Sneaky Sarcasm (Short Story)

So. This is a short story I wrote for a writing contest on Owl City University.com I'm not

exactly surprised it didn't win, as it's pretty cheeseball and not the best I could do, but I had fun

writing it, which is really all that matters. So here it is:

The wind that bit at my shoulders felt like ice on a stovetop-disturbing the warm summer day with the memory of the fall that would soon come. I closed my eyes and just let the ocean water come up on my feet, surrounding them, melting around them as it fell, slowly, back into the sea. Goosebumps rose on my arms with each wave, and slowly disappeared before being resurrected by another wave. My iPod was tucked into the pocket of my jean shorts, and my headphones were tucked into my ears, playing my favorite music, until Peter came up behind me and pulled them out. I glared at him as he laughed and went deeper into the water. He splashed me and I gaped at him in anger for a moment before quickly pulling my iPod out of my pocket and making sure it wasn’t wet. As I tucked the headphones back into my ears, music played once again, so I figured I was safe. I did, however, turn and walk back up the sand to my towel, not wanting to risk being splashed again by the know-it-all failing musician that I currently had to call roommate.

My summer had been going perfectly, spotless and flawless- then, just as I realized that school was approaching and I had to make the last few weeks the best of my life- my mom came up to me one day, wearing one of her long, low-cut halter-top dresses, this one a blue the color of the sky with splashes of white that reminded me of clouds- and said, “Do you remember Kathryn Lennett?” I glanced haphazardly up at her from over the cover of the novel I was currently reading on our porch and said, “Yea.” She smiled now, and continued, in a giddy tone, smiling as if she just new thin new would make my day- “She’s decided to come stay with us for the rest of the summer! Isn’t that just lovely?” I didn’t exactly think this news was lovely, but it wasn’t awful, either, so I just shrugged and looked back down at my book. Her grin grew as she went on, “And her son Peter will be coming, too. Do you remember him,darling? Kathryn says he’s become a really handsome boy.” Now she had my attention. I slammed my novel shut and turned to look at her, my eyes narrowed to slits, “Peter Lennett is coming here?” She smiled in response, for whatever reason naively mistaking my sarcasm for excited disbelief, and nodded briskly.

And so it was that I ended up walking into my room after showering down the hall with a towel wrapped around my body only to find that Peter was laying on my futon, his eyes closed and his arms clasped under his head as he whispered along with The Saltwater Room by Owl City as it blasted from my speakers. I didn’t know what to do, so I pretended I hadn’t been standing there for a minute already and shrieked, putting on an expression of shock. Peter shot up on the futon and took one look at my towel before lunging behind the futon, pulling the blanket he was using as a bedcover with him. I ran quickly across the room and slammed the door of my closet, flipping the light switch and wishing I had underwear in this tiny closet. I grabbed the first thing that touched my hand when I extended my arm- a short strapless violet summer dress- and threw it over my head before opening the closet door slightly and yelling, louder than necessary- “If your eyes are not covered when I come out of this closet, you are the deadest of dead meat that the world has ever seen, Peter Lennett.”

“Trust me, I am not peeking,” Peter muttered, and his voice was muffled, so I figured he was still under the blanket and quickly hurried out of the closet, pulling open a drawer of my dresser and grabbing a bra and underwear before lunging for the closet again and slamming it closed on myself, tugging my hair out of the door seam and slipping my undergarments on quickly.

“I want to go the cinema,” Peter said as we ate dinner- after stuffing a huge bite of steak into his mouth. I groaned at his male-ness and said, “What is this, the 40’s?” Peter made a face at me and turned back to his mom, repeating his question. Kathryn looked straight at me with a huge grin and said, “You can go with Bree, if you want. I think Jenna and I will stay home tonight.” Jenna- that would be my mom- grinned a cheek-bursting grin and nodded over-energetically in response. Our moms had some sort of match-making thing going on with them. They probably just wanted us to get married so that they could spend Thanksgiving together. They both loved eating and having deep conversations about meat. I was about to protest when Peter said, “Fine,” I shot him a look of shock and horror and he avoided eye contact, looking at his meat as he said, “But I get to chose to movie.”

Um, right, because I was going to argue with him about which movie we would go to.

I didn’t care if I had to watch a movie about exploding cars and ax murderers as long as I wasn’t watching it with Peter Lennett.

