5 Worst Enemies, and Elevator, and an Unfortunately Timed Power Outage - Part 2

 A/N: Welcome back, readers! If you've just stumbled across this story, please read Part 1 first, or you'll have no clue who the characters are or what's going on. Thanks!

Previously on 5 Worst Enemies, an Elevator, and an Unfortunately Timed Power Outage...

Suddenly, a horrible thought crosses my mind. “Wait...so none of us have phones...so we can’t contact anyone...”

“Then let’s do the only thing we can do,” Melanie says gravely. “Yell as loud as we can.”

“That wouldn’t work,” Landen replies dejectedly. “The elevator is stuck between two floors. Even if people heard us, there’d be no way to get us out.”

I sink down onto the floor again in defeat. “Okay, we’re stuck.”

And now...

Five Worst Enemies, an Elevator, and an Unfortunately Timed Power Outage - Part 2

All five of us groan. “Oh my God!” Melanie whines. “This is awful!”

“Yes, it is,” I agree. “But let’s think of productive things to do to pass the time. Homework?”

“No,” is the reply of all four of the others.

“Ooh, let’s do blonde jokes!” Peter exclaims, perking up. “Let’s see…there was a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead. They were all stranded on a deserted island, Island A, off the coast of Canada in the Arctic Ocean. The next island, Island B, was two hundred miles away. The three of them decided that the only thing they could do was swim the two hundred miles to Island B. The redhead went first, but the waves kept getting taller and taller, until finally she was swallowed up by a sixty-foot wave after swimming forty-nine miles. The brunette went second, and she swam for one hundred sixty-four miles. However, since this was the Arctic Ocean, she eventually froze and drowned. Then the blonde went third. She was a very strong swimmer, and she swam one hundred ninety-nine out of the two hundred miles! But then she started to get tired, so she decided to swim back to Island A.”

A second passes, and then me and Landen burst out laughing. I’ve heard that joke before, and I’ve told it quite a bit, but the dramatic tone of voice in which he told it is what made it hilarious.

I notice that the only ones not laughing are Melanie and Christelle. “That’s not funny,” Christelle huffs, twirling a strand of hair. “That was, like, really mean. You made blondes sound dumb, and look at me, I’m blonde and I’m not dumb!”

This makes us start laughing even harder. Might I add, Christelle is known throughout the grade for her immense stupidity.

“I just think it was a stupid joke,” Melanie points out. “And Christelle, you’re probably one of the dumbest people I know.”

“Hey, does anyone have any food in their backpacks?” I ask, changing the subject before Christelle blows a gasket.

I hear those who have backpacks unzip them and check. “Nope.”

“Me, neither.”

“Alright, then…” I say. “Let’s…discuss things! What are your outlooks on the fiscal cliff?”

“No one knows what that is!” Peter exclaims.

I sigh. “Never mind.”

Strange...for this whole elevator ride, Peter has barely been teasing me at all.

“Hey, have y’all seen my new jeans?” Christelle asks, snatching Peter’s iPhone out of his hand to illuminate them. “They’re like those skin-tight ones from Abercrombie that make your butt look really small.” She turns to me. “Hey, Athena , why don’t you have any?” she points her finger at me smugly.

I raise my eyebrows. “Well, there’s a lot of reasons, actually. First of all, I’m creative enough to come up with other outfits besides Abercrombie jeans. Second, I know that nobody cares what brand of jeans other people have. They only care about what brand they have. And also, I don’t need to make my butt look smaller.”

Christelle gasps completely overdramatically, while Landen and Peter both say “Ooooh!” in unison. I even catch Melanie smirk.

“You just got served, Prissy Chrissy!” Landen laughs.

Wow. I think that’s the first time Landen has ever said something accurate.

“Oh my God!” Christelle shouts, jumping up from her spot. “You insulted me!”

“No,” I point out calmly. “You insulted me; therefore, I responded with simple statements that equally counteracted your meanness. That’s perfectly fair, if you ask me.”

