Hey Girl (Turn it Up #9)

Chapter 3

3

CHRIS

J ack and Matt want to go prancing home to their wives when the meeting concludes, of course, which leaves me to my own devices once again. Thank God for the vending machine with my favorite beloved energy drinks in the hallway by the men’s room. After some extremely painful deliberation that mayyyyy have resulted in a few totally manly tears, I go with Surf’s Up Sunshine Surprise as my flavor of choice. Perfect. This puppy will last me all the way back to the parking lot.

When the elevator doors open, I step into the car that is empty except for…Rebecca! I’m totally gonna fist bump her…until I remember she’s, like, clinically shy, or whatever. How such a quiet and timid little thing could crank out such epically badass images that represents our vibe so well is a fuckin’ mystery.

We’re the only ones on this elevator as it slowly descends, but she seems afraid of taking up even a scrap of the entire eight feet. She was already standing in the corner, but she looks like she’s trying to fold herself into it completely now. Her back and arms are ramrod straight and her shoulders are hunched in like she’s trying to compact herself into a sardine can. She keeps her eyes glued to the floor buttons, like looking away will shatter her to pieces.

“Hey,” I try to cheerfully greet as I cheers her with my BLAST can. She gives a barely perceptible nod as she studies her shoes. I cock my head and an eyebrow at her and give her my Disney Prince smile, but she doesn’t even look up to see. Well, fuck. That smile doesn’t usually drop panties or anything but it at least gets a return smile most of the time.

I try to remind myself what Ron had told us about her. It was social anxiety or something. To me, that’s always just translated to ‘super shy’ but the way she’s fidgeting with the end of her shirt while she stares at the ground, I reckon maybe there’s more to it.

I’m confused. Not just by the concept, but of how I’m reacting to it. To her. She’s so tiny and uneasy over there, like a field mouse that doesn’t stand a chance against any other animal in the forest, and while she’s yet to breathe a word at me, I somehow don’t think she’s rude. This is hard for her, and I feel this sudden urge to make her feel better. Safe, comfortable.

“I know I said it before, but I seriously love the concepts you came up with for the album cover.” Compliments help right? They make people feel good.

“Thanks,” she tells the floor in a low, but very sweet tone, and I nod encouragingly, even though she can’t see it.

“The stage design too, that’s going to look fuckin’ insane!” I say, apparently too excited as she seems to startle her. Shit.

Okay, safe. I need to make her feel safe. I’m not gonna jump into her arms and start singing Macarena, or spray her with silly string. I just need to make that clear to her.

“Um, I just want to say… I know you have trouble with new people, but you’re safe with me. I’ll never do anything to make you uncomfortable. Not deliberately.” She doesn’t look up, but I see her pink lips part, and her expression changes as she straightens up a little bit from her hunch. She looks almost thoughtful. I think I’m on the right track, so I keep going. “In fact, if you’re having any trouble with anyone, I’d be happy to be someone you can come to, and I’ll smack ‘em around for ya.”

Her shoulders relax and the corners of her mouth pull up in a small but discernible…smile! She’s smiling! Yes! Ka-ching! I do an inner fist pump, feeling like a king, like the shy-girl-whisperer. Now we’re getting somewhere…

“Aww, there’s a bodacious smile,” I applaud affectionately and it pulls up a little higher. “See? I don’t bite, Becky.”

At that, her head snaps up and turns toward me. Did someone just hear a record scratch? Because I swear the soundtrack in my mind was playing a melodious tune on a flute with birdies chirping and shit a minute ago but now…

Her smile is still there, though it’s fallen some, but her eyes…they’re finally on me. Looking dead set into mine, in fact. “It’s Rebecca.” The words come out clear, concise and with an air of firm confidence. A complete about-face from what she was showing me seconds ago.

I’m lost for words as her gaze doesn’t leave mine. Nothing. No words in my head or coming out of my mouth.

That.Was.Hot.

The elevator dings, signaling her floor and it seems to snap her out of it. She hesitatingly looks away and tucks into herself again as she scurries out of the car, the doors closing behind her.

Le sigh…

My first instinct would normally be to shrug it off, but… Not this time. I find myself giving a shit, and have to fight the urge to go chasing down the hallway after her, tackle her to the floor like the highest paid NFL linebacker, and tearfully demand that she like me, damn it!

My phone rings to the tune of Freaky Boy in my back pocket and I retrieve it just before moving to straddle Bianca.

Relax, it’s my bike’s name.

The name Numbnuts lights up my screen and I swipe to answer, putting my ride home on pause as it’s been a few days since I’ve spoken to my little brother’s twinkie ass.

“Hey Sequoia,” I greet in a goofy, squeaky voice.

“Shut up, Crystal!” He fires back. We both were given hippy, crunchy names before we were even born. My mother was so sure I was going to be a girl however because her freaky, magical, pregnancy crystal told her so. When I came out sporting some definitive bait and tackle, however, she couldn’t quite let go of the name, so she simply shortened it. My middle name is Windsong though, so that’s cool.