I sighed as I stepped up to the movie window after Peter and said, “One for-” Peter cut me off, handing me a ticket and saying, “I already paid for you.” I looked down at the ticket and then said, “Oh, no, I don’t want to take your mom’s mon-”

“You’re not. It was my money.” I blinked at him and gaped as he stared back me with slightly crumpled lips and scrunched up eyebrows, as if he didn’t really like the reaction he was getting from me. “A simple ‘thanks’ would have sufficed just fine, Bree. No need for the theatrics.” I blinked at him, shutting my mouth- which was literally open slightly in a gape- and said, “You bought my ticket?!” Peter rolled his eyes and said, “Shut up and let’s go.” I walked in front of him as he held the theater door open for me, but I was still in a trance, and as he took my ticket, handed it to the ticket guy, and gave me back a stub, I stared at it for a moment before looking up at his face, which had one eyebrow raised, observing me, and I repeated, “You bought my ticket?!” Peter groaned and pushed me toward the snack stand, asking, “Do you want popcorn?” I nodded slowly and then quickly added, “But don’t pay for this, too, or the world as we know it will implode on us, leaving all humans to float around in the atmosphere, confused and frightened, until we die of lack of oxygen.” Peter stared at me for a moment before shaking his head and turning to the person working at the snack stand, handing him a bill and ordering a large popcorn despite my warning. I put my hands over my head to protect it from the theater roof that would surely implode on us momentarily. Peter smacked me upside the head and rolled his eyes, shaking his head and walking off toward our theater, muttering, “Unbelievable.” I grinned and followed him quickly. Now there was the annoying Peter I knew.

The movie was violent. To say the least. It was exactly the kind of movie I would expect Peter to watch. But then, of course, there was the beautiful girl that the main hero- or villain, actually, but the main character- fell in love with, and right at this really cheesy romantic scene, it happened. That thing that happens so often in movies and TV shows that you think it must be fake...it would never really happen in real life. We both reached into the popcorn bag at the same time, and our hands touched. But we didn’t blush, apologize, and then slip our hands back into the bag and hold hands under the popcorn, smiling to ourselves. I always thought it was gross when movie characters did that. Why would you want to hold the hand of a sweaty guy in a bag of greasy-buttered popcorn for two hours? I wouldn’t do that with a guy I liked, let alone Peter. I pulled my hand back immediately and said, “Ewww.” Peter rolled his eyes and stuck his hands back in, taking some popcorn before withdrawing it. I stared at it for a few more seconds, making sure he was done, and then I reached in and quickly grabbed a handful, as if I only had five seconds to grab the popcorn or I would get zapped.

“What’s your favorite band?”

“Why do you care?”

“I’m just preparing you for school,” Peter replied breezily, laying out on one of our lawn chairs, disturbing the silence and casting a shadow over the pages of my book. I glared at him for reminding me of the one thing I was avoiding thinking about and looked back down at my page, asking, “And how does that prepare me for that?”

“You can say school. Really, no one’s going to come chop off your head for criticizing the Kind of summer.” I glared at him again and waited for him to answer my question. He grinned, satisfied with the way he irked me, and said, “When you get to school, teachers try to bond with you by having you answer questions about yourself. I’m just making sure your forehead doesn’t explode with sweat when you have five different bands to chose between and only five minutes to fill out the whole sheet.” I stared at Peter and shook my head, “Owl City.”

“Is that really a band, though, since it’s just one guy?”

“It’s not one guy. It’s the guy.” Peter rose an eyebrow at me and then looked out at the ocean far out in front of him, letting out a low whistle. “Wow. Can you say groupie in five different languages?”

“Shut up. I’m not a groupie.”

“Um, right. The guy.”

“Well, God is the God, my dad is the dad, and you are the single most irritating dude on the face of the Earth.”

“Dude.”

“Shut up.”

My mom was wearing another one of her dresses. This one was strapless, red, and had a belt around the waste. She was smiling widely at me as I narrowed my eyes and shook my head. “No.” She pouted. Literally, she did that thing with your lips- an actual pout. I was surprised when she didn’t stomp her foot. “Come on,” she said, “It’s just one night! You have the rest of the summer!” I groaned, “No, no, no, no. I am not going anywhere as Peter’s date. I do not care if it’s a summer splash dance. That sounds stupid anyway. What is this, Aquamarine?” My mom pouted and said, “Fine. But you’ll have to do something else with him that night, because all us parents will be out and you’re not allowed in the house alone.” My mother liked to refer to herself, my dad, and Peter’s mom as “us parents”. “Afraid I’ll put metal in the microwave and set the house on fire?” My mom wrinkled her nose and said, “Not you. Peter.” I was going to protest, but it was true. And I wasn’t going to stand up for Peter, anyway. He was an idiot. I sighed and turned back to my speakers, adjusting the volume so A Little Opera Goes a Long Way filled my room. “Fine.”

“Ok, I know I agreed to go somewhere with you tonight,” I said wincing as he took a sharp left. Peter grinned at me and looked back out the windshield, and I continued, “For my mom’s sake, because she has so little faith of you being alone in a close proximity to metal and a microwave,” Peter rolled his eyes at this, “But this is just ridiculous,” I went on. “We have been wandering for half an hour. Are you actually taking me somewhere, or are you just driving around and seeing where it takes us?” Peter rolled his eyes again and said, “I have a destination. I do this every Thursday night. I usually go by myself, not with a sarcastic know-it-all like the girl sitting next to me right now, but my mom said I had to take you along, so I caved.”

“I’m the sarcastic know-it-all? Oh, that is a show.”

“What?”

“You are the king of all sarcastic know-it-alls.”

“Well, you’re the queen.” I considered this for a moment and then said, “Oh, no, I’m not. Then I’d have to be married to you.”

“We could be siblings.”

