The Trouble With Flirting (8 page)

Allegra is
allegrissimo
today, dashing around the mall, scouring every shop for the perfect dress for my date tonight, sampling nail polish, and snapping up deals before other shoppers can get to them.

“Okay stop,” I say eventually. “I need a break. My hair appointment is in twenty minutes. Can we sit down until then?”

“You know you’ll be sitting the whole time you’re having your hair done, right?”

“Well, yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that my feet are sore now.”

Allegra sighs and mutters, “Amateur.” She links her arm through mine. “Fine, we can sit at the salon and look at magazines.”

“Great.”

I kept telling Allegra it was too expensive to colour my hair, but then she found a Groupon for a salon here at Cavendish, and we both decided my first date with Jackson would be an excellent occasion on which to make my debut as a blonde. The kind of blonde who has a head full of ‘natural’ highlights from caramel to gold to platinum. Or something like that. Sometimes I zone out when Allegra talks too much.

I plop onto a couch, squeeze the magazine in my hands, and say, “I’m so excited!”

“I know, right? Your hair is going to look amazing.”

“Not about my hair, silly. About my date. Do you think he’ll try to kiss me?”

Allegra lets out a hoot of laughter. “He’s not a fumbling thirteen-year-old. Of course he’s going to kiss you. Why else do people go to movies?”

Well, I thought they went to movies to actually watch movies, but I guess that’s what they do with their friends, not the hot guy they’ve been crushing on for weeks.

“What about you?” I ask. “Is there anyone who’s caught your eye since Rob decided to be a jerk last weekend?”

“Well, since you brought it up,” Allegra says, flipping her magazine shut and grinning at me. “There is actually someone. Remember when you got Logan to invite us to Smuts on Monday evening and we were hanging out in his room? And that guy who stays in the room across the landing came in to talk to him?”

“Yes?”

“That guy. Damien.” She sighs. “Isn’t that a sexy name?”

“Um, sure. Very sexy.” Damien seemed more like the quiet, studious type, not like the loud, confident guys Allegra usually goes for. But what do I know?

A woman with short black hair, black clothes, and black shoes ushers me towards one of the chairs in front of the mirror. I sit, fold my hands in my lap, and take a look at my reflection. I take a deep breath and say to Allegra, “Are you sure about this?”

“Am
I
sure about this? Am I sure I want to see my friend as a hot blonde? Oh yes. The question, Livi, is whether
you
are sure you want to see yourself as a hot blonde.”

I tilt my head to the side and practise my flirty smile. “I am. Let’s do this.”

***

So here I am in my tight new dress—note to self: STOP BUYING NEW CLOTHES. YOU’LL RUN OUT OF MONEY SOON—crawling around on my bedroom floor, holding my perfectly styled hair back with one hand, and patting the floor with the other in the hopes of coming across the earrings I just dropped. One, they go perfectly with this dress, and two, they don’t belong to me. I have to find them.

Eventually I feel something small and sharp beneath my hand, and when I look closer, I see a small aqua coloured stud glinting at me. Now to find the other one.

When I’m finally back on my feet with both earrings in and my knees dusted off, it’s almost time to go.

Shoes, handbag, one last mirror check, and I’m ready.

“Hey, Luke, I’m back.” The sound of the front door closing accompanies Adam’s voice. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

Great.

Adam and I haven’t spoken since the clothing argument almost a week ago. Considering we live in the same house, I thought it would be more difficult to avoid him, but these days it seems like he’s always gone when I wake up and out when I get home late, and the rest of the time I’m on campus or with Allegra. It’s been remarkably easy for us to ignore each other.

What will he say about my hair?

My hair turned out to be gorgeous, of course—every shade of blonde mixed in with a hint of my original red—but Adam will no doubt find a way to link it to the fact that my new friends have way more influence over me than my old friends. Maybe I can get out of the house without him seeing me.

I lift my keys quietly from my desk, then listen at my door. No sound. No one speaking. No footsteps walking down the passage towards Adam’s bedroom. Where did he go?

