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Chapter 3
Millie; February 21st, 4:53 P.M.
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“What about this one?” I walk out of my bedroom, and find Jackie, who stands in the common room. She tilts her head, examining my outfit. A long moment of silence passes as she stares at me, and I begin to sweat. “Change the purse, and you’re set.” she finally says, nodding. I stare down at my outfit proudly. I’m wearing cargo jeans and an oversized football jersey over top of a bodycon white turtleneck. Paired with it is my ball cap, some sneakers, the ‘change-it’ purse, and a deep red lipstick that blurs at the edges. Walking back into my room, I quickly slide off my purse and replace it with my favorite leather cross body one. I stare at my mirror. Tight black curls surround my bronze-skinned face, and I look… Stunning. Underneath my eyes, though, there's a hint of fatigue that I haven't been able to get rid of since I got accepted to Ridgewood… Oh well; some issues are better unsolved, anyway. I glance under my bed. My cloak peeks out at me. “What about me?” it asks. …Or, at least that's what I feel like it’s asking me. Sorry, is that crazy? I feel crazy. I stare right back at it. Sorry, buddy. Gotta leave you behind for this one. I shove it further under my bed with my foot. Today’s the football game, and it starts… soon. I check my watch; 6 PM. Actually, it starts in an hour. Whatever.
I walk back out into the common room, shutting the door behind me. Jackie looks up from her phone and nods. “Good. Ready?” I grin. “Ready as I'll ever be. The cougars are going to win this one; I can feel it.” Jackie laughs as she holds the door open for me. “Ladies and gentlemen, spider-woman and her miraculous spider sense.” She grins as I nod gravely. “And don’t you forget it,” I say, pointing my finger at her. The door clicks shut behind us as we stroll down the hallway, chattering. When we get in the taxi, I try not to think about this month's rent. Or Cy; though seeing his face on passing billboards doesn’t make that very easy for me. I have to find another job, or I'll have to cut short on groceries. My stomach grumbles at the thought.
Sometimes, I find myself pretending I'm okay with stealing for a living; like it’s all some big joke I've made up in my head. It’s hard to believe it’s real, and I only seem to recognize that when I'm jumping off of ten story buildings, plunging to my imminent demise. Well, I’m recognizing it now. I cannot begin to tell you how infuriating it is that everyone except me is able to get a job, while I'm supposed to, what, stand there? Go broke? Starve on the streets? Steal for a living?
If you told my thirteen-year-old self that in eight years I’d be a wanted criminal, I think she might have a heart attack. Whatever; there's nothing anyone can do about it, now. It’s not like the government is doing anything inherently wrong, I guess… The taxi window fogs, raindrops clinging to the glass like leeches, as little strings of warm light from the buildings splay and reflect off of every wet surface, illuminating the same unbeknownst warmth that the rain always brings. Headlights flash and blend into the street as the taxi drudges along, splattering water across the street and shattering like broken glass.
People file into the stadium on our right, wearing vibrant shades of red and blue, their spirits high. We pull over on the side of the street, Jackie pays the taxi driver (i’d stop her, but i don’t have a lot of money at the moment), and we make our way to the stadium. When we get inside, we show an employee in a bright neon vest our tickets. Right before I turn to find my seats, Jackie faces me. “I’m gonna head this way,” –she gestures to her left– “to go see Derrick before the game; gotta get my man HYPED!” She throws a triumphant fist in the air. I lift my eyebrow. “So, you're gonna scream in his ear until he gets on the field…?” She gapes at me, then pops her hip and crosses her arms, as if it’s obvious. “Duh. How else is he gonna learn to improve from the last game? Kay, I better get going; love you, stay safe, don’t get beat up by any super hot super-heros, you know– the usual. See you soon, Mil!”
she winks at me, and I grumble as she struts away. I turn on my heel and head towards our seats. The stadium is roaring despite the light rain, and the colors are… vibrant. Streaks of red and blue cover the entirety of the stadium, and I swear you could see the place from space. I walk down the steps to my seat, past the third row, the second, and the first row. I lean over the barrier to the VIP seating, which is technically on the field, and flag down an employee with my eyes. She walks towards me hesitantly. “Ma’am. Please don’t lean over the barrier.” I don’t even blink. “Can I get through? My seats are there,” I point at two empty folding chairs out on the side of the field. She shakes her head. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. These seats are only for family members, spouses, or close friends of the players.” I know all this, so I simply hand her my ticket. “I’m a friend of Derrick Price; His girlfriend's best friend.” She clasps her hand over her mouth. “Oops! Sorry, I’m new. I just started this job a week ago. Sorry; stand still for a second?”
