The Mass, page 10
He played video games to pass the time. At first, it was just a hobby, but Wesley showed skill in the first-person shooter world. Because his medicine fatigued him, he ditched Lithium to spend more time online. He became highly competitive to the point that he would express rage toward his teammates whenever they lost a match. The things he screamed matched many of the hurtful things thrown by his former teammates.
And then one day, something changed in Wesley. After being banned from another match, he got ready for his evening shift at the grocery store. As he walked through the parking lot, a truckload of loud high school kids zoomed by, nearly hitting him. Wesley waved a fist and yelled at them to slow down but halted when he realized it was the varsity football team, celebrating their state victory.
Suddenly, Wesley was taken back seven years prior when the varsity team won, and the town went wild for them. While Colebrook celebrated his victory, Wesley chowed down on Lithium and curled up in his room all alone. Would Wesley take that route again? Not this time. Drugs no longer pumped through his veins anymore—only rage.
After that, it just became planning. Target practice. Buying a gun. Planning it out. Figuring out when the team would be together, close enough for one flawless attack. Since football season was over, the team would only come together for the end of the year award ceremony. At first, Wesley considered wiping out the entire auditorium with a homemade bomb. Because it wasn’t just Coach Colebrook who failed Wesley—it was his teachers, his classmates, his teammates, the whole town of Morville. But Wesley knew destroying the football team alone would damage the town beyond repair. So he made his decision. And he carried it out to near perfection except for two targets. Colebrook escaped with a shoulder shot, and Daniel Nowak wasn’t even there.
Part Two: Pleasure
Daniel
When I exit the terminal, the first thing I notice is a tall James Bond-looking fellow holding an enormous pickup sign: KICKED123. It must have been Maya’s idea. I shake my head and laugh. What am I getting myself into?
“Are you Daniel Nowak?” the man asks when I approach him.
“Yes.”
“I’m Maddox DeVario.” He hands me his business card to show he’s legit, though the black suit, sunglasses, and squeaky-clean shoes are enough. “I’ll be driving you to the resort.”
“Is, uh, Maya here?” I wonder if she’ll pop out of a bush or drop from the ceiling.
“No, sir. She arrived earlier today.” He takes my carry-on. “Is this all your luggage?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me, please.”
When I step outside, the heat hits me like a smack in the face, and I immediately start sweating. I expect DeVario to lead me to a fancy car, maybe even a Tesla, but it’s a black stretched limo. Just how much money did Maya inherit?
DeVario opens the door for me before putting my luggage in the trunk. The interior is something out of a movie. There are plush leather seats, a flat-screen TV, and an open bar with glass bottles of soda, ice, and an enormous bottle of Jack Daniels. Is that some kind of a joke because of my name? Or does Maya expect me to drink hard liquor before my arrival?
“Sir, do you need any assistance?” DeVario asks from the front seat. “Is the temperature all right?”
“Uh, yeah, everything’s great.” The AC blasts, cooling the sweat underneath my mop of black hair.
“Miss Floros has instructed me to tell you to relax and to have a drink.”
“Oh, right.” I opt for a bottle of Evian. It’s too early to drink whiskey. Plus, I haven’t had any alcohol in weeks. If I am going to drink, I’ll start with something less intense.
Once we vacate the airport, I message Maya.
Kicked123: Fancy ride.
LookingForMyLostSock: did u have a drink yet?
Kicked123: Evian.
LookingForMyLostSock: a real drink?
Kicked123: It’s too early for liquor.
LookingForMyLostSock: its never too early for liquor
LookingForMyLostSock: take a shot for me pleaseeee
Kicked123: I’ll take a shot with you later.
LookingForMyLostSock: bring the bottle with u im having issues getting alcohol here
Kicked123: I imagine so.
LookingForMyLostSock: its soooo annoying!
Kicked123: Any other surprises?
LookingForMyLostSock: wait and see
Kicked123: Will one of those surprises include me getting your phone number? You know it’d be a lot easier to communicate via text or an actual phone call.
