His face moves closer. My chest is caving in on itself.
Is this it?
“Mr. Owen Kittelsen, you’re up!” the DJ announces through the bar’s speakers.
Of course something along those lines would happen.
“You’re going to sing after me, right?” he says as he drops my hands. He adjusts his shirt and runs his fingers through his hair.
Two thick studded bracelets clink on his arm as he attempts to tweak the gelled masterpiece. I try to remember how to speak and breathe.
“Um, hell no.”
“What? Come on, karaoke is so much fun. Have you ever even tried it?”
“No…”
My body is restless. I force myself to sit down on the closest stool and start pulling at my cuticles.
“Then how could you NOT try it?”
His smile is so infectious and I’m teetering so close on the edge of complete drunkenness, I contemplate the idea for about two seconds.
“Owen…I can’t…”
He gives me a quick peck on the cheek and jumps up from his chair. “Fine, fine. I’ll let your ridiculous self-doubt slide—for now.”
I watch him scamper to the stage, greeting many of the other patrons with high-fives and handshakes as he snakes through the crowd. My heart is singing. I would give anything to be waltzing with him again right now.
Owen grabs the microphone and adjusts the height, grinning the entire time. He’s utterly content. He’s excited to sing in front of a group of strangers. I can’t even fathom finding enjoyment out of something so horrifying. I can barely stand to be lurking in the corner of this crowded room, let alone in front of them, all of their eyes glued to me as they wait for me to entertain them. Owen introduces himself as the DJ prepares the music. He grabs a guitar from the side stage and starts to strum. People clap and whistle when they figure out what Owen is going to be performing. He nods and thanks the crowd for coming out today. His face is beet red under the dusty spotlight, and I chuckle to myself as his drunken eyes desperately trying to focus enough to read the teleprompter in front of him.
But when the words start to spill out of his mouth, I dissolve.
“I want to be the one to save you,”
Oh. My. GOD. This song. It means everything to me. This is the same song I’ve spent years listening to on an endless loop, alone in my room with only my thoughts and unmet desires. This song has been with me through some of my darkest days—the days when I realized I would most likely be alone forever. Now there is this guy, a guy that I never even knew existed before this afternoon, singing it on stage and winking at me as he coos each syrupy word. How did he recognize how to find the key to my heart so undoubtedly?
“To help you through the darkest of your days,”
He’s in his own world now, gripping the microphone and swaying his body with the beat. The whole bar is giving him their undivided attention—it’s as if this is his own concert. His confidence astounds me. He’s up on stage—singing off key and wearing a child’s shirt three sizes too small—without a single worry on his mind. This is what he lives for—being free and doing anything and everything necessary to have a good time. To enjoy life. He spends each day doing nothing but taking in everything world has to offer, and I spend every day regretting my utter existence and being miserable. I’m lifeless. He’s bursting at the seams with life. I feel almost guilty that I’ve somehow tricked him into believing I’m more than I truly am. My heart sinks just a little when I think about the fact that this could never work. I can never be what he wants. What he needs. What he deserves in another person.
“Baby just let me be with you,”
I’m lost in his words. I close my eyes and let them wash over me, overtaking the air. I catch myself slipping too far into my own mind. I see him. I see me. I see us holding hands, laughing, kissing, and in love. He can bring out the best in me. He can make me a better person. There’s no doubt in my mind. My entire body tingles with the possibility. I hear the song end and I force myself to open my eyes. If I stay in this thought any longer, I may never leave it.
“You know the song?”
I let my eyes fall open and his walks away from the stage. Everything in the world freezes for a moment. His eyes gaze into mine as he inches his stool closer. No one’s ever looked at me like this—with understanding. Attentiveness. Genuine interest. As far as I know, I’ve never been a girl of interest to a single male throughout my life. I wasn’t even on anyone’s back-up list.
I nod, feeling my face as it moves up and down.
“I love the song.”
And without a second thought, I pull him in and lay my head on his chest. I breathe in his aftershave and spicy cologne. The fumes burn the tiny hairs in my nostrils and exhilarate my brain.
I do something I haven’t done in years.
Maybe ever.
I smile.
A genuine, giddy, school-girl-crush smile.
Because I’ve just found the person who’s going to save my life.
0:00:04.319
My favorite party
“Are you nervous?” Owen asks, watching my leg bounce up and down like a jackrabbit on steroids. I push my purse on top of it, hoping the weight will calm it down a bit.
“Do I need to be?” I ask, sitting on my hands.
“Of course not, my friends are great people. And they’re going to love you, Maura.”
If only you were really telling the truth…
Owen hasn’t quite picked up on the fact that I’m pretty much a social reject, and I’d like to avoid that realization if at all possible. So I decided to try and improve myself a bit for today—a sort of Maura 2.0. Instead of wearing the only bathing suit I own to this shindig—a pale purple one-piece that has been residing in the bottom of my underwear drawer since the ninth grade—I made the journey to the biggest mall in Orlando and sought out the closest thing to ‘sexy’ I could manage to pull off. But instead of feeling ‘sexy’ in the skimpy granny smith apple green bikini I forced myself into purchasing, I feel like a sausage popping out of its too-tight casing. So I plan on keeping my semi-cute pink dress on over top of my stray meat at all costs. I can’t do sexy, but I can do smart. Or funny, even. I start to run through a few generic conversation topics that I can toss out when need be.
