I was not the focus of my school – nobody knew my troubles over the past months (though there apparently was a buzz about me when I was “going out with that really hot skater”) or the daily insecurities I faced. That was a given, but sometimes it was hard to realize – the fact that while you’re walking down the halls thinking, “Everyone’s probably mocking me in their heads because of my bad hair day”, they have their own issues and aren’t worrying too much about you. Hell, they might not even see you, much less an uncooperative lock of curly hair.

So yeah, I wasn’t the focus of my school, but what was the focus of my school? The Semi-Formal Dance next month that I mentioned a couple of chapters back.

Everyone was so fussed about it: what they’d wear, who they’d bring, how much they’d paid, who had already bought tickets and what music they’d recommend to be played. This would technically be my first high school dance, since freshmen and sophomores don’t have dances, but after all that had gone on with me and parties, I didn’t think I’d want to go. If partying experience is something to be measured and regarded, then in just the span of a few months, I had progressed from birthday parties, to no parties, to house parties, and then to clubbing, on this scale of social evolution. Under the circumstances, though, I didn’t exactly feel as proud as mankind does when they look back upon the Neanderthal. I wouldn’t mind being back at the stage of birthday parties.

“What do you mean you’re not going?” Meredith asked me. “I’ve already bought my tickets and you’re ditching me?”

I shrugged as we walked to school. “I just can’t, you know. Besides, I’d just be awkward.”

“If it’s because you don’t have a date, you really don’t need one, you know?”

“It’s definitely not because I don’t have a date. I’d only be bored, anyways, and I’m not going to spend twenty dollars on spending a night bored and relatively alone.”

“I’ll be there, though! You’ll have me!” She was always a soprano in her church choir, so her voice sang whenever she got excited or defensive.

“Yeah, okay, but, no offense, I’d still be lonely.”

“Well, you’ve got a week to change your mind,” she said, but I shook my head.

“I’m not changing my mind.”

As the end of the school year rolled around, classes were a bit more intense. I had homework I actually was required to do, I had tests, quizzes and culminating tasks too frequently for me to catch up with. I had to block myself from the Internet for at least a week at a time, just to study. Both of the years before I had slacked off and gotten away with high marks just from what I’d remember, but I couldn’t just procrastinate and hope I’ll still have a future – these finals, and next year’s, would define my career and my options, and I needed to make sure I had good ones.

My parents were aware of my determination, so when they made plans to go away on a week-long vacation down into the US, they respected my decision to stay home and promised to pick up anything I wanted if I emailed it to them – ever the technological parents, they were well equipped with BlackBerry Smartphones and knew how to navigate them better than I ever could.

I worked like a machine, constantly making notes and review packages for all of my courses. I felt like a robot, I guess, consuming nothing but data (and meals, of course) while everyone else in my year was working themselves up frivolously with nothing but this single-night event on their minds. While I felt like Cinderella, uninvited to the ball and spending the time semi-oblivious and busy, the good thing about being a robot is the lack of an emotional inhibitor. I didn’t have time to think about feelings, people or anything that wasn’t related to my curriculum. I was like a computer, and I’ve never seen a computer cry, so I’d say I was pretty well off.

The day before the dance was a Thursday, so after a full day of people sending me sympathetic looks at my lack of social spirit and Meredith telling me she’d tell me all that happened, I went to work for three hours with Kenneth. I can never really remember what we talked about but we had conversations. Music, awkward situations, crazy frozen yogurt combinations -- the usual. He also vaguely asked me about Meredith, as it turned out they had mutual friends (not much of a surprise, since Mere had a really wide social circle and it seemed to almost be a trend among the Filipinos in our school).

I got my pay for the week and cashed it in on my way home, noting the balance I had overlooked so many times before and smiling to myself -- I had over six hundred dollars, just from not spending a dime. I felt a little proud for myself knowing that I wasn't in any sort of financial debt. It was a good thing to keep in mind; whenever I was in the lunch room, teens went around like beggars asking for a buck or taking some food. My generation could probably best be known for their silly spendings -- spending dozens on clothing and over-priced, and under-filling, cafeteria snacks when they could just get up a little early in the morning to pack a sandwich. Then again, I'd be a hypocrite to spite them, since I couldn't even bother to bring a lunch, most days.

