CactusKid

United States

"Living without passion is like being dead." - Jeon Jungkook of BTS

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Message from Writer

Writer. Reader. Music-lover. Fangirl. :)

My eternal resolution will be...to do too much. - "Orlando" by Blood Orange

LUX

November 15, 2020

PROLOGUE:
The people around me all have their eyes on the main stage.
We’re all here to get away from the lives we’re attached to. School. Work. Family. Society. Here, none of that matters. Here, I can be lost in the music.
Then, a song I’ve never heard before starts to play.
A lone figure appears. A low murmur goes through the crowd.
“Who’s this? No clue.”
His hat obscures his face, but even so I’ve never seen a performer like him at this venue. He doesn't look like much, I shrug. I turn to leave, but then he starts to move.
Fluidly. Effortlessly. Like the ground is nothing. Like there’s nothing holding him back. Weightless. The beat isn’t moving him, he’s moving the beat. Every spotlight, every head turns to him. He commanded their attention in an second.
“That’s him, isn’t it? Law.”
The audience gradually gets more excited, cheering for this stranger like a friend. I frown. Why is he so familiar, yet not?
At the end of the song, he bathes in the limelight. 
"Law." I breathe.
He lifts his chin and I catch a glimpse of his eyes: dark as midnight.
He disappears behind the stage and the energetic crowd immediately fades. I’m in my bedroom. Alone again.
The darkness peeking outside my curtains tells me that it’s way past midnight. I take the VR off and crash onto my bed.
I wasn’t actually at that concert, but the moment he met my eyes…everything felt real. I felt real. My hand clutches my chest. My heart is still racing to the beat of that song.

ONE:
“And with that, I implore you, Mr. Grant, to please understand my grievances in this matter.” I finish.
The principal clears his throat. “Are you done?”
I sit back down and cross my legs. “Yes.”
See, the reason I’m in this situation is all because of an unbelievably uptight woman called Ms. Reynolds. My English teacher, unfortunately. She’s always waiting to catch someone slipping by dozing off or playing games. Today, we were forced to read aloud a novel excerpt about a man traveling in Africa surrounded by cannibals and fighting his demons or something like that.
BORING.
“Good for the soul," she said.
"Actually, it’s a good for a nap.” I mutter, prompting fellow classmates around me to snicker.
“Miss Grace? Do you have something you’d like to say?”
“No, ma’am.” I put on a smile. I could see Dusty on the other side of the classroom sigh.
The teacher’s high heels clack loudly on the ground as she approaches my desk. “Since you always seem eager to talk, why don’t you read the next page?”
My façade faded quickly after that. Let’s just say I couldn’t help but bait the woman into an argument about what students in 2080 should be learning in 12th grade English class.
“One day detention, Grace. That’s it. Can you do that?” Mr. Grant asks, exasperated.
It’s better than suspension. “Yes, sir.” I beam.
“Just keep your personal opinions out of argu- conversations with teachers from now on.”
I skip out the office, smiling at the front desk lady, Debra, who has kept me from being expelled from truancy more times than I can remember. We’re good friends now.
In the main hallway, a boy sits on the bench, the frames of his glasses falling off his nose from staring intently at his computer.
Dusty glances up at me, “Well?"
"It pays to be nice and complimentary to adults.”
“So…”
“I just have one-hour detention on Monday.”
Dusty sighs. “To be honest, you know Ms. Reynolds hears everything. You shouldn't provoke her. You might not be let off that easily again.”
I blink at him innocently. “I didn’t mean to, Dusty. It’s in my genes to argue and debate what I think should be reconsidered.”
“If you become a politician, I’ll make sure to vote for you.”
At the front gate, I spot Gene’s car. “By the way, you’re coming with me.” It’s my best friend’s turn to act clueless. I roll my eyes, “We’ve been over this, Dusty, you’re coming to my mom’s gala tonight.”
“I can’t go!”
I grab his arm before he can run away. 
“Hi Gene!” I greet my mom’s personal assistant as we climb into the car.
I’m not surprised Mom had Gene get me to make sure I show up tonight. Appearances are everything. Gene just nods with a smile on his face. I’ve seen him more than my mom lately.
Dusty’s continues to protest. “Your mom doesn’t even like me. I don’t even own nice clothes.”
“Don’t worry, I bought your tux last week. It came in the mail yesterday.”
“How do you know my measurements in the first place?”
“I called your mom saying that we have an important school presentation. She was ecstatic, so don’t tell her it was a lie.”
Dusty groans, “So I can’t go home either.”
I grin, “Nope.”
At the apartment, I show Dusty said tux. His eyes widen when I hand him the box from my room. “How much was this?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He takes the box gingerly.  
“Wear it for college interviews, job interviews, and other important events if you’re so concerned about the price. Wear it a ton. It’s yours.”
“…Thanks KK.”
I punch his arm. “Don’t be mushy and just put it on. And don't thank me yet. I may have gotten the pant size wrong.”
His brows furrow. “You’re messing with me.”
I smirk. “Who knows?”
I sigh and I enter my room. The nightstand lights up, “Welcome back, KK.”
“Updates?” I ask, kicking off my sneakers and shrugging off my jacket I had over my school uniform.
“You received a package from Layla Grace.” It reports.
I peer into my walk-in closet, seeing a few dresses hang on my closet door. I flip through them. Too plain. I purse my lips and open my closet door. “I have a better idea.”
I really like this story!!!

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  • November 15, 2020 - 4:13pm (Now Viewing)

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