At first, i’m confused. Her eyes glow an eerie red, and they fan over my entire body. Then it becomes clear; she’s scanning me. Never seen that ability before– I guess she’s sorta like a human metal detector? I’m not sure if I like that; It’s kinda creepy. I imagine her at an airport, scanning other people’s luggage. Freakkyyyy. After an uncomfortable thirty seconds, she nods curtly. “Right.” she says, unlocking the barrier gate to her right. I stroll into the side of the field and take my seat on one of the two folding chairs labeled as “Reserved: Jackie Hamilton.” I grin as I settle into my seat. Perks, I gloat to myself. I glance back at the peasants behind the barrier. Sorry, too far? Well, I don’t care! I have the best seats in the house! I’m untouchable! Muahahahahaha! After about thirty seconds of gloating, I retrieve my phone out of my purse and start scrolling through social media. Jackie’s posted a selfie of her and Derrick, both making extremely unusual faces at the camera, and captioned; “harassing my boyfriend before the big game. #GoCougars!” …It’s already gained six thousand likes. Droplets of rain land on my phone. Sighing, I put the phone back in my purse, closing my eyes. The night air is damp and cold, and the smell of wet turf wafts up my nose.
For a while, I let myself sit there, basking in the strange piece the stadium brings me. …Until Jackie settles in beside me. I open my eyes and face her. “Hey!!” She says, practically jumping for joy. She’s… happy; Alarmingly so. I scan her face, and I notice that her lipstick is smeared. Then, her outfit; Her collar is rumpled, and her hair is slightly off. I squint at her suspiciously. “What?!” She asks, offended. “You wanna know what happened?” —She sighs and settles back in her chair, staring at the sky blissfully.-- “Or… who happened?” She glances at me, wiggling her eyebrows. Oh. Oh. Ew… I raise my hands defensively. “Nope. I so do not want to know, thank you very much.” She frowns at me. “Y’know, best friends are supposed to listen to each other talk about boys… I listen to you when you talk about Cy–” I wail around to get her to stop speaking, flailing my arms above my head. She clamps her mouth shut. “Right.” she says, smiling sheepishly. “Oops?” she adds, shrugging. “Yeah, ‘Oops’ is right.” I close my eyes for a second, wincing. “Plus,” I add, “You make it sound like we’re making out or something. Please make a note to remember that we’re fighting for my freedom.” Jackie sighs dramatically, lays back in her chair, and waves her hand at me lazily. “Whatever,” she says, annoyingly dismissively. Just then, the opposing team files in, wearing a jarring shade of blue. The stadium fills with obnoxiously loud cheers and boos. The announcer announces each player as the enter, each striking their own stupid poses. Then it’s our team.
“Julian Hill,” The announcer states first, as the first player steps out onto the field. The player proceeds to do an …interpretive… dance (this is the best way I can describe it without being a jerk), swaying his hips whilst holding his arms in the air. The crowd goes wild. “Ayaan Chaudhry,” he announces next, and the next player comes running out with his fist in the air. “Levi Jenkins,” is next. He walks out normally. No funny dance or anything. I hate to say I'm disappointed, but… I pout a little. The next few players pass by in a blur. Finally, the announcer announces Derrik’s name. Beside me, Jackie perks up– Grinning. “...Derrick Price!”, he says, drawing out the r’s in his name like some weird, sycophant, limerick drumroll. This time, the whole crowd erupts into cheers; Even the Bears’ fans. Are they allowed to fraternize with the enemy like that? I think not!
