Cold Shower
Sebastian gave a start as his two chaotic best friends burst into his room with a perfectly in unison, “Sebastian!”
“Fucking hell, guys,” he grumbled at them.
“Fucking hell yeah, I think you mean,” Sam retorted.
“What do you guys want?” Sebastian asked.
“We’re here to talk about the new girl!” Abigail answered, flopping onto his couch.
“You couldn’t text, like normal people?”
“Hot gossip has to be shared in person, Seb, you know the rules,” she argued back. Sebastian sighed.
“Fine, but you’re both kicked out in ten minutes. I have work to do.”
“I’ll take it. I think I met her first; she was getting groceries from my dad yesterday morning. She seemed cool, a little nervous, though. Sam, first impression?”
“Ok, I just met her today. She’s cute, but she’s not my type. Do you think she plays an instrument?”
“Yeah, your type is red-headed teachers you can admire from a distance,” Abigail teased him.
“Hey, one day I’m going to ask Penny out. I just need some time to build up the nerve.”
“You’re never going to build up the nerve!”
The conversation went off track for a few minutes as Abigail and Sam discussed his crush. Eventually Abigail ended the tangent with, “I have to agree about Al, though—Seb, you haven’t met her yet, but she is so cute.”
“Actually, I met her before Sam.” Sebastian quickly realized that that was his first addition to the conversation. They stared at him with open mouths for a long moment before responding simultaneously.
“What?!”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“You didn’t give me a chance to with all your Penny talk. Plus, there’s not much to say aside from that she and I will never talk again,” Sebastian explained, but he knew that wouldn’t satisfy his nosey friends.
“Ok, spill,” Abigail demanded.
“Ugh, I just—I was me, is all. She came to see my mom, who forced me into introductions, so I panicked and said the first bullshit that my brain came up with. My mom gave me an earful about it last night. I was hoping to never have to see that girl again, but then this afternoon my mom sent me to deliver the chair she’d fixed. I think she was trying to make me apologize, but—”
“Woah, woah, back up. You saw her twice already?” Sam interrupted
“Fate just hates me like that. The second time I think I just guaranteed she’ll never speak to me again.”
“Oh no, what did you say?” Abigail asked, concerned.
“I didn’t.”
“What?” Her concern changed to confusion.
“I didn’t actually... say anything. I kind of just, shoved the chair in her direction and ran,” Sebastian said, putting his face in his hands.
“Rest in pieces, my man. There’s no coming back from that,” Sam said, ever the best at comforting.
“There will be, when we befriend her,” Abigail piped in.
“Yeah! Abby and I can be friends with her, and then she’ll slowly grow tolerant of your presence, like a cold shower.”
“That’s the dream,” Sebastian deadpanned. “By the way, your ten minutes are up.”
--
Al fussed over the details of her outfit in front of the mirror. Hair up, or hair down? Flannel sleeves rolled up, or left down? Friday evening had come way too soon. She had already harvested her first batch of parsnips, but it felt like she had planted them only yesterday. She found herself with both a little extra time and money left to spend at the saloon, so she put on some makeup and her favorite outfit—skinny jeans, a cropped black tank, and a green flannel. She decided on a ponytail and rolled up sleeves.
The air outside was cooling off for the night; it would most likely be a tad chilly by the time she left the saloon. Winter still had yet to fully rest for the year. The nice weather helped calm some of Al’s nerves, but she still felt uneasy about the night. She wasn’t actually sure who Abigail’s friends were. She had some guesses, but she still felt she was going into the hang out blind.
Al stepped into the saloon and was immediately enveloped by its warm atmosphere. It smelled of good food and good booze, and an up-beat tune played from the jukebox in the back. It seemed like most of the town had gathered at the saloon, and everyone looked to be having a good time. On second glance, though, she did notice a man standing miserably by the bar. It took a moment of thinking, but she remembered meeting him the other day, and he hadn’t seemed friendly then either.
“Al, over here!” Emily, the blue-haired bartendress, called, “Welcome to the Stardrop Saloon. This is your first time here, isn’t it? Your first drink is on me—no point arguing. What’ll it be?” Her smile was one of the widest Al had ever seen, but she could tell that every bit of it was sincere.
“How about a cider? Your pick.” When in doubt, defer to the bartender’s expertise.
“One cider, coming right up!” Emily said, seeming to already know which cider to choose. “So, how was your first week farming?” she asked as she handed Al her drink.
“It’s going well. I sold a batch of parsnips to Pierre already. It’s no award-winning farm, but it’s a start—damn that’s a good cider.”
“I knew you would like that one. My intuition is never wrong! And that’s a good attitude to have. You’ll have a beautiful farm in no time!”
“Thanks for the support, and the drink.” Emily was impossibly upbeat and friendly, but Al couldn’t stay and talk to her all night. “I was supposed to meet Abigail here; do you know where she is?”
“Of course! She and the boys spend Fridays in the arcade room, just past the jukebox. Glad you stopped by tonight!”
“Thank you. I’ll see ya later!” The boys? Well there goes most of my guesses.
Al stepped into the arcade room to see three young adults engrossed in a game of pool. Sam, a blonde with way too much hair gel, was doing some not very well thought out calculations while taking his turn. Abigail was at his side trying to give pointers, but he didn’t seem to be listening. Last of all, a pale guy, clad in black, smirked at the scene as he put more chalk on his pool cue.
It’s that emo prick again.