I look over at the time on the small clock beside my bed. Crumbs, I really need to get going. Jackson’s shift at the cinema finished five minutes ago, which means he’ll be waiting for me. He offered to be a gentleman and rush over here to pick me up, but we’d miss the beginning of our movie if he did that, so I told him not to be silly. And then I kissed goodbye to my brilliant hard-to-get skills and I added that he’d have plenty of opportunities to pick me up in the future.

Cringe.

I step out of my bedroom and head for the front door as quietly as I can in heels.
Clip clop.
No Adam.
Clip clop.
Still no Adam. I’m almost there when the front door swings open, revealing the last person I want to see: Adam.

Crapazoid. He must have gone back to his car for something.

He freezes in the doorway, his eyes a little wider than normal as he takes in my hair. He stares. Blinks. Stares some more. Then he shakes his head and walks past me, leaving the front door open.

“What?” I shout after him. “WHAT? You want to say something?”

“I don’t know who you are,” he shouts back.

“Loser,” I mutter, slamming the door behind me as I leave.

I put Adam out of my mind, drive as quickly as I can, and arrive at the cinema seven minutes after the time Jackson and I agreed to meet. Seven minutes is good, right? Not too eager, but not annoyingly late.

I reach the top of the elevator and look around. People waiting in line to buy popcorn, drinks and snacks. People fighting over salt canisters. People coming in and out of the toilets. People crowding around the poor guy checking tickets. People, people, people. How am I ever supposed to find—

“Hey there, sexy.”

Butterflies flit around my insides—HE THINKS I’M SEXY!—but I manage to pull off the look I practised in my mirror this afternoon. The glance down, smile shyly, then peek up through long lashes look.

Jackson swallows.

Yes! Score! I rock at this flirting business. Jackson’s also pretty good, though, so he recovers quickly from him nervous swallowing moment. He steps forward and gives me a hug. It’s a smooth, quick movement, over in two seconds, but I’m pretty sure his lips brushed my cheek.

I clear my throat. “So which movie are we watching?”

“I thought you might enjoy that chick flick,” he says, pointing to a poster showing a startled guy with a woman on each arm, “rather than the new superhero release everyone’s here to see. And we’ll have more privacy this way.” He winks.

Privacy. I like the sound of that.

I also
really
like the sound of the new superhero movie. I’ve been looking forward to it ever since I saw the first trailer months ago. But I don’t want to miss a second of it, so it’s probably a good thing Jackson and I won’t be watching it tonight.

Eventually we get through the crowds of superhero fans, past the ticket-checking guy, and into our movie. We sit down as the lights go out and the first advert comes up. I put my handbag on my lap, then settle back with my arms on the armrests. Obviously. Because that’s universal sign language for ‘Hold my hand,’ right?

Jackson leans across the armrest and whispers, “I told you we’d have more privacy in here.” He nods to the other side of me, where there are four empty seats and then three girls. On Jackson’s side of the row, there’s no one.

“Well done,” I whisper.

He grins. When he sits back, I realise his hand is holding mine.

Wow. He’s good. Guys should take lessons from him.

The butterflies in my stomach continue their flapping as the movie begins. It’s a movie stuffed full of chick flick clichés, so I can’t help making fun of it. Fortunately, instead of finding this annoying, Jackson seems to enjoy this game. It becomes a race to see who can point out each dumb movie cliché first.

We’re about half an hour in when we both turn to each other at the same time, ready to make fun of the same idiotic movie moment. We both start laughing, quietly shaking as neither of us looks away. Our laughter subsides to smiles. And we’re still not looking away. Jackson’s gaze moves to my lips, then back up again. He leans towards me.

Breathe, Livi. Don’t pass out. Breathe!

I breathe in as I lean closer to him. My heart hammers. The butterflies’ wings catch fire. His lips touch mine. Slow and soft and sweet. His hand slides through my hair and pulls me closer—and I melt against him.

I’m still smiling when I get home. Even the fact that I have to park in the road because the driveway is blocked by Adam’s friends’ cars can’t turn my lips down. I sit in my car, humming a song and replaying the night’s events, that same silly smile on my face and my insides almost as jellylike as when Jackson first leaned over to kiss me. I don’t remember much of the movie after that first half hour, but I’ve become intimately acquainted with Jackson’s lips.

