As she led him out onto the floor, one song ended, and another song, a slow song, began. This dismayed Lindsey, but on another part of the floor, Alicia was thrilled.
“Oooh! Another slow song!” she eagerly squealed, pulling Kirk close and wrapping her arms around him. They began to slowly rotate. She let her head sink into his strong shoulder and gushed: “Don't you wish they could all be slow songs?”
Kirk had actually never thought about it. “I dunno, that'd get kind of boring, wouldn't it? Upbeat songs are more fun, you know? I mean, I like both types, I think mixing it up is—” Alicia embraced him tighter, so her body was pressed snugly against his. His statement was abruptly choked off. They danced in silence for a moment, before he continued, somewhat breathlessly, “Fast songs...who needs 'em, you know?”
Alicia smiled. “I agree.”
Wonderful as the moment was, Alicia spotted something as they slowly turned that threatened to yank her out of it. It was Maxine. She was marching out of the concession stand for a cigarette break, looking visibly annoyed.
That twinge of guilt returned. Alicia still wasn't completely sure where it came from, but she was starting to unravel it. Maxine didn't even want them here, and yet she had to watch them dance and enjoy themselves on a night she probably wasn't even supposed to work. If Alicia was in her shoes, she knew all she'd want is for something to cheer her up.
She leaned back from Kirk, and flicked her green eyes up at him. “Hey, Kirk? Can you do me a favor?”
…
Maxine leaned her back against the side of the concession stand, one roller-skated foot crossed over the other at the ankle. She watched, with undiluted revulsion, as the brainless socialite drones known as her classmates carried out their moronic mating ritual. Dressing up, dancing, making memories, having fun...Who did they think they were, anyway?
Her cigarette went out, so she cursed and rummaged in her pockets for her lighter.
“Uh, hey!” called a cheerful male voice, making her jump. “How's it going?”
Stepping out of the relative darkness of the dance floor and into the light given off by the concession stand was a guy. Maxine vaguely recognized him as one of those stupid jocks from the football team. She had seen him enter with that redheaded cheer ditz. There was no question: he was an enemy. With a frown, she found her lighter, then focused her attention on getting her cigarette relit. “Terrible, thanks for asking. Even worse now that some idiot gave me a heart attack.”
Kirk gave his fluffy, tousled hair a guilty scratch. “Oh, uh, sorry. Didn't mean to sneak up on you. I just didn't know what to say.”
This made Maxine cock an aggressive eyebrow. “Yeah? What to say about what? If you're here to mess with me, keep it to yourself. I don't want to hear it right now.”
“Um, no, no,” said Kirk. He felt uncharacteristically uncomfortable. He found it easier to socialize with people when he was just shooting from the hip, not when he was trying to remember lines. “That's not it. Actually, I'm...uh, I'm wondering if you wanna dance?”
She plucked her cigarette from between her lips in annoyance, then turned to face him. “What did I JUST say, asshole?”
“No, I mean it!” he insisted. “You look like you're having a rough night, and I thought you might wanna cut loose.”
Though stiffer than usual, enough of Kirk's unscripted, laid-back side came through that Maxine felt he was being genuine. This didn't mean she was receptive to his offer, however. “I'm flattered, but I don't feel like being some meathead's fling. Maybe you should go dance with the girl you came here with.”
Kirk felt very much put on the spot by this. “H-h-huh who? Alicia?” he asked, trying to float this forged statement with a nervous laugh. “Don't worry about it. It's just a dance, it's not really a big d-deal.” He hesitated, then shakily added, “B, besides...between you and me, I'd rather be dancing with you anyway.”
Being casual was one thing, but acting casual when he was actually being deceitful was not really something he was very good at, or had much experience with. Regardless, Maxine was able to interpret his odd manner as shyness, possibly due to the flattery he wielded. She would never acknowledge this, but idea of being seen as more desirable than Alicia was worth a lot more to her than this boy's attention probably would have been worth on its own.
Still slightly on-guard, her expression softened and she raised her cigarette again. “I'm still working,” she pointed out.
“You're on break, right? Just one or two songs, that's all I ask.” he suggested, holding out his hand.
She wavered for a moment, the cigarette hovering thoughtfully near her lips. Then, she tossed the cigarette on the pavement and extinguished it with her left skate's toe stop. “Ah, what the hell. If you're gonna keep bugging me about it,” Maxine obliged, taking his hand. “But if I see any of my friends, I'm bolting.”
He led her away from the stand, her wheels purring on the concrete. Before she had time for second thoughts, Maxine found herself on the dancefloor.
Pairs of kids slowly rotated, arms wrapped around each other. The sound of a pop ballad wafted, unhurried, between them.
“So, uh, I guess we'd better join in,” said Kirk. His hands, uncertain and rigidly sexless, found her waist. She wasn't sure where her hands were supposed to go, so they ended up on his shoulders. On her skates, she didn't have to crane her neck too badly, but he was still a bit taller than her.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Although he seemed to be having difficulty making eye contact, Maxine was displeased to find that she had no trouble looking at him. He was kind of a good-looking guy. A dopey jock and a sheeple conformist...but kinda cute. It was disgusting. And having her hands on him, and his hands on her, made her disgust even more necessary.
“Are you sure that Alicia girl won't mind you dancing with me?” she asked with caution.
He looked at her and smiled. “Oh, nah, no way. In fact, she's the one who asked me to do this.”
