Awakening Foster Kelly

by Cara Rosalie Olsen

  Between the chaos of the game, the aftermath, and Emily insisting that I ride with her on the way down here, the opportunity to be alone with Dominic had yet to present itself; for the first time, I found myself thankful for it. I wasn’t quite ready to go there. Once we’d been seated at a table, private conversation wasn’t an option. So instead he watched me, and I watched him; loaded glances sent back and forth. I knew the moment would come, though, where our eyes deferred to our mouths and silence’s reign came to an end. Even if everyone else chose to live in denial-land, Dominic wouldn’t. He would want answers—expect them.

  I wondered if he would admit to being disappointed with me. Or if he would take the position of positivity and actuality, focusing on the fact that I had managed to finish the song. Even if we both knew. For if Dominic had not shown up at the exact second I was nearing a departure, I would have fled. I would have.

  So really, then, I was nothing more than a lucky coward. And as much as he’d believed in me—even arousing a fair amount of self-belief—I’d secretly known that when the time came, I wouldn’t be able to stand there and sing. It felt very wrong collecting the adulation of a victory belonging to Dominic. If anyone was deserving of praise, it was him, not me. First thing tomorrow morning, I would right that wrong

  I let my eyes close, conjuring the tall trees silhouetted against a pale pink canvas, where high above a fleet of stars, they were just beginning to make an appearance. So consumed in this vision, I jumped more than a foot off the ground when two hands clasped around the sides of my shoulders.

  “It’s just me,” Dominic whispered close to my ear.

  “Oh-hi,” I gasped, relief blending the two words into one. I turned my head, not realizing how close he was and nearly ended up kissing him. My heartbeat took off on some sort of erratic obstacle course. Nervously, I blurted, “You have something right here,” pointing to the corner of my mouth. “I think it’s ketchup.”

  His eyebrows rose high and he gave a breathy laugh. “Figures,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes and straightening up. Catching the look of confusion on my face, he added, “Oh, I’ve been talking to Emily for the last five minutes and she just happened not to mention it.” He dragged a thumb across his lip, completely missing. “Did I get it?”

  “She probably just didn’t notice,” I said in Emily’s defense. “No, a little higher.”

  His brows swept down, broodingly. “She didn’t notice I had a giant glob of ketchup on my face? I know you’re determined to always think the best of people, but come on, let’s not forget who we’re talking about. This is the same girl who convinced her brother he was losing all his hair, right?”

  I mashed my lips together, trying not to laugh. “Maybe you’re right,” I admitted.

  “Yeah, maybe I am,” he confirmed in accusing tones, smirking. “Did I get it?”

  “Almost.” I raised my finger to point. “Right there.”

  He mimicked the gesture. “There?”

  “A little bit higher.”

  “Now?”

  As he continued to miss the spot by millimeters, I burst into laughter. Dominic the brave, Dominic the heroic, Dominic the skillfully adept, was incapable of removing a speck of ketchup from the corner of his mouth.

  He made a noise of defeat, letting his arms slap to his sides. “I give up,” he said histrionically. “You’re just going to have to get used to seeing me with condiment stains on my face.”

  “Or I could get it,” I offered, without a second thought.

  He gave a look of utter surprise that had me questioning whether or not that was his intention all along.

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.” He scratched his chin, considering. “Well, I guess”—he threw a hand into the air—“I could always leave it there, and go for the brooding, mysterious vampire look, but I can’t imagine your parents—being vegetarians and all—would be too pleased. Yes, please do,” he said invitingly, turning a cheek to me.

  “You’re as bad as Emily, I think,” I said, wagging my head. “The two of you together would make the consummate criminal mastermind team.”

  “It’s definitely something to consider.” He bent a little further, putting his cheek close enough for me to see the parenthetical smirk lines forming around his mouth.

  It was silly, but I was terribly nervous all of sudden; in the middle of my stomach a great, big knot formed, causing trembling vibrations throughout my whole body. I stared at the innocuous little mark, chiding myself as I focused on the task, and with a trembling hand reached upward to rid him of the charming mar.

  Only, I made the mistake of glancing up before my hand reached its destination, finding Dominic staring back at me, his eyes voluble. I halted my advance, my fingers extended, slightly bent, and lingering between us. Stock-still, I marveled at what I had been too preoccupied with nerves to notice; the skin that glowed silver in the moonlight; the hungry shadows clinging to the contours of his jaw and cheekbones; the royal blue eyes turned a sterling navy in the night’s pallor. He was beautiful.

  I moved—slowly this time.

  In my seventeen years, I had probably touched my own lips thousands of times. Which allowed me to ascertain that touching Dominic’s lips was nothing like touching my own; the difference between bathing in lukewarm water inside a too small tub, and slipping inch by inch into a steaming, bubble laden, claw foot cistern.

