Page 4 of Chasing Chase London, Part 8: Valentines Day

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“Rock ’n’ Roll High School”–Ramones

Back on the floor, Lindsey pulls me through the crowd to where we left Elaine and Ian.

They’re in their own little world, dancing to their own music.

They aren’t jumping around like most of the crowd or even grinding on each other.

Elaine’s arms are twined around Ian’s neck, and his hands rest on her hips in a casual yet possessive hold.

They sway together as if they’ve forgotten another person is in the room, gazing into each other’s eyes with such intensity I swear I can feel the heat rolling off them.

I look away, a funny mixture of embarrassment and jealousy swirling inside me. No one has ever looked at me that way.

Except Chase.

I shove that thought away with violence.

“This is the last song we’re gonna play before we take a short break,” Colin says into the microphone, his accent strong and adorable.

“I wrote this song for my ex-girlfriend. It’s called ‘Across the Pond Scum.’” He points into the crowd near the stage, though I can’t tell if he’s pointing at Daria or another girl he dated.

They all shriek in rapturous unison and jump up and down.

When the song ends, Elaine and Ian finally break apart from their embrace, and he takes her hand and pulls her into our circle. Daria comes bounding up, overflowing with excitement. “Did you hear that? Colin wrote a song for me!”

What I heard was a song about him being a dick to a nameless American girl, but I keep my mouth shut. She’s too drunk and happy to absorb such a harsh reality, anyway.

She giggles and links arms with Elaine, who placidly allows the show of affection without so much as a disgusted look in Daria’s direction. Maybe this Ian guy is some magic cure for her horribleness.

As if to remind me of her true evil, Todd materializes beside us.

He reaches for my hand, but I duck by pulling out my phone and pretending I didn’t notice.

Then Chase steps around him and hugs Lindsey, and they talk in voices too quiet for the rest of us to hear, and I wish I’d let Todd take my hand.

“You like the band?” he asks.

“Yeah, they’re great.”

I watch Chase teasing an outraged Lindsey. I can tell just by his smile that he said something inappropriate and offended her sense of decency.

“You look pretty,” Todd says.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Is this okay?” he asks, reaching for my hand again.

“I guess, but I’m still mad at you,” I say, letting him take my hand in his big, sweaty paw.

“Selfies,” Daria yells, holding up her phone and making pouty faces into it. She squeezes up close to Elaine, then drags me and Lindsey over to join them.

The boys stand aside while she takes pictures of the four of us, then hands the phone to Todd for a picture of our outfits. I stick out like a sore thumb in my ripped jeans and Converse.

Todd hands the phone back, and the guys move back in to claim their girls. I wish I was one of those girls.

“Todd,” Ian says, tipping his chin at Todd, his eyes cold.

“Ian,” Todd says, hunching his shoulders and looking unhappy.

The band comes back on, saving us from more awkwardness and hostility.

Daria pulls me towards the stage. I go along, since I don’t want to watch Elaine and Ian in whatever world they are in, and I don’t want to watch Chase and Lindsey, and I don’t want Todd to try to dance with me.

The front of the stage is even worse, though.

Guys are jumping around and slamming into each other, and the girls are dancing in front of Colin, trying to catch his eye with their short skirts and sexy moves.

I’m more of the jumping around type, and I don’t want to stand there and get battered, so I start to get into it and dance a bit.

Suddenly Daria grabs my arm, and I glance around guiltily, wondering if I’m dancing with someone she would deem unsuitable, like the day I talked to the Slut Club.

But she nods toward the band, and I look up and see that Oliver is at the edge of the stage, playing his guitar and laughing at me.

Great. Now that I know he’s looking, I feel less like I’m dancing and more like I’m doing a daddy-long-legs impression.

My gangly limbs are poking in every direction at different times.

I don’t even like Oliver, but guys with guitars are so hot, even when they don’t look like Irish gods, that it’s hard not to feel like an uncoordinated stick insect when he looks at me.

When the song ends, I stand there frozen with mortification, wondering if it’s too late to flee and pretend I was never here.

If he ever mentions it, I’ll just play dumb and say I wasn’t there, it must have been someone else.

Surely there’s another cartoonishly tall, gangly freak whose hair looks like she stuck her finger in a light socket somewhere in Faulkner, right?

Oliver turns to pick up his water bottle, takes a drink, and steps over his cord as he comes to the edge of the stage. Then he drops the bottle in front of me.

