The Trouble with Flirting

by Rachel Morgan

  Now I’m SUPER sexy in my winter PJs, slippers and glasses—and Hugo’s still here. So I get my phone out to send Adam a message, hoping his phone is in the lounge and not his bedroom. I want to type something cute and flirtatious, but I can’t think of the right thing, so I end up staring at the screen until, ten minutes later, a message pops up with Adam’s name on it.

  Adam: I’m so sorry. Hugo might be here for a while. Lainey drama.

  Livi: Lainey drama? So they’re officially together now?

  Adam: No. That’s part of the drama.

  Livi: I miss you.

  Adam: That’s crazy. You just saw me ;)

  Livi: It’s not crazy.

  Adam: It is. And you know what’s crazier? I miss you more.

  Livi: OH MY GOSH I just realised something.

  Adam: What?

  Livi: Adam Anderson kissed me ;)

  Adam: I think I also just realised something …

  Adam: I kissed Livi Howard, and she kissed me back ;)

  Livi: *blushing*

  Adam: Ok Hugo’s starting to look at me funny. Should probably stop flirt-texting. Sleep tight, my princess.

  Livi: xx

  ***

  I wake up early. It’s Saturday, and I’d usually sleep in, but my heart is bursting with happiness and I can’t stay in bed a minute longer. I tiptoe to Adam’s door, quietly open it, and look inside. He’s fast asleep, and even though I want more than anything to slide under the covers and snuggle against him, I don’t want to wake him up. I got up for a bathroom visit at 2:51 am, and Adam and Hugo were still talking in the lounge. I don’t know when Adam eventually got to bed, but I’m guessing he needs his sleep.

  Since I’ve got so much happy energy buzzing around my body, I decide to go to gym. I do a spinning class, and I’m feeling so energised, I don’t even cheat. We get to the half-hour point—the point at which I usually feel like collapsing in a sweaty heap on the floor—the instructor tells us to turn the resistance up, and I TURN IT UP. My legs are like wobbly pudding when I get off the bike, and I have to cling to the rail when climbing down the stairs to the change room, but I sing to myself the whole way there, right up until the point I realise I didn’t pack clean panties.

  “Darn,” I mutter to myself. Option one: shower here and put sweaty panties back on. Ew. Option two: shower at home. I pack everything back into my bag and zip it up. I’m definitely showering at home. I stop on my way out and order a smoothie, then sit on the edge of a couch drinking it and watch the news on one of the big TV screens. No point in rushing home when I’m almost certain Adam is still sleeping.

  I stop at the shop and grab some stuff for a surprise lunch for Adam—I’m thinking an indoor picnic in front of the fireplace—since he’ll be at work this evening, so I can’t very well surprise him with dinner. Well, not that I can really surprise him with anything, since we live in the same house, but I’ll make a plan.

  By the time I get home, I’m shivering right to the core of my being. I’m still in my skimpy gym outfit, and the chilly air sweeping down from the mountain has long since dried the sweat on my body. Consuming half a litre of iced fruit before I left the gym didn’t help either.

  I carry my gym bag and shopping up to the door, fumble with my bunch of keys, and—

  The door swings open, revealing Adam on the other side of it. Wet hair ruffled up, cheeks pink—probably from the hot shower he just had—and those glasses I love so much. I almost drop my bags and leap into his arms, but something in his expression stops me.

  “Adam?”

  “Your prince is here to rescue you,” he says in a strange voice.

  “W-what?”

  “He even arrived on a white horse.” Adam gestures behind me, and I look over my shoulder and see a sleek white car with tinted windows parked on the other side of the street.

  “Um … what’s going on?”

  “You should be happy, Liv,” Adam says. “This is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? To be accepted by the right people.” He lifts a shoulder. “Can’t get more right than royalty, can you?”

  “What … I don’t …”

  He walks past me down the stairs, then stops and looks back. “Oh, and Hugo’s looking for a new place to live from next semester. I thought your room would be perfect. So you should probably start looking for a new home. Shouldn’t be a problem for you, though. No doubt you’ll be in a castle somewhere.”

  “Adam, what are you—”

  He turns away without another word. I run into the house, into the lounge, and—

  “Carl?” My feet freeze to the ground and my brain backfires.

  Carl. In Cape Town. In my house.

  Not computing.

  I blink, trying to get rid of the image of him sitting on the couch.

  It doesn’t work. My German not-quite-a-real-prince prince, with his white-blond hair and those uncommonly dark eyes I used to dream about, jumps up from the couch and rushes over to me. His expression is joyful, hopeful, but all I can feel is my horror-filled stomach plummeting to my feet. “What are you doing here?”

  “I got your messages.”

  “My—what? Wait.” I run back outside, shouting for Adam, because this is all a stupid mistake, and if I could just talk to him … “Adam!” I yell. I reach the gate and look both ways down the road, but I don’t see him. Maybe he ran, or maybe he developed a superpower and flew right out of here. Either way, he’s gone.

  Steaming hot water cascades over my head. It rids me of my shivering, but it does nothing to ease the shock of finding Carl here or the terror that I’ve just seriously messed up with Adam.

