The Trouble With Flirting (17 page)

From:
Alivia Howard

Sent:
Sat 12 Apr, 7:16 am

To:
Sarah Henley

Subject:
Weirdness

That word keeps going through my head. Weird. I can’t seem to stop thinking it. It’s just so WEIRD that she’s here! I keep looking for similarities between us. Things that mean she’s not just another person, but connected to me by BLOOD.

We have the same colour hair and eyes, but our noses and mouths are different shapes.

We have similar builds, but she’s a little taller than me.

I hate coffee; she loves it.

We’re both quite chatty.

We both read sci fi and fantasy books.

I love
Star Trek
; she’s not a fan.

We’re both afraid of heights (which we discovered when we hiked up Lion’s Head this morning. It is REALLY steep at the top!).

I like wine; she doesn’t.

We’re both musical! She plays the piano.

I know it’s silly, but every time we find something we have in common, we get excited, as if it’s because we’re sisters rather than the more likely explanation—it’s simply a coincidence.

I haven’t told my parents she’s here. Dad would get angry, and Mom would be hurt. I fully understand Mom’s perspective. I mean, to her, Andi is living proof that her husband cheated on her. And when I think of that, I get angry all over again. Not at Andi, though. At Dad. So I’m trying to move on from that and focus instead on the person who’s here. She’s leaving this evening, but it sounds like she’s hoping to come to UCT next year, so there might be a lot more sister bonding in our future.

Sister bonding. The concept sounds so weird when I’m applying it to myself. Weird but cool!

xx

___________________________________

I wave goodbye one last time before shutting the door and wandering towards Adam’s bedroom. Damien offered to drive Andi to the airport, and I didn’t have any objections. I prefer not to drive The Tin Man after dark.

“So,” Adam says as I let myself fall backwards onto his bed. “You guys certainly managed to fit a lot of bonding into two days.” He’s busy adjusting the angle of his computer screen and getting the next episode of
The Big Bang Theory
ready to watch.

“So. Weird.”
There’s that word again.
I stare at the ceiling, trying to sort out my thoughts. “What my dad did was terrible. Cheating on my mom like that. He never should have done it. I
wish
he hadn’t, because then there wouldn’t be all this hurt between the two of them and between Dad and me. But at the same time … Andi is awesome. She’s so honest about everything, but she’s funny too, and sweet, and just … awesome. But she’s only here because Dad had an affair. If I wish that away, then I’m wishing her out of existence. How does that make sense?”

Adam switches on his lamp, turns the main light off, and flops onto the bed beside to me. “It doesn’t. Life doesn’t make sense. That’s just the way it is.”

“I suppose so. Thanks for driving us around and hanging out with us. Doing the tourist vibe. I was worried it might get awkward with just me and her.”

“I think I cleared up the awkward atmosphere for good when I mentioned you found her scary.”

“Mmm. Thanks again for that.”

“You’re welcome.” He picks up the remote for his computer and presses Play.

“Hey, can I ask you something?

He presses Pause. “Sure.”

“Do you still miss Jenna?”

Adam rubs a hand over his hair. “Does it make me a bad person if I say no?”

“Why would that make you a bad person?”

“Because … I’m supposed to mourn over this long relationship we had for more than just a couple of weeks? I don’t know. The truth is, we started growing apart a while ago. I was overseas for almost a whole year, and then after only a few weeks at home, I came here. When we were both at school, it felt like we had this incredible, amazing thing that would last forever, but in the past year and a bit … well, we haven’t really had much of a relationship.”

I nod. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Can I ask you something now?”

“You may. And the answer is, ‘No, I don’t miss Jackson.’ He may have had a bronzed, babe-magnet body and been an amazing kisser, but forcing me into a dark corner so he could attempt to violate me is NOT something I’m looking for in a boyfriend.”

“He—that’s what he did?” Adam twists to face me, his eyebrows drawing together in anger.

“I—oh. Too much info. Sorry. I forgot you’re not Sarah.”

The angry eyebrows rise. “You think of me the way you think of Sarah?” I’m trying to figure out how to answer that when he shakes his head. “Never mind. That’s not what I mean. What I mean is, why did you pick such an ass for a boyfriend?”

“Wait, are you angry with
me
now?”