I catch it automatically, cringing when I notice a few girls giving me dirty looks. Do they really want his half-full water bottle? You’d think he was Zane Wilder the way they’re acting.

I try to hand the bottle back, but Oliver shakes his head at me, never missing a beat as they segue into their next song.

He steps back from the edge of the stage, turning away from the crowd again.

I take a drink and nearly gag at the burn in my throat.

If I had options, straight vodka would definitely not be my drink of choice.

After I’ve had a few sips, Daria grabs the bottle and takes a big gulp.

She splutters, the shock on her face beyond comical.

“Naughty Sky,” she squeals, wagging a finger at me, a huge smile spreading across her face.

Instead of giving the bottle back, she takes another swig and hands it off to another girl, someone I vaguely recognize from our school named Mackenzie or Makayla.

I don’t bother trying to retrieve it. Showing up drunk when I was supposed to be at work, and after Mom just let me off grounding, would probably not be the best choice I’ve made.

Besides, it doesn’t take a lot for me to get a buzz.

Two shots from the bottle and I’m already a little tipsy.

Loosened up from the alcohol, I jump around and have a good time the rest of the show.

It’s easier now that Oliver isn’t looking at me.

The band is pretty okay. Todd joins us and hovers nearby, but he doesn’t paw at me, and he’s big enough to deflect some of the kids trying to mosh so they don’t hit us.

I don’t care what he thinks of me, so I don’t feel self-conscious about flailing with long-limbed abandon.

At last, the band leaves the stage, and the show is over.

Daria drags me out the back exit, where Future Fuckboys of America is putting equipment in an old beat-up van.

Todd comes along with us, hunching his shoulders against the icy wind.

Daria’s dress whips about, but she doesn’t seem to feel the cold.

Colin leaves the band to the instruments and comes over to hug Daria and grab her ass with both hands. She shrieks and pretends to try to squirm away while he grinds against her. Oliver glances our way, offers a shy smile when he catches me looking, and goes back to loading amps.

“Enjoy the show, mate?” Colin asks, releasing Daria and clasping Todd’s hand.

“Yeah, man. It was cool.”

Turning to me, Colin yanks me into a damp embrace that smells like cologne and alcohol and sweat in the best way. “Oliver wants to give you a squeeze but he’s afraid he’s too sweaty,” he says in my ear. “So I’ll give you one for him—and a proper one at that.”

A little shiver races through me when he breathes into my ear, and I’m too shocked and confused by his overpowering masculinity to pull away. Here I’d always thought that was something only Chase could do to me.

Before I can react, Colin runs his hands down my back and clamps both hands on my ass, grinding my hips against his. A growl rumbles through him, and my tummy flips, and I finally gain the presence of mind to pull away. I deftly remove his hands from my ass and try to act normal, whatever that is.

Colin just laughs raucously and throws his arm around Mackenzie. He’s a total creep, but somehow I can’t help feeling a little attracted to him. That whole scoundrel act is endearing on him.

Suddenly I realize that Daria, Oliver, and Todd are all staring at me.

“Let’s have a drink to celebrate, yeah?” Oliver says after a painful second of silence. He takes a bottle of whiskey from the back of the van and passes it to Todd. “Cheers.”

Todd takes a drink and passes it to me.

I’m ready for another drink to take the edge off my painful self-consciousness. After a shot, I pass it to Daria. “Sorry,” I whisper, cutting my eyes at Colin.

When Chase does something like that, at least it’s not right in front of Lindsey. I’m not sure that makes it better, but now I have to deal with Daria’s anger as well as my guilt. She shrugs and turns the bottle up, but I can feel the hostility rolling off her.

My phone buzzes, and I pull it out to see a text from Mom. I tell the group I have to go back inside, and since the guys have finished loading the instruments, everyone follows.

“Now that’s nice,” Colin says, close behind me. I turn to find him staring at my ass, that roguish grin on his face.

I wish Todd wasn’t so nice for once and would just deck him, but no such luck.

Daria storms off as soon as we’re through the door.

I start to follow her, but Oliver stops me with a hand on my arm.

“I’m sorry about my brother,” he says, looking anywhere but at my face.

“How can he do that to Daria?” I demand. “After everything he did last time.”

“It’s not my place to judge,” Oliver says.

“What the hell?” I ask, throwing my hands up. “I know he’s your brother, but even you can see what an asshole he’s being.”