“Yeah, whatever. What’s up, Pipsqueak?” I settle in, resting my helmet on my seat in front of me.

My brother is eight years younger than I am with a twiggy physique that he’s tried to overcompensate for by tatting the shit out of it and frosting his tips. It’s so cute.

“I’m on lunch between cases, so I only have a few minutes, but I was wondering if you could talk to your manager-”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!” He protests.

Oh, but I do.

“You’ve come up with a new ‘song’ that you want him to hear,” I let him hear both the air quotes and my eyeroll in my voice.

“It’s called Slip ‘n’ Slide my Ride,” he explains, going into sales-pitch mode.

“That’s disgusting and genius,” I remark.

“Just let me send it to you and you can listen to it first-”

“No!” I screech like a harpy into the phone at the thought of listening to that cacophony he calls music. My little bro is trying to break into the music scene, but can’t decide if he wants to be the next Calvin Harris or the next Machine Gun Kelly, so he came up with his own sound that is so God-awfully annoying it even gives me a headache, and coming from me, that’s saying something. Seriously, it sounds like someone put a Speak-and-Spell, a Fischer Price xylophone and a nineteen-year-old cat in a box and pushed it down the stairs.

“No,” I try again, more calmly so as not to hurt the poor creature's feelings. “I mean uh, I think you should just stick to your day job, it’s more solid you know, and it sounds exciting,” I try baiting him with exaggerated enthusiasm in my voice.

“It sucks! It’s nothing like Grey’s Anatomy!” He moans like a little bitch and his complaint singes my tail feathers.

“Listen, you little shit!” I snap my head to the side to bring my mouth closer to the phone as I try to discreetly snarl at the skinny bastard. “I paid good money to send you to the best surgical tech school in the tri-city area because it was the only thing that would get you off Mom and Dad’s couch. It was only going to be about one more month of you getting baked out of your skull, watching that show’s marathons on Lifetime and drinking chocolate milk through a swirly straw before they were going to drag you out onto the lawn and let the Earthly Spirits do their will!”

“Psshh!” He scoffs. I can hear the cavalier smirk I know he’s sporting. “They would never…”

“You know those drifters that kept sniffing around? They were ready to let them take you if you didn’t go do something with your life. And don’t forget our deal. You chose what you wanted to do, and I paid for it, and now you have to stick with it for a minimum of five years. And if you don’t hold up your end, I will come over when you’re sleeping and give you a fecal facial!”

“You wouldn’t!” He grinds back through clenched teeth sounding about as scary as an asthmatic chihuahua.

“But what you won’t know is where the mask will come from – me… or Dad’s cow.”

“You sick fucker-” Sequoia is cut off by a beeping noise and a garbled voice on some overhead intercom.

“Damnit, incoming trauma,” he grumbles. “Why do people have to crash into construction sites on my lunch break?”

“Go get ’em, Tiger!”

“Eat shit.”

Rebecca

I keep my body stiff and straight and rigid until I hear the doors completely close behind me, before I puff out the breath I was holding in my chest and fall slack against the nearest wall. People… why are people so hard?

A fucking rockstar was being nice to me, and the only eye contact I made with him was to correct him on my name. It’s just that I hate being called Becky. For some fucked up reason when I was small and still struggling with the stammer, Rebecca was easier for me to say than Becky. I know, it’s weird. But whenever I tried to say Becky I struggled and stuttered and ended up sounding like a chicken going through heroin withdrawals. And then the kids at school would mock me, flapping their elbows, calling me ‘Beck-Beck-Becky!’

Kids are dicks.

But anyway, things went easier the following year when I decided to just stick with Rebecca. I never was much of a Becky anyway. That was one of my core memories of finding my sense of self. Little things like that were what I latched onto, and I never cared to make friends after that. It didn’t matter if other people knew who I was so long as I did. My speech impediment, just like my name, belonged to me, and this was the key to my survival to this day. The only problem is it backfired a wee bit, and the self-isolation led to having full blown social anxiety, which can be an annoying little bitch. So now, I have to take steps to push myself and correct that pain in the ass. And that’s what I try to do, every day, with little challenges and targets that others might not notice, but I do.

And, I realize as I push off the wall I’ve been having a love affair with for the last few minutes and continue on to my office to gather my belongings, I certainly did today. Having a meeting with four famous rockstars? I’d say I’ve definitely earned three to five days of holing up in my house with the blinds drawn and my laptop fired up with my favorite Reddit forum up. There’s nothing like verbally handing cyberbullies and keyboard Karens their asses the only way I can with zero hindrance. On the good ol’ internet.

I smile wickedly to myself as I sling my laptop bag over my shoulder and lock up my office. Bring it, trolls.