This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.
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I looked out the window and stared at the seemingly impenetrable wall of snow that was falling outside. It was snowing so hard that while I could see the glow of the lights in the parking lot that stood between the hotel and the mall, I couldn't make out the mall itself. As I continued to stare out, a bright flash of light blinded me for a second. Only after the ensuing rumble did I realize that I had just been dazzled by lightning.
Thundersnow. Great. My grandfather used to tell me stories of the Great Thundersnow of 1973 and how it shut down part of the state for days it was so deep. How he and grandma had -
My iPhone rang and brought me back to the present. It was Mr. Netten, our speech and drama teacher. He had dropped our school's other qualifier for this year's state speech contest and me off at the hotel earlier this evening. Mr. Netten's brother lived in town, so instead of staying at the hotel, he was going to stay with his family. The plan was for him to pick us up early tomorrow morning and drive us to the event, but it was obvious from the moment we arrived that those plans were likely going to change.
The phone call was just a formality, though the fact that they had waited until nearly 10 p.m. to cancel had given me some small glimmer of hope that the show might go on. But as I'd learned the hard way over the years, hope wasn't always a good thing. As Morgan Freeman said in that old 90's prison movie, hope can drive a man insane.
"Hello Mr. Netten," I said as I answered the phone.
"Hey Cam. I'm sure you know why I'm calling," Mr. Netten said. He sounded depressed. He really did love these academic events and was pleased to have had a couple of students make State this year.
"They finally decided to call it off?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"Unfortunately," Mr. Netten replied. "I don't know how they got the forecast so wrong. The important thing is you guys are safe. I'll call you after the storm is over and we'll figure out getting home. But from what I'm hearing, we might not make out of here until the day after tomorrow."
"Sounds good," I said. "Sorry they cancelled it."
"I am too," Mr. Netten said. "I really thought you especially had a chance to place this year. Oh, will you make sure Tyler knows? I left a voicemail, but would prefer being sure."
"Will do," I assured him.
As I hung up, I noted another flash of lightning out the window, followed shortly by a crack of thunder. Wrong forecast indeed. When we left for the four-hour trip this morning, light flurries with accumulations up to an inch had been predicted. Just another day that ends in "Y" here in our state. About an hour out from the hotel, "the model changed" as the weather service put it, and a significant snowfall event was being called for. But it was too late for us to turn back and not get caught in the storm.
By the time we got to the hotel, the visibility was terrible, and the roads were getting worse. It was obvious that while we hadn't heard any official word yet, the contest was going to be cancelled. Even though our hotel was just a mile or so away from the venue, a lot of schools that weren't as far away as ours were going to be coming in first thing in the morning. No way that was happening now.
When he dropped us off, Mr. Netten had offered to stay with us at the hotel. I told him he should still stay the night with his brother's family as previously planned. I had a large cooler full of sandwiches, snacks and beverages, and the hotel had free breakfast in the morning. Tyler and I would be just fine.
Shit. I told Mr. Netten I'd make sure Tyler got his message. Even though I was wearing just boxer shorts and a t-shirt, I didn't expect to run into any strangers in the hall. I walked towards the door and pulled it open to find a petite brunette with her fist paused in the air in mid-knock.
Standing five foot tall with a pixie cut and piercing ice blue eyes, she looked like a Disney fairy who'd broken bad and started an Only Fans account. She was wearing hot pink boy shorts which showed off her curves, and the tight black midriff-baring t-shirt she had on accentuated a pair of perky B cups. It was obvious from the way her nipples were standing at attention through the thin fabric that she was not wearing a bra. A Hello Kitty backpack was slung over one shoulder. She looked amazing. As always.
"Hello Tyler," I said, sighing with disapproval as she walked into the room uninvited.
"What up C?" Tyler said as she continued to stroll about my room as if she were a recently adopted cat checking out its new home. She knew I hated it when she called me "C", but I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging the nickname she had bestowed on me in speech class.
I don't think Tyler and I had said a single word to each other in the last three and a half years of high school. Which, considering the size of our school and our respective stations within its hierarchy, wasn't all that surprising. It was also not that surprising that, despite having a class together for the first time ever, I still didn't register on her radar when the quarter first began. Until about two weeks ago that is. Then suddenly it was as if I was no longer an intangible being and was now instead an object for her amusement.
Not in a cruel way, mind you. But the whiplash of going from being invisible to her actually speaking to me was considerable. It was fairly harmless teasing for the most part, though she also had started saying hello to me when we passed each other in the halls. The teasing was one-sided of course, I never engaged. I knew she was playing some sort of game with me. I just hadn't figured out what it was yet, or why she was playing it.
Tyler tossed her backpack on my still made bed, then with a theatrical flourish flopped herself down right beside it.
"I see the gentleman was provided with a king bed for this evening," she said, affecting a southern accent. "While poor little old me got two queens. The scandal of it all." She began to dramatically fan herself with an imaginary hand fan in case I wasn't getting the picture she was attempting to convey.
"Luck of the draw," I said, trying not to be too obvious at how annoyed I was that she was laying on my bed. While I had fantasized about such a thing a time or twelve over the years, I knew she was just being Tyler and that the chances of anything happening between us in real life were less than zero. Still, a young man could dream, and my dreams tonight after she went back to her own room were probably going to be wet.
Perhaps it was because I knew I had no shot with her. Maybe it was because part of me was certain that she knew that I knew I had no shot with her. But for some reason, I was acting a bit colder to her than I needed to be. As I said earlier, hope can drive a man insane. And while it seemed like Tyler enjoyed teasing me, the reality was Tyler enjoyed teasing everyone. I just happened to be her most recent target for some reason.
Despite the stereotypical intimacy of our surroundings, I wasn't going to allow myself to entertain any hope of something happening between the two of us. Because not only was Tyler Henderson out of my league, we weren't even playing the same sport.
Self-described to those who knew her well as "Five Feet of Zero Fucks to Give" Tyler was an absolute force of nature at Forrest High. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, and how she wanted. That's not to say she was a "mean girl." I'd never seen her be deliberately cruel to anyone, nor had I heard any stories of her being purposefully malicious. But with Tyler, there was always the possibility of collateral damage being left in her wake, and it seemed like when there was damage, she always got a pass. It was just "Tyler being Tyler."
Despite this she was considered the most popular girl in school. There were nicer girls, to be sure. There were hotter girls as well. Dawn Jensen, for example, was an absolute smoke show. But she was definitely a mean girl type with an insufferable personality. With her looks, personality and unabashed charisma, Tyler just had "it" -- whatever "it" was. "It" made all the girls want to be her, and all the boys - and even some of the girls - want to be with her.
"EARTH. TO. C!" Tyler said in her best mission control voice, interrupting my internal train of thought.
"What?" I snapped, as I struggled to put the train back on the tracks.
"You were staring at me," Tyler said. "I mean, I know why you were staring, because just look at me. I'm awesome. But you didn't answer my question."
"Which was what again?" I asked.