Kirk knew that he'd messed up the second he said it. He clamped his mouth shut, but it was too late, the words were already out there. Maxine stopped in shock. “She WHAT?” Her brow furrowed, and she shoved him away. “She put you up to this, huh? What was it, a dare? I knew it! I knew you were just messing with me!”
“No, no, it wasn't like that!” Kirk insisted. “She just felt sorry for you, so she—”
This was the wrong thing to say. “Sorry for me? Sorry for me?” she shouted, jabbing a finger in his chest. “I don't need that bitch feeling sorry for me! I don't need a pity dance from you! Fuck you both!”
A few nearby dancers turned their heads to stare, just in time to see Maxine skate away as fast as she could. Alicia, however, had been watching from the sidelines since the beginning.
When her plan fell apart, and she saw the look of solitary anger on Maxine's retreating face, she was bewildered. Did something go wrong? Why didn't it work?
She felt even more sympathetic than before. She also felt a bit of guilt. Had her good intentions only made things worse? It was really looking like it.
Now feeling responsible for the fate of Maxine's evening, Alicia set out after her.
…
Melissa C. balked in surprise, which allowed Chase time to stand up. The cyborg eyed the chainsaw with trepidation, then struck again. This time, teeth clashed against teeth, snagging and tearing on each other. But this was a fight the smaller saw could not win. Melissa was forced to pull back, and when she did, the buzzsaw's fangs were twisted and mangled, while the chainsaw looked barely fazed.
Now, a window opened up for Chase's counterattack. She slashed the chainsaw through Melissa C.'s stomach.
More sparks were what she expected. Instead, she got blood. Lots of blood. A huge mouth had opened up on Melissa C.'s stomach. It hung open, slack jawed, spilling the liquid in crimson pints.
Chase was horrified. She had hit a part of Melissa C. that was still 'real'. And this wound would be absolutely fatal to a real body.
“Oh no!” cried Chase. Melissa C. collapsed, her knees splashing into the pool of blood that was quickly spreading into every corner of the truck bed. Her numb hands found the wound and put a dazed pressure on it. “Mel C.! Not mean to do! Not want kill!”
Melissa C. didn't answer, or couldn't. Her eyes closed and she went very still. Chase stood over her, not sure what to do, or even what she could do.
Then, Melissa C.'s eyes opened. Her hands left her stomach. There was a tremendous tear in the front of her dress, but to Chase's astonishment, the wound beneath was healed.
“How?” she asked. “How do?”
The fear left Melissa C.'s face, replaced by a greater confidence than Chase had ever seen on her. She stood up, blood still dripping off her dress. “Nanobots. I knew I had them and that they could supposedly fix injuries to my human tissue, but I didn't want to end up in a situation where I'd have to test it out.” She smiled and opened her arms. “You get it now, Chase? It's no use. You can't hurt me. Nothing can.”
Then, as if to prove her point, Melissa C. did something that someone who feared death would never do: she took her eyes off her enemy. She looked around at the buildings they were driving past, and a twisted thought came to her.
“That opens up a lot of possibilities for me, Chase. I don't have to fight you in a traditional manner.”
She went back to the limo, jumping from car to car and landing on the roof. She then turned her arm into a large gun, and launched a grenade at a building up ahead, on the right hand side of the road.
A boom shook the street, the sound waves powerful enough to break every window on the block. A whole wall of the building was destroyed, chunks of brick and foundation plummeting to the street through an unfurling fireball. A few cars, including the truck and sedan, were ahead of the falling rubble, but the limo was just too slow, too far behind. A rocky barricade smashed into place in front of it, which the limo had no hope of avoiding.
“I can't die, Chase, but you and your freak boyfriend can! Better come save him! Hahaha!” laughed Melissa C. Torey hit the brakes, but the limo was a runaway train. Just like it wasn't made for fast movement, it also wasn't made for fast stops. It would surely hit the rubble.
Chase had milliseconds to think of something. What could she do? Was there anything she could use?
Yes! There was! She hopped over to the jeep, yanked the skis out of the back window, then got back to the limo as fast as she could.
She jumped onto the hood, making the front suspension bounce.
“Chase!” shouted Torey.
“Drive straight, Tor!” she shouted. “No brake! Speed! More speed!”
Seeing what she was going to try, Torey eased off the brakes, and hit the gas. Chase judged the width of the limo, estimated the distance to the rubble, closed one eye to aim. And then, she threw.
The skis landed, binding side down, propped up against the rubble in a way that formed a makeshift jump. The limo took it.
Wheels spun in the air and the engine made a low moan as the heavy machine did something a limo was never meant to do: fly. Chase grabbed onto the hood ornament for dear life, and a very shocked Melissa C. was thrown onto her back, only barely managing to fling a hand into the hole in the limo's roof to avoid being tossed to the street again.
The rubble passed by harmlessly below, and then came the very fast, very heavy descent. Every pound of limo's weight was heard in the ungainly landing. The wheels hit the asphalt first, followed a split second later by the undercarriage, which bumped the street with a scraping clunk. Chase and Melissa C. were nearly thrown off at the jarring impact, but they held on, and the limo held together. It kept on driving, quickly putting the scene of destruction behind it, and the edge of town directly in front of it.
“Yes!” celebrated Torey.
“Good job, Tor! Us jump rocks!” said Chase.
Hearing this, witnessing the failure of her plan, Melissa C. clenched her teeth. She muscled herself up to her feet, and turned her right arm into her axe. “You're not out of the woods yet, bitch!”