6:59

by Nonye Acholonu

I looked up and rolled my eyes at Dad. “Really, Dad?” I asked, showing him all of the photos.

  He shrugged helplessly, trying to appear innocent. “Hey, she looked absolutely magnificent last night! I had no choice!”

  I laughed at him and continued to skim the photos. I saw that Cam and Olive were matching and that Olive looked more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her. And judging by the looks Cam was giving her, I could tell he thought so, too. But what scared me the most was that I didn’t even blink at her refined appearance. That zing that normally coursed through my body at the sight of her just wasn’t there. It was like looking at a pretty girl in a high-fashion magazine — she was really, really hot, but I had no feelings for her. She was just… a pretty picture.

  “…videotaped the whole night just so you could see it,” Dad was saying as he looked at pictures of Anjolie. “I tell you, that girl has a good heart.”

  I nodded, still freaked out at my lack of emotion for Olive. Where had those emotions gone to? Just yesterday, we were the golden couple, holding hands, kissing, just being with each other. Everything was perfect just the way it was. So what happened all of a sudden?

  “…look perfect in these photos!” Dad was saying as he fingered the one of Cam and Anjolie. I was subconsciously avoiding Anjolie’s photos, afraid for what might happen once I laid eyes on them. “You kids are amazing! That’s why I hired you guys for Midnight Models. Your faces scream million-dollar campaigns.” Dad handed me the photo of Cam and Anjolie, reaching for another to gaze at.

  Slowly, I looked down at the photo, looking at Cam before I glanced cautiously at Anjolie. She was smiling brightly, her head cocked to the side, the light hitting her silvery-blond curls at every angle. With her hand on her jutting hip, the confident smile painted on her red lips, the shiny twinkle in her gray eyes, I knew then what had happened to my emotions.

  They were all here, staring at Anjolie.

  I almost flung the picture across the room, now even more frightened by this new situation. I rubbed my hands down my face, trying, unsuccessfully, to wipe away those sudden emotions that consumed my eyes, my body, my heart. This couldn’t be happening. Not right now. I have a girlfriend. I have a girlfriend.

  I have a girlfriend.

  “What’s wrong, my boy?” Dad asked, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” He laughed at his trite joke, shaking his head at my shaken expression.

  I cleared my throat and stood up, trying to get as far away from the photos as possible. “Uh… Dad, I’m going to… uh… take a shower, so…” I let my words hang in the air as I stared at him, pleading silently with my eyes.

  Fortunately, Dad took the hint and gathered up the photos. “Right, son,” he said, still humored with his joke. “You go take that shower.” He stood up, the package in hand. “I’ll be in the next room.” And with that, he walked out of my room and shut the door.

  Finally, when he was gone, I took that time to hop onto my bed and scream as loud as I could into my pillow, letting out all the emotions bottled up inside me. But screaming wasn’t enough. What I needed was a cold shower, and fast.

  I almost felt sane again when I exited my bathroom, dressed in a warm sweater and baggy sweatpants, my feet clad in fuzzy, black socks. Now, all I needed was some hot chocolate.

  Downstairs was quiet as I tiptoed into the kitchen. Mila was probably still asleep and Dad was off doing work in his “me time” office. The large empty house was kind of relaxing in a sense.

  As I rummaged through the cupboards for a large mug, I heard the doorbell ring. I froze, glancing at the door in the other room. Who could possibly be visiting this early on a Sunday morning? Probably one of Dad’s “people.” Sighing, I padded over to the door and looked through the peephole.

  You know that moment when the protagonist in a horror film peaks slowly around the corner only to come face-to-face with the monster and everyone screams in fright? Well, when I saw Anjolie peering up at me through the peephole as well, that was when everyone screams.

  Biting my knuckle to avoid screaming, myself, I looked around, trying to come up with something that would get me out of this situation. I could always just not answer, you know, pretend I wasn’t home. But, glancing at my watch, I saw that it was only a quarter past seven — where could I be so quickly after my change? Tossing that excuse aside, I contemplated hiding in my room, claiming that I’d come down with some sort of sickness. But that wouldn’t work — I never got sick, what with my dual DNA and stuff. Maybe I could pretend that I went to grab some groceries? That seemed like a great idea, that is, if my car weren’t parked in the driveway.