  After realising he was gone, I ran back into the house, told Carl to give me ten minutes, then headed straight for the bathroom. I must have been in here at least twenty minutes by now, though. The hot water’s probably about to run out. I twist the taps off, grab my towel, and rub my skin dry with far more force than necessary. Ugh! Why did Carl have to show up NOW and ruin everything?

  I freeze as I hear the tinkle of piano keys. Did Adam come—

  No. That’s not Adam. Adam plays a thousand times better than that. Carl is the one at the piano, and I want to tear his fingers away from the keys. How dare he touch that beautiful piano that isn’t his?

  I get back to the lounge as I’m pulling a scarf tightly around my neck. Carl’s still playing simple piano melodies, and each tone grates at my nerves. “Don’t do that,” I say, barely managing to keep myself from pushing him off the piano stool and onto the floor.

  He swivels around and stands up. “My Alivia,” he says, coming towards me. He always called me by my full name, and I used to love that, but now it makes me want to scream.

  “Tell me again,” I say, stepping back so he knows not to pull me into an embrace, “what you’re doing here.”

  “Your messages. I—”

  “What messages?”

  “The emails. The ones you’ve been writing all year.”

  “Emails? Those emails weren’t for you. They weren’t for anyone.”

  His brow furrows. “But … you sent them to my account.”

  “Yes—but—it was more like a Dear Diary thing. I was just … sending my thoughts out there so they didn’t have to be in my head anymore. I didn’t know you were actually going to read any of those emails. You gave the password back to me, remember? When you broke up with me? I didn’t think you could get into that email account anymore.”

  “Alivia.” He smiles at me. A smile that tells me to stop being silly. A smile I want to slap. “Returning that password was symbolic. I had it memorised, of course.”

  “You—it—that password was sixteen random characters! Why would you memorise that?”

  He shrugs. “It wasn’t too difficult. And thank goodness I did.” He steps closer and takes both my hands in his. “My Alivia,” he breathes, and damn that accent that always made me want to swoon at his feet. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You were in my head, driving me cr
azy with your laugh and your beautiful smile and the memories of our secret kisses. Finally, last week, when I could take it no longer, I went back to that email account, daring to hope that I might find something there. And I did.”

  I close my eyes and groan. Why the heck did I ever think it was a good idea to use emails as a diary?

  “You made me laugh with your stories, but my heart ached to see that you had found someone else to be with. And then, I am ashamed to admit, it soared when you told me it hadn’t worked out with him. Alivia.” He brushes his thumb along my jaw, and maybe it’s his sexy accent or those mesmerising dark eyes, but I can’t look away. “You told me you missed me. And that was when I knew I had to come.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and find the strength to push Carl away. “No. You didn’t have to come.” I open my eyes and glare at him. “Why would you come all this way without saying anything to me first? And what about your parents? What about the shame you’d have to live through if everyone knew you loved me?”

  “I’m so sorry I said those things to you. I’m so, so sorry I hurt you. I realised how wrong I was, that I couldn’t live without you, and I told my parents. I told them everything. I told them they couldn’t stop me—”

  “Oh, great, I’m sure that went down really well.”

  “It did,” Carl says, and, unlike me, he isn’t being sarcastic. “Alivia, they like you. Don’t you remember that?”

  “Yes, I actually do remember that. I remember pointing it out to you, and you said, ‘They like you taking care of their children, not marrying one of them.’”

  He grasps my hand again, his eyes pleading with me. “I was wrong. I was so wrong. I thought they couldn’t be open-minded, but they can. All this nobility stuff—the titles and everything—it doesn’t mean that much anymore. There are those who want to hang on to it, and I thought my parents were like that, but … they just want their children to be happy. And you, Alivia, make me happy.”

  This is all wrong. All mixed up. Why couldn’t he tell me these things last year when I wanted to hear them?

  “Remember all the things we whispered about late at night,” Carl says. “Our glittering fairytale future. We can have that, Alivia. We can have it all.”

  I could have it all.

  But then I think of Adam. I think of the TV episode marathons late at night. Our silly ‘Guess the Composer’ game. Playing music together and laughing over jokes only we understand. I love the way his hair sticks up even when he tries to get it to behave, and how his ears turn red when he’s embarrassed. I love every ‘princess’ name he’s ever called me. He’s the one I run to when things go wrong. The one I want to tell when something exciting happens.

  How could I possibly have it all if I couldn’t have any of that? If I couldn’t have him?

  “I’m sorry, Carl. I’m sorry you had to come all this way to hear this, but … you and I … it isn’t going to happen.”

  “But … you said you missed me. And last year—all the things we spoke about—”

  “Yes, that was last year. I was far from home and lonely and swept up in the whole secret romance thing. I would have given you my heart, but fortunately you were sensible enough to end things. I didn’t think of it like that at the time, but I know now it was the right thing.”

  “No, Alivia, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. It wasn’t the right—”

  “It was. I’m not the right person for you, and you’re not the right person for me. The right person for me is … someone who’s been in front of me the whole time.”

  Contempt fills Carl’s eyes as he steps away from me. “That idiot you wrote about in your emails?”

