Talent Show

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

POV: Frankie


It's not that I have stage fright-- but I'm not, well, I'm not Rowan. I can't just stand up in front of a large group of people and let beautiful words fall out of my ass like she can. For me, it's just a tad more laborious. 

So, in that vein, next time I have a good idea-- I'm keeping it to myself. 

"Ooookay, campers, listen up!" I exclaim, claiming a large space at the front of the mess hall. From the back of the room, an amused smile whispers against Rowan's lips. My heart hums against my chest. Here I go, jumping from one awful situation to another. Not that public speaking is all that comparable to getting kicked out of my group home, but it certainly isn't easy on the blood pressure. Should have brought a doctor's note. 

The room, brimming with a hectic hubbub that was beginning to overwhelm me, fully ignored my halfhearted announcement. That was enough effort on my part, I think. 

As I turn to walk away, Rowan flickers the light switch. As usual, she always knows what to do.

Aaaand now dozens of eyes were staring up at me like little saucers-- including counselors. They were the ones I truly feared. I glance at Rowan, begging for help with my eyes, unable to find the words to speak. 

She sighs, quickly scampering up beside me. She squeezes my arm warmly and begins talking while I fade into the background. 

"Okay guys, since it's rainy out and Darlene is now.. preoccupied with Marley and some CIT's, we're going to do something a little different," A murmur ripples through the room, and I find myself relaxing as I watch Rowan capture the attention of every single person. "Now, I know it's last minute-- but what do y'all think about having a talent show?" Her eyes twinkle on the last two words and her hands instinctively do a dorky little jazz. God I love her. 

Right about now, I could have been pelting down the highway going fifty with crotchety umbrella lady, leaving my entire world behind. 

But instead, I'm here. Watching the most beautiful girl in the world light up the room. 

The kids start applauding and chatting among themselves, instantly teaming up and making plans and brewing ideas. The way a couple of words can launch children into an alternate headspace-- imagination zinging around the room. It's remarkable, really. I wish that I had more time as a kid to use my imagination, instead of just focusing on staying alive. Maybe I'd actually know what I want to do my life if I had some time to live it. 

Rowan spent the next few minutes explaining the parameters, giving the kids suggestions, and sending them off to figure out what they wanted to do. While she mans the set list, I slink to the back of the room towards Blake, who immediately wraps me into a firm hug. 

"That was fucking crazy, Frank," They murmur into my ear. I sigh heavily, almost not wanting to let go. 

"I know," I finally reply as they pull away. "I have no fucking idea what's going to happen next," I lean up against the wall and grimace.

"I'll be prayin', Franks. If Marley doesn't send Tay and Cal home, I think it's safe to say you're screwed," They can't help but laugh, and I toss my head to the side. 

"I don't know how much more screwed I can get. I mean, this got ugly," I train my eyes on Malik, who was approaching Rowan as she coached a few of our campers on their impromptu dance routine. He had heat in his eyes, and I wanted to knock it right out of him. I peel myself off of the wall, but Blake plainly reaches out and pushes me back, cutting off my momentum, and my attention on Malik. 

"I'm just sayin-- you never know with Taylor. She might fucking kill you, like, who knows what else she's got in that duffel of hers," They grumble, standing close to me so that I can't look away. 

"Well, then I guess she'll have to kill me after rehab," I reply, rolling my eyes. But even as the words leave my mouth, I remember that Marley wasn't even pretending to listen when I tried to come clean about Taylor. Let's hope she puts an ounce more effort into this investigation than she did into mine. 

"Hey, kumquat," Dylan joins us in the back, kissing Blake on the cheek. I glance away, trying to conceal the laugh that was threatening to embarrass the two of them. Never in my life had I expected Blake to be so... domestic, and much less with a guy. And the nickname? Lord help me. 

Kumquat. Had Blake ever even eaten a kumquat? I sure haven't.

"I haven't seen you all morning," Dylan mumbles, giving Blake the most obnoxiously sweet puppy dog eyes. 

"Yeah, uh, I was busy," Blake nods at me and I sigh. Realization dawns on Dylan's face and he instinctively reaches over to grab me by the shoulder, but I flinch away. He awkwardly puts his hand in his pocket. 

"You're-- still here! Congratulations," he exclaims, trying to repair the awkwardness. I shrug, offering him a smile. 

"Here for now. Bask in it while it lasts," I laugh, spreading my arms wide. Blake gives me a look, and I take it as my cue to leave. 

"'Kay, I'm gonna go check on Rowan, my little kumquats--"

"--Go!" Blake covers their eyes and shoves me away as I laugh, reveling in the simple pleasure that is making fun of your best friend. A pleasure that I'd taken for granted. 



Rowan and I, as appointed judges of the talent show, sit front and center. I'm not exactly sure when she managed to get her hands  on a clipboard, but she looked damn fine carrying it and writing little check marks. As Dylan dims the lights in the back, Rowan leans over and whispers in my ear,

"So, what's your talent?" 