It seems like Christelle is about to pounce, so Peter clears his throat and changes the subject. “Ahem. Um…anyway…let’s all play…Duck Duck Goose!” He forces on a grin. “Yeah, guys! Let’s all get into a circle and-“

“I am not playing Duck Duck Goose!” Christelle snaps. “And Athena , you are such a butthead! No wonder you’ve never had a boyfriend!”

“I don’t really want some guy following me around like a puppy dog,” I respond.  “It would distract me from earning higher grades.”

Little do they know that that’s a flat-out lie…

“Pfft,” Melanie sneers. “Why are you so worried about your grades?”

“I know, right?” Christelle agrees without hesitation, not ceasing to take Melanie’s side. That girl might as well be wearing a t-shirt that says: Hey guys, I’m a suck-up! “You’re so obsessed with your grades!”

“I achieve high grades because I want to make it into Yale,” I articulate. I can hear my voice taking on that pompous tone that it gets when I discuss my ambitions. “I’ll move back to Connecticut where I used to live, become a senator, and work my way up the ranks until I’m the President.”

“Wow, that is not going to happen,” Peter mutters.

“Hey!” I exclaim. Here goes that whole love-hate relationship thing again.

“I’m gonna start an anti-Athena  campaign,” Peter laughs. “I’ll put up posters that say, ‘Don’t vote Athena Panousis for President, or we’ll all die!’”

“Wow, creative slogan, Peter,” I snort, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did you write that one yourself?”

“Go home, Athena !” he snaps.

“Believe me, if I could, I would,” I say.

“Just someone shoot me, please,” Melanie moans, lying down and sticking her legs in the air, leaning them up on the wall.

“Could we shoot Athena?” Landen asks, grinning in that obnoxious way that pushes me to my last nerve.

“I’d love that!” I retort. “Then I wouldn’t have to listen to your dimwitted insults!”

Now, let me make something clear. I do not dislike everyone. In fact, I am generally not a mean person. Even though Melanie is a snob, she hasn’t done anything especially bad to me, so I don’t really hate her, even though I dislike her. The only kids I legitimately hate are Christelle and Landen, both of whom are stuck with an elevator with me. As you can probably tell, I have no problem insulting people who I don’t like. It’s not mean; it’s simply justice, justice for everything mean they’ve ever said to me. However, note that all of my insults are comebacks, so I don’t insult them when it’s not necessary. I don’t want to sink to their level. It’s how I operate – an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, you know?

Landen sticks out his tongue at me. “Hey Weenie Athenie, Truth or Dare?”

Truth or Dare? That ought to be interesting with this crowd. “Wait. Before we play Truth or Dare, I think we need to lay down a few rules, because let’s just say that we are not the coziest group in the world. First, nothing rated R.”

Peter shudders. “Deal. I don’t know if we’ll be able to come up with that many good dares; I mean, we’re trapped in a pitch black elevator with one iPhone flashlight.”

“Oh, I can think of some,” Landen giggles. I don’t even want to know what’s going through that kid’s mind right now. “And you can’t refuse a dare, or else the game will be lame.”

“When you’re asked a Truth, you must tell the truth, with God as your witness,” I add.

“Nothing gay,” Peter says.

“No stabbing,” Melanie points out.

“Aw, man!” I exclaim sarcastically. “Oh, and for Truths, the question can’t be ‘Who do you like?’ or ‘What is the first or last name of the person you like?’” I smile to myself. I probably just avoided some very awkward moments.

Christelle scowls. “Whatever, no one cares, let’s just play!”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll ask first. Peter, Truth or Dare?”

Peter smirks. “Dare.”

I think for a moment. “Sing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’ at the top of your lungs.” Yeah, not my best dare, but there are only so many things one can do in an elevator.

A grin spreads across Peter’s face. He stands up and starts dancing around. “I’M A LITTLE TEAPOT, SHORT AND STOUT! HERE IS MY HANDLE, HERE IS MY SPOUT!” He does all the little teapot motions enthusiastically. “WHEN I GET ALL STEAMED UP, HEAR ME SHOUT, TIP ME OVER AND POUR ME OUT!”