“Yes! Do you really think so little of yourself that you’d want to date someone like
that
?”

I stare at him, my mouth hanging open a little, as I try to figure out what caused this sudden Adam explosion. “Okay.” I put my hands on his shoulders. “I have a feeling that’s not the question you were originally going to ask. So I’m going to go to the kitchen and get snacks, because I forgot to do that on my way here, and you’re going to calm down from your sudden, unreasonable, unnecessary anger. Okay?”

Before he can argue, I climb over him and run to the kitchen.
Hmm. Snacks, snacks …
There’s a tub of baby tomatoes in the fridge, which Adam will enjoy—he’s always been a healthy snacker—but I need something more than that. I find a bag of popcorn in the cupboard, grab my jar of peanut butter and a spoon, and hurry back to the bedroom with my collection. I climb back over Adam as he finishes typing something on his phone and tosses it back onto his bedside table.

“Hugo says hi.”

“Oh. Hi, Hugo.” I hand Adam the tomatoes and popcorn while I unscrew the lid of the peanut butter jar.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you I already got a snack for you?” Adam says.

“Hmm?” I look up. “No.”

Adam pulls open the drawer in his bedside table and removes a pink packet of chewy sweets. He tosses it onto the bed next to me. I pick it up, take one look at the name on the packet, and narrow my eyes at him. “Princess gums? Really?”

He smiles innocently. “Seemed like the perfect snack for you.”

“Uh huh. Thanks.” I give him my unimpressed face before adding the packet of pink, purple and white sweets to the snack collection. “ANYWAY. Did you remember what question you were going to ask before you went all Hulk on me and got strangely angry? Or are we going straight into watching
The Big Bang Theory
?”

“I was going to ask,” Adam says, tearing the popcorn bag open, “why you don’t play your violin anymore. You said you were too busy before, but you’ve had time since the holiday started, and I still haven’t heard you play anything.”

Horrid, screechy thing
, Allegra’s voice echoes in my mind as I rub my thumb over the disappearing calluses on my fingertips.
I’ve never heard anything so awful in my life.

“Oh.” I sink back against the cushions and stick a spoonful of peanut butter in my mouth, hoping it’ll somehow assuage the guilt I experience every time I think of my beloved instrument cultivating dust bunnies under my bed. It doesn’t work. “It’s hard to explain,” I say eventually. “I really miss it, and I feel guilty about not playing, but the longer I go without picking up an instrument, the more I try to avoid it. I know when I eventually do play again, I’ll be rusty and it’ll sound terrible and I’ll feel like a horrible failure, so I’m trying to avoid that experience by not playing, but the longer I avoid it, the worse that experience will be.”

“Livi?”

“Mmm?” I lick some more peanut butter off my spoon.

“Stop overanalysing and just play the darn violin.”

“I guess. Maybe tomorrow.”

He throws a piece of popcorn at me and says, “Princess Procrastination.”

I pick up the popcorn and put some peanut butter on it before crunching down on it.
Hmm. Not bad.
“That’s actually quite tasty,” I say while helping myself to a handful of popcorn and getting ready to coat each piece with peanut butter.

“Weirdo,” Adam mutters. He balances the tub of tomatoes on his stomach, presses Play, and the episode begins.

“Hey!” I shout, and he presses Pause once again. “I just remembered something. That waitress at
Jazzy Beanbag
.” I turn to Adam with an accusing stare. “When I was there with Andi, she said something about you and an embarrassing incident and guitar lessons.”

“Oh. Right.” Adam rubs his thumb over the remote control’s buttons.

“So? What was she talking about?”

Adam groans. “This is something I prefer not to talk about.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

“Fine. That day Jenna broke up with me and I drank too much at
Jazzy Beanbag
, Mel was working. She came over to check on me and … I suddenly found myself kissing her.”

I start laughing. “Most girls just want a decent tip, Adam, not a slobbery kiss with the drunk dude in the corner.”

“It was not slobbery, okay. And it wasn’t exactly a conscious choice.”

“Ha. I’m sure. And the guitar lesson part?”

Adam scratches his head. “Mel also happens to be my guitar teacher.”

I smack his arm. “You started playing a new instrument, and you didn’t tell me?”

