As I walked around the room, no one seemed to be interested in crab cakes. Or maybe it was because I wasn’t actually moving around, but more like strolling in circles. I didn’t really feel like serving crab cakes tonight. I should be in bed—sleeping.
Staring at what I was holding, my mouth watered again. It was so good. These crab cakes were so tempting. My will on not to be provoked was already crashing down. It was falling apart quickly.
Scanning the place to see if anyone was looking, I went to one side, where there were only a few people around. Turning my back against the crowd, I took another piece of crab cake.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
Repeating the cycle, I slid another one into my mouth. After a while, I set aside the chewing and swallowing part.
Another piece.
Another piece.
Another piece.
How could these crab cakes taste so good? It was against the crab cakes law to be this delicious. Counting the leftovers, there were still around ten pieces left, so I guessed it wouldn’t hurt to eat another one... or two. Convincing myself that I’d stop after this, I slid two more into my mouth.
Unforgivable tasty crab cakes.
With so much food in my mouth, I struggled for breath. I reminded myself that I should really chew and swallow now.
And I was doing so when someone suddenly tapped me from behind. “Hey.”
I choked, balancing the platter in one hand and pounding my chest with the other. It was a hard task to chew five pieces of crab cakes in my mouth properly. It required nothing but utmost concentration, and the last thing that I wanted to happen was for someone to bother me while doing so.
But being the insistent one, he asked, “What are you doing there?”
‘Eating delicious food,’ I thought to myself.
“You’re not a server, are you?” he said again, stating the obvious and still tapping me on the shoulder. I refused to turn around. My face was swollen, with crab cakes filling every space in my mouth. I swore I looked like a stuffed fish.
I hoped he would just leave me alone. My mouth was busy to even talk right now. So what if a server was eating her own food? Was that illegal? Should I be in jail because of that? Would my father bail me out and say, ‘Fiona, how did you end up in jail when you were supposed to be in your room?’
Then I’d answer, ‘It was because of those unforgivable tasty crab cakes, and that guy, whoever he was, who told on me.’
Yes, the tapping continued.
I had no choice but to turn around. But the moment I laid my eyes on the culprit’s face, my thoughts became blank. When he saw me, he was also taken aback. In fact, we were both startled—him with my bloated face and me with his half-mask.
Why were we so weird at the same place and time? The last time I’d checked, this wasn’t a masquerade party. And being one busybody, I gravely wanted to ask him why he was wearing a half-mask, but my full mouth had prevented me from doing so.
“So, Clark,” he said, reading the nametag on Clark’s apron. “You’re eating those crab cakes instead of serving them?”
I vehemently shook my head, my eyes wide-open in denial. ‘No! I wasn’t!’
“Thought so. Your boss might want to hear this, Clark,” he implied.
I shook my head again, as I tried swallowing what was in my mouth, and probably explain the situation to him at the same time. Of course, it didn’t work well.
“Well, I’m sure you don’t want your boss to hear this, don’t you?” he said again, studying me carefully. I instantly sensed some threatening going on. He was wearing a half mask that hid the upper part of his face, so his taunting grin was still showing. Regardless, I immediately nodded. Threatened or not, tied up, beaten from all sides, into the burning fire, or whatever method he’d decide to use, I didn’t want Clark’s boss to know what I was doing while wearing someone else’s apron.
“Okay, so here’s the deal. Stay still for a while, and I’ll sketch you,” he instructed me. I blinked several times, with one dumbfounded expression on my face, which was still bloated. Did I hear that right? Was I hallucinating because of the lack of air in my system? It was probably the latter. I wasn’t sure. He looked in the kitchen’s direction. “Or maybe I’ll just...”
I hesitantly shook my head, ending the blinking mania and composing my face. Well, I hadn’t really been able to do the second one, because my mouth was still half-full.
“Okay, so now just stand there…” He adjusted his sketchpad, dragging the nearest stool with his left foot. Taking a seat, he picked out the pencil that was stuck behind his ear.
Banging noises resounded as the music changed into something that sounded like metal. The whole place was a mess. Everyone was dancing skin to skin along to the beat. Alcohol already made its way inside the system of ninety percent of the population present in the house. And he was, like, he wanted to sketch me? Really? Was he drunk?