  “No. Someone I’ve known for much longer than that. Someone I … can’t picture my life without.”

  Carl shakes his head and looks out the window. “I can’t believe this,” he mutters.

  “I’m so sorry. You really should have contacted me before coming out—”

  “Do you know how embarrassing it will be to go back to my parents and tell them this? After I begged them to let me have you?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Have me?”

  His fingers tap a fast rhythm against his leg. A sign—if I remember correctly from watching him interacting with his parents—that he’s about to lose his temper. “I think I should leave.”

  “Probably a good idea.”

  “My parents are expecting to see us both back at the hotel, but I suppose they’ll just have to be disappointed.”

  “They—they’re here?”

  “Yes. Family holiday. Don’t you remember me telling you about it?”

  “So … you didn’t come all this way just for me.”

  He makes an irritated sound and marches to the door. “Goodbye, Alivia.”

  “Wait, Carl?” He looks back. “That guy who was here. Did you … did you tell him about my emails to you?”

  “Yes.”

  Ugh, no!

  “He didn’t believe me. Looked at me as if I were crazy and said I must be making things up—”

  Oh, thank goodness.

  “—so I took out my phone and showed him the emails.”

  “You WHAT?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, not looking the least bit apologetic. “Is he the one you love? What a shame. I do hope I didn’t mess things up for the two of you.”

  Adam doesn’t answer his phone. Hugo answers his, but he hasn’t heard anything from Adam. I knock on Luke’s door to see if he might possibly know anything, but he isn’t there. I know Adam’s got other friends—they’ve been over here a few times to play Xbox a few times—but darn it, I don’t know how to contact any of them.

  I wander pointlessly from room to room, telling myself not to panic. This really isn’t a huge deal. It’s just a misunderstanding, and once I’ve explained it to Adam, everything will be fine. Right?

  I try to play my violin. I try to get to that place where the music is the only thing that fills my mind.

  I can’t.

  I can’t stop seeing that look on Adam’s face. Can’t get more right than royalty, can you? But I can! Adam is the right one. But what if he doesn’t believe me? Where will I go if he makes me move out? What if he doesn’t even want to be friends anymore?

  My phone rings, and I bellyflop onto the couch in my haste to get to it. Hugo’s name appears on the screen.

  “Hello?” I gasp before the phone even gets to my ear.

  “Hey, Livi. So, uh, Adam’s probably going to slaughter me for telling you this, but …”

  “What? Whatwhatwhat?”

  “I called him and he didn’t answer. But he sent me a message just now saying he went for a walk and ended up at Rhodes Mem.”

  “Rhodes Mem? Like, way up at the top there behind the university?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks, Hugo.”

  That’s certainly a long walk. I grab my bag and keys and jump into my car. Then I have to stop at the end of the street and type ‘Rhodes Memorial’ into my phone’s maps app because even though I kind of know where it is, I’m more likely to end up in Muizenberg than behind the university if I trust my own direction sense.

  I get to Rhodes Mem in less than ten minutes. I park my car in the half-full parking lot, jump out, and look around. I was going to come up here during orientation at the beginning of the year, but Charlotte said it was boring and that we should rather hang out at Smuts where the view of the city is just as good and the view of the guys a whole lot better.

  I’ve decided Charlotte is wrong. It’s beautiful, this grand monument sitting on the lower slopes of Devil’s Peak with its stairs and its pillars and its bronze horseman looking out over Cape Town. If I weren’t so desperate to find Adam, I’d love to take the time to admire the architecture and the view.

  But I am. Very desperate. And no matter where I turn or how many times I climb up and down the stairs and around the pillars, I can’t find Adam anywhere. Somebody mentions a restaurant, and I hurriedly mak
e my way behind the memorial to find it. But I scan every table, and still I don’t see him.

  He’s nowhere.

  I head back outside and sit down on the steps between the horseman and one of the bronze lions. I call Adam again, but his phone simply rings and rings until it switches over to voice mail. I end the call. I don’t want to explain this misunderstanding in a message Adam may or may not listen to. I want to do it person where I can be certain he knows he is the one I want, not the German guy who told me I’d never be good enough for his family or friends.

  I stare at the city for a while, running through all the things I wish I hadn’t done since I got here. I wish I hadn’t made the wrong friends and dated the wrong guy and used an abandoned email address—that apparently wasn’t so abandoned after all—as my online diary. Most of all, I wish it hadn’t taken me so long to figure out how important Adam is to me.

  When I’ve tortured myself enough with regrets, I walk back to my car and drive home. Adam isn’t there.

  I lie on my bed and eventually fall asleep.

  ***

  It’s dark when I wake up. I lie still for a while, listening for any noise in the house, but all is silent. I lean over and grab my phone from beside my bed. No message from Adam. No call. I take note of the time before dropping the phone onto my bed with a groan. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since our electrifying, passion-filled kiss and I’ve already messed things up.

  Wait. Saturday night. Adam’s got a shift at Jazzy Beanbag. And he can’t ask Hugo to swap with him, because Hugo’s also working tonight. They were talking about it last night before we put that horrible chick flick on. Yes! I finally know where to find him.