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The game passes by in a blur, and when it ends, The Cougars do a victory lap before receiving the trophy. They won, by the way. What can I say? I know these things; I have a second sense. And, If I could get Jackie to forget the six preliminary times my all-powerful super-sense has failed me, she might believe me. The team stands in the center of the field waiting for the trophy for five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-Five. The stadium is dead silent, their tongues held in dreadful anticipation.
Okay, what the hell is going on?
Suddenly, a woman shouts from the other end of the stadium, pointing animatedly at a man dashing up the stairs, headed towards the exit. He holds what is, quite obviously, a trophy. Instinctually, I shoot up from my chair to stop him. Maybe I'm not publicly recognised as the kindest person in the world, but that's not going to stop me from doing something nice every once in a while. Jackie calls out for me as I dash across the field, and suddenly, I’m back in the museum two days ago, running for my life. I know that a thief chasing a thief is a pretty ironic thing to do, but lately I've felt like it’s hard to mentally separate myself from other criminals, especially the ones who steal by choice.
The stadium is in uproar, and there are at least three security guards on my tail. Why are they chasing me? One of them, a man in a bright green vest, shouts breathlessly at me, arms flailing. “Get off the field!” That's what they’re worried about? Not a chance. I speed up, hardly breaking a sweat. Hopefully, I didn't just break a law. I mean, I do that all the time as Gloom, but it wouldn’t be great if Millie became a wanted criminal, too; Though I can't quite envision myself getting arrested for trespassing on a football field; especially when they’re not even playing.
When I get to the other side, I hop the fence gate and dash up the stairs, just as I catch a flash of red in my peripheral vision. Still running, I turn my head to my left to get a better look. Is that… One of the football players? At first, I think he’s chasing after me, but he’s staying on the left side of the stairs, eyes fixated where the man has just turned the corner out of the stadium. How is he this fast? He’s a football player, I remind myself, The guy’s probably just really athletic. Or maybe he has a speed ability, like Jackie? Whatever.
We turn in unison, following closely on the man's tail. We catch up to him in an instant. No communication is needed; He glances at me and cocks his head towards the man, and I simply nod, speeding up to block the man’s path. The man hesitates when he sees me, and the football player takes advantage of the man’s momentary confusion by kicking him in the head with his leg, hoping to knock him out. It doesn’t even look like a kick; he raises his leg and strikes him in the head in a simple, practiced motion. I had at least expected to hear a thud or a smack, but he makes no sound. It’s almost graceful. The man falls to the ground with a stifled groan, his grip still held tight on the trophy. His kick was far from perfect, because the man is clearly still conscious, but it definitely did the trick.
He brings his leg back down in a quick, swift motion, leaning over the man on the floor. He has unruly brown hair and jet black eyes; jarring ones that stare into your soul. At least, that's what it looks like he’s doing to that poor man. Okay, so maybe I hate the thief too, but I can't give him all the credit. He plucks the trophy from the man's strained hand with practiced ease, and turns to me. Neither of us are panting or even sweating. He looks at me, studying me. Awkward… “So,” I pause, “Good game?” He hesitates for a beat, processing, and then lets out an abrupt, stifled laugh. I cast him an unimpressed look, and he plays it off like he was simply coughing the whole time; as if he had a frog in his throat.
I decide to try a different approach. “Where’d you learn to do that?” I ask, nodding my head at the man on the floor. I do this for multiple reasons; mostly because I feel like I have to uphold conversation to not seem like a total dick, but also because I'm curious. He visibly tenses at this question, and it only increases my curiosity. Interesting. “...Football,” He says.
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What?
“Fans;--” he clarifies, “Crazy, you know? Gotta learn self-defense. Yeah; Fans.” He says decidedly. Okayyy, so that’s clearly a lie, but I'll let it slide. He slowly walks away from the man on the ground and towards the stadium doors again, trophy in hand. “What’s your name?” I ask to his back.
Am I perhaps resembling one of those ‘crazy fans’ he was talking about a second ago? Maybe. But the man is clearly hiding something, and, might I add, is notably attractive. It’s not every day you meet a guy like that. Against my will, my mind drifts to Cy, andI internally pinch myself. Absolutely not. We're not going there;-- This guy is wonderful & absurdly attractive and I'm not going to let Cy ruin the party again. Quiet down there, you little instigators.