  I had to face it; there was no way out of this situation. I just had to face her — and my emotions — like a man. Gulping, I opened up the door, smiling nervously. “Uh, hey, Anjolie,” I greeted, trying not to meet her eyes. Instead, I looked over her shoulder and up at the sky. It was strangely overcast today, seeming as if it were going to rain cats and dogs any moment now.

  I could sense Anjolie’s smile as she brought something out of her messenger bag. “Hi, Cameron,” she said, bringing out a DVD. “I brought over the video of the dance. You wanna watch it?” she asked with her smooth voice.

  I couldn’t turn her away. She’d just walked miles from her home to mine, just so I could see the dance video. My dad was right; she did have a good heart. “Yeah, sure, come in,” I said, motioning her inside.

  She smiled and walked in, passing me as she went to place her shoes in the den. I shivered at the sudden fragrance of cinnamon that wafted away from her, my eyes rolling up to the ceiling as I basked in the odor. It was always that smell that drove me wild, the scent that took me over the top. She had to do something about that perfume.

  “I got some really sick shots, Sloane,” Anjolie said as she hung her bag up on the coat rack. “I should really go into filmography. I think it’s my calling.” She laughed as she shook out of her heavy jacket, hanging it, too, up on the rack.

  I laughed courteously at her words, shoving my hands into my pockets awkwardly. I felt severely underdressed next to Anjolie, who was clad in dark, skinny jeans and a cream cashmere sweater. With her bouncy locks and creamy attire, she looked so innocent and gentle, nothing at all like the boss of the Gray Eyes.

  She clapped her hands together. “So,” she said perkily, “where should we watch this masterpiece?” She clicked her ballet flats together giddily.

  “Um…” I said, shrugging. I looked toward the living room, surveying the area. Big screen TV, fluffy couches, wide open space. “The living room sounds good,” I said, smiling as I headed over there. No way were we going to watch it in my room. That place screamed bad decisions.

  I sat down on the armchair that was directed at an angle toward the TV screen. Anjolie sat down on the love seat positioned directly in front of the big screen and glanced at me. “Sit here, Sloane,” she suggested, patting the seat beside her. “You know, to get the whole movie theater effect.” Her eyes were wide and innocent as she regarded me.

  I cleared my throat, chuckling nervously. “I—I’m okay over here, thank you,” I said, giving her a smile. I couldn’t be near her and that scent. I didn’t trust myself.

  Anjolie laughed and patted the seat again. “Oh, quit it with the shyness, Sloane,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not death. I promise I won’t bite.”

  I sighed, choosing to believe in her words. I trusted her, but it was myself I had problems with. Finally, I swallowed my anxiety and stood up to join Anjolie on the couch.

  She smiled at me once I sat down, and handed me the remote control. “Start this thing,” she said and then snuggled up into the back of the couch, bringing her knees up to her chest as she waited in anticipation.

  I followed her command and inserted the disc into the DVD player, the TV shooting up with the words THE NIGHT OF A LIFETIME in bright, sparkly letters.

  I smiled as I joined Anjolie on the couch, tuning into the movie
. Despite all of Anjolie’s self-praise, the video appeared just like any other Homecoming video, showing the preparation part, some commentary, the kids dancing, pictures, the food — all the works. By the way Anjolie was speaking to and addressing the camera, the video was kind of like a documentary, only this one was about a high school dance.

  I watched all of the footage that she caught on tape — the five of them dancing, Hudson and Cam getting crowned, Dave and Tanya storming off in a teary huff — but it was only when Anjolie’s face appeared on the camera, speaking to me, that I actually paid attention. I found myself hanging onto every one of her words, even if they were strictly mundane and succinct. Her face was just so luminous and happy, an attitude that Anjolie wore rarely. I was happy that she was having a great time there, even without a date.

  But then again, I guess I was her date.

