Chapter One #2
I set down the empty cup. “I’m fine.” This is the most positive interaction we’ve had so far, and the alcohol makes me brave. I have his full attention now, and I’ve got to act before I lose my nerve. “But it’s too loud here. Let’s go somewhere quieter. I need to talk to you about something.”
Dylan lets out a low whistle. “Oh, damn. Sounds serious.”
Jake grins. “Seany, are you in trouble?”
The room tilts when I stand up. Leather chairs melt into metal bar stools and faces and swaying bodies. My knees buckle, and I grab the air for balance, but there’s nothing solid to anchor me.
Sean hops up and catches me by the elbow. I stumble over on my kitten heels and straighten myself. Taking a deep breath, I point the way and we make it up the stairs. Sean hesitates at the yellow tape stretched across Raymond’s door. “It says Do Not Enter.”
Raymond can be so extra. Ever since I met him at horse camp in second grade, he’s always gone overboard.
“That’s meant for other people. Ray’s my pal. See, he’s given me the key.” Ripping off the tape, I unlock the door, and we step inside. The door clicks shut behind us and seals us off from the chaos downstairs. My head clears.
I turn the lock just to keep the outside world from barging in. A second to breathe, to speak without interruption. That’s all I need.
“The alcohol helps . . .” I start. “. . . to work up the courage to talk to you.”
“You need courage to talk to me?” Sean says.
As I lower myself into a single armchair and cross my legs, I make sure they’re positioned at the ideal angle—forty-five degrees to the right, all stretched out, creating the illusion that they go on forever.
Part of me feels invincible, like watching someone else perform, but the other part reminds me I’ve been crushing on him for too long, and this is the pivotal moment when we acknowledge our feelings.
“We’ve known each other for two years. We’ve hung out.
More than once. And I thought I was being painfully obvious, but .
. . you haven’t made a move. I keep waiting for it to just happen, but since it hasn’t—let me come right out and say it.
” I inhale, steadying myself. “Sean, I really like you. That kind of like.”
My face burns. Sean holds my gaze for two seconds before he flicks his eyes to the door. Music filters in, a fast song about money and yachts. He clears his throat. “I wasn’t expecting you to say that. You don’t even know me that well.”
“Maybe, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Wow.” He exhales a short laugh and shakes his head. “Thanks?”
Thanks? My scalp prickles as I wait for him to say more. Seconds drag on. “Is that all you’re gonna say?”
“Flora, you’re great. Really,” he says. “But I don’t think we’d work as a couple.”
Everyone knows that everything before but is a setup for the hard truth.
Before Sean, I was used to getting what I wanted.
Attention, special favors, and anything shiny in a Neiman Marcus display window.
Once, someone even gave up their parking space for me in downtown Seattle.
But he’s the clock striking midnight. He erases all my magic power.
“Can you sit down first?” I ask. “Let’s talk.”
There’s nowhere else to sit in the room, so he chooses the foot of the bed.
I get up and claim the space next to him, wanting to close the distance between us.
Our eyes lock. His are a misty blend of blue and slate, the color of a winter sky before snowfall.
Now he’s mere inches from my manicured fingertips.
So near, so handsome, yet I can’t have him.
My supersuccessful parents say to always ask for feedback, especially in the face of failure. It’s the key to improvement. “Is there anything you don’t like about me? Help me understand why you don’t think we could work.”
Sean’s eyes widen. Maybe other girls would have run away crying by now, but I’m desperate. He remains silent for a while before he says, “We don’t have anything in common.”
“How do you know? I’m into all sorts of things. No one’s ever complained of not knowing what to talk about with me.”
“I know you’re—”
“I want to find out more about you. Maybe behind this mysterious, cool-guy facade, you’re exactly like me.”
“Mysterious?” Sean chuckles and a cute gleam gets in his eyes. “You’re going to be so disappointed.”
“Really?” I tilt my head, letting my hair slide down one shoulder. “You’re not some broody guy who plays mind games?”
“Sorry to let you down, but once you know me a little better, you’ll see. I’ll bore you.”
“No way.”
“I study all the time. I don’t have a—” My phone buzzes with yet another notification. He stops, taking his time to pick the right words. “—glamorous lifestyle like you do.”
“Are you saying I’m shallow? I might not take eight billion AP classes like you do, but—wait. Is that why you dropped me from tutoring? Because you thought I was stupid?”
