List of Brianna Hildenborrow’s official enemies:

1. The delivery boy from the local pizza place that smirked her that one time when she ordered a large black olives-and-pepperoni pizza with obviously no one else going to eat it but her. Her one-star yelp review would hopefully one day destroy him for it.

2. The old man next door neighbor that threatened to kick a dog that was sniffing his bushes outside. It was just a little sniffing! Let them sniff! That man she might fist-fight.

3. The customer from when she worked at Einstein Bagels when she was 19 who asked for “a bagel with extra cream cheese, but hold the bread.”

4. The raccoon on 9th street that she nicknamed “Captain Jumbo” who was the size of two raccoons put together. She found him rooting through her apartment buildings trash one evening and promptly ran the other direction from the sight of his size alone. He still haunted her nightmares.

5. Them. The big Them, the them to end all other them’s, the ridiculous tie-dye wearing tattooed rival that haunted her waking hours with their terrible, terrible talent.

Bri sat at the back of the coffee shop with her back slumped low, face set in a hard frown, and legs splayed out. Her eyes were narrowed and the room felt small and cramped.

It was stuffed with warm bodies at every table, most people wearing tweed jackets or horn-rimmed glasses, patterned leggings and floral dresses, bow ties and mustaches. The type of people who bragged about reading the dictionary for fun and would stoically correct you if you pronounced “hors d'oeuvres” as “horse divorce” as a joke.

Chatter went around the room as the corner of the room was set-up with speakers and a stool.

The weekly poetry open-mic night was always a popular event at Yo Jo’s Coffee. They had a slightly elevated stage next to the poetry bookshelves and a shoddy microphone that seemed to up every other word.

A moderator sat next to the stage with her laptop out and an enormous yellow sunflower stuck in her blue straw hat. She wore a long maxi-dress with red and orange streaks down the front and a leather jacket over that.

Rachel was fine though. Rachel was sweet and tried her best to run these things each week even when people insisted on snapping instead of clapping. Rachel had already been up to remind the room of tipping the baristas and that they did workshops every Saturday at the local library.

Bri nodded along, preparing herself for what she knew was coming next.

She narrowed her eyes at the stage and her frown grew wider. A short person in jean shorts and starry space leggings came on stage. They had on a choker necklace with a shark tooth in the center and a plain white t-shirt with a water color bird in flight. They had a half-finished tattoo sleeve on their right arm that contained mostly classic cartoon characters like Betty Boop and Tom and Jerry in black and white.

The person was also wearing bright orange crocs with studs in each hole.

It was ridiculous. Because Thresh Holder was ridiculous. Bri sniffed and looked the other direction as Thresh adjusted the microphone.

Thresh always went first on poetry nights.

They cleared their throat to get everyone’s attention. “How’s everyone feeling tonight?” A series of whoops followed and people waved back at them. Bri sat stony-faced to express her displeasure.

“Well,” Thresh got a handful of crumpled papers out from their back pocket. They always hand wrote their poems. “I hope you’ve had a boring, tasteless, empty week, because that’ll make blowing your minds a hell of a lot easier.” Whoops returned back to Thresh despite the obnoxious confidence that wafted off of them.

“I’ve gotten permission from my partner to do these next couple ones in particular,” Thresh winked at their partner in the first row. Hunter just waved weakly over their shoulder at the crowd and shrank down a little lower. Bri smiled slightly, she at least didn’t mind Hunter as much. “So buckle up, because they’re a little spicy. A little saucy if you will, a little French movie in the 90s if you know what I mean.” Someone wolf-whistled and Thresh just laughed, “that person gets it!”

Bri tried not to groan. Of course. More sexy love poems.

Thresh widened their stance and surveyed the crowd, letting the silence spill over into a hush that made people sit up and lean forward in their chairs. Thresh's eyes lingered for a moment on Bri for a moment. And then they winked before addressing the whole room.

“I want to feel you most ardently, like a priest bated to temptation, I want to feel you most surreptitiously, like a squirrel tempted to the bird feeder,” a laugh rippled through the crowd, “I want to be used by you, bruised by you, rooted through, vivaciously, stupendously, like a grade schooler discovering a dictionary for the first time.” More laughter followed.

Bri rolled her eyes. She just had to endure three more poems after this.

She crossed her arms over her chest. The worst part of having a rival wasn’t the sneaky looks or fire burning in her belly or the way that Thresh dressed like a rodeo clown. It wasn’t the heads turning when they glared at each other or the fact Thresh got to be in a long-term relationship and she didn't.

It was the clapping. It was the crowd laughing and applauding. It was watching the audience being played like a fiddle for them. It was that they were good.

It was that they knew when to lower their voice and pause and when to gesture with one hand and when to pretend to be shocked at their own dirty joke.

It was that they were pretty damn good.

Bri looked down at her own poems and sighed.

“And I love you,” Thresh announced loudly, without any preamble, “like my idiot father loved the bottle and my anxious mother loved her phone calls to the fire department…”

And I love you. The words wrung a hole in the center of Bri and she groaned and stared up at the ceiling. Wasn’t that just the rub?

And I love you.

Before the set was even over Bri yanked open her laptop and started typing: WANTED…

The words spilled out before she could stop them. Before she could consider her own rashness and whether or not her mom would classify this as “erratic behavior.”

WANTED: BEAUTIFUL WOMAN TO INSPIRE POETRY…

Thresh’s set was over before Bri even noticed. And people were clapping again. Bri sank almost to the floor to become a dark puddle waiting to be a health code violation there.

Thresh said a few words before heading off stage. They made a quick walk around the room before just happening to end up by Bri. “Hey there, stranger,” Thresh gave a devilish grin. “I noticed you typing while I was performing.”

Bri looked up sharply. “I've heard the second poem before.” She said stiffly.

Thresh shrugged and loomed over her. “Not my fault you come to literally all of these things. You gonna go last again?”

“Yes,” Bri huffed, “And I have a really good one this time.”

“Oh baby, I know.” Thresh laughed sharply. “They’re all good.”

Bri scowled and turned away. “And,” she said in one breath, “I’m going to do a love poem.”

“Oh?” Thresh just gave her a look. “I’ve certainly seen you around the coffee shop more often. Is it someone here?”

“No.” Bri huffed, “It’s not. It’s someone new. Not from the scene.”

Thresh just shook their head, “Alright, alright, cool.”

Bri turned away and started muttering to herself, “and they’ll be super hot. Like, Gal Gadot hot. And it’ll be great, alright? Super great.”

Thresh just snorted, “whatever you say, lover girl. Just, maybe type more quietly next time."

Thresh gave a lazy wave over their shoulder and went to go sit with their partner instead of feeding the fires of Bri’s rivalry. Thresh kissed Hunter on the temple and whispered into their ear. Bri fisted her hands.

She was going to get a muse too. She was going to write a hundred love poems. She was going to have the whole crowd clapping and cheering as well.

She finished the page she was writing: Paid Position.

Bri was going to be great. Or else she was at the very least going to empty her bank account trying.