  “He even got all of the wallflowers to dance on the dance floor,” Anjolie said, pointing at the footage of everyone dancing and hooting on the dance floor. “Cam was really having a blast at the dance.” She sounded almost happy for him.

  I nodded, watching the footage of Cam dancing within a circle of kids, pumping his fists and moving his body to the rhythm while everyone watched and mimicked his dance moves. They were all moving in a sea of one, having the time of their lives.

  “They called it the Hammerin’ Cameron,” Anjolie informed me, laughing as she pumped her fist in the air, moving around like Cam did in the video. “They couldn’t get enough of it. It was, like, the highlight of the dance.” Her eyes sparkled as she recalled the moment.

  I laughed, mimicking the dance move, but stopped when Anjolie began laughing at me. I shrugged, blushing with embarrassment. “I never said I could dance like Cam, alright,” I said, shaking my head with a shy smile.

  Anjolie just laughed again and patted my knee. “Stick to books, Sloane” was all she said before turning back to the screen.

  But I kept my eyes on her, taking in her long, brown eyelashes, her soft, puckered lips, her shiny, blond curls. She was really a sight.

  Seeming to have noticed my staring, she met my eyes, smiling as she pointed to the screen. “Watch, Sloane,” she said. “You’re missing the king and queen dance.” If she were embarrassed by my staring, she sure didn’t show it.

  Reluctantly, I turned my attention back at the screen, focusing my eyes on Cam and Hudson, decked out in king and queen crowns, dancing slowly in each other’s arms. They seemed to be in a serious conversation; each had their eyebrows furrowed in the middle as they took in each other’s words.

  I cocked my head to the side, curious. “What are they talking about?” I asked.

  Anjolie shrugged. “I heard Hudson say ‘Galicia’ a few times and Cam making plans for some time in the future, but with all of the loud music, I couldn’t really pick up anything on camera,” she explained.

  I nodded slowly, finding their heated conversation suspicious. Why would Cam be talking so seriously with Hudson? Was he planning something? Were they planning something?

  Before I could sum up any conclusions, the scene changed to Anjolie walking out of the dance. “What a night, Sloane,” she said to the camera as she hiked up her dress and headed toward the limo. “Once again, I wish you could’ve been here but…” She positioned the camera up and faced it toward the starry night sky. “…this is for you, Mr. Day Man.” She panned out the camera, showing the entire night sky as soft music played in the background. I gazed at the midnight, gazing admiringly at the stars sparkling against the black blanket of nighttime. It was a beautiful, cloudless night — perfect for a school dance. She then moved the camera back to her face, smiling softly as she said, “Goodnight, Sloane. Until next time…” and then everything went black.

  When the words THE END appeared onto the screen in the same sparkly letters as the first set of words, Anjolie and I clapped joyously.

  “Wonderful! Wonderful!” Anjolie exclaimed, wiping away fake tears. “Simply magnificent!”

  “A definite shoe-in for the Academy Awards,” I added, clapping as I gave the movie a standing ovation.

  Anjolie joined me, standing up and clapping. Then, she stood in front of the screen and bowed. I looked around and grabbed up a lamp, handing it over to her. “And the award for best film of the year goes to Anjolie Rivers with her movie, Homecoming Night!” I announced, keeping up the charade.

  Anjolie took it graciously, fanning her face with mock surprise. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” she cried, bowing again. She faced an invisible audience sitting around on the couches. “I’d like to thank everyone for this amazing movie. But most importantly, I’d like to thank God for giving me the inspiration to conjure up such a fantastic film!” She bowed and waved at the invisible crowd, clutching the makeshift award to her chest. “Thank you!” she cried and then walked back over to the couch, waving like a beauty queen.

  When she reached the love seat, she set down the lamp and waved her hand across her face, taking on a solemn expression. “And… scene,” she said, plopping down onto the couch.

  I laughed and joined her on the couch, sitting sideways as I struggled to contain my laughter. “Wow, Anjolie,” I said in between spurts of laughter. “A filmographer and comedian? You’re unstoppable!” I said, wiping away tears.

  She laughed as well, shrugging humbly. “What can I say? I’m awesome,” she said. She motioned at me, smiling. “And don’t give me all the credit. You were a real comic up there as well.”

