The Geek Revolution ✓

28 | flames

LEAH TACKLES QUENTIN INTO A hug the second the three of them, including Callum, stop singing. On her face is an unmoveable smile, blinding and inspiring all at once. Confronting one of your deepest fears will do that to you.

The spotlights leave traces on my eyes, swirling across my vision through Quentin's long turned them off. Leah doesn't seem to care that the crowd is visible again, despite it having grown in number during the song. Hell, I'm not even prepared to see this many people.

Leah threads her way to our friends, laughing carefreely with Drew and Delaney and Benjamin. I've gotten into the habit of packing up after I play, but Ashley reminds me of the other groups scheduled to play later. So, I leave the keyboard as it is and move to exit the cordoned area from the back, since the front is overwhelmingly packed. Just before I get close enough for my friends to see, someone drags me sideways into the crowd.

I jolt in fright, and immediately leap to defend myself — whether it be by a fist to the face or a knee somewhere else. My posture relaxes when I see familiar hazel eyes and tawny hair. "Oh, it's just you."

Terrence doesn't seem the least bit fazed by the anger on my face. Instead, his face is flushed red and glowing with enthusiasm. "Scare you?"

"No," I reply instantly, keeping my face innocent and voice light. "Being grabbed and dragged away is one of my favourite pastimes. Absolutely sublime."

"That almost sounds like sarcasm. But, I just came to say that I saw your set, and wow — you're brilliant at the piano."

I eye him sceptically, but the exhilarated smile on his face doesn't fall. I'll admit, Terrence giving a genuine compliment renders me speechless. It's just not something I ever thought he'd do, after being the butt of so many jokes and pranks of his.

He continues, and my confusion only grows from there. "Gives us something in common."

"I'm sure you don't play the piano. What does that give you in common with me?"

"Keys," he states simply, drawing a straight sliver of metal from his pocket. Terrence always seems to carry at least two of those around with him, just in case he needs to randomly unlock—

"Oh." I roll my eyes, "Funny."

From the other side of the pier, I catch a distant glow and rising flurry of sparks. It sets the sky orange and sets my mind ablaze with disappointment when I realise I missed the lighting of the bonfire. "Shit," he swears, pocketing the metal again, and registering the annoyance on my face. "I didn't mean to make you late. Just wanted to talk to you."

Terrence is so bizarre. I don't understand him. He claims to want to be my friend, but then he tricks and humiliates my friends, and therefore me through association. He doesn't treat anyone that I care with the respect they deserve. I don't feel special being the only one he's nice to. If he oscillates between such extremes depending on the person, I don't think I'll ever feel at ease around him.

And, it's with this new resolution that I tell him, "You've talked to me. My friends are waiting, so can I go now?"

He's not satisfied with my sudden coldness, and I watch the frostiness creep into his eyes like ice forming on a window. It's always like this with him — he'll be civil if I'm civil, but neither of us are particularly built for decorum. "Then they can wait a bit longer. I actually have shit to say."

"About what?" I am always cautious when it comes to Terrence because he gets along with trouble like a shark in the ocean. Swimmingly.

"You know my friends and yours don't get along?"