Landen and I crack up, while Christelle and Melanie just scowl and roll their eyes. Peter plops down, looking rather pleased with himself. I’ve heard that the frustrating thing about telling Peter to do something embarrassing is that he will gladly do it with pride. That’s one of the things I like about him. He’s not concerned about what others think of him, which takes quite a bit of courage.

Peter turns toward me. “Truth or Dare, Athena ?”

“Dare,” I reply. What’s the worst thing I’d have to do? I would have done ‘I’m a Little Teapot’ in the blink of an eye. Why? Because, unlike some people, I think acting insane is quite fun.

“Play Twenty Questions with me,” he says.

I snort. Is that really the best Dare he can come up with? Then again, his smirk tells me that he’s up to something.

“Okay, let’s start. Have you ever liked a guy romantically?”

I wince as he shines the phone light directly on my face. I purse my lips. I’m good at finding loopholes, but I’m afraid there’s no way to get out of answering this question…

“Yes,” I say as casually as I can. “Hasn’t everyone?”

Is it me, or did Peter’s eyes just light up?

And of course Landen has to come and ruin the moment, shrieking and giggling like a drunk hyena. I roll my eyes, though I feel my cheeks flush a deep scarlet. Thank God we’re in the dark…

“Alright then,” Peter continues. “Is he in our grade?”

“Yes.”

“Oooooooooooh!” I can practically hear Landen grinning. “This is juicy!”

“Why do you even care?” Christelle scoffs. “Like, why is everyone so obsessed with who she likes?”

“Cool it, Christelle,” Peter says. “So Panousis, is he in Pre-Algebra?”

I suppress a gulp. In Seventh Grade, there are three math classes you can be in: Algebra, Pre-Algebra, and Math 7. You take a placement test that decides which one you get into. Algebra is the most advanced math class in the grade, which both Peter and I are in.

“No.”

“Math Seven?”

“No.”

I think I can hear a small gasp. “So he’s in Algebra. Does he have brown eyes?”

Yes – wait, no. Peter’s eyes are amber, not brown. “Nope.”

“Oh…” Peter frowns. “Okay. Well, is he blonde?”

“No.”

“Black hair?”

“Yes.”

“Is he in choir?”

Oh, great. In our grade, there are only three boys in middle school choir (which consists of about twenty people). Peter is one of them. If I say yes…

I need to get out of this. Now. How awkward would it be if I just confessed my crush here and now? I would get teased mercilessly.

“Uh…” I double over and begin coughing, having a very realistic coughing fit.

“Ew, stop it!” Melanie whines.

I glare at her. “Do you think – cough – I’m enjoying –cough – this?!” I demand.

“But you might get me sick!” she retorts prissily, ducking in the opposite corner of the cramped little elevator.

“Are you okay?” Peter exclaims urgently. “Do you need the Himelick? Are you choking? Are you having an asthma attack?”

“I – I’m – cough – fine,” I gasp. I take a minute to “suppress” my coughing. “Sorry.”

Excitement bubbles up inside of me. He was concerned for me! Wow. That actually feels pretty nice…

“I hate asthma,” I moan, doing my best to evade the subject of 20 Questions. “Do any of you guys have it?”

“Ew, no,” Christelle says haughtily. “I wash my hands and eat right.”

Peter and I exchange a glance under the light of his phone-flashlight, snickering. “Yeah, I would never want to catch asthma,” Peter snorts.

“Is something funny to you?” Christelle demands.

“Oh, nothing, just your immense ignorance,” I say airily.

Christelle rounds on me. “What did you just say?” she growls.

“Oh, nothing, just your immense -”

“It was a bletoricalical question!” Christelle shouts.

I snort. “You mean, ‘rhetorical’?”  

“Stop being mean!” Christelle whines. She turns to Melanie. “Melanie, don’t you think she’s being mean?”

Melanie raises her perfectly-plucked eyebrows. “No, she just corrected you. That’s not being mean.”

“Athena ’s a mean person,” Landen cuts in. “She’s a bully!”

“Go home, Landen,” Peter snaps.

