Clenched Teeth~A Short Story by Hayley [Part 1]

Before my year of seventeen, I had been sheltered. Our town was not huge, but it wasn’t a rural place either. I did my work in school, goofed off with friends, normal teenage stuff. I had two best friends. In the end, I only had one. All due to that horrible mask.

“Are you coming or not?” Damen yells at me from the top of the stairs. Good old, impatient Damen. People never change.
​“Come on, dude. Gimme a minute! It’s not my fault that shoelaces don’t like me!” I yell back. It is true, though. It seems that shoelaces really do have a deep, general hatred of me and my shoes. With my foot hiked up on the sickly yellow monstrosity known as a bus, my hands attempt to maneuver the little pieces of cloth through the holes on the top of my high-top. This just won’t do. If I don’t fix it now, I’ll just trip or something later. After about thirty more seconds of wrestling, the black laces finally decide to stay put in my crimson red Converses. I jog to the door where Damen is still so loyally waiting by the entrance, holding the door ajar for me.
​“Why thank you, my fair Damen,” I say in his direction, “your services are greatly appreciated.”A grateful smile reaches my lips.
​“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” he mumbles under his breath, but the grin on his face hints the slightest amusement.
​I step inside the rickety old museum, and cool air hits my face immediately upon entrance. Of course they would have the AC on. It’s the middle of freaking February in upstate New York. I wonder if they torture the children like that right over the border in Ontario.
​I spot Braeden posing between some knight armor for some of the kids’ pictures. With a jerked upward movement of his hands, a row of swords and miscellaneous armor crashes on top of him. That’s what you can typically expect out of Braeden. I grab the two sides of my red wool coat together as I hurry to pull my friend from his pile of armor.
​“Braeden, really?” I say jokingly. I stick out my hand, and he thankfully grabs it to escape his metallic near suffocation.
​“Aw, come on, Hales. Live a little,” He flashes a toothy grin somewhere past me.
“Hey Damen!” Braeden starts to wave but collapses back into his mess. I look over my shoulder to see Damen emerging from the outside into the building. I turn back to Braeden, and my friend materializes at my side to assist me in my rescue mission.
​“Guys, we’re going to lose everyone else,” Damen announces to Braeden and I. He’s right, of course. The rest of the class is already nearing the masquerade section.
​“Follow me, boys,” I say with a motion of my hand towards our destination. Damen follows, being the dutiful student he is, and with a few tugs of the arm, Braeden reluctantly drags along behind us.
​As we skid to a stop at the end of the line, pretending we’ve been there all along, the tour guide continues speaking.
​“In this era,” she drones on with her monotone, high-pitched squeaks, “masquerade balls were quite common for the well-to-do. The guests would wear even flashier costumes than normal, and decorate their faces with colorful masks of different shapes and sizes.”
​“Who would want to wear a stupid, itchy mask all night?” Braeden retorts under his breath. I stifle a laugh, amused by Braeden’s unwillingness to enjoy any form of learning. Damen’s not so enlightened. In fact, he’s glaring at Braeden like he did something wrong. If looks could kill…
​Mr. Grenich, our history teacher, and the tour guide continue babbling about the most random of facts about this era, practically feeding off of the other’s pure nerdiness, while they drag us throughout the little museum.
​“And this,” the guide stops short, gasping loudly in pure astonishment. Her overreaction amuses me, as this must be the millionth and first time she’s seen whatever she’s about to show us. “is the Hanpera mask. According to legend, it has magical properties that enable the wearer to transform their face to look like another’s.” I hear some of the kids near the front suddenly inhale all the air as they’re most likely seeing this “magical mask.” I stretch to the tips of my toes to see if I can see anything, but Matvei Petrov, the gangly 6’5” monster who towers eight inches over my 5’9” dancer stature, is impairing my view.
“Actually, this mask is part of the true quadruplet set.” There are murmurs of question throughout the group. “The other three Hanpera masks were stolen two centuries ago from the home of Sir Damen Pierre of Versailles.”
​“Hey, Day, is that your a-bunch-of-greats grandfather or something? The guy your parents named you after?” I whisper as I turn my head around to face him. Hmm. It seems like he’s pretty occupied with Braeden at the moment. Their backs are turned to me and they’re whispering like little school girls. All I can hear are snippets of their conversation coming from their mouths.
“Day,” I try and get his attention.
“Drew,” Maybe calling his middle name will help. That’s what his mom always calls him when she’s mad with him.