“No, I stopped tutoring you because you didn’t need it. You knew all the answers already.” He glances at my legs for the briefest second before he looks away. “Besides, you were distracting me.”
My neck warms. “I thought you didn’t like me because I wasn’t smart enough.”
“That’s not true. Look, I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for.” Sean clasps his hands and places them on his knees. “You’re too popular. I wouldn’t be able to keep up with you.”
Interesting reason to turn someone down.
A new wave of dizziness sets in, and I grasp at the unspoken message between his words.
Behind him, a dozen European film posters crowd the wall—Godard, Truffaut, Fellini, Bunuel, Bergman—names I’ve absorbed through sheer osmosis.
I watched every one of those movies in Ray’s home theater with Raymond himself and all twelve speakers (because he insists on full surround sound for everything), but the one I remember most is Belle de Jour.
Catherine Deneuve wears a stiff blond wig and plays a housewife who secretly moonlights as a prostitute.
People project whatever they want onto her.
“I get it now. What you meant by ‘popular’ is that I’m easy. ”
I rub my temple where a headache is manifesting. My phone buzzes again.
“What? No! That’s not what I meant. You have loads of friends and everyone likes you. Honestly, it’s me.”
Usually the it’s not you it’s me excuse happens at the end of a relationship. I gesture at the air between us. “I don’t usually do this . . . chase after boys. I like you. I’ve liked you since freshman year.”
“Thank you for telling me that.” He holds my gaze and says, “And this isn’t about me thinking you’re shallow, or stupid, or anything like that.”
“But you’re still saying no.”
He straightens himself. “I’d like to stay friends.”
None of his reasons make sense. This situation is so excruciatingly hard.
My satin dress is at the ideal length, showing off three provocative inches of bare skin on my thighs.
My makeup is immaculate, winged eyeliner perfectly symmetrical with slim traces of shimmer beneath my eyes, and my hair is a dark river of dreams. What more does he want?
A wave of nausea rises out of nowhere. I put a hand over my mouth.
“You all right?”
“Not really.” I push myself up, tired and upset, suddenly impatient with this conversation. “I’m going home. Consider yourself off the hook. Message received.”
“How are you going to get home? You can’t drive like this.”
“I have enough sense not to drive, thank you. I’m going to walk.”
“You’re going to walk,” Sean repeats. “In those shoes. At midnight.”
“Yes. It’s one of my special talents.” I brush past him and head out of the room, or at least try to. The door is locked, and I keep turning the lock in the wrong direction until Sean reaches over to open it for me.
Please, let this night end already.
Running down the flight of stairs, I push through sweaty bodies, bump my shoulders against everything in the way, and try not to trip over myself. For once I don’t feel like posting snippets to my story.
“I’m guessing the plan didn’t pop off as you hoped. You’re leaving?” Raymond asks as I hustle past him and hand back the key.
“Yeah,” I say, breathing hard to push back emotions. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”
Before I head out, I set upright the toppled snake plant—apparently chosen by Ray’s parents because it thrives on neglect, much like their parenting—beside the front door and get ready to leave my epic fail behind.
A hand taps me on the shoulder. “Let me walk you home,” Sean says.
Half of me is annoyed at him for being nice, because I want to focus on being mad at him right now.
Half of me struggles to keep the hurt under wraps.
My place is only fifteen minutes away, but late at night, drunk, and in heels isn’t my favorite way to wobble home alone.
I shrug, and Sean takes that as a sign to follow me out the door.
The chilly night air hits me, soothing my burning humiliation.
The sky is dark with no stars. Aside from the sound of my heels clicking on the pavement, we walk in silence, and Sean matches his pace with mine.
I don’t feel like talking to him anymore.
His hands are in his pockets as he stares far ahead.
The city is nestled between the water, wrapped in mist most of the year, and on nights like this, I get the hype.
Most of our class lives in the suburbs, where the houses are small and dainty.
The closer you get to downtown, the taller the buildings rise above the hills.
Raymond and I live on this side of the bridge, just a short drive from downtown Seattle, close enough that the skyline is always on the horizon, even if it’s hardly a tier-one fashion capital.
I breathe in the night. Trees and rain, a scent I never get tired of. The fresh air almost makes up for the nine months of gloomy skies.
“You’re probably going to tell everyone you rejected me,” I say.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone.”