by Bridie Hall
****
Four hours and fifteen deliveries later, I climb the steps up to my place. Suddenly, I hear loud music through the door. A grin cracks my lips. Not exactly my type of music, but music nonetheless. It’s Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie, and when I open the door, Chloe is moving around the place like in a dance and putting more of her stuff away. We left one box untouched the other day and she seems to be finishing it.
I call out a hello, but she hears me only on the second try. She smiles and turns down the volume.
“Sorry, but I needed some motivation during work.”
“No problem.”
I watch her as she turns back to the bookshelves. Even her hair has energy of its own: her curls bounce around her head as if they were high from happiness. It reminds me of Salvo’s words.
“Hips don’t lie, huh?” I say stupidly, as I watch her body sway to the energetic rhythm of Shakira. My mind goes crazy with imagination. I need to stop and breathe before I say something even more moronic.
She looks at me over her shoulder and grins. “Well, they don’t.” And she moves a little more pronounced for my benefit.
I’ve seen her at parties, dressed all chic and sexy. But I prefer her like this, in a red tank top and black sweats. Barefoot, her hair loose around her pretty face.
Oh god, I’m losing it.
“Do you have any idea how hot it is for a woman to be happy with her body?” I wasn’t planning on saying that, but it took me by surprise, this realization, and it burst out of my mouth before I could stop it.
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Noticing, I guess. For not thinking I’m abnormal because I don’t count calories obsessively.”
“You’re not abnormal.”
“I know,” she says self-assured, stepping close to me. “I’m hotter than you by a mile. Or make that a hundred degrees.” She jabs her finger in my chest and I cover her hand with my own, but she wriggles it away quickly and retreats to her bedroom for more stuff to bring out.
“Does that make me cooler than you, then?” I call after her.
I can hear her tumbling laughter even through the loud music. “That was a good one,” she says.
I like how she laughs. I love that she laughs at my jokes.
I grab a soda out of the fridge. I’m in need of a shower after the busy morning, but I can’t leave just yet because I know Chloe will be back in a minute.
“So,” she says, returning with her hands full of books. They’re all about psychology, I notice.
“Did you really mean that?”
“What?” I look up from the books in her hands to her face. Her eyes are sparkling with amusement. I realize I want her, and I will do anything to get her. I’m experiencing a moment of simple and compelling truth. There are no doubts or guesses. I’ve never been this sure about any girl before. The clarity of it shocks me, so it takes a while before I grasp the meaning of her next words.
“What you said about confident women being hot?”
“Mhm? Yeah. Sure.”
“Ha, that sounded convincing.” She smirks and turns her back to me. She flicks her hair over her shoulder, and I think she’s doing it on purpose. She’s flirting.
“I meant it. No dude wants to be with a girl who keeps asking him whether her thighs are too fat or if her boobs aren’t symmetrical or something.”
She snorts with laughter. “I don’t think anyone is completely sure of themselves, though,” she says after a moment, sounding more serious. She leans onto the bookcase with her back, crossing her arms on her chest. She’s watching me curiously. The flirting is over, I guess.
I shrug. “I’m okay with who I am.”
“Yeah? I’m not okay with who I am.”
I think I catch a sigh, but she’s already in the kitchen, pouring herself water.
I follow her and we stand next to each other against the cupboards. “You just said you’re satisfied with how you look.”
“Oh, that, yes. It’s just this other stuff that bugs me.”
“Like what?” I ask, but I already know she won’t give me a straight answer.
She’s silent as if she’s deliberating whether to say anything more. After a while she says, “You seem such a straightforward guy.”
I don’t know how that’s related to anything, but I’m getting used to the strange directions her mind takes every now and again.
“That’s ‘cause I am.”
She gives me a pale smile. “Of course.”
“Aren’t you straightforward?” I say to prompt her to talk to me.
“God, no.” She chuckles. “My mind’s so twisted, even pretzels are envious of it.”
She says it like it’s a joke, but I don’t find it funny because I know that she means it. I wish I knew why, but she just sighs again and starts talking about something else.
Chapter Five
CHLOE
I love Isabelle. I really do. She’s my BFF and all that. But she really needs to find herself. It’s not like she’s sixteen anymore. She should know who she is or at least who she wants to be. Actually, I suspect she knows all that, she’s just afraid to let it out. I don’t know whether it’s because she thinks Harper won’t like it or something else, but it’s silly. Harper would love to see her let her hair down, I can tell. I mean, who would want their girl to be all prim and proper? It’s the twenty-first century…
I suppose you’re wondering where all this frustration is coming from. Well, I’m at her place, have been for the last three hours which she’s spent trying on just about every garment in her wardrobe and three of mine that I brought along. She’s going out with Harper later, and has asked my advice. I told her to wear the black mini dress and the coral sandals. When she tried it on, she made a face as if she’d just smelled dirty socks. Too short and she looked as if she were just asking for it.
“Well, aren’t you?”
“Jesus, Chloe, the entire town doesn’t need to know that.”
I didn’t think her comment deserved a reply, other than rolling my eyes.