“Damen Storm!” I hiss trying to make sure no one’s looking back here. He’s still whispering with Braeden, not paying any attention to me, whatsoever. My efforts are futile. I slap his shoulder in a last ditch attempt, partially filled with anger and frustration, and for some reason, it brings my friends back into reality.
​“Hmm?” they both question in slight unison, Braeden coming in half a second after Damen. Their heads whip around and look at me with blank stares. I bury my head in my hands and groan at their apparent obliviousness to my multiple attempts for their attention.
​“What did you need, Hayley?” Damen asks me with questioning eyes. Did? How would he know if I needed something? If he didn’t notice all the name calling and me hitting him, how would he know that I needed something? It was like he knew I was speaking to him, but just didn’t want to respond.
​I exhale deeply, trying to calm myself down. My mouth opens to repeat the question I asked so long ago, but am cut off by Braeden mentioning that the line is moving on. Since when does he care? Well, at least I’ll finally get a look at this famous mask.
​As I approach the gleaming glass case, I realize the high security: locks of different shapes and sizes lining the bottom portion of the case, its stand most likely welded to the floor. You’d have to break the whole building to get it out. It must be one important mask. I peer into the glass covering and am now aware of what all the hype was about.
​All I can say is that it was blue: the darkest, deepest, most luscious midnight blue you’ll never see in your lifetime. Silver diamonds danced along between the eyes and over the bridge of the nose. The top half, over the eye holes, is decorated with curving lines of what looks to be red eyeliner. Underneath the eyes, a lighter, more of a pure sky blue, encases them in wide triangles. Around the left and right edges, black half circles cover the midnight blue almost to the eyes. And to think all of this happened in one hemisphere of the head.
​I linger by the case, my fingers lightly brushing the arctic glass. With a minute movement of my head, I sneak a glance at the boys’ faces, and can tell that they’re in awe as well. The only thing is is that there’s something else behind their facades of awe. It’s horror. Why they would be horrified, I had no idea. I’m still drawing a blank.
​“You know what, Damen? It’s fine, a-about my question earlier.” I stammer, “Nothing important…”

The rest of the trip passed placidly. Since it was a field trip day, we juniors were allowed to leave for the remainder of the day upon arrival at school. As the buses pulled up in front of the entrances of the building, most of the kids hopped down the steps and bounded towards the parking lot. I decided to stay behind because I owed the guys a ride, but they were taking their ridiculously sweet time. I was getting quite irked because I hate lagging behind, and if Damen and Braeden didn’t hurry up, they were going to be left at school.
​“Come on, guys!” I say, “You know that Denali’s only gives free refills till two.” I loved that place. They were much better than that commercialized Starbucks, and the shops just had a better feel to them.
​Damen had his head in a book, some 900 page monster, and Braeden was still texting under the seat in front of him, as he usually does on the bus. I pull both of their arms simultaneously to get them to stand up. Braeden keeps a good hold on his phone, but Damen drops his book to where it lands open in the middle. Before he has a chance, I reach down to pick up the book. Interesting. Hanpera Triplets was the name of it.
​“Hmm. You must’ve really enjoyed that tour today, Damen.” I conclude.
​“Uh, yeah,” he murmurs, hastily stuffing the book into his bag. I glance back at Braeden and see that he’s still typing a message. My hand swipes across his to grab the cell and I push it into my pocket, ignoring a “Hey!” of protest coming from Braeden. I drag them both off the bus with a curt nod in the direction of the bus driver who so patiently waited for us to leave.
​I pull the guys in the direction of my little blue sedan, and they take their usual positions: Braeden in the passenger’s seat and Damen in the back with his feet propped across the rest of the seats. I pull Brae’s phone out of my pocket and fling it into his lap. He immediately flips it open and starts tapping away. The drive to Denali’s is a short one, considering the coffee shop is only 4 miles away from school. We amble in and hear a few exclamations of greeting since we regularly come in here. After a short wait, we grab our drinks of the counter. I purposely lead them towards the back to a table in a dimly lit corner. I take a sip of my coffee, and as the darkened liquid flows down my throat, I begin my inquisition.
​“Okay guys, what’s going on?” They both blankly stare at me.
“Oh, come on, you don’t think I didn’t notice all that whispering you two were doing back at the museum? You must think I’m stupid.”
​“We don’t think you’re stupid,” Damen interrupts. That was a rhetorical question. I repeat my thought out loud.