“No, then the older one of us and their spouse would be the king and queen.”

“Well, we could be from different kingdoms.”

“Different sarcastic-know-it-all kingdoms? I don’t think there’s more than one.”

“Well, if we’re making this up as we go along, then I think we’re allowed to say that there’s two.”

“But what if one of us has an older sister or brother who steals our crown?”

“I don’t have an older sibling.”

“Neither do I.”

“So the problem is...”

“I don’t think there should be two sarcastic-know-it-all kingdoms.”

“I think maybe you should just shut up.”

“Shut up.”

“I can, too, that makes sense, since we’re both royalty and all.”

Peter took me to a bar. A bar? What? “Um, I’m not old enough to come here,” I protested. Peter rolled his eyes and said, “It’s not a bar. It’s a restaurant with a bar. And I work here.” Wait. Did he just say that he works here? “Excuse me?”

“I said, I work here.”

“I heard you, thanks. I just didn’t quite understand.”

“What do you not understand?” I looked around the little restaurant as he lead me inside. I looked down and realized he was holding a guitar case. “Wha-”

“I have to go work. You can just...sit. And watch. Maybe I’ll even play one for you.”

“What?” Peter disappeared into the crowd of people then, and I sat down at a table and looked around, confused.

Peter stepped out on the stage. He was holding the guitar and everything connected as he pulled a stool up to the front of the stage and adjusted the microphone. He strummed the guitar slowly and everyone in the restaurant hooted. I looked around, confused, and a woman sitting next to me, seeing my expression, leaned towards me and said, “He’s famous here. All the girls love him.” I rose my eyebrows and looked back up at the stage just as Peter leaned into the microphone and started singing-and playing- If My Heart Was a House. It wasn’t like in the movies, where he made eye contact with me and grinned, as if the song was for me, simply to make me fall head over heels in love with him despite my past hatred of him...but it was something. He was really good. It was kind of weird hearing someone other than Adam Young playing the song...and, no doubt, Adam was better, though Peter was good. It was different. It was fascinating, the way his fingers flowed along the strings, memorized, and though his singing voice was good, it was nothing next to his guitar playing. He was incredible on the guitar...I didn’t even know he played. He finished the song and the crowd cheered. Then he started snapping, indicating that the audience should join in, and he leaned back into the microphone and started singing Cooler Than Me by Mike Posner. Now he made eye contact and winked, and I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you.”

“I am not vain.”

“Mm...”

“I’m not.” Peter laughed, “Don’t worry, Bree, it’s just a song.”

“So I’m guessing that was the song you sang for me, and not the Owl City song.” He laughed and shrugged, “I guess I sang two for you.”

“I feel so loved.”

“You’re so vain.”

“Shut up.”

“I have something to show you.”

“I don’t think I want to see.”

“Really? Can you not be sarcastic for, like, one millisecond?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

“Shut up. Come on,” Peter said, walking out the side door of my bedroom, which led outside, and glancing back to make sure I was following him. I sighed and closed my lap top, slipping on my sandals and following him outside. He walked away from the house, hands in pockets, and pulled the passenger-side door of his car open, indicating that I should get in. I wrinkled my nose and said, “You’ve got to stop acting like a gentleman. It’s freaking me out.”

“You really are incapable of not being sarcastic.”

“As are you.”

“Touché.”

We pulled up to a random path on the side of the road and Peter cut the engine, put the car in park, and got out. I sat there for a moment, unaware about two things:

1. Where we were and why we were where we were.
2. Whether I should get out or just assume that Peter’s gentleman act was still going on and wait for him to open it for me.

Before I was able to start thinking that I was being stupid, however, Peter opened the door and said, “You’re going to love this.” Well, that sounded convincing enough. I climbed out of the car, following him down the path as he took my hand. I tried to tell myself it was just because it was getting dark and he didn’t want me to trip on anything-there was a large variation of things to trip on-but it seemed like maybe he was just using that as an excuse to hold my hand.

We stepped into a sort of clearing, or at least an area where the trees were less dense, and Peter put a finger to his lips, grinning, and pulled me slowly up to an Oak tree. It was one of those trees that had a huge hole in the trunk, sort of like a mini cave, that always seemed to me to have a million possibilities inside. He smiled at me before bringing me closer to the hole and looking in. I turned my head away from his face and gasped as I saw the nest. It was an owl nest, and little baby owls were inside, making quiet cries for their mom. We stepped back as, suddenly, a large owl, probably the mom, swooped down from a higher branch and protected her babies. We stayed slightly away and smiled as the owl hooted. Peter was smiling widely at me, not really watching the owls that closely, and I suddenly felt nervous, so I swallowed, tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, and whispered, “Owl city.” He laughed, nodded, and leaned toward me, whispering into my ear, “Tell me, darling, do you wish we’d fall in love?” I stared up at his face, my eyes wide, and carried on the lyric, almost as a second-nature, “All the time.” His smile dropped and he just stared at me for a moment, and just as I bit my lip, he leaned down, cupping my face in his hands, and kissed me, as the owl hooted at us again.

© 2010