’m out right now, I need to be getting paid for it, which won’t happen if Casey gets fired from this job.

  “Hey, chill out. He gets time for dinner. That’s sort of a law, and we’re not technically on the clock yet. He’s got you covered,” I say, totally making up that bit about the law. It sounded good, and I get the feeling Carson isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, so I took a gamble saying it.

  “Hey…I know you!” Great. I glance down at Casey, who looks up at me with a full mouth and chuckles, his shoulders shaking. I let my eyes roll up and wait for it. “You’re that grocery-store dude. Yeah…hey, you make, like, the best fuckin’ sandwiches, yo!”

  “WOW,” I mouth to Casey, my back still to Carson. I’m not sure how you respond to this. Are people really friends with this asshole? Does Paige actually kiss him? Not that I really care who Paige kisses, but she’s pretty, and he’s so…

  “Yep, sandwich dude. In the flesh.” I shake his hand and regret every second of this conversation. I regret it more when I see Paige walk in behind him, her eyes zeroing in on our hands. I’m shaking this asshole’s hand—the guy I told her she was better than. I look like such a jerk.

  I pull my hand away and look back to Casey. “I’ll get everything ready to go; you about done?”

  Casey’s being obstinate on purpose, chewing slower, taking his time, adding things like salt and pepper to the last few bites of his dinner. He’s doing it mostly because Carson was trying to bully him. But now he’s taking it out on me. I kick his foot out, and his sandwich falls from his lap. He catches it, but barely before it hits the floor.

  “What the fuck?” he yells, breadcrumbs spilling from his stuffed mouth.

  “Sorry, man. Not in the mood for a scene tonight. I want to get this going and get home,” I say. I don’t do late nights, because I do early mornings. We’re not getting out of here until two in the morning, and I’ve been toying with the idea of just staying up all night. My shift begins at seven.

  Casey wads up his food wrapper and tosses it in an empty box near the stage. “All right, let’s get this shit started then,” he says, pulling the headphones from his console and moving a few of his settings until that devilish smile spreads over his face slowly. He’s always loved music, but when he started collecting things for mixing—making his own tracks—he got really obsessed with it. I actually love watching him work. I help sometimes, when he needs to borrow my computer. He doesn’t really need me, but I think he feels bad using my stuff without paying me for it. I really don’t do much, but I need the money, so I take it.

  His blend of pop and techno starts to take over the joint, and eventually, my pool buddies are the last of the afternoon and early evening crowd to leave, the rest of the bar filled with college kids looking to hook up and let off steam before finals week kicks in.

  Sometimes it gets to me that I miss out on this stuff. But I can’t leave my mom with everything; that wouldn’t be right. And really, what am I truly missing out on? I think this just as two girls start to grind with one another—practically making out while they dance in the center of the floor, the spotlights helping to accent the right
see-through places on their shirts. Yeah…this is what I’m missing out on.

  “Every job has its perks,” Casey says, slinging his arm over my shoulder, his headphones resting around his neck.

  “So, is this your thing?” Her voice does something to my chest, kind of like a sucker punch. I feel like I’ve been caught, but I’m not sure what I’ve been caught doing. No, that’s a lie—I’ve been caught ogling two chicks touch each other in a way that I didn’t think was real until right this moment. I’m not sure why I feel all sweaty and panicked over it.

  “Hmmmm?” I ask, pretending I didn’t hear Paige behind me. I keep my eyes on the prize, Casey still looking at the scene with me. But all I’m doing is blinking, wondering why she came to talk to me, wondering why I care…and maybe wondering a little bit if her fuck-hole boyfriend is watching, waiting to start crap again.

  “You crash parties to get your fill of girl-on-girl action. That’s your…thing?” she says, leaving her eyes on me, her lips tight. I don’t even have to look down to know she’s crossing her arms.

  “Well, I didn’t crash. I’m working,” I say, nodding to Casey next to me, who offers a small wave with his fingers before turning his attention back to the girls on the floor. “But to be honest with you, yes. This is very much my thing.”