​“Oh…” he mutters under his breath. He can be so oblivious sometimes. Well, they both can. But judging by the face Damen just made, this has to be a bigger matter than me just thinking they’re keeping a little secret. Damen never acts that ignorant. He’s usually the one you want to hit after he corrects you a bunch of times. He knows a rhetorical question when he hears it, and this was just not normal.
​I’m brought back into reality by the screech of a chair to my right. I look up to see Damen getting up, probably to get a refill probably. Great, he leaves me alone with Braeden. Wait, he’s the vulnerable one. I glance over to see what he’s doing. He’s just texting again, moving the little black phone left to right to accommodate his thumb movements. All I can hear is the clicks of the buttons. Actually, that’s one of the only sounds in the whole place. It’s ridiculously quiet. You can expect that in the middle of the usual day, but not on sale days. The place is usually packed. I lean back in my chair and take in my surroundings.
​There’s the shuffle of Damen’s feet over by the counter. He usually does that when he’s nervous. The whir of the cappuccino machine is comforting, but the tap of my impatient foot is not.  I move back to my original position, hovering over the table, and I lean in to catch my original prey.
​“Hey, Braeden?” I say softly. It’s like I subconsciously don’t want to disturb the peace. After a few more keyboard taps, Braeden looks up at me with big brown eyes.
​“Mmm?” How am I supposed to word this so I don’t jump the gun? I lean back in my chair once more only to lean back over the table again. It feels like a tick. Back and forth, back and forth. It’s really tedious after a few rotations. Talking to Braeden is really an art especially if you’re trying to get something out of him. You have to figure out how to manipulate his mind. He is very good at keeping secrets, though. Telling him something is like locking your savings in Swiss bank. After a few more moments of speculation I arrive at a conclusion.
​“Brae, I’m about to ask you something very important,” I start. His pupils start to take over his eyes. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but I continue before he has the chance.
“I need to know what happened today, back at the field trip. I know Damen’s probably telling you not to tell me, but you’re not his puppet. You have your own mind.” I feel a low hum of guilt from manipulating my friend, but it had to be done. His eyes return to normal, but he seems torn.
​“Um, well, Hayley, the thing is…” he trails off.
​“Come on, Brae. Tell me.” I lay my hand on top of his cold one even though the heat is cranked up.
“You can trust me.” His eyes look indecisive. It’s like he’s trying to decide what to say. I glance up to see how much time I have, and see Damen peering through the glass case of cakes and muffins. He’s not even paying attention to us. My eyes reconnect with Braeden’s. He’s silent, but nervous. That quickly changes.
​“Look, Hales, we both love you and stuff, but I just can’t tell you. It’s too hard. Not here.” He chews on his lower lip for a second and then pulls his hand from underneath mine. It hadn’t warmed up one bit. Braeden pulls a blue ink pen from his jeans’ pocket and starts scrawling on a brown paper napkin. Ugh. Why does everybody have to be going green?
“But here would be fine.” A smile flashes across his mouth and disappears just as quickly.
“11 o’ clock, okay?” I’m kind of against sneaking out on a school night. Plus, it would be past my curfew. But I just had to know the truth. With a terse, almost imperceptible, nod of my head he puts the pen back in his pocket and leans back on his chair pushing the front legs off the ground. He places the chair back on the ground, and Damen returns with a freshly steaming cup. I stuff the napkin into my pocket before he can notice. He didn’t need to know.

The wind slaps my face as I carefully step onto the roof. It’s cold. As usual. My parents don’t suspect anything. When I returned home earlier, they weren’t there. They were still at their much-more-important-than-me jobs. I had assumed they wouldn’t be home until around nine. I assumed right. By then I had supposedly “gone to bed,” so they had no reason to check on me. It’s not like they did anyway. Not since I was at least eleven. I had lain on the floor in my room for an hour thinking about what was coming.
Around ten, I had switched off the television and searched for the keys to my car. And here I am now, with me crouching on the roof. I jump off the surface, and for a minute, I’m flying with the air blowing my hair upwards in a balloon of chocolate brown. My balloon drops me into a row of half-plucked hedges lining the front of my house.
The impact is soft, but I am startled. I landed on my feet. That probably wasn’t the best idea. The backs of my knees ache from landing wrong, on my heels instead of the balls of my feet with the knees bent. The noise that I made is what scares me. There are small, messy piles of leaves guarding me in a wide circle. My eyes fly towards the house behind me, and I see the two figures scurrying about like mice like they usually do. Perfect.