So what college are you thinking about going to?
I love that dress. Where did you get it?
I would love a tequila shot! Tequila is by far my favorite liquor.
“I’ve never met my mother, my older sister ran away to Europe the moment she graduated from college and has yet to return, and my father is a white collar work-a-holic who prefers to spend time banging his interns than at home with me,” Owen says, startling me out of my self-conversation. “I pretty much raised myself. And my friends, well…they’re my family. It’s sometimes hard to believe that I’ve only known them for a year.”
Of course he would make instant life-long best friends the moment he moves here.
He reaches over and pulls my hand out from under my thigh and gives it a squeeze. Without uttering a single word, his warm skin makes my nerves dissipate.
You are a social butterfly, Maura Yermakova.
Everyone will love you.
You will make a ton of new friends and you will have ridiculous amounts of fun.
“And I know they will welcome you into our family with open arms.”
God I adore you, Owen Kittelsen.
I watch his lips turn up into a smile as he thinks about his words, reflecting on the many happy memories he has with his friends—memories of endless beach parties and long nights spent just talking and playing inane drinking games like ‘beer pong’ or ‘asshole.’ I always thought that finding such things enjoyable made a person shallow and a stereotypical ‘cool teenager.’ But now…well, I’m not sure. Owen seems to be slowly changing my mind about everything I’ve ever contemplated in my life.
And I love it.
“I’m so e
xcited to have you as part of the family,” he says into the wind howling through his cracked window.
I squeeze his hand in return and give him the most un-nervous smile I can conjure up, hoping that it can convey everything I’m dying to say but just can’t.
Thank you for giving me everything I’ve wanted, you amazing boy, you.
****
“So whose birthday party is this again?” I ask as we pull into the driveway. As soon as Owen releases my hand to park the car, my nerves return in full force. My body feels like it’s covered with a layer of orange-scented sweat. Suntan lotion is pooling up on Owen’s leather seats around my thighs.
“One of my very best friends, Alex. The big 1-8.”
“Ok. Cool.”
Alex.
Hey Alex, it’s so nice to meet you. I love your place!
I throw the car door open and hope to find some relief from the Sahara Desert-like conditions of Owen’s air condition-less hellhole he chooses to drive around. But instead I feel like I’ve just stepped into a 350-degree oven. Any attractiveness I managed to paint onto my face is melting off and dripping down my dress, collecting in my overly exposed cleavage.
I pull a book out of my bag and do my very best to fan away the relentless Florida heat that’s pounding down on my body. But Owen doesn’t seem fazed one bit by the treacherous weather. He skips up the sidewalk like a nine-year-old desperate for his after-school snack as I hang back, terrified. He turns the doorknob, ready to just invite himself in. When he discovers that it is in fact locked, his face falls just a bit. Ringing the doorbell seems to equal defeat to him.
“And just to forewarn you, there will be some pool action going on,” he says, holding his ear against the door as he impatiently waits for someone to respond. After two seconds, he rings it again. “As in you are going to get tossed in to said pool, so be prepared.”
I try to come up with a gentle way to tell him that not only do I feel like a over-inflated balloon and therefore exposing my body for all of my peers to see might drive me to tears, but that I am in fact a Florida native who doesn’t know how to swim—but the door is thrown open and my thoughts are drowned out by a sea of screechy girl screams before I have a chance.
Owen grabs the tips of my fingers and pulls me inside as he is enveloped in hugs and sloppy beer kisses all over his face.
This boy seems to be truly adored by everyone here. So adored that he lets go of me and takes off to the makeshift card table bar before taking a moment to introduce me to everyone. Suddenly I’m the loser standing utterly alone in the middle of a party.
I am a social butterfly.
Twelve sets of eyes focus on me, waiting for my next move. I lift my hand up in a half-attempt at a wave, and they all mutter ‘hello’ before throwing themselves back into their conversations and drinks.
Awesome.
I am so NOT a social butterfly.
I speed-walk in the direction of Owen, frantic for his companionship in this foreign land. I can’t stand to continue my wordless half-waves. At least with him by my side, I seem to somewhat belong.
“There you are,” he says through a smirk. He pushes a purple plastic cup in my hand and instructs me to ‘drink up.’ I obey without question. I’ll never make it through this day sober.
A group of three girls are posing for a camera in front of us, arms wrapped tightly around each other’s waists as if trying to keep the other one upright. The two brunettes rest their heads on the shoulders of the taller blonde girl in the middle—the seeming matriarch of the group—all of them smiling and giggling as if they’ve just heard the world’s most amazing joke. After the camera flashes, the blonde girl steps out of the group and starts dancing around the drink table, wobbling on her four-inch wedges like a drunken stilt walker.