  I’m so satisfied with my response, and I kind of love the fact that I’ve left her speechless. She’s siting next to me, maybe a full body-width from me, but I can feel her looking at me. I want to see her reaction, but I also don’t like the fact that I care about her reaction. She may have helped me get a B on my Spanish exam, but every time I try to be nice to this girl, to help her, she steps all over me. I’m kind of sick of it.

  “Typical,” she says, after I spend several long seconds under her heated stare. She pushes off, and when I know it’s safe, I turn to look at her walk away, and well…shit. She’s wearing this red dress that hugs her body so well, I regret wasting all of my ogling energy on the two girls on the floor. Now all I want to know is what the front of that dress looks like—and if her body moves in the front the same way it does from behind.

  “Who was that chick?” Casey asks, elbow at my rib.

  “Paige Owens. She’s this pain-in-the-ass customer of mine,” I say, chewing at my lip wondering what else to say about her.

  “She’s hot, dude,” he says, climbing back to his feet, to set up the next set at his table.

  “Yeah…she is,” I say, my voice low enough I know he didn’t hear. I said it out loud, though, so it counts. I’m not too chicken to admit it. Paige Owens is hot. But she’s still a pain in the ass.

  Casey lets me set up a series of mixes after the first hour, and after his touch, they don’t sound too bad. I work on some of the connections for him, making my computer jive with his equipment, then head to the restrooms in the back while we have a small break.

  I’m in the back hallway thinking about what an easy gig this is for a thousand bucks when a mountain of a fist smashes into my jaw. My head flails to the right, bumping into the wall with enough force that I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a cartoon-type goose egg on my head in the morning.

  “What the fu—” I’m about to protest when a second punch comes at me. I’m more prepared for this one, so I block most of its force, wobbling on my feet and getting my bearings back. My eyes finally focus on a very drunk, very big Carson standing in front of me. It might just be the effects of his punch, but I swear he looks like Popeye. His blond hair and barely-there beard frame his round face, and his body looks like it could crush me—and I’m not small.

  “You see that girl right there?” I look around, and there are at least thirty people jammed into this tight space, all looking at us. I know who he means, but I’m not going to make this easy for him—not after he blindsided me with his knuckles!

  “There are…lots of girls here?” I say, rubbing my jaw, but keeping my guard up. If he hits me again, I’ll be ready. And I have a feeling I might surprise him.

  “Dude, don’t play that shit with me!” He comes at me, and I step back, raising my fist. He quickly moves his hand to my shoulder, turning me to face the back corner, where Paige and another girl are leaning, both of their mouths open, a little shocked at this ridiculous scene. “That. One! Right there! Red dress. Big tits.”

  Okay, I’m done with whatever Twilight Zone episode this is I’ve walked into. “I’m sorry…which one do you mean?” I ask, just to be a dick. My eyes fall on Paige’s for a brief second, and she sneers at me. Seriously? I’m the one out of place here?

  I feel his shove come from behind, and I falter a few steps in her direction, catching my balance with my arms stretched out on both walls. She sighs heavily, handing her drink to her friend.

  “Carson, knock it off! What are you doing?” she says, looking around me. Her hands are on her hips while she confronts her unleashed boyfriend.

  “I’m telling sandwich boy here to keep his hands off of what’s mine!” he yells. Out of everything he says, sandwich boy is actually what pisses me off the most. I spin around quickly, catching him by complete surprise, and punch him squarely in the nose. The blood comes fast. I shake my hand at my side, and flex my fingers. That felt both good and really fucking terrible at the same time.

  “She is not your property, asshole! And you’re way out of line. I’ve barely talked to her tonight…in fact, ever! So if you could just get the hell out of my way, I’d like to go take a piss now,” I say, pointing to the men’s room door behind him. There’s blood on my shirt, and that ticks me off, too. I have, like, four really nice shirts, and this is one of them. I hate this guy!