Now she is on her thirteenth outfit, consisting of skinny jeans and a dull black top that covers her up to her neck. It’s my turn to make a face.
“God, Chloe, you’re not helping.”
“I already gave you my opinion, Iz. Take it or leave it.”
Izzy eyes the heap of clothes on her bed while I browse the Internet on my laptop. She’s taken so much time choosing that I’ve actually run out of things to search for. I tried a personality quiz but I got bored because it was just too easy to figure out how to answer the questions to get the result you wanted. I checked Facebook about a dozen times and exchanged tweets with a semi-famous TV show star.
As if to postpone making a decision, Isabelle looks at me and asks, “What are you searching for?”
“Nothing. Just wasting time. Any suggestions?”
“Nope.”
She digs into the clothes again, pulling out the first dress she tried on, the one that I suggested she wear. She puts it on and checks herself in the mirror. I can tell from her expression that she’s almost decided.
“When Harper sees you in it, just listen to how his breath quickens,” I say because I know that’ll sway her.
She still looks unconvinced, but I know her well enough to see it’s all just pretense.
“You think?”
“Oh yes.”
“Maybe.”
She sits on the bed to put on the sandals for the whole effect, when she asks, “Have you searched Chris?”
“Excuse me?”
“On the Web? Have you checked him out?”
“No. Why?”
She shrugs. “Just for fun. To see if he’s on Facebook or Twitter.”
Hm. A good idea. I type in his name and obviously I get a load of hits because he used to be a pretty good snowboard... shredder.
Whatevs.
He has a Web site, but it hasn’t been updated in ages. I can�
��t find him on Facebook. Actually, I only get a few photos that are not of him in full gear and on the white slopes. Boring.
“Anything?” Izzy asks.
When I shake my head, she says, “Did you try YouTube?”
“What for?”
“Everyone’s on YouTube.”
“Really? People film themselves and put it online? Odd.” Photos, I get. Videos, not so much. I once watched a vlog and it was painfully awkward. The bad lighting, crackling noises, a dog barking in the background. Just … no.
Nonetheless, I type Chris’s name into the YouTube search bar and I get a list of videos of his snowboarding exploits. I watch two and my breath catches at the high jumps and the crazy-ass maneuvers on the rails. Yowza, boy…
“I think I’ll wear this,” Izzy says.
“Huh?” I look up, but she isn’t there. She comes out of the bathroom, wearing ‘my’ outfit.
“Told ya.” We could’ve saved three hours of our time if only she’d listened to me.
She makes a sheepish face. “Sorry.”
“’S fine. You look stunning. Harper’s done for.”
I love how her cheeks flush and her eyes light up at his name. Must be true love. The thought makes me want to sigh, but I catch myself in time. Christ, I’ve become sappy in my old age.
“Anything?” She joins me on the bed and stares at the screen.
“Some snowboarding stuff. Check this out,” I say when I see a video capture that looks different than the rest. In it, Chris is not wearing his goggles and his gear. He wears a t-shirt instead.
I click on it and pop it up to full screen. It’s a promotional message featuring several athletes advocating safe driving. The last image is that of Chris saying, “I don’t drink and drive, I snowboard and fly.” He grins widely, and then the image dissipates out of focus.
He looks younger, his face leaner and hair longer. He was cute where he is now hot.
“Nice,” I say, as I find myself a little breathless. It was a nice gesture and I don’t really know why it surprised me that Chris was part of it. Athletes are often asked to do these promo things because they are idols to many young people. Chris was probably just fulfilling his obligations to his sponsors. Still, it was nice of him.
“He really is a good guy, huh?” Izzy says.
When she looks at me, I see her eyes color with surprise. I think it must be because of my expression. I didn’t think my thoughts were so obvious, but I quickly recover and plaster a wide grin on my face. “Told ya.”
“Mhm.”
“What?”
She gets up and walks to her desk. “Want to help me with make up?”
“Absolutely.”
Later that night, when I drive home, my mind returns to Chris’s promo video. For some reason, it makes me feel warm inside. I’ve always thought he was a stand-up guy, but it was just an impression.
I almost mention it to him when I jog up to our floor and find him having a beer and watching sports. He raises his bottle in greeting and smiles at me.
“Hey,” I say.
He is lounging on the couch, his laptop on the coffee table. He is wearing dark blue shorts and a ratty black t-shirt. Still, he looks hot.
OMG, did I just think that?
Of course, why is it such a surprise?
Could you just shut up? He is my roommate, okay?
Sure.
Thanks.
That doesn’t make him any less hot, though.
Shut up!
The room is muggy and I’m in need of a shower. I escape into the coolness of the white bathroom.
Chapter Six
CHRIS
Chloe’s been at my place for over a week now. Between my delivery job and her doing whatever it is that she does, we don’t see each other much. Still, life seems different with her around. More … colorful? I’m really not good expressing this sort of stuff, but that doesn’t mean I don’t notice it. The change is there. I know that because of how impatient I get towards the end of my shift. Or how disappointed I am if the place is quiet when I unlock the doors.