LookingForMyLostSock: patience my young padawan
Kicked123: Padawan?
LookingForMyLostSocks: star wars
Kicked123: I haven’t seen any of those movies.
LookingForMyLostSock: u have to watch them!
Kicked123: Aren’t there like a thousand Star Wars movies?
LookingForMyLostSock: u only need to watch the original 3
Kicked123: As long as there are pizza and chips.
LookingForMyLostSock: def chips
Maya and I chat back and forth the rest of the car ride. I eat chips per her suggestion and drink a can of ginger ale. It’s almost dinnertime. Hopefully, Maya will surprise me with real food when I meet her at the hotel.
It takes twenty minutes to reach the entrance of Fantasy Land, which is surrounded by trees tall enough to be mountains. The ride through the forest lasts about ten minutes before we come upon the various hotels and cabins. Based on the fancy limo ride, I wouldn’t be surprised if Maya booked a castle for us.
“What hotel are we staying at?” I finally ask.
“Miss Floros instructed me not to tell you until we arrive,” DeVario says.
“Another surprise?”
“I believe so.”
Kicked123: Are we staying at a 5-star hotel?
LookingForMyLostSock: 4 stars
LookingForMyLostSock: dont wanna be around rich stuck up people
Kicked123: 4 is still nice. Even when I traveled for football, the nicest we stayed at was a 3.
LookingForMyLostSock: looking forward to spoiling u
Kicked123: Will that give you pleasure?
LookingForMyLostSock: for sure
Kicked123: Then spoil me all you want.
Our messaging has gone from harmless to flirting to possibly something more. Likely, I’m just reading into things. Maya has made it clear she’s sarcastic, so suggestive comments can only be taken with a grain of salt. Does she have a serious side at all? Or is everything just fun and games? Should I be worried about that?
DeVario heads toward one of the hotels partially hidden by gigantic trees. I strain my eyes, trying to take in everything all at once. If this is a 4-star hotel, the 5-star hotels must be castles. This near-castle is surrounded by waterfalls, boulders, trees, bushes, and trails. Everything looks handcrafted, from the ledges to the doors, yet it feels part of nature.
“Welcome to The Fairy Fountain Lodge,” DeVario says, pulling up to the front entrance.
“A fitting name,” I say, noticing all the fairy figurines and statues.
Once he parks, DeVario immediately runs out to open my door. A group of teenagers gathers around, probably expecting to see a celebrity. DeVario shoos them away before retrieving my carry-on from the trunk.
“Shall I escort you in, Mr. Nowak?” DeVario asks.
“I’ll be fine, thanks.” I take my carry-on from him. “I, should, uh, probably tip you?”
“No, sir. Miss Floros has already taken care of that.”
“Right. Well, thanks again.”
“Mr. Nowak, please don’t forget the whiskey.” He reaches inside the limo and grabs the bottle. Then from his jacket pocket, he pulls out a brown paper bag for me to carry it more discreetly. Maya thought of everything, and I mean everything.
I hurry inside, not wanting to linger in the heat any longer. Even though several people are ahead of me to check in, the wait is nothing as I’m distracted by all the views. The lobby is the size of a ballroom with fairy totem poles, rainbow headdresses, and sparkly furniture. Of the people, it’s mostly parents with young kids.
It surprises me that Maya would pick a family-oriented hotel when her favorite pastimes are mostly 21+. But the view from one of the windows points me straight at the main amusement park. Of course, she would want to stay at the hotel closest to all the rides. I just wish there wasn’t a giant body of water separating us from the entrance. The thought of being on a boat makes my stomach curl.
After I check in, a bellhop takes my carry-on even though I can do it myself. He takes me to the top floor. I’m certain Maya has tipped in advance, but I ask anyway, and sure enough, she has. I thank the bellhop, and he leaves.
“Maya?” I squeak.
