Poesy

trap queen

Annika stumbles lazily behind me as I drag her by her hand toward the front door. We're going to wait on the porch for someone sober to leave and ask if they can drive us home. That's the plan at least. Meanwhile, she can catch some fresh air and stop asking everyone to get her another shot.

If I could drive, I would. Since I only drank about half of my beer, I am completely sober. I couldn't stomach the taste any longer. However, I still have yet to acquire my license. I took the drivers test like six times and failed horribly every time. Apparently, full stops and blinkers are kind of important. Anyway, they told me to practice another six months, then try again.

She didn't wear a jacket and the April air is a bit nippy so I wrap my arms around her as we sit on the porch. Multiple people stumble out of the house but none look sober enough to drive themselves, let alone us. I told Annika that she can stay at my house since my dad was preoccupied but also wouldn't care if we were drinking, as long as we didn't drive.

The blare of a siren and red and blue lights snap us from our sleepy haze. Nonononono, ugh, can I get a break today?

"Crap, Annika, it's the cops. Come on."

After lifting her to her feet, we run down the last couple of steps and around to the back of the house. Kids pile out the back door in an underage panic. I try to find anyone I recognize, but they're all darting around too fast. Pulling away from me, Annika falls down into the grass and starts giggling uncontrollably. This twat.

"Annika, get up. We gotta go."

The glow of a flashlight beams through the yard directly at us and I freeze like a deer. She's too drunk to care about the panic spreading through my veins like wildfire. I'm not worried about me, but her parents will kill her if she gets an underage drinking ticket. Wait, maybe they'd tell her she can't move out. Maybe she'll go to jail! Yes, perfect.

Just as I'm about to let the cops catch us, a tall silhouette rushes from behind me and scoops Annika from the ground. In the illumination of the flashlight, I can kind of make out his face, it's Jude.

"Let's go," he says. I follow quickly behind him into the alley. He opens the back door of a rusty white four-door, places Annika in the back and buckles her seatbelt.

"What are you doing? Get in." He tells me and I realize I'm just standing there like a doofus.

We drive fast out of the alley and I direct him the way to my house, using my hand to remember which way is left and right. I can never remember. You should see me trying to do the electric shuffle.

There's a click from the back. Annika scoots up and sticks her head between our seats.

"Who's this?" She asks, ogling at Jude. "He's cute."

"Ha. Thanks, I'm Jude," he says, shyly.

"Heyyyy Jude," she sings to The Beatles melody and I can't help but giggle. "I'm Annika."

"Hi, Annika. Could you buckle your seatbelt please?"

"Yes, sir. I stan a safe driver." She slurs, sliding back into her seat.

His hand reaches toward the stereo and beneath the sleeve of his denim jacket, are a row of rubber bands covering his wrist. I don't know why, but I have to resist the urge to snap one of them.

Trap Queen by Fetty Wap fills the car as soon as he switches the radio on.

"Ohh, leave this on. This is my jam," Annika calls from the backseat. Jude gives me a face that says I hate this song, but turns the volume up anyway, earning a point in my book. Not 'cause I necessarily like this song either, but because it makes Annika happy.

Annika sings along and I join in, bopping around in the front seat while the night wind swims and splashes through my hair. When I look over at Jude, he's singing along too. Poser.

After a few songs, the backseat falls silent. Jude looks in his rear view and turns the volume down.

"So, I overheard you and Noah," he says.

I panic thinking Annika may have heard what he said, not that he really said anything, but still. If this guy blows my plan, I'll hit him with another freezer door.

"She's sleeping," he reassures me. Her head lays against the window, eyes closed, mouth hanging open.

"Okay. So what exactly did you hear, spy?"

"Everything," he says, obviously proud of himself. "Your plan sucks by the way."

Good thing I didn't ask you. "You got a better idea?"

"No. Just thought I'd let you know."

"Well... thanks for your input man, but she's all I have so... I must persevere."

He seems to think about it for a second before speaking again. "She can't be all you have. What about your parents?"

I'm not getting into this conversation. Not now, not here, and not with him. I wouldn't even know how to explain it anyway, so all I say is, "she's all I have, Jude" and turn the radio back up.

"Here," I point to the big sign above the bar that reads Nick's. "Just pull into the parking lot."

"A bar? I don't think she needs any more to drink," he states, pulling into the parking lot and turning off the car.

"No, this is my house," I inform him with a sigh. "Can you help me get her up the stairs?"

I hold the door open for Jude as he carries a still sleeping Annika over the threshold. My dad is sitting on the couch with the television on, but he's now watching us as we enter. The girl from earlier is nowhere in sight.

"Hey, dad."

"Hey," His expression is somber and he doesn't even question the sketchy situation that I'm bringing into the house, but I offer an explanation anyway.

"This is Jude, he's just helping me get Annika home. She's... tired."

"Okay," is all he says, returning his gaze to the tv.

"Come on," I gesture for Jude to follow me to my room.

After laying her in the bed, he turns to face me and pushes his wavy hair back out of his eyes, revealing the rubber bands again.

"What are those for?" I ask him.

"What?"

"The rubber bands."

"Oh, those, for sculpting. I use them when I'm forming the basic shape of whatever I'm making."

"An arteest?"

"Kinda," he chuckles. "I'd better get going."

"Yeah, thanks for your help, agent."

...

The next morning I wake to Annika's feet in my face. She always flips and flops and twists and turns in her sleep. Oh, and farts.

"What time is it?" She groans as soon as I crawl out of bed.

The cuckoo clock on my wall says almost ten. "It's ten."

"Shhhhhizzzzz," she whines, rolling off the bed onto the floor. "I'm supposed to be at church."

She slips her shoes on and then groans again, smacking her forehead with her hand. "My car."

"I'll tell my dad to give you a ride."

"Thanks. That boy last night, he was pretty cute, huh? What was his name again? Jude?"

Just like that, all of the alarms and sirens and lightbulbs turn on in my head at once. He's the one.