Today’s quiet. I just got in, and there’s no sign of her.
I eat the bagels I brought from the bakery with some cheese spread.
The day is sort of pointless. It’s Friday and I have no plans. Most of my buddies are out of town, and Mike has some family thing going on. I can’t remember the last time that I didn’t go out on a Friday night.
I get so bored that I’m resigned to doing the laundry just to keep myself occupied. I throw the bag with the dirty clothes over my shoulder to get down to the cellar where there are washing and drying machines.
When I open the door, I bump into Chloe who’s winded from climbing the stairs.
“Hey there,” she says, and smiles and it’s like someone turned the hallway light on.
“Where’ve you been?”
“Out, buying wrapping paper for Izzy’s present. It’s her birthday today.”
“I didn’t know.” The thought that Izzy’s birthday probably means Chloe will be out tonight makes me even more miserable. I won’t just spend Friday night in, I’ll spend it alone.
“I just got home to change. We’re having a small party at her place later.”
She looks at the bag on my shoulder. “What are you up to?”
“Laundry.” I make a face, and she laughs.
“Later,” she says over her shoulder as she gets inside and closes the door.
I drag my feet down the stairs. When I’m in the cellar and the washing machine’s loaded, I regret not bringing a beer with me. I could do with some solace right about now. The room is stuffy, and I’m moody.
I sit on the floor, leaning onto the washing machine. Its rhythmic rocking lulls me to sleep, until the spin cycle starts and jolts me awake.
I can’t believe I fell asleep in the laundry room. I load the drying machine, and to avoid falling asleep again, I go upstairs for the half an hour it’ll take for the clothes to dry.
I don’t expect to find Chloe still home, but she comes out of the bathroom as I enter through the door.
“Still here?”
“I had problems choosing what to wear,” she says, and grins unabashedly.
I look her up and down. “The time you took certainly paid off.”
She giggles. “What are you doing tonight?”
I pretend it doesn’t bother me that I’ll be bored as hell. “Nothing. Staying in. A movie maybe.”
“Wanna come to Izzy’s?” she says through the open door as she’s fixing her hair in the bedroom mirror.
“I barely know her.”
“You’d be my plus one.” She actually winks at me. Is this girl for real?
“I’d love to be your plus one,” I tease.
She comes out of her room and stands there watching me. “Well?”
“What?”
“Aren’t you going to get dressed?”
“You’re serious? You want me to come with you to Izzy’s party?”
“I don’t joke around, Chris.”
I’m not sure what to think. I’m always up for a party, but this will be a small thing, probably with just family and friends.
“I won’t be in the way?”
“Well, if you’ll just stand there like this, then you might be, yes.” She grins, but there’s a tinge of annoyance in her voice.
“I’ll hurry up,” I say. I’m relieved I won’t have to be home alone tonight. I’m glad I’m going out with Chloe. Although I’m not actually going out with her, am I? This is not like a date. Right?
With half of my clothes downstairs in the drier, I don’t have much choice. I put on a pair of dark jeans and a t-shirt that I bought in California two years ago. It’s got a surfer chick on it.
“Can I get her something?” I ask when I return into the living room. “A present, I mean.”
“Nah, don’t worry. You’re with me.”
I dash downstairs to retrieve my clothes from the drier.
I throw the bag onto the couch, and I catch Chloe shaking her head disapprovingly. I grin.
“We’re good to go.”
She’s got an old Saab, her graduation present from her mom.
“I hope you’re not going to Atlanta with this heap of rust,” I say as I sit in the passenger’s seat.
“Why not?” she asks, astonished.
“I promise to give you a lift when I find you by the side of the road.”
She makes a face in response and starts the car. “It’s working fine.”
I’ll believe her when we reach Izzy’s house.
“So who’s going to be there?” I ask.
“Just us. I mean, her dad and aunt, Harper, and us. Maybe her cousin Evie.”
“Okay.” I wonder if there’ll be anyone to talk to. Or at least if they’ll have beer.
“I’ll keep you company, Chris,” she says, and smiles in my direction. How did she guess what I was thinking?
“And Harper’s cool too.”
“I know, but he’ll be with Izzy.”
She chuckles. “I guess you’re right. He’s glued to her side.”
I think I heard a bit of wistfulness in her voice, but I don’t ask her about it. Maybe she’s had something with him, too.
“What happened to Adam?” I ask, because I remember I saw Chloe and him together at a party in March. She hasn’t mentioned him since she moved in with me.
“Why do you want to know?” She sounds defensive. I didn’t mean to upset her.
“Just curious.”
“We broke up.”
“Oh.”
I’m sort of glad about it, because Adam’s a dick. Personally, I don’t understand what girls see in guys like him. He’s a douche and arrogant to boot. I only put up with his shit because he’s friends with Mike.
“I guess I should say I’m sorry.”
“But?”
Is she reading my mind? I look at her to see what she’s thinking. She doesn’t seem to be pissed at me.
“I’m not really.”
The corner of her lips curls up, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
I feel like I should explain. “I’m not a fan of Adam’s,” I say apologetically.