November 17, 2010

• nanowrimo, day seventeen.

  double-oh-seven, oh hell, you were heaven to me.

  

  Long after we’ve cleared our plates and moved away from the dining room, Henry and Charlotte are in deep discussion. You know, the kind where the whole rest of the world doesn’t exist, and it’s just the person across from you, both of your opinions and reactions flowing freely, and nothing else matters?

  Neither of them has to worry about someone reading their mind, or blurting out the truth even though it’s embarrassing.

  Must be nice!

  My brow furrows into a deep, dark frown.

  “That’s a new face,” Luke pipes up as we walk through the dining room to get to the stairs to the den.

  “New to you, maybe,” I don’t lighten up. “My face looks this way a lot, so you’d better get used to it.”

  “What must be nice?” he asks carefully.

  I stop in my tracks, and twist my body around to stare at him.

  “What?”

  “You know what.”

  Luke tilts his chin down, lowering his eyes to mine. “No, I don’t. Hence, my question.”

  “It must be nice to be able to say only what you want heard,” I cross my arms. “Charlotte and Henry can have a conversation like two normal people, and I’m jealous.”

  “Normal people?” Luke scoffs. “Charlotte and Henry spent forty minutes debating the best fictional material for Batman’s fictional superhero suit.”

  “Batman is legit,” I hold up one finger, stopping any mockery he may be conceptualizing beneath his perfect hair.

  “Batman is my favorite,” he claims, “but I just don’t geek out over which texture would chafe less, or be less flammable.”

  “Flame-retardant,” my lips twitch into a grin.

  “Whatever it is, I leave that to the comic book creators and only stick to subjects we mere mortals should focus on,” Luke grins back.

  I fall silent for a second, looking down at our very-different-sized black Converses. “You know what song always makes me want to watch The Powerpuff Girls?”

  “That was…no segue whatsoever,” Luke stutters a laugh. “But please, do tell me.”

  “That Tears for Fears one, you know, ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World’?”

  “Yes, I do know that song,” he gives me a look. “I’m a huge classic rock fan. But I don’t really get the correlation.”

  “You would if you watched it,” I roll my eyes at him. “Mojo Jojo sings it in one of the newer episodes.”

  Luke stops and thinks for a few heartbeats. “The crazy monkey that wears a striped bucket on his head?”

  “Oh my lord, you watch it!” I jump forward and throw my arms around him, squeezing his waist tightly.

  He laughs and I hear it in his chest.

  “It’s one of Kylie’s favorite shows of all time,” he informs me, squeezing me back.

  “Mine, too!” I lean my head back to beam up at him. “I have the entire series on DVD.”

  “I think I see where this is going…” Luke is already starting to whine.

  “Ha, well, you would, given the fact that you’re a seer, ‘n all,” I make fun of him, tugging on the soft fabric of his gray hooded sweatshirt.

  “Do we have to?” he pleads, giving me what I assume is his best puppy dog face.

  “Well, you do have a choice,” I shrug, feigning nonchalance.

  His eyes brighten, but then his face becomes suspicious.

  “What’s the catch,” he asks me warily.

  I roll my eyes to the ceiling like it doesn’t matter to me. “It’s either that, or I make you watch The Princess and the Frog until you know every line to every song, like I do.”

  “You do not know every line,” he argues.

  “What did I tell you about my gifts?”

  “Yeah, but you can’t possibly…”

  I throw my head back and begin to belt out the first lines to the film’s opening song, “IN THE SOUTHLAND, THERE’S A CITY, WAY DOWWWWN ON THE RIVUHHH…” in my best Cajun twang.

  Luke gives me a dubious glare. “How do I even know if that’s---“

  “…WHERE THE WOMEN ARE VERY PRETTY, AND ALL THE MEN DELIIIVUH,” I continue belting out, and people walking by are starting to give me dirty looks.

  “Okay, okay. I believe you.” He pushes my face into his chest, to muffle my obnoxious version of the Disney song.

  The giddy, carefree, playful feeling in my chest is replaced by something much more intense, as his heartbeat is crashing in my ear and the smell of him – a mixture of a cologne I don’t recognize, the collective Autumn Creek fabric softener (some Downy stuff that is supposed to smell like a summer sky or some other bull), and soap – floods my girlish brain. I bite my lip, very hard, a fruitless attempt at distraction, and find myself chewing on my chapped bottom one much longer than necessary.

  Luke’s fingers are tangled in my thick, messy hair, and I can’t say the desire to step backward is anywhere in my consciousness. I can feel his breath on the top of my head, and I’ve never been so intrigued by the rush of someone’s carbon dioxide before.

  When I gather up enough courage to do so, I lean back against his other arm, the one that is still supporting my back. He looks at me with just the barest hint of my favorite smile pulling at his impossibly beautiful lips. I know what the question written across his pupils is, and I search inside myself for the answer.

  I’m scared.

  Luke drags his hand slowly from cradling my skull, to holding the side of my face, resting along my jaw. He reaches over with his thumb and brushes it lightly along my bottom lip. My breath seizes.

  I mean, really scared. You don’t even understand.

  The cocky half-smile climbs to wrinkle the skin around his low-lidded eyes, and he traces the small arch of my top lip. I exhale unsteadily, trying to force my hands—which are still hidden behind his back—not to shake.