The engine gives off a quiet whirr as I twist the key in the ignition. This must’ve been why I chose it. Silent engines are always nice, but when you like stealth missions, they’re even better. Of course, it’s not like I knew that I’d need this silence, but still, it helps. I swiftly back out of the driveway and head down the street.
I look down at the napkin again. 4792 Gorotom Avenue. My computer had said it was about twenty miles south. He wants to do this far away from the city. It’ll give me plenty of time to think. What does Braeden really have to tell me? Do I really want to know? What’ll happen after he tells me? How big of a secret could it be if I had to drive twenty miles out to hear it?
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Gorotom Avenue was coming up on my left. I wasn’t much of a road. Well, it wasn’t a busy area either. This used to be the area with all of the factories. I was almost to the countryside, where all the farms were. I stop at the stop sign where I’m supposed to turn and look around. The only things I see are old, abandoned factory buildings from the early 1900s. There’s really not much you can do with them except convert them into condos, which is what the corporate do closer to the big city. Here, they just sit and rot. This is farm country where only older couples want to live. It’s quite frightening if you have enough time to think about it. The looming buildings are monsters that want to eat you. The hoot of a night owl perched in a lone bare tree brings me back into reality.
The car rolls to a neat stop on the outer edge of what looks to be a parking lot. I drag out the napkin once more. 4792 Gorotom Avenue. The deteriorating sign above me confirms my destination. I sit in silence with my heart beating wildly. My eyes habitually glance over at the clock and realize that it’s only 10:35. I’m 25 minutes early, probably out of anticipation. The electric seat leans back a bit, and I rest my head on the headrest. I didn’t get much sleep last night. My eyes flutter closed, and I drift into dreamland.
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A quick rapping on my driver’s side window abruptly rouses me. I dare to peer out of the tinted glass and I see a hooded figure standing there. My mouth opens to scream, but I’m quickly cut off.
“Hayley!” Braeden hisses, “It’s just me.” I smash the window button down, and as it rolls down, I recognize Braeden’s ratty, dull orange hoodie.
“Braeden!” I say with anger but surprise. I hastily unlock the door, step outside, and slam it behind me, rattling my sunglasses in the holder.
“Please, man, don’t ever do that again!” I was a kind of freaked. Braeden starts chuckling at my vulnerability.
“Okay, Hales, it’s just that you fell asleep. I didn’t think you’d want to miss the show.” His face falls solemn. “C’mon.”
He leads me across the parking lot and towards an archway. As we pass underneath it, I can’t help but shudder for no apparent reason. We walk along a winding path along the building, but then in the complete opposite direction towards the woods. I pass under the bare trees and look down as two squirrels scurry across the pathway. After a few more minutes, we emerge into a small clearing. Its beauty takes my breath away.
A huge fire flickers in the middle of the ellipse. The bare branches of the trees extend to create a dome over the clearing. The brown, long dead grass is crunching under my feet, and it turns into dust as my foot pulls away. Some amount of feet behind the fire, a trickling stream weaves between the trees. There are no leaves on the ground. They were decimated months ago.
I walk over to the stream using my long strides, and crouch down so all my weight is on the balls of my feet. I pull my white and red striped glove off and reach down to run it through the water. The iciness stings my hand at first, but is later comforting. I hear footsteps to my right and look up to see Damen emerging from the woods, book in hand. He’s always got his nose in a book: any one really. He’s read my magazines before when everything else was “too boring.”
I rise from my crouching position. I realize that Braeden is nowhere in sight. Then it clicks in my head. We didn’t tell Damen we were meeting tonight. Braeden must’ve told Damen. But why? He said Damen didn’t need to know.
“D—Damen?” I stutter, “Wha—What are you doing here?” Braeden appears back out of the trees on my left tugging a large, browning, heavy-looking trunk. My eyes lock on him and I send him a harsh glance.
“Braeden? What is this? I thought you said you weren’t going to tell him.”
“Oh, but Hayley,” Damen says as he saunters towards me. He continues until it feels like he’s towering over me, even though he’s only an inch taller. Braeden sets the trunk down near the fire, pushes his right hand into his back pocket, and chews on his bottom lip like he did earlier at Denali’s. Damen smiles amusedly.
“He didn’t have to tell me. You agreed to my face earlier this afternoon at Denali’s.” I really hope the bewildered expression I think I have is showing up on my face right now. Damen reaches his left hand across to his right ear and pulls, and the Hanpera mask appears in his hand. My heart is racing faster than a NASCAR car. I look back up, and I’m staring into the hazel eyes of Braeden.