He shrugs. “You were always busy and never around. I didn’t think you’d be that interested.”

“Rubbish. Of course I’m interested. Where is this guitar hiding, and how long have you been playing?”

“Since January. I saw a flyer stuck up at
Jazzy Beanbag
the first time I went there and thought it might be fun to learn another instrument. And the guitar isn’t
hiding
, it just happens to live in my cupboard. It’s Hugo’s Dad’s. I’m still saving up for my own.”

“Adam! I want to hear you playing.”

He chews on a tomato and says, “I’m not that good.”

“I don’t believe that for a second. Music is your language. You probably learned how to read it before you could read words. Remember when you taught yourself to play that old cello lying around at school? And your uncle’s saxophone?”

Adam gives me a noncommittal nod. “Still doesn’t mean I’m going to play the guitar for you.”

“Okay, fine. Will you at least talk to Mel about continuing your lessons? She was worried you’d end up wasting your talent.”

“Nah, I’m over the lessons.” Adam tosses the remote back and forth from one hand to the other. “I’ve been teaching myself ever since that embarrassing drunken kiss.”

“YOU SEE! Music
is
your language. Please play something for me.”

He looks at me, his eyes moving across my face before sliding back down to the remote in his hands. “I’m not ready.”

I nod slowly. “Okay. Play for me when you’re ready. For now, let’s get this
Big Bang Theory
marathon started.” I take the remote from him and hit Play. The opening song starts playing, and images of history, science, and technology whizz by at high-speed. I settle back against the cushions to enjoy my peanut butter popcorn and some good laughs.

We’re about five minutes in when I become aware of a noise outside growing louder and louder. A noise like wind howling through thousands of leaves. I slap my popcorn-free hand down on Adam’s leg and say, “Can you hear that?”

He fumbles for the remote and presses Pause—yet again. The noise from outside fills the room.

It isn’t wind. It’s rain. Rain pelting down so hard it sounds as if it’s trying to break through the roof to attack us.

Adam looks at me, lowers his voice to a deep rumble, and says, “Winter is coming.”

Adam’s
Game of Thrones
reference might have made me pack up laughing, but I no longer find it funny when I leave for campus on Monday morning and it’s
still
raining. Winter is certainly getting a head start in the rain department. I considered using the weather as an excuse to avoid the friends who aren’t my friends anymore, but in the end I decided to face the inevitable on day one rather than putting it off until tomorrow or the next day.

So here I am, shivering inside The Tin Man, waiting for a break in the rain so I can dash to lectures without getting drenched. I pull my phone out of my bag and type a message to Adam.

Livi: It seems silly that we don’t share lifts to campus. Why don’t we do that?

Adam: Because I leave about forty-five mins before you when traffic isn’t as bad and I can still get a parking close to lectures. Or I leave even earlier than that and go to gym. Speaking of which, you should come with Luke and me now that you’re a gym member.

Livi: How about I get a lift with you on rainy, non-gym days?

Adam: You just want me for my umbrella.

Livi: Busted.

Adam: Umbrellas don’t work so well with sideways rain. Just run.

Livi: I’m wearing heels.

Adam: It’s like you’re asking me to say I told you so.

Livi: Ooh! No rain!

The break I’ve been waiting for arrives, and I shove my phone back into its pocket inside my bag, climb out of my car, and hurry up the hill. I’m looking good in my super skinny jeans, high-heeled boots, and the jacket I got during Expedition Retail Therapy at the beginning of the holiday. It turns out I’m not brave enough to wear any of my comfy clothes to varsity. Even though I’m no longer part of the cool crowd—or any crowd, for that matter—I still want to turn heads with my fabulous fashion sense.

I arrive outside my first period lecture theatre and peek inside. I scan for Jackson first, because he’s the one I really,
really
don’t want to see. He isn’t here. Allegra, Courtney and Amber, however, are present. So is Charlotte, although she seems to have latched onto another group. The we-take-our-studies-seriously-but-look-gorgeous-while-doing-it group.

So. Where to sit, where to sit …

I wonder what would happen if I slid into the seat next to Allegra as if last Friday night were no big deal? Perhaps we’d have a little argument about how I ran off and didn’t contact her for the whole holiday, but then we might laugh it off and things would get back to normal.

