Incinerate

Chapter 17 - The Bell Tower, Part 2

My stomach, with its impeccable sense of time, gurgles at my locker. Taking out my plain brown paper lunch bag, I set off for the cafeteria. Strolling through the front atrium and down the hall full of teenage din, my feet slow. Although I am trying to remain optimistic about Elliot, I don't know if I can handle another lonely lunch period. Not talking to anyone during class is just fine since that's not a time meant for socialization. But lunch? That's a different story.

So many tables are already full as I peer into the cafeteria. As for the few that are not yet at maximum capacity, my heart trembles at the idea of just pulling up a chair and becoming a chameleon and blending in. Being the New Kid is a daunting enough title sometimes, but adding "Weird" to it might be too much to bear. I don't think I have enough confidence and charm to justify inserting myself into anyone's group. I was lucky to make it in with Elliot, Timbo, and Leah. There's no promise that anyone would like me enough right off the bat for it to happen again.

To the right of the doorway leading into the cafeteria sits another hallway. Shorter and ending with a white door that blends in with the walls, my curiosity piques. A small sign reads "Bell Tower" in dusty black letters on a dull silver plaque. With my free hand on the door knob made of the same material as the sign, I glance behind me. As far as I can tell, no one can see me down here and there are no stragglers on their way to the cafeteria. The knob turns without protest in my hand, and I slip inside.

Wooden steps creak and lead me upwards in a spiral. The cement block walls break with an occasional slim window looking out upon the street. Farther and farther I ascend, at least three storeys, until the stairs come to a final straight path. The short distance ends with another white door atop. The handle, like the knob below, turns with ease. The sun shines bright in this new place. Stone pillars (or perhaps cement like the walls in the staircase corridor) hold up the tall roof and a huge bronze bell.

In the bright light, I almost don't see her sitting on the edge of the tower next to a pillar. She looks out over the football field and the landscape beyond, low hills and corn fields. Her long red hair shakes in soft and slow movements, her shoulders joining the dance. The black headphones with big ear cups remind me of the first day we met. I'm glad they didn't break in that alley, or she was able to fix or replace them.

"Found you," I say with a smirk.

Foolish, I call myself, when she doesn't respond. She can't hear anything with those headphones on. With careful steps, I approach the edge where Sera sits. I crouch near her shoulder, my fingertips reaching out and tapping her there. She gives a jolt, latching onto the pillar next to her, and spins her around to find me.

"Ass!" she chastises with a mouth full of food and a punch to my arm. "You could've killed me!"

"I'm sorry!" My grin is hard to hold back as I rub the spot she hit. Though the last thing I would have wanted was to make her fall, knowing that she's safe makes it a little funny. Perhaps it's a little bit of schadenfreude, that feeling I had denied her at the football game.

"What are you doing up here?" she asks, her heartbeat settling back down.

"I wanted a cool place to eat lunch with a nice view," I say as I take the space next to her. My legs dangle over the edge, and I willfully avoid looking down. It's like the bridge at the Schurtuga River, only I don't know if I can trust Sera to not throw me off now.

"Get lost," she spits. "This is my spot."

"Looks like there's room enough for two," I shrug it off, digging into my bag.

She's silent for a long moment, likely debating whether or not she can get away with first degree murder. She wouldn't be totally unjustified. After all, I did seem to give her a good scare. She eventually sighs and gives a scoff with a shake of her head, a less-than-silent blessing for me to join her. My ham and turkey sandwich tastes a little sweeter knowing she's not going to kill me. At least, not yet.

We settle into a peaceful quiet. Soon, my food is gone and my belly is decently full. While birds sing both near and far, Sera disappears back into her music. However, she leaves the left ear cup slightly off her ear, and hints at the songs playing. Faint, the heavy guitars come through the most over the pounding rhythm of drums. It isn't until the vocalist comes in, a tender tenor, that I recognize what's playing.

"A Pox Upon Your House," I comment with a sip of my soda.

"Are you putting a curse on me?" she asks, a confused arch to her dark eyebrows when she turns her attention to me.

"The band," I gesture to her headphones. "I like them. They're good."

Sera's lavender-esque eyes linger on me for a long second. I'd give anything to know what she's thinking right now. All I'm left with, though, are things I think I see in those eyes: she seems almost impressed, at least surprised. Something plays there, a hint of curiosity or inquisitiveness. It tingles on her lips as the corners perk in a minute curl. Her gaze breaks from mine with a small nod, and he looks out upon the low hills once more.

"Sundown Over the Atlantic or Blood Sport?" she asks, that little curl cracking and growing. I can't help but mirror it.

"Well, that depends," I begin. "Blood Sport was the album that introduced me to their music, but Sundown Over the Atlantic has a lot of good tracks. If you want to make the question more intriguing, though, I suggest throwing Tomb of Eden into the mix."

"That album does hit pretty hard," she nods and kicks her feet. "And it has 'Warrior' on it. That's one of my favorites."

"It's on my running playlist," I tell her.

"Of course it is," she giggles. "The hook is literally, 'The Warrior must learn to run.' How can you not?"

"Right?" I offer my own soft chuckle to the sound. "How did you first hear about them?"

"Raph, my dad, used to be a sound engineer before we moved here," she says. "He did some of the production and synthesizer work on Atlantic."

"That's pretty cool," I say, taking my turn at being impressed. "Does he still work with music? I can't imagine the scene having a lot going on around here."

"He mixes for a couple of the local bands when they're putting out a new EP," her headphones come off. She unplugs the cord hooked into her phone and packs them both away in a small bag in her lap. "Mostly does background music for some TV shows nowadays."

"Anything I may have seen?" The heel of my shoes bounce against the tower wall.

"That depends," she shrugs. "Do you watch a lot of crime or paranormal shows?"

"I don't watch much TV at all, to be honest."

"Then why ask?" A sharpness heats her tongue, and I shrink.

"I'm just trying to make conversation," my sheepishness comes out.

"Right, I forgot you're into small talk," she scoffs as she gets to her feet. "Well, conversation's over. I'm not big on meaningless gabbing."

The door slams behind her, and I'm left speechless. What did I do wrong? Did I say something bad? Was my admission of not being a TV show connoisseur truly so offensive? Going over everything in my head, I try to trace my words back to anything that would fall under the category of socially unacceptable. But I come up blank.

The electronic bell rings out from inside the building. Glancing up to the large bronze one above me, I wonder if it's now just for show, or if there's an occasion I have yet to witness when it sounds. With a sigh, I descend the staircase.