I looked back at him and saw that he was serious about all this. Even the loud music didn’t seem to bother him at all. There was nothing on his face that said that he was throwing the joke of the century.
He was really going to sketch me. Was he serious?
“Wha...” I tried saying, but it ended up with me spurting pieces of crab cakes to his face. He was tall. But in a sitting position and me standing on my feet, our height difference evened out.
“What the—” he cussed, wiping his face. Mortified, I just shut my mouth again and continued chewing instead. He took a deep breath, evening out his voice when he said, “Can we start now?”
I held three fingers in front of him, telling him to finish it within three minutes. Or at least that was what I was trying to say. Then I made an ‘X’ sign with my arms, followed by a dead pose, showing that I would be so dead if he wouldn’t hurry with this bizarre thing he wanted to do. And through the entire ordeal of getting my thoughts out without the use of my helpful mouth, I continued chewing and swallowing as well. I had to get these crab cakes down to my stomach.
“Okay, okay, I get it.” He didn’t seem to be the laughing kind of guy, but he had this covered up smile on his lips. It must really be comical to see me look like one bloated frog who was eating some crab cakes.
Croak.
Finally, I swallowed the last piece in my mouth. I hurriedly told him, “Be quick. Real quick. And don’t tell anyone that Clark was eating everything on her platter a while ago. Deal?”
“Fine,” he answered. I loved looking normal. It instantly shoved the laughing look on his face.
I shrugged. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Hold the plate up, like you’re gladly offering it to people,” he instructed. I did what he had told me and pulled a quick smile. In response, he had this satisfied grin, like the ones you’d see photographers had when their models gave them what they wanted to see.
Why was I even doing this?
And then he started sketching me. So by now, I was being drawn by some guy I didn’t know.
In less than ten minutes, I saw a sketch of myself on his pad: a girl who was happily holding a platter of crab cakes in her hands. There were still some rough edges to be fixed. And with no bias regarding me being the model, it was good. I even felt like giving him a round of applause.
But looking at the large wall clock, I realized Clark would be back any minute now. So, handing the mystery guy three crab cakes, I dashed back to the crowd. At least those were three crab cakes less. He should just figure out what to do with those. Eat them, for example. After all, they were delicious.
Finding my way back to the crowd, Clark spotted me in the middle of five people who were grabbing crab cakes from the platter. I was doing his job all right. After they all got a piece, Clark pulled me to the side.
“Thanks again,” Clark said.
“Not at all,” I said back, still thinking about that boy who drew a sketch of me a moment ago. “So how did it go?”
Clark smiled, saying, “Maggie was thrilled.”
“Good,” I replied, handing him the silver plate. Taking off his apron, I added, “Happy anniversary to the two of you, I guess.”
“It wouldn’t be possible without you,” Clark replied. Looking at the plate, he added, “I wonder why they weren’t wiped away in minutes. I was serving it like crazy a while back. Do they taste bad? I’m sure...”
“No!” I blurted. “Of course not.”
“Oh well, I should get back to work. Thanks, Fiona. I knew I could count on you,” Clark said, before disappearing into the crowd.
Done. I was back to finding Paige again.
Scanning the room, I caught another glimpse of that masked guy. He was oddly working on his sketchpad in the middle of a chaotic room. Too bad. He was still wearing his mask. Even for a bit, I wanted to see a glimpse of his face. He got me intrigued. Aside from his tall figure, there wasn’t anything else I could remember him by. He was actually the first person who drew a portrait of me, so I was more or less flattered.
In a moment, I saw Paige coming towards me in an irritated state. It didn’t work well for her, I could tell. Now, it wasn’t like I’d have more time to chat with the masked guy. Not to mention that curfew was holding me back, too. And of course, it wasn’t like I would see him again and have that chance to ask him why he had drawn me.
Reality check, meeting him would be next to impossible. If he attended a normal high school, it might happen. More so if he was also going to Heatherville High, like the rest of the boys at this party. Masked or not, I saw him using a Corner Stone High School sketchpad.
FINDING FINN JOURNAL NO. 1
Finn is my twin brother. And I have no idea that he is missing.
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