Do I really want that, though? The kind of normal where every conversation is as shallow as a puddle, no party is considered complete without the addition of a few recreational drugs, and couples are comfortable crossing lines I can only see myself on the other side of when I’ve found the guy I know I’ll love for the rest of my life?

No. You don’t want that. Even if it means sitting alone.

Crap. I really don’t want to sit alone.

It’s FINE. Just remember CONFIDENCE. You can be cool—on your own—as long as you’re exuding confidence.

Confidence. Got it.

I saunter in, looking out for an empty seat. I’ve targeted the perfect spot, four rows from the back, when I notice the loner Indian girl in the back row, and suddenly my feet are carrying me quickly to the seat next to her.

“Hi,” I say brightly as I sit down and drop my bag on the floor. I hold my hand out to her. “I’m Livi.”

She stares at the hand as though it presents a health risk. She folds her arms tightly over her chest. “Did you get lost?” she asks.

“Wow.” I lower my hand. “You’re really friendly. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you come to campus completely overdressed?”

My mouth hangs open for a while before I respond. “Okay. Not only unfriendly, but downright rude.”

She gives me an icy smile. “I didn’t come to university to make friends.”

“Clearly. It appears you’d rather make unpleasant memories.”

“I came here to work hard and graduate summa cum laude.”

I remove my books and pens from my bag and lay them out neatly across the desk. “Looks like I chose the right person to sit next to, then.”

“I don’t think so. Why don’t you—”

Our lecturer chooses that moment to launch into a new section, and whatever Rude Unfriendly Loner Girl was about to tell me is forgotten as she hastily picks up her pen and turns her full attention to the front of the room.

Salima
, the label on her textbook says, which is helpful, since I’m pretty sure she wasn’t about to introduce herself.

***

Salima is out of her chair and heading for the door before I’ve packed away any of my things. Great. So much for making a new friend. Allegra glances my way as she walks out with Courtney and Amber. I grab my phone, bring it to my ear, and laugh as I answer a non-existent phone call. Then I have to continue the fake phone call, feeling like a complete idiot, as other members of our class look my way before heading out of the lecture hall.

Ugh, I can’t believe I just did that.

I slowly pack my things away as students file in for the next lecture. Maybe I should give my next class a miss. I think Adam’s free now. I could meet him at the library or computer lab or … wherever it is he usually hangs out during his free periods. But if I miss classes, I’ve got no one to help me catch up on the work. Blast it. I hadn’t considered that particular side-effect of friendlessness.

I take my time heading to the next lecture venue. Perhaps I’ll slip into the seat beside Salima just as the lecture starts so she won’t have time to say anything rude. At least I won’t have to sit alone that way.

I’m almost at the door when someone heading the same way almost walks into me. I take a step to the side, catching my balance, and look up. Icy adrenaline kicks my heart into top gear. “Jackson?”

I stare at him. He stares back. “Well?” he says eventually, gesturing to the door. “Are you going in, or are you just going to stand there all day? Perhaps you’d like to push me into the door.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Perhaps I would. But I thought you might have something to say to me first. Something like an apology.”

“Ha! An apology? If anyone should be apologising, it’s you, after throwing me into a glass table. Have you seen my hands?” He shoves them in front of my face so I can see the half-healed scabbed cuts across his skin.

“That wasn’t intentional, that was self-defence. You’re the only one who did something wrong that night, and—”

“Oh really?” He looks at me with complete contempt. “And what exactly did I do wrong?”

“You …” I look down as someone hurries past us into the lecture. “You … tried to …”

“To what? Put my hands on you? Touch you? Yes, Livi, because I wanted you. And from all the signals you were giving me—from our making out, from your flirting—you wanted me too. So I only did what any guy would do, and suddenly you’re freaking out like, I don’t know, I’m trying to rape you or something.”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment to hold the tears back. How did this end up being my fault? “I did want you, Jackson. But that … what you did … was seriously inappropriate.”

“No it wasn’t, Livi. That was normal.”

“Not for me!”

“Oh, God, don’t tell me you’re one of those girls.”

“One of what—”

“You want to
wait
. You don’t want our relationship to be
physical
now. You probably think I’m The One, and you’re expecting me to produce a ring before you’ll to go anywhere near a bed with me. Or the corner of a room, apparently.”