“Peter’s being a bully!” Landen shouts at the top of his lungs. “Peter’s being a bully!”

“SHUT UP!” I interject. “Peter was being nice by standing up for me!”

It’s hard to tell, but i think Peter blushes slightly. “Um, well, not standing up exactly, just...go home, Athena !

“Go eat a sandwich!” I retort, mimicking what he often says to me.

“Okay,” he says. He reaches into his bag and pulls out something, sticking part of it into his mouth.

“What?” I gasp. “A sandwich?! You said you didn’t have any food!”

Peter takes another bite of his sandwich, grinning sheepishly. “Oh, did I? Well, I’m so sorry.”

Christelle wrinkles her nose. “Ew, what’s in your sandwich?”

“Chicken salad,” Peter replies. “Don’t worry, it’s not spoiled. It was in a lunchbox with a little ice pack thing.”

“I love chicken salad...” Christelle’s eyes widen.

“Chicken salad is fattening,” Melanie states with a toss of her hair.

Christelle shrinks back a little. “Well, I mean, I don’t like it that much...”

“Can I have your sandwich?” Landen asks.

“Yes, Landen,” Peter rolls his eyes. “Of course I would love nothing more than to hand you my precious sandwich and starve to death.”

“Why are you being so selfish, Peter?” Landen whines.

“Do you think you deserve a sandwich right now, Landen?” I question patronizingly.

I feel a tap on my hand, and something slide into it. Half of a sandwich. I look up and see Peter grinning at me. I flash him a thumbs up, and he puts his finger to his lips, warning me not to tell the others.

He gave me a sandwich! Our relationship might have just taken a step further...

“Come on, Peter, be a good Samaritan!” Landen persists.

That kid talks so much that he must have to ice his jaw when he gets home every day.

“We’re trapped in a creepy haunted elevator in the middle of a storm,” Peter says through a mouthful of chicken salad. “It’s every man for himself, dude.”

I bite into the sandwich, and now I appreciate Peter’s gift even more. That chicken salad...man, that’s some good stuff.

“Besides, Landen, if you had the sandwich, you wouldn’t give any to us,” I point out.

“Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, logic logic, no one cares, Athena ,” Christelle says in an unnervingly obnoxious tone. “This is why nobody likes you. Because you go on and on with logic and other dumb stuff.”

“However unbearable Panousis might be, she has ten times the reputation and twenty times the IQ that you have,” Peter retorts.

I suppress a grin. That was so...nice! I nearly squeal.

Wait...me? Squealing? Oh, Lord. The ways in which love affects people...

“Athena  is such a butthead!” Christelle insists. “Nobody ever invites her to sit with them at lunch because she’s so annoying!”

“Actually, Panousis is invited to sit with people every day,” Peter says.

By now, I just want to jump up and give him a big hug.

Then again, I always have.

“Wait, how would you know, Peter?” Landen giggles. “Do you watch her?”

“Heck, no!” Peter yelps quickly. “If I watched her all day, my eyes would burn out.”

Well, so much for the Nice-Peter thing. I’ll just pretend he meant I was hot...

“Yeah, because she’s so freaking ugly,” Christelle spits.

“You shut up!” Peter jumps up.

“Hey, you’re not much of a prize either, Peter,” Christelle trails on. “No wonder no girls like you.”

I feel a smirk form across my lips. Little does she know...

“Will you just get a life?” I say exasperatedly. “Seriously, there are more entertaining things to do than pick on someone with twice the brains and integrity as you.”

Peter smiles at me, and my heart pretty much melts on the spot.

Wow. I don’t even think that’s biologically possible..

“Why don’t you like me?” Christelle asks, even though she knows the answer.

“I’m sorry, I thought you’re supposed to like people who don’t treat you like crap,” I retort.

“Since when do I treat you like crap?” she scoffs.

“Oh, that’s right, you don’t treat me like crap,” I say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You just spread rumors about me, tease me about my appearance, try to take advantage of me, and backstab me whenever you get the chance. Other than that, you treat me wonderfully.”