“There are two sides—”

“No,” I cut him off. “There’s really not. Unless you mean the right side and the wrong side. You’ve obviously chosen his side, so don’t apologize for him. You’re just as bad, except you pretend to be a nice guy. At least he’s honest about who he is.”

When Oliver just looks down, I turn and walk away. God, he’s infuriating.

I scan the crowd, but there’s no sign of Daria. I can’t find anyone I know, in fact, and I start to worry that Lindsey forgot she gave me a ride and went home with Chase so they could fight in private.

Finally I spot Nate Swift in the back with the other creeps, and I’m just desperate enough to approach.

“Have you seen Daria?” I ask.

“You’re not supposed to talk to me,” he says, pushing up his glasses and staring past me into the crowd.

“Yeah, well, we’re not at school, and it’s not like you have a restraining order,” I say. “I’m just looking for my friend. Have you seen her?”

“Do I need a restraining order?”

“You think I’m going to stalk you?” I ask incredulously. “I don’t even know you.”

“I know you.”

“No, you don’t,” I say, annoyed by his presumptuousness. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he says coolly.

Suddenly I remember Preston with all his cryptic hints about my family—and that Oliver said Nate was with him in the hospital the day we joined the search party.

I shiver and cross my arms. “Have you told Oliver?”

Nate finally glances at me. “You’re one of Lindsey’s little bitch clones,” he says. “That’s all anyone needs to know about you.”

I gape at him in disbelief. Between him and Oliver, I can’t decide who’s the more self-righteous prick.

“And all anyone needs to know about you is that you go to shows alone because the only people who want to hang out with you are other creepers and pedos,” I shoot back, gesturing to the few older men still lurking around.

“I rest my case,” he says, the corner of his mouth tugging up in the tiniest wry smile.

“No wonder Oliver is your friend,” I grit out. “He’s the only person on earth as insufferable.”

He arches a brow. “I thought I didn’t have any friends.”

“Oh my god, you’re infuriating,” I burst out. “Can you just tell me if you’ve seen any of my friends?”

“No.”

“No, you haven’t seen them, or no, you can’t tell me?”

He shrugs, his smile turning smug.

“Well, thanks for wasting my time,” I snap.

“Any time,” he says with a little chuckle.

My hands ball into fists, but I turn and stomp away so I don’t lose my temper and punch the audacity out of the guy.

He deserves it, but then he really would file a restraining order.

Now I can see why Elaine dated him though.

He looks just like a younger version of Ian, and unlike her new boyfriend, who actually seems nice, Nate is the spawn of Satan.

The place is starting to empty out when I finally find Daria at the mirror in the bathroom, wiping her eyes.

“Are you crying ?” I blurt out, then slap a hand over my mouth.

Good job handling the situation delicately, genius.

I was so shocked to see Daria brought to tears I didn’t think before I spoke.

“No,” she says, sniffling. She looks down at the black smudges on the ball of tissue she’s holding. “Yes.”

I pat her shoulder, since I’m not much of a hugger. “I’m sorry. I swear, I would never do anything with Colin.”

“You always say that about Chase,” she says, dabbing her eyes.

“And I never do anything with him, either,” I point out. “Besides, I don’t even like Colin. He’s kind of… Vulgar.”

She sniffs. “He is, isn’t he?”

“You deserve so much better.”

She pauses, then tosses the tissues, opens her clutch, and pulls out a tube of mascara. “It’s stupid to even care. I mean, he told me he wasn’t ready to be in a relationship.”

“You don’t mind?” I ask carefully.

I can’t believe Daria would put up with that. It’s so unlike her.

“Of course I mind,” she says. “But I can’t do anything about it, can I?”

“You could tell him you’re not going to see him until he can commit?”

She snorts. “He’d never agree to that. That’s the same as not seeing him at all. Eventually, he’ll realize I’m the only girl who will put up with all his shit and still love him.”

“Are you sure it’s worth all this?” I ask, my heart breaking for her as I gesture at her tear-stained face. She always acted so cool about guys, but her strategy is worse than Lindsey’s he-fills-the-hole-I-have-inside theory.

“It’s probably not,” she admits, her shoulders slumping. “But there’s that one percent chance that I’ll hit the jackpot, and he’ll fall in love. God, I’m like a gambling addict! What is wrong with me?” Tears fill her eyes again, and I grab some tissue from the stall and bring it to her.

“I get it,” I say, sadness rising inside me like a tide. “The heart wants what it wants. Welcome to hell.”