  Warmth radiated all around him, seeming to come from no one source. The smell of Dominic was an ever-changing thing, just now snuffed campfire and moonlight. From somewhere undisclosed, I felt myself pulled toward him, no longer just my hand moving forward, but my whole body, until we were stomach to stomach. This ache of desire was so foreign to me, that it was almost enough to make me want to run away in ignorant fear. These thoughts . . . they were mine, I understood, but they emanated from a place relatively undiscovered and uncharted. It had no name, but I would call it both greedy and arbitrary, incorruptible and pronounced. This yearning to press my lips against his consumed me in overwhelming waves; to not have to content myself with imaginings of how soft and pliable they were, but to actually savor their texture and sample their flavor. My skin felt like fire, goose bumps rising from the conflagrant flesh like miniature volcanoes, looking for a vent from this furnace.

  His lips parted slightly under my finger. The skin was supple and warm, like a fallen peach that had been sitting out in the sun all day. All train of thought moved inward, roiling at the center of my body. Harboring this sort of energy was almost painful. I could think of only one way to satiate the desperate longing.

  I needed to kiss him.

  I was already very close, and with the extra few inches his bent posture provided me, I could reach his lips without standing on my toes. I took his forearm in my hand, bracing myself, and on a cloud of heat and vivacity positioned myself below his chin.

  Dominic stared straight down at me, eyes boring like drills. I watched his gaze flicker to my mouth, rooted there for a full second before turning back to me.

  He blinked. “Did you get it,” he asked, his voice husky and taut.

  Jarred, I reeled and stumbled. Dominic caught me just below my bicep, his grasp firm until I wasn’t in danger of falling any further.

  A rush of emotion swept over me; it was like emerging from a pother or walking into the fresh air after being inside a room oxygenated with incense. I breathed deeply and on the exhale said, “Dominic, I’m so sorr—”

  “No,” he interrupted curtly, his hand squeezing around my arm. “Please don’t apologize to me, Foster.”

  “I shouldn’t have done that.” I shook my head, remonstrating. “You’ve already made it clear—”

  “No, I haven’t, and that’s the problem.” He gave a pained look and took my other arm in his hand. “Foster, you have to know—you have to. I’ve thought of kissing you a thousand times, a thousand different ways . . .” He trailed off, letting his head fall forward so that our foreheads gently collided. “But ev
ery one of them would be wrong unless you wanted it.”

  I knew what he meant, but still couldn’t resist shaking my head, if only to remind him that there wasn’t anything he could tell me that would result in my not wanting him. “We’ll wait,” I said quietly.

  I felt him give a slow, slight nod, moving my head with his. Then he made a noise deep in his throat and stood to his full prodigious height. “Two days,” he announced, with stalwart resolution.

  It was my turn to nod this time, and for whatever reason I found myself echoing this decree. “Two days.”

  The intensity of the moment lessened then, and I felt a shift in him, a lightness abound.

  “Can I ask you a question?” He released my arms, but didn’t move any further away.

  “Of course.”

  “Why have I had the feeling all night that you aren’t celebrating?”

  “Celebrating?” I repeated, confused. “Oh, you mean . . . I am. I am celebrating.” It was a weak exclamation and I knew it, likely because I didn’t desire to be anything less than fully honest with him.

  His lashes fluttered downward. “Your face says differently.”

  I nodded, owning up to the assertion. I stepped back, needing just a little space to contemplate this before I began. Dominic obliged me, folding his arms across his chest and doing the same.

  “I know you had high hopes for tonight,” I said, watching my breath fog and vanish in the night air. “I did, too, really. Between you, Jake and Em, my parents—I thought I might be able to do it. Even after Joe came and got from me the back room, and I saw how many people had turned out for the game . . .” I shuddered, recalling all the blurred faces. “I thought, if I could just see you, I could do it. And I still don’t really know what happened. I guess I . . . I panicked? I don’t know.” I shut my eyes, trying to visualize the moment, to see where I had gone wrong. “Every time I went to sing, only a croak or screech or nothing at all came out of my mouth. It was like there was something in my throat, preventing me from singing. I tried. I promise I tried, but when it didn’t appear to be getting any better I didn’t know what else to do.” I opened my eyes, prepared to see shame and disappointment mirrored back at me.

  “I would have walked away,” I said. “If you hadn’t come when you did, I would have walked away.”

  “I came because I had to.” He spoke softly, but his eyes rested heavy on me, speaking audibly as they often did for him.

  “I know.” I inhaled deeply. “Watching me struggle must have been difficult for you. I—”

  “No.” He laughed without humor. “I don’t think you understand.” He came forward, removing the distance in one step. “I came because I had to. Foster, your microphone was malfunctioning.” He searched my eyes. “Did you not know that?”

  My legs began to wobble, felt like they might give out. “What are you . . . what do you . . . what?”

  He smiled, but it was quick to disappear as he realized the impression I had been under. “Did you think all the feedback and cutting in and out was you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How could you think that? It was awful!” He laughed again, taking my cheeks in his warm hands. “Foster, you could never sing like that—not even if you tried to sound bad. And I can’t believe you would think—haven’t you heard the term ‘technical difficulties’ before?”

  “I—I—” I shook my head. “I have . . . it’s just that I was so nervous, it didn’t seem improbable that the noises coming from the microphone were me.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I thought you knew!” I exclaimed. “I thought all of you knew and weren’t saying anything for my benefit.”