“Do you really do all those things, Christelle?” Melanie questions, seeming to be interested now. The Royal Posse eats, sleeps, and breathes gossip.

“What? Of course not!” Christelle splutters. “She’s bullied me ever since I first met her!”

“Bullied you?” Rage boils up inside of me. “Excuse me, but did you not just hear me list all the nasty things that you do to me?”

“Just shut up!” Christelle shrieks.

“Good one, Chrissy, did you write that yourself?” Peter snorts.

“You’re so mean!” Christelle scowls.

“Not mean, just honest.” Peter says.

“No, you’re mean to everyone. That’s why no one likes you.”

“I’m sorry, did I just hear you describe yourself?”

“What? I don’t mean to brag, but I’m really popular.”

“First of all, you do mean to brag, and second, you have an extremely inflated opinion of yourself.”

“Are you implying that I’m not popular?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

“I don’t care what you say. I have two thousand followers on Instagram!”

“Whoa, two thousand Instagram followers,” I snort, interrupting their argument. “Wow, you’re just invincible. Having two thousand strangers stalking you makes you so much better than us lowlifes.”

Christelle turns her gaze toward me, cat-like eyes staring down menacingly into mine. “No one asked you what you thought,” she says slowly, enunciating every syllable. “You scrawny little loser.”

“SHUT UP!” Peter roars, leaping up again. “Don’t talk to her like that!”

“Aw, getting protective of your little girlfriend?” Christelle taunts. “We’ll see how much good that does her.”

And suddenly, without warning, she pounces forward, knocking me down to the ground. As my head whacks against the hard carpet, a dull pain begins to spread through it. I try my best to fend off the punches that come flying, but though my quick reflexes prevent me from getting a black eye, it’s not much help; Christelle is heavier, stronger, and taller than I am. As a heavy weight presses against me, my throat begins to constrict and I can barely breathe. Panicked thoughts run through my mind: Run, run, escape, run, block, run, escape, run.

I begin to lose strength, fighting her off more and more wearily. I might have to give in...I can’t take this anymore...I can’t...

And suddenly I can just make out Peter’s voice, rising above the din. I can’t understand what he’s saying, but something about his voice makes me come alive, filling me with strength.

A surge of adrenaline rushes through me, and I find myself on top of Christelle, trying my best to pin her down as she tries to lash out at me. She captures me in a headlock, and my vision is a blur of punching and clawing and scratching and hair-pulling. Fight. Fight. Escape. Do it for Peter. Peter. Peter.

Christelle manages to overcome my strength, and my heart sinks as she pins me to the ground once again. The pressure on my arms is dull and heavy, like large weights ensnaring me. “You’ll pay for this,” she hisses, her yellowish eyes gleaming with bloodthirst. Just as she rears back her fist and I cringe, readying myself for excruciating pain, the commotion stops.

The pressure is lifted off me, and I slowly lift myself up, scratching my head groggily.

There’s another thing I notice, too: I am no longer in pitch blackness. Christelle is no longer attacking me, and is instead pinned to the ground by an enraged and exhausted Peter.

And there’s one more thing: the elevator doors are open.

I sit up, forgetting all my pain. The elevator doors...open...am I free?

A very bewildered Maggie Sutter stands in the doorway, appearing completely and utterly begoggled. She eyes the sight of Landen and Melanie cowering in the corner, Peter pinning down Christelle, and me stretching out my cramped muscles.

“Well...” she says. “This is quite the party.”

None of us know what to say, so we stay silent, staring up at Maggie. How on earth did the elevator doors open? How did she find us. And, most importantly, what the heck just happened?

“Um...hey,” I reply, eying the bleeding scratch on my forearm. “We were just...you know...like...”

“I have no clue what was going on in there,” Maggie continues, eyes still as round as marbles. “But if you guys ever decide to have an elevator party again, be sure not to send me an invitation.”

We don’t even bother telling her that we were trapped in the elevator against our will. We slowly stumble out, squinting in the bright light.

“Well...see ya.” Maggie jogs out of the building, long ponytail bouncing on her sweaty soccer uniform.