He turns around and looks at me with his right brow arched and a wicked smile dancing on his lips. “You’re at my football game, wearing our team’s merch, and you don’t know my name?” I look down at my jersey and then back up at him. I smile apologetically, shrugging. He shakes his head at me judgmentally, lips pursed. “You–” he starts, when his eyes drift up to something behind me. All amusement is shot from his face. In an instant, the thief's arms are around my neck. My heart rate picks up. He’s got me in a headlock; no, he’s choking me.
The football player drops the trophy and runs to help me, but this, amazingly, is not my first time being in a headlock. If there's anything I know how to do, it’s defend myself. Without thinking, I hook my ankle behind his foot. It all happens in slow motion; He loses his balance and falls to the ground with a deafening thud, gripping the back of my jersey tightly and pulling me down with him. The football player is closer now, but his pace has slowed. I take advantage of the thief’s momentary breathlessness to pin his arms on the ground and wedge my knee under his chin, shifting my weight onto his neck, effectively blocking his airways. I hate this part. They always make a choking sound, attempting to breathe when I know they can’t. I wince, closing my eyes momentarily. The player is now standing over me, watching. I’d look up to see the expression on his face, but I'm preoccupied.
An excruciating 30 seconds pass, and the man passes out cold. I check his pulse to ensure he’s still alive before I carefully release his hands and slide off of him, turning to the player. He simply looks at me. I half expected him to be shocked, or even curious, but he simply looks me up and down, calculating. Shit; I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve fearfully imagined myself compromising my identity as Gloom in many ways over the years, but this was never one of them. When things like this happen, I simply hold my breath, hoping, praying.
In my nightmares, someone always shouts at me, pointing me out, even in the biggest crowds imaginable. “Look,” they’d say, “That's her! That’s GLOOM!” As if they somehow can discern my secrets just by looking at me. Obviously, this isn’t possible. And it’s highly unlikely that that happens now. I pull my consciousness back into my body, straightening my back as I stare back up at the player. After a moment, he grins; a lopsided, funny thing. Relief is the only way to describe what I feel when he smiles. It was all in my head; it always is.
He extends his hand to me. “Levi,” he says. I stare at him, confused. He just watched me take down a man double my size, and now he’s… befriending me? “What?” I don’t realize I've said that aloud until he stares pointedly at his hand in response. Oh, fuck it. I exhale sharply, not quite laughing, but smiling, and take his hand. “Millie.” With a light, swift shake, I release his hand and tilt my head towards the man on the ground.
“Do you have anything to tie him up with?”
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Me and Levi are outside leaning against the stadium walls, keeping our eyes on the thief, when the cops show up. At this point, most of everyone in the actual stadium has been blocked in by the police due to the risk of overcrowding. The streets are never empty, though. People are staring, as they always are; I can’t say I blame them. The thief is still tied up as the cops handcuff him; He throws his head back, practically growling. “How the actual fuck is this necessary?!” He shouts, spitting. Levi snorts, covering his mouth with his hand. I grin.
The cops don’t respond to his question and instead choose to ask him what his ability is. The thief's face falls, and so does mine. He doesn’t have an ability. As they load him into the cop car, I can’t help but wonder what makes him and me so different. He steals for money, probably because he doesn’t have any way to get employed, and I do the same. I’ve been in his position a thousand times over, only… I’ve never been caught.
When the cops clear the scene, Levi leaves and I wait for Jackie by the entrance. I left my phone on my seat, so texting isn’t an option. Everyone files out of the stadium in a confused huddle. After a half hour, the street quiets. Someone taps my shoulder. It’s Jackie. She hands me my phone with a smile. She wants to ask me questions; I know she does, but she sees the expression on my face and decides to leave the subject untouched.
Behind her, out comes the rest of the football team, all in sweats or regular streetwear. “We’re going to grab a couple drinks to celebrate,” She gestures at the guys, “You wanna come? Super low-key, little underground place.” She smiles apologetically, though she doesn’t exactly know what has me so down. “Yeah.” Is all I say before the guys loudly cheer and she grabs me by the shoulders, steering me down the street.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡj7QRJZoYOG