  “Then why am I getting texts all night from people telling me you and her have a thing going? This one had these pictures, of you and her meeting up at the library.” He’s holding the phone out, like I can actually make out a postage-stamp sized photo from six feet away…after taking a few punches.

  “Let me see your phone,” Paige says, brushing past me. Carson pulls it away at first, but she grabs his wrist and jerks the phone from him. He doesn’t fight her, but he looks at her with such contempt, I almost want to punch him again for no reason. Or maybe she is my reason. Why am I so involved in this?

  “Who sent you this?” she asks, and Carson bunches his brow, pulling his eyes in and shaking his head.

  “I don’t know, but I’ve gotten six or seven of them, just in the last half hour,” he says, grabbing the phone back from her to slide to another photo. He hands it back and she taps on his screen, her lips moving as she says the number. She takes over, tapping on his phone more, and holding her hand up when he reaches in to stop her. Putting the phone on her ear, she cups the other side so she can hear clearly. After a few seconds, her eyes close. She shuts the phone, and hands it back to him, shoving it at his chest, then turns to walk away. Her eyes catch me as she passes. For a split second, I think she’s telepathically apologizing for all of this.

  “Hey!” Carson yells. I don’t turn to him, instead keeping my eyes on her. She downs the rest of her drink and hands her glass back to the girl standing next to her, then adjusts the strap of her purse on her shoulder, never acknowledging the shouts coming from the guy who thinks he owns her.

  “I said hey!” he shouts again, and I can tell by the tone in his voice that he’s embarrassed that she’s ignoring him. Paige is incredibly calm, smoothing out the back of her dress, pulling it lower on her legs, careful to make sure she’s still covered. She may be hot, but she’s also a lady. I think that’s what I notice most. She whispers something to the girl standing by her, then takes a few steps toward the bar, toward the exit. “Hey, you stupid bitch!”

  That one gets her. It gets me too, and I flex my raw fingers, testing the burn of my knuckles, readying my arm to let this guy feel something that will stick with him well into tomorrow. I don’t take my eyes away from Paige though. She stops on her heels and turns slowly, brushing her long, blond curls from her shoulders and raising one brow
at him in question as she meets his eyes.

  “Who the hell was that? Who did you call? And where the hell do you think you’re going?” His intoxication is picking up steam, his words linking together to form new words. Paige leaves her eyes on him for several long seconds, and the hallway around us grows quiet, waiting for whatever she could possibly say to this insensitive asswipe. I’m pretty sure we’re all rooting for her to make him look like a fool.

  “That—” she lowers her eyes to his phone, still clutched in his hands, “is my problem, and has nothing to do with you. And as for where I’m going, I’m going home.”

  “You can’t just…what…leave? Fuck that, you owe me some answers. Who the fuck is this guy? And what the hell’s going on between you two?” Carson asks, still trying to show his control, as if he ever had it.

  Paige starts laughing before he even finishes speaking, and by the time he’s done, she’s laughing out loud, her shoulders rising and falling, her arms once again crossed in front of her body—everything about her is calm.

  “This guy?” She points at me with her thumb, barely unfolding her arms. “He’s the one who told me I could do better,” she says, and my eyebrows raise a little, feeling the spotlight of, well, everyone. “And ya know what? He’s right.”

  She turns around fast. She’s moving through the hallway quickly, people stepping out of her way, drunk faces stunned and impressed. She doesn’t even pause when she passes the high-back chair she was sitting at, snagging the jacket from the chair back, and pulling it around her body while she takes these long, powerful steps. I’m so damned impressed, my feet don’t work, and even though I want to run after her to give her a high five, maybe throw her up on my shoulder and parade her around the room, rubbing more salt in Carson’s wound, I don’t—because I’m stunned.

  When I finally wake up from my trance, I don’t move after her because Carson has now knocked my ass to the floor. I’m able to get with it quickly enough to anticipate his foot coming at me. I grab and twist it, sending him into the wall, a small chunk of drywall chipping away with the impact his shoulder has against it.