  He won’t look into my eyes, he is too busy watching as I bite my trembling lower lip, trying not to look like a total idiot. He smiles at my sad attempt at a cover up, and finally meets my gaze.

  “What are you afraid of?” he asks, his voice deeper and lower than I’d ever heard it, rough around the edges.

  You.

  ME? He mouths, then frowns like it’s impossible.

  Yes, you. I don’t know how to do… this.

  “I’ll teach you,” he grins mischievously.

  I open my mouth to object, and he ducks his head so close that his nose brushes mine. My heart stops cold and I grip his sweatshirt like it’s the lap bar on a roller coaster car and I’m about to race over the edge of a huge drop. I close my eyes, bracing myself for the lack of tangible gravity.

  “Kissing already?! Daaamn, you guys move fast.” Zahari’s voice cuts through the tension with her snarky wit.

  This is not the first time I have wanted to punch her right in the face, and I guarantee it won’t be the last.

  I take an exaggerated step backward, dropping my arms, and hear Lucas release a gust of disappointed breath.

  My thoughts exactly.

  “Seriously, though, Lucas – you might want to pick a more romantic spot for my girl’s first kiss than the middle of the hallway. She’s waited twenty-one years for it. She deserves for it to be special.” Zahari pokes him in the arm.

  “Thank you, Zahari,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Just lookin’ out for you like always, baby,” Zahari smiles, patting me on the cheek.

  “She’s probably right,” Luke shrugs. “It’d be a lot more incredible if it wasn’t in the hallway.”

  “But this is where we met,” I point out. “What’s more incredible than that?”

  “Actually, it was technically the lobby,” Luke grins, tapping his head. “Is your gift slipping?”

  “No,” I roll my eyes. “Unfortunately, it is not. I’d really like to forget this particular moment in time – not naming any names as to why, though.”

  “Aw, come on, girl! It’s something to tell the grandkids,” Zahari laughs and smacks my butt as she walks away.

  “There is something very wrong with her.” I observe.

  “How much do you want to bet that she and Jonathan have kissed already?” He smirks.

  “I’d say the odds are pretty—hey. That isn’t fair.”

  “What’s not fair?” he plays dumb.

  “You know the answer already!”

  “You can’t be sure of that,” he argues.

  “Oh, yes I can.”

  “How?” he challenges.

  “Men don’t part with their money on a stupid bet, unless they are billionaires or gambling addicts--”

  “Or sports fans,” he shrugs, interjecting.

  “—unless they know the outcome of said bet. So, I refuse to play. Sorry.” I cross my arms.

  “You’re a stubborn little thing,” he shakes his head.

  “Like I’ve never heard that before,” I laugh.

  “Well, how about we go see what our friends are up to,” Luke steers me back toward the dining room, where Zahari was headed.

  I widen my eyes at his boldness. “Oh, they’re our friends now? Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” he grins. “You don’t go clubbing with people you don’t trust. Otherwise the pictures show up on the internet.”

  “And they tag you in them to humiliate you in front of your real friends,” I point out, holding up a finger despite my crossed arms.

  “Exactly,” he nods.

  I start walking toward the lounge, which is directly behind the dining room, where the huge windows show you the entirety of the gorgeous backyard.

  “So, you really don’t want to know if they’ve kissed or not?” Lucas asks, falling into step beside me.

  I snort. “No, Lucas Samson, I do not want to know from my telepathic…whatever-the-term-would-be…if my best friend has kissed her man-crush yet. That’s the kind of thing I’d like to hear from her, even if she is a royal pain in my ass.”

  “Whatever-the-term-would-be, for me?” he prompts.

  “You caught that, huh?” I say sarcastically.

  “I was thinking… man-friend.” Luke holds up his hands like a director would, his fingers straight and his thumbs out, like two fat L’s.

  I choke a laugh. “Are you serious?”

  “No,” he grins. “If I was, I’d be your ex-boyfriend.”

  “You mean… a mime?”

  “No, the other distinct adjective,” he deadpans.

  “Ohhhhh,” I grin. “That one.”

  I decide on the overstuffed, brown leather loveseat that my friends and I have occupied too many times to count since I moved in here, and sink my emotionally-overwrought self into the comforting piece of furniture.

  I lift my hand to pat the seat next to me, but Lucas is all pretension and no fear, dropping into the empty space, nearly sitting on top of me.

  “Did you play football in high school?” I ask, shoving him over.

  “Why yes,” he says with a faux Southern twang. “Yes, I did.”

  “I bet you made all the girls swoon,” I say in my best Scarlett O’Hara voice, clasping my hands together and batting my eyelashes.

  He makes a self-satisfied sound as he exhales. “Eh, just the head cheerleader, you know how it goes.”

  “Please tell me you’re kidding.” My face drops.

  “I’m absolutely kidding,” he grins. “Her head was so empty. I swear, each thought was like a dusty little tumbleweed with nowhere to go.”

  I burst out laughing at top volume, and suddenly a throw pillow comes flying out of nowhere and smacks me in the face.

  I gasp as it falls and hits the floor, turning to accuse Luke.

  He shakes his head, trying to stop laughing, and points elsewhere.

  My eyes land on my attacker.

  A vicious smile curls my lips.

  Oh, it’s on, now.

   

  • 11:16 pm
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