I shake my head. I can’t believe what a jerk this guy turned out to be. “Yes. I
do
want to wait. And there are plenty of people out there like me—girls
and
guys—who are happy to wait for the—”

“Ya, they’re all a bunch of weirdos.”

“—wait for the right person!” I yell at him. “When I get married one day, I don’t want to have the ghosts of all the girls my husband’s ever slept with in the bed with us, and he shouldn’t have to deal with that from me either. And one more thing.” I point my finger at him. “You are
so far
from being The One, it’s not even funny.”

I spin around and storm off, having no intention of going into that lecture or any other today. A light drizzle dampens my face as I hurry back to my car. I fling my bag inside and climb in, slamming the door shut. My fingers shake with anger all the way home. Adam’s car is gone, and so is Luke’s, so I drive into the empty garage.

I leave my bag in the doorway to my bedroom and throw myself onto the bed. What is wrong with me? I pick a hot prince and he turns out to be a jerk. I pick a hot regular guy and he turns out to be a jerk too. Is there such a thing as a decent guy who’s also hot? Am I being
shallow
by wanting to love someone good-looking?

I probably am.

Frustration and loneliness and anger and hurt well up inside me and squeeze themselves out in the form of tears. I just want to be liked. I want to fit in somewhere. Somewhere I don’t have to worry about anyone making fun of me for who I am and the things I like. Is that too much to ask for?

Without really thinking about it, I roll over and kneel on the floor. I reach beneath my bed and pull out the violin case. The bottom drawer of my desk is packed with flip files of music, so I pull that open and take out a stack of files. I tuck them under my arm, pick up the violin case, and head to the lounge.

It’s a ritual my hands haven’t forgotten: Unclip the buckles, flip open the case, remove the violin, attach the shoulder rest, tighten the bow, slide the bow across the rosin several times. I fit the instrument against my neck, and already the tension, stress and overwhelming emotion begin to slip away as my mind prepares to focus on one thing only: the music.

I walk across to Adam’s piano and play an A, then slowly draw my bow across the A string of the violin. It’s horribly out of tune, but the simple act of creating sound from a string leaves my heart feeling like it’s come home.

Why did I wait so long to do this?

I twist the relevant peg until the A string is in tune, then move to the D string, G string, and finally the E string, twisting the pegs and fine tuners while listening for the resonance of the perfect fifth intervals.

The violin is ready. I should probably play some scales or arpeggios to warm up, but real music is what I’m longing for. I position my fingers on the strings, close my eyes, and breathe in deeply. I forget the pile of music lying on the coffee table as my memory takes over and I bring the bow down to play the first note of
Somewhere Over the Rainbow
.

The music soars, and along with it, my heart. My pitch is off here and there, and my vibrato isn’t quite what it used to be, but I’m lost in a land of wishing stars and lemon drops and dreams that really do come true. Slowly, bit by bit, as the music rises and falls, pieces of my soul I didn’t even know were missing fit themselves back together.

With the last long, wavering note, I breathe out slowly.

Content. Finally.

“I could listen to you play all day.”

I blink and look around. Adam is leaning in the doorway, watching me with a smile. Was I so lost in my musical world that I didn’t hear a car driving up outside the window or the front door opening and closing? I must have been.

“You’re so graceful,” he says. “The way your arm moves with the bow. It’s like you’re not only a musician, but a dancer too.”

I look down to hide my warm cheeks. “Makes you wonder how I can be so clumsy when I don’t have a violin in my hands.”

He laughs quietly. “What are you doing home already?”

I shrug and sigh. “Bad morning, I guess. What about you?”

“Second period free, and my third period lecturer is sick, so I thought I’d come home for a bit. Do you, uh, want some accompaniment?” He gestures to the piano.

I give him a wide smile. “That would make me happier than you can imagine.”

Adam crosses the room and sits at the piano. “How about the G-string one you love?” he says with a smirk.

I roll my eyes and laugh. Adam can never mention Bach’s
Air on the G String
without making a reference to underwear, which I’m sure was the last thing on Bach’s mind when he was writing Suite No. 3 in D major. G-strings hadn’t even been invented back then.