There’s a wooden table with chairs directly to my right as I walk in. I leave my luggage beside the table and wander across the living room. There’s a bright purple couch and two armchairs, a flatscreen TV, and a mini-bar without any alcohol. Sliding doors lead to a balcony with an epic water view. I can see all the rollercoasters and the descending sun. Turning around, I notice a welcome basket on the coffee table with two sets of fairy wings. Maya is out of her mind if she thinks I will dress up like a fairy at any point during this vacation.
Through an arched doorway, I find the bedroom. The only bedroom, but at least there are two beds. Both are queen-sized with wooden frames. There is a painting of King Oberon over one bed and Queen Titania over the other. Even Shakespeare found his way into the resort. I find another TV, but no Maya.
Her stuff is everywhere. There are three big luggage bags, all opened. Clothes are thrown left and right like she had a meltdown trying to find something to wear. Both bathroom sinks are covered with girl stuff, from tweezers to purple toenail polish to an unopened bag of potato chips. The most interesting item is a vintage-looking Betty Boop jewelry box.
I feel awkward being here all by myself, surrounded by bras and potato chips, so I adjourn to the living room to send her a message.
Kicked123: Hey, where are you? I’m here.
LookingForMyLostSock: nearby
Kicked123: What should I do?
LookingForMyLostSock: take a shower eat and meet me at the dock in a half hour
Kicked123: Okay...
LookingForMyLostSock: also take a dramamine
LookingForMyLostSock: non-drowsy kind next to tv in bedroom
Why would I need a Dramamine? Does she think I’m going to get motion sickness from the rides? Or...?
Kicked123: No boats.
LookingForMyLostSock: u will be fine!
Kicked123: But what should I eat besides potato chips?
Knocking at the door startles me off the couch. It’s room service with a pepperoni pizza. This is getting almost too weird, how everything just magically happens. Maya said she wouldn’t plan anything, but so far, she’s done nothing but plan.
I do as she instructs, but I don’t finish the entire pizza. I’m too nervous to eat that much food. I take a longer-than-usual shower, scrubbing where I don’t often scrub because subconsciously, I’m still thinking about Maya naked. I change into shorts and a T-shirt, all light colors, comb out my hair that feels longer by the second, and stuff my pockets with my wallet, phone, and gum. I chew three pieces as I walk through the hotel, down the elevator, and to the dock.
My heart thumps like I’m about to kick a 50-yard field goal in front of Tom Brady. Worst scenario, Maya is a 50-year-old man. In which case, I would sprint to the nearest airport and fly directly home.
But Maya is easy to find amidst the crowd, even with her back toward me. She stands with one hand on her hip and the other holding a brown slushie-like drink. Jet black hair falls to her waist, slightly curling at the ends. She has on fake elf ears, and I wonder how comfortable they are. Her bottom is covered by a glittery blue T-shirt about two sizes too big, hanging so low that her black shorts only peek out by a millimeter. Her legs are long and athletic, but one looks slightly thinner. It could be how she’s standing or the light reflecting from the sun.
How do I announce my presence? Call out her name? Tap her on the shoulder?
I send her a message instead.
Kicked123: Boo.
Maya checks her phone and then immediately turns around. I’m about thirty feet away, but I doubt I stand out as she does, with the way her hair moves with the wind, landing perfectly across her pale-white shoulders and back. Her midnight eyes scan for my presence as her red lips wrap around her drink straw.
Suddenly, her mouth is open, and she’s flapping her arms like a deranged fairy, spilling her drink everywhere. She tosses it into the nearby trash can, shoves her phone in her pocket, and charges at me.
As a football kicker, I’ve never had to worry too much about being tackled, but it happens occasionally. But by a girl? Never in my life have I been more intimidated.
Maya
“You have Aladdin hair!” I exclaim, halting in front of him. He looks terrified, so I immediately step back, even though every bit of me wants to grab him.
He chuckles nervously. “And you have Jasmine hair.”
“I know, right? I should totally dress up like her. You can dress up and be whoever you want here.”
“Great.” He puts his hand out. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
I shake his hand. It’s relatively huge for an average-height guy. Which instantly makes me wonder what else might be relatively huge. “Likewise,” I say. “Do you like the hotel?”