  I shook my head, sighing as I smiled modestly. “Oh, stop it, you’re embarrassing me,” I cooed, waving a hand in her direction.

  She laughed at my modesty, rolling her eyes at my actions. I liked how we could be so comfortable with each other no matter what the time was. That was the good thing about Anjolie — she was always up for laughs. When we finally caught our breath, I couldn’t help but glance shyly at her from under my eyelashes. She met my eyes and returned my shy gaze, picking at a loose strand of thread on her jeans. I watched her lips as she bit them, nervously. And she watched me as I bit mine.

  It was quiet. Really quiet. We were staring at each other, saying nothing, our expressions blank. She knew it was coming. I knew it was coming. We both knew it was coming.

  But I wasn’t going to let anything happen.

  I quickly stood up and clapped my hands together. “Well, Anj, I thank you for the excellent viewing this morning—”

  “Gonna kick me out so soon, Sloane?” Anjolie giggled, tossing a throw pillow at my face.

  I shook my head awkwardly, unable to find words to get myself out of this situation. I kinda was trying to kick her out.

  Without waiting for my response, she stood up and headed for the kitchen, her cinammony scent echoing throughout the room. I followed her and her scent into the other room. “I walked a gazillion blocks over here at the break of dawn, Cameron,” she said, leafing through my cupboards. “The least you could do is offer me some coffee.”

  I laughed. “Okay, Anjolie, would you like some coffee?” I asked politely.

  She spun around and clasped her hands together. “Oh I would, thank you,” she gasped, smiling.

  I rolled my eyes and walked over to her. “Well, you’re looking in the wrong place,” I said. She was looking in all of the lower cupboards, when the coffee was right above her head. She watched me reach up above her head and open the cupboard.

  There was absolutely no space in between us.

  I heard her suck in her breath when my chest brushed against hers, my arm just inches away from her ear. From this vantage point, I could see, touch, hear, and smell her without looking weird. I didn’t even know how I was able to concentrate on locating that coffee. Everything about her was so magical, so mysterious, so utterly lovely; I found it difficult to even blink.

  Finally, I had the coffee. I grabbed it down from the shelf and placed it on the counter behind her. I shouldn’t have looked in her eyes. I should’ve just grabbed the coffee and left. I should
’ve just looked away and stepped aside. I should’ve just done absolutely everything else in the world than look in her beautiful, soft, gray eyes.

  But I did. And that’s when I lost control.

  I leaned into her, catching her lips with mine, kissing them softly and slowly. There was nothing but silence in the room as we shared this delicate moment. This deadly moment. Her lips were warm, smooth to the touch, and painstakingly soft. Pausing for a moment, I brushed her silvery locks away from her face and kissed her again, keeping my hand on her neck and pulling her close. My heart was racing, my blood pulsating through my body as I kissed her, something I’ve wanted to do for eons now.

  She pulled away too soon, meeting my eyes with a look of pure wonder and confusion, and biting her lip with what seemed like concern. But that only lasted a whole of two seconds. Gently, she grabbed my face in her hands and pulled me even closer, kissing me with a little more force and vigor. Taking the hint, I wrapped my arms around her waist and picked her up, carrying her out of the kitchen, through the living room, and then onto the couch.

  It was only a matter of minutes until we were wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing amorously right there on the ironically named “love seat.” Her hands were tangled up in my hair as my hands roamed up and down her back, squeezing her tighter in my embrace as the kiss deepened. I was on her side of the couch now, her back pressed against the arm hump as we mauled each other, getting lost in our passion. It felt as if I were drinking sunlight, the warmth of the passion seeping deep into my system and taking over my inhibitions. I was becoming drunk with her kisses as we continued to make out on that love seat. I finally understood why the couch had that name.

  I was losing air rapidly, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was this moment. This moment of emotional release. This tension just had to go. It had to leave the air and wrap up into this emotion, finding its home elsewhere. I kissed Anjolie everywhere — her lips, her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her neck — I just couldn’t stop. And she returned my kisses, allowing me the same pleasure. There was simply no end to this moment.