I shift in my seat, feeling the hair on my neck stand straight up as her breath cascades against my skin. I wish I could be even closer to her. 

"Why don't I show you later?" I whisper back, making sure to sensually brush her hair behind her ear. She gives me a look and I raise my eyebrows. 

"Seriously though," She smiles, giving me an earnest look. I shrug, and turn my attention to the makeshift stage, where Blake was standing in front of us all with a flashlight poised under their chin, giving them a ghastly appearance. 

"Hello, distinguished guests," Blake begins, making serious eye contact with the crowd who, for the most part, were under the age of fourteen. They squirm, giggling to themselves. 

"Welcome to our, well, our very first..., uh, hopefully annual Camp Dunbrook talent show!" My heart catches as Blake says 'our' and the campers begin to hoot and holler. Our. Because we're a part of this now, whether we like it or not.

I glance over at Rowan, who was smiling widely, mesmerized by Blake's comedic stage presence.  

I like belonging here. I like being an us. 

All of us. 

Blake introduces the first act, a couple of girls from Kalea's cabin, who were aparently going to be singing a Miley Cyrus song. I personally was eager to hear them use their prepubescent voices to sing We Won't Stop, but I'm pretty sure they were just singing the Hannah Montana theme song. 

Off-key, might I add. 

Blake weaves us in an out of a variety of different performances-- some definitely better than others, and a few needing to be cut short by headmaster-in-chief-director Rowan. And by some, I mean the boys from Blake's cabin who were attempting in great vain to fart in harmonies. 

Forced flatulence can lead to some... unpleasantness in the pants. And unpleasantness in the pants doesn't exactly create a pleasant... lock-in environment, seeing as the storm wasn't letting up. 

As the last act wraps up, Blake hops back up to announce a break for judging. I turn to Rowan, ready to discuss the atrocities we'd just witnessed, but her eyes are completely focused on Blake's. 

"We have one more act tonight," They say, smirking at me. I give Blake a confused look, then notice Rowan standing up beside me. She was performing?

"This one's just for fun-- but, please, give it up for the most anal-- I mean, uh, productive counselor at Camp Dunbrook, Rowan from Cabin One!"

I stare at her like she's crazy as she takes Blake's spot. The whole camp breaks into applasue, but all of campers are going absolutely wild. Even shy little Brynn is hooting and hollering with the rest of them, and I can't help but grin. She was finally coming out of her shell. 

"Hi guys," Rowan says as the room comes to a hush, everyone curious what a counselor could possibly be doing trying to steal their thunder. There's an unfamiliar shyness surrounding Rowan, and I watch her chest rise as she forces herself to take a deep breath. She was nervous-- and that made me nervous. I had no clue what she was doing, but I made a point to start sending her all the good vibes I could muster. Is that how that bullshit works? Well, whatever. I was thinking positively, it's a good thing.

"I hope you guys don't mind if I read you a poem I've been working on," She says, a stillness in the air. A mumble of encouragement flows through the crowd and she clears her throat. 

I didn't know she wrote poetry. 

Honestly, I thought poetry was sort of a dead art. Literally. I mean, come on, the only modern poet you ever really hear of is Rupi Kaur, and that girl basically just published her Twitter drafts and called it a day. 

"This is called, Polilla a la Luz, or, Moth to Flame in English," Her voice trembles slightly, and I suddenly realize I can't breathe. Her wide, brown eyes scan the crowd, and then land on me. She blinks, slowly-- as if she were underwater, and then begins reading off of a crumpled up piece of paper I'd never seen her shove in her pocket.

"wait in the doorway
and watch the light flicker, an electric heartbeat
Morse code for silent lovers, and lovers lacking words
and as I throw myself into the fire, I can feel you wondering
will I still love you when the light goes out?
when my wings are burnt and tired,
when the electricity no longer hums and feels alive
when you aren't bright like this, can't fight like this, when you're unscrewed and taken out
watch the flicker of my wings, mechanical at best
like moth to flame, I'll follow you, dim and dark
and like flame to moth, like crow to death
I don't need Morse code to let you know
I'll love you 'till my dying breath,"

She holds the energy of the poem, standing there and breathing intensely. She clutches the poem up next to her heart, before folding it and sliding it into her pocket, right back where it came from. She smiles meekly at the camp, then looks me straight in the eye as the campers clap and cheer politely-- nobody exactly sure what she meant, but captivated by the beauty and expression behind her words. And as she stands there, numbed and basking in the applause, the storm beginning to thunder and crack behind her, I try my best to breathe. In, and out. 

She steps away and takes her seat next to me. Blake once again takes her place and makes some doofy joke about not understanding poetry, but I can barely hear it. 

She gives me wide-eyed glance, waiting for me to say something, anything. I grab her hand.

I squeeze it. Short, long, short, short. 

It's not Morse code-- or maybe it is, but it's not accurate. But she knows exactly what I mean. 

I love you, too. 

And the part I don't say: until my dying breath.



You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net