  He shook his head back and forth abruptly. “You’re insane,” he said lovingly. “Since when is Emily—or even me, for that matter—capable of not saying things?”

  I gave a very light laugh. “I had considered that, actually. I don’t know. I figured each of you knew how important tonight was to me and didn’t want to spoil the evening by dwelling on the former half.”

  “Okay,” he hazarded, “and what of the latter half? Do you think the hundreds of gushing people who came up to you afterwards were only ‘not spoiling the evening’ for you?”

  “No,” I replied warily, “But I assumed that had more to do with you, than it did me.”

  “Mm.” His eyes hooded. He dropped his hands, shoving them in his back pockets and rocking back on his heels. “So, would I be safe to presume you accredit the bulk of the reaction you received to my part in the performance?”

  Silence.

  “Right,” Dominic intoned, then gave a generous sigh. “Foster.” He rubbed his mouth, observing me like I was an abstract painting he was trying to make sense of. “How long do you think I was singing? After I joined you,” he added for clarity. “How long did you hear my voice?”

  I shook my head, uncomprehendingly. “The . . . the whole time.”

  That crooked smile appeared on his face, blooming like a spectacular night orchid. “I wasn’t,” he said pithily.

  “You wasn’t what? Weren’t,” I corrected.

  “Singing the whole time.”

  “Dominic.” I didn’t know why, but an itch that wasn’t at all itchy began to creep up the back of my sweater. “I was right there,” I said, the adamancy in my voice climbing. “You were right next to me. I saw you. I heard you.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed in halcyon tones, pinching his bottom lip so that a small fold appeared down the center. “You would have heard me, being that close. But I gave you my microphone; do you not remember that? Yours was by your side. I walked toward you, picking up where you had left off, and once you began singing with me again, I gave you the microphone and took the other from your hand.”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” he countered firmly, a fully delighted grin bringing his countenance to life.

  I stared back at him, looking for any signs of dishonesty in his face. I could find none. I was aware of my expression, could feel my features gravitating toward the center of my face; eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, nostrils flared. The story—though the details were foggy to me—was fluid and without loose ends. Still, I wasn’t sure if I had come to a decision of whether or not he might lie to me, just to save me from self-deprecation. In my heart, though, I knew he could never do that. Above all else, Dominic was honest and venerable; he was not a liar.

  I replayed the moment in my head, searching for the truth that must be there, if hidden or obscured. Similarly, like my audition, I found that I could only remember just before and just after; nothing of the in between materialized. Did such a thing as circumstantial amnesia exist? Only surfacing in times of severe distress and extreme anxiety?

  “So, now what?” Dominic inquired, breaking through the analysis with his overtly victorious tone. “Any other ludicrous claims I can repudiate or refute?”

  “I still don’t remember,” I said in all honesty, taking my temples in my fingers.

  “That’s not a problem,” Dominic said blithely, a wholly satisfied look on his face. “I know where we can find approximately eight hundred people who do remember. I’ll be happy to track them down with you tomorrow at school, one by one.”

  This, I could see with my own eyes, was not hyperbole.

  Again, I strained to see it, to summon the sequence of events, but shortly after Dominic had rescued me, I had closed my eyes, only opening them at the very end, awoken by the cheers from the crowd.

  “Even so,” I allowed, “that still doesn’t account for the fact that I was just about to give up before you saved me.”

  He snorted. “So what? You think the Beatles became the Beatles without choking a few times? Foster, you’re a masterpiece,” he said with grandeur. “Those don’t happen overnight. Not the kind that people remember anyway.” His mouth twisted up wryly. “And not that it even matters what people think, but I doubt anyone other than me and maybe your parents realized you were pan
icking in the beginning.”

  “You must be kidding,” I protested. “I practically squawked the whole first line of the song.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, but you did so in pitch,” he granted. “Anyway, that’s not the point. Where were you before they brought you out?”

  “Where was I?”

  “Yes.” He batted his eyes, gearing up for something.

  “Um . . . I don’t really know,” I said, trying to picture the place Joe had both deposited and retrieved me from. “Maybe a storage room? There were a bunch of supplies and boxes.”

  “Could you hear any noise from gymnasium while you were in there?”

  “No,” I replied. “It was too far back.”

  “Okay,” he continued, shifting his weight to his other foot. “Well, you knew they were having problems with the sound, right?”

  I smiled. “You were the one to fix it, weren’t you?”

  He returned my smile, his eyebrows furrowing. “You’re getting ahead of the story,” he admonished. “They couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the soundboard; the microphones kept cutting in and out and screaming feedback. You could tell people were getting tired of listening to it. I saw you and Emily talking. Did she not mention anything about that?”

  I started to shake my head, then stopped abruptly, my hand clapping over my mouth as I remembered. “She did,” I whispered. “I was so nervous, though, and it was right after she found me. It didn’t make sense to me then, and I didn’t think to ask. She said ‘Finally they fixed that speaker,’ and then said something I can’t remember about the Rakers.”

  For a second, Dominic’s eyes narrowed and looked as perplexed as I had been for the last five minutes. Then he laughed deeply, understanding illuminating his face. “By any chance, do you mean the Lakers?”