“Happy birthday, you drunken bitch!” Owen shouts over the cheers of men begging for the blonde to raise her skirt a little higher.
“Owen! Thank god you finally made it!” she squeaks.
This is HER birthday party?
This is….
“Maura, I’d like to you meet Alex.”
Of course. Who else would be Owen’s best friend besides a hot blonde girl?
****
“So are you having a good time? What do you think of the other girls?”
Owen motions for me to scoot over on the pink lawn chair that I have been occupying by myself for the past hour, offering a drink as a consolation.
“They’re…nice. How did you meet them?”
“Funny story—when I moved here last year, the choices for classes were a bit scarce since it was already two months into the semester. So the only elective that was open was home economics. Not only did I learn how to bake a mean spinach quiche, but I also made quite a few fantastic friends.”
“Cool,” I remark dryly, keeping my eyes focused on my reading material. I didn’t necessarily want to be the girl reading at a party, but it’s better than being the girl who’s sitting alone and staring off into the distance at a party.
“You want to go dance with them?” he asks, watching them wave to us.
Alex is hunched over and letting out a cacophonous laugh, causing her to purposefully be the center of attention and loving every moment of it.
“No, not really. I’d like to just sit here and hang out with you, if that’s okay.”
“Of course it is,” he says, scooting closer and wrapping his arm around me. My hands get shaky and I drape both of them around my ice cold drink. He’s looking at me like he knows me now—eyes, searching my soul for something real, something honest. I have to bring my eyes down to the glass in my hands, moving the neon green straw in circles. His intensity is draining. And I don’t feel worthy of it. He’s looking for something that just isn’t there.
“Everyone loves you,” he whispers in my ear, tickling my neck with his breath. My whole body shivers.
“Really?”
“You sound surprised.”
“It’s just that no one has really talked to me,” I spout out unconsciously. Now I sound way too much like a bratty, needy girlfriend.
“Well, it’s probably because you’ve had your face buried in this Psychology textbook for the better part of an hour. Who the hell brings a textbook to a party, anyway?” he asks as he pushes it out of my lap.
“Someone who’s working diligently on college application essays, that’s who.”
“Well how about you take a break and be a fun party girl for one day instead?”
I want to feel offended by this. I should feel offended. But he’s right. I need his harshness. I need to find a way to discover some sort of enjoyment in high school before it’s over. I let him pull me into a side-hug and allow my head to fall on his shoulders. I bring my straw to my lips and take a deep gulp of my mimosa—heavy on the champagne, practically non-existent on the orange juice. My buzz is re-ignited.
“Why didn’t you tell me Alex was a girl?”
Shit. That should not have been uttered out loud.
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he clears his throat rather loudly.
“Does it matter?” he asks, sitting up and letting my head drop.
“No. I don’t think so.”
We sit in silence for an entire four minutes—a dreadful lifetime of four whole minutes. He watches Alex dance on a table and take a shot that was handed up to her from the crowd below. I watch him watch her and try to smother any feelings of jealousy that are brewing inside of me. Which is quite difficult—turns out it’s rather arduous to smother a smoldering inferno of flames.
“I’m friends with everyone, Maura. I don’t discriminate. You’ll soon learn that about me.”
Stop it Maura. Don’t be that girl.
I grin, delivering a very deliberate you-don’t-really-expect-me-to-believe-that-do-you expression. Instead of being jealous, I will be the cool, coy, mysterious girl who couldn’t care less. “Okay Owen. I get it. Why wouldn’t you be friends with everyone?”
Apparently I’m far more transparent than I thought.
“No, of course not.”
“Your tone of voice isn’t entirely convincing.”
“It’s just…I don’t know,” I say, wanting to stop myself. I shouldn’t be voicing my inner thoughts in my slightly inebriated state. “I’ve read enough psychological theory to believe in the fact that men and women can never have completely platonic friendships,” I say, finishing my drink with one gulp to avoid speaking any more.
“Are you asking if I have feelings for Alex?”
I wait, wordless and motionless.
“Seriously? Hell no. She’s like a sister to me. That would be completely incestual. I’m nauseated just thinking about it.”
We sit in silence for another six minutes. Owen lets his leg bounce to the beat of some grungy hipster song that’s now blasting through the six speakers surrounding the pool, pretending to know every word when it’s quite obvious he doesn’t. I try to think of something non asshole-ish to say, but I’m coming up empty.
“I’ve never really had feelings like that for anyone before. I’ve never even had a girlfriend, if you remember correctly.”
“Yeah, I do,” I say, relieved to be engaging in conversation again.
“You know I like you, right Maura?”
I feel my body flush. Even though I’m sitting in the shade, sweat starts to pool up around me once again.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Let me clarify,” he says, picking up on my blatant hesitation. “I really, REALLY like you. As in I want to spend as much free time with you as possible.”
My heart sings in my chest. I feel an exuberant smile begging to escape from my lips, but I can’t let it out. I can’t let him know just how I’ve been absolutely dying to hear him say these very words since the first day we met just two weeks ago.
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