MEETINGS, MEETINGS
Adam's POV
It had been two weeks. Two whole, awful, frustrating, weeks of me frantically looking for a tutor.
After that night I slept in the locker room and woke up with deep pains in muscles that couldn't have been engaged while I was asleep, I didn't do it again. It felt like I'd been beaten with a stick by an enthusiastic ten year old.
But thankfully Beckett and I had kind of developed an accidental, unspoken system. I'd been asleep by ten, maybe ten thirty, and he would be back anytime after that. And I'd be out of the room before seven, when he woke up.
My phone rang almost every thirty minutes on the dot, as if they were scheduled— my dad's texts, graciously reminding me how royally screwed I was. I so wound up I hoped I didn’t snap and yell at a teacher. I couldn't afford to get into more trouble that I was already in.
How was it that every teacher and student in this school with half a brain was either busy, booked, or completely uninterested? The only people available were the creepy-ass history professor— who I was sure is a pedophile— and the janitor. And everyone else? They kept referring me back to one name.
Fucking Beckett.
I refuse to believe that he was that good.
I began walking back towards the dorm, shoulders weighed down. I had spent the entire day wandering the campus, attempting to bribe students, almost begging five different kids and offered to pay them a pretty penny, yet still no takers.
I let out a breath, running my fingers through my hair. I closed my eyes for a split second then — boom. I just plowed right into her.
She squeaked, a tiny little sound as books fell out of her hands, papers spilling out like confetti.
"Damn it— oh, I'm so sorry," I blurted, dropping quickly to assist.
"No, I should've had my eyes open for where I was going, I'm so sorry," she apologized quickly, sweeping back hair from her face as she collected her stuff. "I'm Cassy."
I looked up.
She was beautiful. The sort of girl that you recognized immediately had pretty advantages, looks casually given. Blonde hair, bundled down her back, against the soft pink sweater she wore above cute blue jeans.
"I'm Adam," I told her, helping her up by the hand.
—---
Emerson’s POV
I practically set the place on fire with my drum solo. The crowd went so wild I half expected the roof to come crashing down from the sheer force of their cheers. Adrenaline surged through my veins as I exited the stage with my band, sweat clinging to my neck and the rush still humming in my chest. I was a fucking good drummer and Adam Pierce could suck my dick.
"Whoa, dude, that was great! You totally brought the fire to that song," River grinned, slapping me on the back.
I nodded a brusque "Thanks" and was already mentally preparing myself for whatever charity-cut they would ultimately settle on paying me. I wouldn’t complain anymore. Whatever it was, it would be my payment. I wouldn’t hang around for the theatrics.
A shriek so high and shrill I didn't know if it was human, yanked me out of my musings. Before I could leap, I was being hugged by some vagrant person. Little — perhaps chest-high, but held me with the strength of a python about to swallow me whole.
I looked down.
A tangle of wild, uncombed red hair. And when she looked up… wow. Pierced face, burning eyes like a thousand suns, her face relaxed, happy.
She was beautiful.
"Hi, E.M! Oh gosh, it's really you! I never imagined it would happen. I knew I was going to meet you someday but not today! I just — ahhhhh!"
She squealed again and hugged me tighter. I just stood there… speechless. This girl was a level ten hugger — the sticky, glittery-eyed kind.
"I'm a gigantic, gigantic, GIANT fan!" she grinned, eyes nearly glowing.
"Uh… hi," I said, still staring at this creature. "Nice to meet you."
"My name's Petra — and guess what? I play the drums too! I even have a pet axolotl named EM, that's how crazy I am about you!"
I couldn't help but smile. That was actually kinda cute.
She was young-looking — maybe nineteen, maybe twenty. Could've been older, her little frame made it hard to tell.
"So… uh, you want an autograph, perhaps a selfie?" I rubbed the back of my neck, my hair spilling onto my eyebrows as I looked down at my shoes. I never knew what the hell to do in these kinds of situations.
She smiled. "Yes! And I want a lot more— including a date."
"A… date?"
"Yeah! I'd die if you went out with me, you hot bundle of green fantasies. And I'd actually, literally die if you didn't."
Whoa. Hot bundle of what? She was bubbling over. I laughed nervously.
"Listen… I'm flattered, honestly. But I'm not… I'm not really dating anyone at the moment. And, uh… besides… I'm gay."
I braced myself for her reaction. People either didn't like when I admitted that or just looked at me in a way that told me they were surprised I'd admit that.
But Petra gasped dramatically, as if she just found out Christmas came early. "OH MY GOD — EVEN BETTER."
I blinked. I couldn’t anticipate where this interaction would go next ever since it started. "Wait, what?"
"No, no, wait — can you repeat that? Please?" She pulled out her phone, opened a voice recorder app, and held it in my face. "Just — please, for me. Say it. 'I'm not really dating anyone at the moment… and I'm into guys.' Pretty please?"
I let out a huff of laughter, shaking my head, but couldn't stop the grin spreading onto my face.
"Alright, alright." I leaned in closer to the phone. "I'm not officially dating anybody at the moment,” I glanced at her, confirming she did indeed want me to continue talking, “and I'm gay."
She emitted yet another ear-piercing shriek and saved the recording as though it were the holy grail. Enough energy for days.
Petra was still bouncing up and down, clutching her phone like it was a priceless artifact. "You are officially the best thing that's happened to me this year," she grinned, her face aglow with excitement. "God, you're even hotter close-up—"
I chuckled, scratching the back of my neck again. "You're… really something, you know that?"
Then, mid-sentence, her smile fell. Her face paled, her breath caught. My eyebrows furrowed.
"Hey… you okay?"
She stumbled slightly, one hand on her chest. "I—" she panted, trying to breathe. "Asth…ma…"
"Shit—okay, okay—where's your inhaler?" I demanded, stepping closer, my heart pounding straight away.
She tried to speak but was choking, frantically gesturing towards her backpack sitting on the floor a few feet away. "In…bag…front…pocket…" she gasped.
I ran toward the bag, my hands shaking as I tore it open.
I tore through it like a madman and produced a sparkly pink purse, a wee skull keyring, a stuffed bat, a chocolate bar eaten partially through, and — what the heck — a small plastic dinosaur. "Jesus, Petra, what's this?" I muttered, still rooting around.
Not funny. Not now. My heart was thudding as I pushed a *CD labeled 'EM FAN MIX' and a mini water pistol aside. "Dammit — where is it?!"
I finally spotted something that looked like an inhaler, buried under a stack of stickers. "Is this it?" I held it up, racing back to her.
But she was struggling, barely able to nod.
"Screw this — I'm calling 911," I growled, pulling out my phone, my fingers shaking so hard I nearly dropped it. “Hold on, Petra — I've got you, okay?"
I hit the call button, my voice forced. By the time the dispatcher picked up, I’d crouched next to her, my hand on her back, phone against my shoulder and ear, trying to administer her inhaler. Fuck, how did one use these things?!
She was so little. So full of life, just a minute ago— and now so damn fragile.
"Yeah, I need an ambulance at The Vibe Club— a girl is experiencing a bad asthma attack
. Fucking hurry!"
I cradled her unconscious body, feeling a deep fear. "It's alright, Petra… it's alright. Hold on!"