Our plan was to have a romantic dinner somewhere after the movie, but at 8:30 pm on a Saturday evening, everywhere decent was already full. We ended up in the mall’s food court at the Burger King, which I hadn’t exactly pictured as part of our Perfect First Date—I was certainly hoping my new dress would get to see finer cutlery than the plastic stuff they throw into the takeout bag—but I was with Jackson, so it didn’t really matter where or what we ate.

A sigh escapes my lips as I think of our chocolate milkshake-flavoured kiss as we leant against my car in the parking lot. Jackson wanted to drive me home in my car so he could kiss me goodnight outside my own house, but I told him—with a flirtatious smile—that he could save that for next time.

I wake up from my reverie and remind myself that I’m just about asking to be hijacked, sitting here in the dark with my keys in the ignition. I hurry up the driveway, across the garden that is once again approaching jungle status, and into the house.

Laughter, shouting and music greet me. I remove my heels and hold them in one hand as I walk to the lounge doorway. Five guys—probably all computer science nerds like Adam—are squashed onto our L-shaped couch. Adam and another guy are holding Xbox controllers and sitting forward, staring intently at the TV. Even though I can’t see the screen from here, I know they’re playing
SoulCalibur
. I recognise the music. Adam shouts “Yesssss!” just as his friend shouts “Awwwww!” and flops back onto the couch. Then someone else notices me standing in the doorway, smacks his friend on the arm, and seconds later they’re all staring my way.

“Uh, hey, everyone. I’m Livi.” I wave. A chorus of enthusiastic greetings follow. After exchanging an awkward glance with Adam, I say, “Well, I should—“

“Hey, do you want to play?” one of them asks, holding a controller out towards me. “Adam told us you’re pretty good.”

Really? He didn’t tell you I’m a shallow-hearted, friend-abandoning snob?

“Um, thanks, but I’m really tired. I’d be more than happy to kick your butt next time, though.”

“Oooooh.” Someone else punches the guy still holding the controller out to me.

His arm droops as everyone starts laughing, but he shouts, “Deal!” above the noise.

With a laugh and a shake of my head, I walk to the kitchen. I switch the kettle on, then lean against the counter and begin typing my email version of Dear Diary.

From:
Alivia Howard

Sent:
Sat 15 Mar, 10:41 pm

To:
Carl

Subject:
Dear Carl

Okay, so Burger King was not on my list of Top Ten Perfect Dates (it certainly couldn’t compare to all our secret rendezvous beside the lake), but SO WHAT. His kisses more than made up for that, and the WAY he asked me out—writing on my hand so he’d have an excuse to hold it—was really cute. Points for that.

And points to me for perfecting the art of looking sexy while eating fries.

So. Grand total of guys Livi has kissed: two.

No, wait, three. I always forget about that slobbery spin-the-bottle experience. ANYWAY. Kissing Jackson was far better than that. It was better than kissing you too, so take that!

(Livi, you’re talking to someone who isn’t there. You might be crazy.

Really? I don’t think so. That’s what writing in a diary is all about. No one expects the diary to respond. Duh! Talking to MYSELF on the other hand … that is crazy.)

Crazy Livi signing out.

___________________________________

“So … you and Adam are fighting, huh?”

I look up from the rubbish I’ve just sent out into cyberspace where no one will ever read it and find Luke standing on the other side of the kitchen table. “He speaks,” I say before I can stop myself.

“Uh, yes.” He scratches his head. “I speak.”

I put my phone down. “It’s just that most of the time … you don’t.”

He shrugs and opens the fridge. “Strong, silent type, I guess.”

Well that’s the biggest understatement ever.
I turn around and pour boiling water over the teabag in my mug. I add a squirt of honey, then move the mug to the table and sit down. Luke is still in the kitchen, making himself a toasted sandwich. And not speaking. “Okay, I’m just gonna be blunt here,” I say. “You’re really good-looking.”

“Uh …” Luke’s eyes dart around, probably looking for the nearest escape route.

“But you’re also really shy. Is that why you don’t have a girlfriend? Because I expected there to be, like, hundreds of girls beating down the front door trying to get to you.”