“It’s nice and, uh, glittery.” He’s short for words, which means he’s still nervous. I need to tone it down, so I don’t scare him off.
“Sweet.” I take another step back. “So, are you ready to go to the main park?”
“Is that where we’re going tonight?”
“Unless you want to do something else? You want to hit up the nightclub instead?”
“No, no.” He steps forward this time and smiles. “We can do whatever you want.”
My lips twist to one side. “Oh, don’t tell me that. I’ll take total advantage if you give me that kind of freedom.” I grab him by the elbow but check to make sure he’s not freaked out by the sudden contact. He continues to smile, so I lead him to the fairy boat. He hesitates slightly, but I give his arm a teeny squeeze, and he makes the final step.
“Will this be a long ride?” he asks, veering away from the other passengers.
“Ten minutes. The Dramamine should work. Trust me. I know plenty of people who have motion sickness.”
“I don’t have motion sickness.” He looks down at the little blue waves. “It’s just something about water. It makes me queasy.”
“Don’t look at the water then. Look at this lit view! Breathe it in.” Seriously, how is he not mesmerized? The sky is picture-perfect blue. Hot, sticky air surrounds us. The sweat from his arm penetrates my skin. Though warm, it sends shivers down my spine.
With the slight stubble on his face, Daniel could pass for twenty-one, but he’d have to nix the Aladdin hair. His athletic body shows dedication, hours of gym time, and healthy eating, or maybe just good genes and a bit of luck. I used to have that “athletic” look. The six-pack abs. The shoulders. Now I’m just skin, bones, blood, and alcohol.
“Yeah, this view is pretty lit,” he says, looking right at me.
I smile and detach my arm from his. “So, did you remember the Jack?” I ask, leaning my arms across the white railing of the boat. Daniel is sweating so much, he could probably fall into the water and continue sweating.
“It’s in the hotel room,” he answers.
“Did you drink any?”
“I’m not a big drinker.”
“Are you a super clean eater because of football?”
“Sort of. But I’ve been pretty bad about my eating lately. Lots of takeout food. So much pizza.” He rubs his stomach like he’s fat or something. Seriously, I don’t have to see him naked to know he’s ripped. However, I would like to see him naked for other reasons.
“Well, you’re on vacation now, and you’re going to walk eight miles a day while you’re here, so eat and drink whatever you want.”
“How are you getting alcohol if the fake doesn’t work here?”
“Oh, it’s so easy to bribe people with a little bit of flirting or cash.”
“So you bribed your way to get that slushie?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t have the talent or necessities to do that.”
“Don’t worry. I got you covered.” I touch his arm again, but he doesn’t coil or seem alarmed. He just smiles, and I melt a little more.
When I see something I want, I don’t hesitate to claim it. That’s something I want to teach Daniel. If he falls down the path of “oh, woe is me, I don’t deserve anything!” he’s doomed to a life without pleasure.
“What is it?” he asks when he notices me staring into his brain.
“Just taking you in,” I say.
“Am I different from what you expected?”
“Yes and no.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Depends.” I bite my bottom lip, still tasting the slushie.
“On?” He looks down at my fingers, now drawing little circles around the dark hairs on his arm.
“Do you consider yourself a leader or a follower?” I ask.
“Neither.”
“Introvert or extrovert?”
“Do I have to be labeled?”
I finally let him go. “Of course not. Labels don’t mean anything unless they mean something to you.”
“They don’t,” he says, looking at the water again. “Not anymore.”
“And they never should again.”
As though taken aback by my last comment, he stands tall, opening those shoulders to their full girth. I don’t have to strain my neck to meet his gaze, but I feel the red rush to my cheeks. I think about everything I want—his hands grabbing my waist, his mouth down on mine, and his body pressed against mine.
“When are you going to touch me back?” I ask, ready to skip the rollercoasters and go straight to the hotel. My fingers trickle around his elbow to the end of his T-shirt dampened with sweat.
