The Cool Kids
11 Jan 2019Today’s prompt: “What could have happened to you in high school that would have changed your life?”
Everything would’ve been different if you’d never met Marla. If you hadn’t given her a second glance when she and her friends were lounging against the wall next to your locker. Hell, if you’d managed to be less obvious about staring at the back of her neck in science class.
One day you were walking to class past the sports equipment shed next to the track, and there was Marla, her black, frizzy hair framing her pale face. She held a lit cigarette between dark lips, the glow illuminating thick eyeliner and her nose ring. She was surrounded by a gaggle of friends in heavy boots and Slayer T-shirts, puffing jets of smoke and fiddling with lighters.
“Hey,” Marla said.
You glanced behind you, then gestured to yourself with a quizzical expression.
“Yeah, you. C’mere.”
You failed miserably at trying not to act awkward. A guy named Jordan offered you a cigarette, and he, a girl named Mo, and a guy the group called Shiv laughed at you when it made you choke. They talked about bands you’ve never heard of. You were pretty sure they were making some of them up. Antiseptic Monkey Paw can’t really be a band, can it?
You glanced at Marla, and she had a look on her face that was all I-know-you’ve-been-watching-me-and-you-could’ve-just-said-something. And then she gave you a quirky little smile.
“We were planning to go to the game this weekend and sarcastically cheer the team for a while and then see if we can get some beer,” she said. “You in?”
“Yeah,” you said.
“Great!” she said, flattening a cigarette butt with her boot. “Practice your cheers. You know. Rah. Rah. Go, fighting mascots,” she drawled sardonically.
Game night came and went, and even though you never felt like you had much to contribute to the conversation, the group was starting to treat you like one of their own. You met out by the equipment shed every day, and occasionally hung out at band practice for a local punk group (apparently, Antiseptic Monkey Paw was a thing). Sometimes you’d go to a convenience store for the five-finger discount. Most of the time you were just bored together.
Before you knew it, you’d been hanging out with the group for nearly a month, and you were eager to make plans for Friday night. “What do you guys want to do?” you asked. “Hang out at the Circle K? Maybe watch a horror movie?”
“Eh,” said Marla as she studied her nails. “Why don’t we just hang out behind the equipment shed?”
“What time?” you asked.
“I’m thinking around 10,” Mo responded.
“Okay,” you said.
There was a full moon out, and the sprinklers had been on earlier in the evening, so you could see blades of grass glinting in the moonlight, and then the familiar array of glowing embers next to mouths and hands. You hurried to the group.
“Hey,” you said.
“Hey,” said Marla. “So glad you could make it.” She gave you a sly smile. Giant canines flashed.
You sucked in your breath, then looked at the other members of the group. Jordan now had a thick beard somehow, and while you wouldn’t put it past Shiv to wear cat-eye contact lenses, you were pretty sure something was up. Mo started sniffing you. Sniffing your shoulder, your neck. Jordan tossed his jacket on the ground, revealing muscular, hairy arms. You looked back to Marla. Jet-black, pointed ears protruded from her frizzy black mane, and her face had contorted into a muzzle.
You turned and ran. You glanced behind you quickly to see a mass of ripping clothes and once-human features resolving themselves into fur, teeth, claws, and lean legs churning toward you. You ran faster, coming close to slipping on the grass a few times. But there was no outrunning the pack. As they tore into you, the sad thought entered your head: Marla probably didn’t even like you. You were just prey the whole time.