He blinks. “That would be … mildly terrifying.”

“Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

Luke sits down at the table with his plate and sandwich. Holy hippogriff. I feel an actual conversation coming on. “I had a girlfriend in high school,” he says. “She was the one who introduced me to gym, which, um, is where I spend a lot of time now. She did the whole makeover thing on me. Then she dumped me.”

“Ouch. That sucks.”

He nods. “The girlfriend I have now is a lot nicer. She lives in East London, so that’s why you haven’t seen her around.”

“Oh. So you
do
have a girlfriend.” Well, thank goodness I didn’t throw myself at Luke on my first day here when I was dazzled by his unexpected hotness.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He gives me a confused look. “You didn’t ask.” He takes a bite of his sandwich. A string of melted cheese stretches between his mouth and the bread. I blow on my tea, then sip it. We sit in silence. I wonder if he’s planning to eat his sandwich and leave without saying anything else. If I have any more questions for him, I’d better get them in now. Who knows when another opportunity might arise.

“Why do you always avoid talking to me?”

“I …” He looks cornered again. Jeez, am I really that scary? “I used to make you uncomfortable,” he says, staring at his plate. “You and Sarah. When we were all younger and I was … even shyer than I am now. I guess I’m still embarrassed about that.”

“
You’re
embarrassed? Luke, I’m the one who should be embarrassed. Sarah and I used to tease you about staring at us. We … well, we called you names, and we shouldn’t have. I’m—” I pause, staring at the blank space of wall above the fridge. I frown. “I’m having a light bulb moment,” I murmur. I put my mug down and look intently at Luke. “Do you think everyone gets bullied at some stage in life? I only ever thought about the kids who were mean to
me
. I only ever thought of myself as a victim. But I was mean to you. I recognise that now. And maybe the kids who were mean to me were all bullied by someone else at some stage. Like a meanness cycle.”

Luke finishes chewing. “Everyone’s been hurt by someone else at some point, right? Even if it wasn’t intentional.”

I nod slowly. “I’m sorry, Luke.”

He stands and carries his empty plate to the sink. When he turns around, he gives me a small smile. “It’s all in the past.”

After he leaves, I pick up my tea, handbag and shoes, and head to my bedroom. After my shower routine, I climb into bed with my laptop and the first season of
Battlestar Galactica
. It’s about time for me to watch the series again. And it’ll distract me from the almost overwhelming urge to text Jackson—something I’m pretty sure it’s too soon to do.

I settle back and get ready to lose myself in the war of the humans against the Cylons. It’s just as captivating as the first time I watched it. I’ve just started episode three—after convincing myself that I’ll watch
just one more
—when my phone’s screen lights up. I press pause on my laptop and pick up my phone. Dad. Why is he calling so late?

I sit up and answer the call as mild panic grips my insides. “Dad. Is everything okay?”

“Livi, hi.”

“What’s going on? Is Mom okay?”

“Yes, yes. She’s—she’s fine.”

“Oh, okay.” I lean back and push my laptop out of the way so I can stretch my legs out. “It’s just that you don’t usually call so late.” Or at all. I’ve spoken to Dad twice in the past five weeks, and both of those calls were on speaker phone with Mom.

“Yes, I …” I hear him taking a deep breath. “How are you doing?”

“Fiiiiine. I’m just watching DVDs in my room.”

“Okay, great.”

Pause.

“And how are you?” I ask.

“Good, good.” Another pause. “Actually, not so good.”

“Why?” The panic starts crawling back. “What’s wrong?”

“I …” He groans, then mutters, “I can’t believe I have to do this.”

“Dad, what’s going on?” I sit up and grip the duvet with my free hand.

“I have to tell you about something. Something that’s … complicated and … very difficult to talk about. Something that happened a long time ago, but it’s now come to light, so I … need to tell you about it.”

I wait, my heart hammering as hard as it did in the cinema earlier, but for an entirely different reason.

“A number of years ago, when you were less than a year old, and I was working a lot between here and Joburg, I …” He sighs. “I had an affair.”

Pause.

“You WHAT?”