Page 23 of Tagging Bases

“Good evening, my beautiful creatures,” she purrs into the microphone. “Welcome to the Nichols Art Gallery’sfirst poetry slam!”

The crowd erupts in a chorus of snaps. It’s so pretentious that I have to physically restrain myself from rolling my eyes.

“We’re thrilled to be hosting this event tonight. For those new to the scene, a brief overview of the rules. Each poet will have three minutes to bare their soul. They can read from either their phone or a piece of paper. At the end of each performance, our esteemed panel of judges will hold up scorecards ranging from zero to ten. The poet with the highest cumulative score at the end of the night will be crowned the champion and receive a fifty-dollar gift card to the organic kombucha bar down the street.”

More snaps. I glance over at Daniel; judging by the grimace, he’d rather be getting a root canal. Glancing past him, Olivia watches with wide eyes and a huge-ass grin.

“And now, without further ado, let me introduce our judges for the evening,” Danielle continues. “First up, we have the incomparable Levi Goldstein. He’s a senior at Ashford University, majoring in gender studies and minoring in underwater basket weaving. Interesting choice.”

A skinny guy with a nose ring and a tattoo of a dreamcatcher on his neck stands up and takes a bow. I recognize him from one of my Gen Ed classes last year. He sat in the back of the room and contributed nothing to the discussion except for the occasional grunt.

“Next, we have the lovely and talented Sage Moonbeam, a sophomore at Pratt Institute who is studying interpretive dance.”

A girl with dreadlocks and a flowing skirt covered in peace signs waves to the crowd. I think I matched with her on Tinder once, but she unmatched me after I asked if she wanted to grab a beer sometime.

“And last but certainly not least, we have the brooding and mysterious Raven Blackwood, a junior at The New School studying creative writing.”

A man with black hair, black clothes, and sporting black eyeliner, nods solemnly at the audience. I shrink down in my seat when his eyes sweep over our row.

“All right, my darlings,” Danielle says giddily. “Let’s get this party started!”

Two horrible hours later,I’m ready to let the existential quack eat me for dinner. It’s a sauna in here now. The air is thick and muggy, clinging to every inch of exposed skin. I tug at the collar of my shirt, fanning myself in a futile attempt to cool down.

My patience is wearing thin as poet after poet takes the stage, droning on about the most inane topics.

A guy with a handlebar mustache is currently at the mic, passionately expounding on the rising sun reflecting off morning dew. Didn’t the last poet wax poetic about sunrises? I’m starting to suspect some serious plagiarism afoot here.

“The sun’s warm rays caress the supple petals, igniting them in a fiery glow,” Mustache dramatically intones. “My heart beats in sync with the unfurling blooms.”

Oh, give me a break.I fail to stifle my snort. God, this is painful.

Mercifully, Mustache finishes to a smattering of snaps. But my relief is short-lived as the next contestant, a lanky guy with a patchy beard, takes his place. He clears his throat and regales us with an extremely detailed account of losing his virginity to his “smokin’ hot neighbor.”

“Her ample bosom heaved with desire as I ripped open her blouse,” he recites, eyes closed. “My turgid member throbbed against the silk of her panties.”

Is this a poetry slam or a bad porno? I shift uncomfortably in my seat as my dick starts to wake up.What? It’s been a while, okay?Even this cheesy drivel is getting a rise out of me.

I glance over at Olivia to see her reaction and nearly choke. She’s leaning forward, mouth agape, hanging on to Patchy’s every word. Daniel, on the other hand, looks constipated. I elbow him.

“Dude, you okay?” I whisper.

“How much longer is this thing?” he hisses back desperately. “I can’t take much more.”

“You and me both,” I mutter, shifting again as my hard-on refuses to abate.Fuck my life.

I try to adjust without drawing attention to myself. The last thing I need is for someone to think I’m jerking off and get arrested for public indecency…again.

As Patchy reaches the inevitable climax—pun intended—of his piece, I decide I can’t sit here a minute longer or I might spontaneously combust from the heat. I need some air.

Standing abruptly, I mumble an excuse to Daniel about hitting the head, and make a beeline for freedom. The cooler air in the hallway is a balm to my overheated skin. I lean against the wall and take deep breaths.

The bathroom door swings open, and out steps Harrison. He freezes when he sees me, surprise flickering across his face before it settles into a smirk. “Not your scene, huh?”

“What gave it away?” I ask dryly. “The fact that I’m breathing as if I ran a marathon or the pure misery on my face?”

Harrison’s laugh is a deep one that sends shivers down my spine. “A bit of both, I guess. Follow me.”

With a wave of his hand, he gestures for me to traipse after him through an emergency exit. And like a good boy, I follow.

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