We’re left standing there in silence, just staring at each other, not believing what just happened. Suddenly, laughter pierces the silence. For some reason, Peter has doubled over laughing. And I’m not talking about normal, day-to-day laughing. He’s laughing like a Landen-hyena hybrid. Somehow, I crack up too, and I can barely hold in my laughter. Soon, Landen joins in, along with Melanie and even Christelle, until we’re all just standing there and laughing our heads off.

Now, you probably think that we’re completely insane, and I assure you, some of us are. But when you’ve just been trapped in an elevator with your worst enemies for hours and gotten into a catfight over virtually nothing...really, it’s pretty absurd when you think about it. And it’s not every day that you see five worst enemies laughing together, but here we are, making so much noise that the people in Charlotte Latin can probably hear us right now.

Really, it’s completely ridiculous, yet at the same time, it makes so much sense.

______________________________________________________________

I stroll through the locker area, right past the elevator where I was trapped just a few minutes ago. No matter how excruciating this past experience has been, it’s good to finally be breathing fresh air again. As I was coming back up to the second floor, I made sure to take the stairs. I might be strong-willed, but I don’t think I could go through another elevator-trapping incident again.

The creak of the door sounds behind me. I turn back and watch as Peter strides in, ruffling his jet black hair. He grins at me - he doesn’t smirk, like he always does, but he actually grins. “We did it,” he says, walking next to me. “We survived two hours of torture.”

“What’s ironic is that rehearsal is already over, so we endured all that for basically nothing,” I laugh. “Rotten luck, wasn’t it? That the five of us just happened to be on the same elevator, and the power just happened to go out, and we just happened to be trapped in there...wait. If we were trapped, then how did Maggie just open the doors and find us? We could have just pressed the open button and walked right on out, which would have saved us the two hours of torture.”

Peter purses his lips, shifting uncomfortably. “Well, um, about that...well..”

I narrow my eyes. “You knew all along, didn’t you?”

Peter smiles sheepishly, blushing a soft pink. “Well...kind of.”

“You did.”

“Yeah.”

“Then why didn’t you tell us to just press the open button?” I ask, curiosity budding inside me. If it’s for the reason I think it is...

“Well, it’s just that...” Peter sighs, then glances around cautiously. “Listen, if I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh, or scream, or run away, or throw up, or shoot me?”

Anticipation begins to build in me. “I don’t have anything to shoot you with, anyway. Wait...” I check my pockets jokingly. “Nope. You can tell me.”

Peter’s face is turning redder. “Okay. It’s just that...well, I wanted to stay in the elevator because I kind of wanted to...like...talk with you. Like, hang out, I mean. Sure, the elevator’s kind of a weird place to hang out, but every time we talk, we tease each other, and I kind of wanted to talk to you for real, because I kind of...you know, um...I think you’re like, kinda...well, I guess you could say that I-.”

Before he can finish his sentence, I whirl around, pull his head down, and smash my lips into his. And right then and there, the world begins to glow, and everything is warm and golden and sweet, and my eyes are pressed firmly shut. It’s like walking on clouds, like I’m floating above the mountains, above the cloudy winter skies, into the heavens above. I can only think of Peter, of everything I love about him: his hair, his grin, the way he awkwardly stumbles around when he walks. I can feel my normally cold exterior melting away, replaced by gold, warmth, strength, fire, love.

Peter breaks away for a moment, and he whispers softly in my ear, “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

As I look away from Peter, which is not easy to do, I see the sun setting through the large glass window, glowing, calm, and warm, its soft orange beams streaking across the clouds in a glorious display of light. The snowy Colorado mountains are bathed in the light that breaks through the silver sky, the pine trees illuminated and the snow sparkling like diamonds. Turning back to Peter, the same sunset shines in his amber eyes, smiling down at me, setting me on fire. Seeming as though I’m lost in a dream, he walks off with me into the sunset as he whips his arm around my shoulder, and somehow, his love around my heart.

Being trapped in an elevator with your worst enemies might be an excruciating experience, but it really does have its rewards.