It was my first night without my parents and I felt responsible, for once. I came home from work after checking in at the bank, I had a house to myself, and I'd probably just go to sleep early after a bit of studying. My mum knew that I wouldn't be up to throwing a party like Damian would, and didn't even have to remind me not to. When I wasn't studying, I went back to my old habits of retro video gaming and Internet surfing. I don't know why people pitied hermits: kicking back alone wasn't too bad.

The next day, I went to school, turned in some assignments, hung out with Meredith, paid attention in class and went home, while everyone flitted around in the atrium of our school like they always did, except this time locating friends to get ready for this party together. This meant I walked home alone, since Meredith had piano lessons after school to rush to before getting ready and leaving her house at nine, when the promenade began. I wasn't bitter about it, though, because I was able to take my time on my way home -- something I didn't usually do. I just figured that if everyone's going to spend their Friday without any stress, I wouldn't go straight home and study. That seemed boring, and for once I felt like I was inflicting a punishment on myself. I'd just take it easy today, and maybe the rest of the weekend; I was ahead as far as cramming went, anyways.

I took the long way home, passing the skatepark that had a couple of skaters. I couldn't tell if Connor and his friends were among them, since I was far across the street so they couldn't see me if they were my ex-gang of friends. A kilometre from there was Damian's house, which was closer to the school than I had ever realized, since I walked there often in the night and never trekked from there to the educational establishment. The large home stood cold and alone on its large property, instead of holding up the image of solidarity and power it used to. It was a monument of loneliness and shame; like the ribcage of a carcass, holding nothing living within it. After the few weeks that Simon lived there, he had to return back to his university. It was now a place of reminiscing, and I couldn't help but linger by the property and imagine it like the proud estate it had always been to me before such ill fortune took place.

I kept on my way, passing Sebastian's house as I neared my own. I felt wrong to look up at it -- disturbed, vulnerable and ashamed. It was a house I used to be welcome at, but surely his family don't think so high of me, if Seb told them how I'd ruined us. I almost expected to be caught and shooed off the property, or to find Sebastian looking back at me... Life doesn't work out like it does in books and films and nothing happened. I went straight home after that and curled up on the couch, absent-mindedly watching the recorded television shows that I never had a chance to. After I was caught up, I went back to my room and looked for a site to watch an old film or something, and ended up having an 80s movie marathon.

Midway through The Breakfast Club, I heard the buzz of my phone and was sucked back into reality with a start. I looked around and noticed it was night outside and I was alone in a house just as dark and empty. The interruption gave me a chance to realize my growing appetite and I slipped downstairs for a quick dinner, which I grabbed back with me upstairs to finish the film I was watching. Just before I hit the play button, I remembered the reason for my intermission and hunted for my phone. Upon looking at the screen, I saw I had an unread text message. I opened it up and was a little surprised when I read it. I mean, the sender name was enough to stun me.

From: Oliver <3

Right, I forgot that I had never changed his name to match our much less affectionate acquaintanceship.

From: Oliver <3

Where are you?

I was a little confused, so I replied a little slowly. "I think you meant to send that to someone else -- I'm at home." The response was quick, though: "No, I meant to send that to you, but okay." And he never replied again. Did I come off as cold? I was much more confused than I was before, but went back to my dinner and a movie anyways.

Ten minutes later, I finished my food and the rest of TBC and went down to wash my plate. As I dried my hands and pondered what I'd watch next -- Ferris Bueller's Day Off, perhaps? -- my doorbell rang. I froze like a deer in headlights; a glance to the stovetop (and the digital clock with the flickering, green digits) told me it was around half-past nine. What if I was in a horror film and answering that door would kill me? Hesitantly, I decided to take the risk, anyways -- there was a baseball bat by the door and I doubted a killer would be so obvious, either. The silhouette that was outlined in the glass of my door wasn't so ominous, but I could never be sure. I clicked open the lock and opened the door, nearly dying (but not of murderous intent).

He had a leather jacket over a dress shirt and vest, with a pair of nice slacks. There stood the boy I had chased all summer, suddenly standing on my doorstep with his face red. I stared blankly at him and he said no more to me, until he cleared his throat. "I kinda walked all the way here from the school, can I at least come in?"

I felt like I was in a country music video -- things like this weren't common at all. The boy I've fancied for so long decides to contact me after months and sort of invites himself in my house? My head was light and I felt a little awkward, but I brought him up to my room anyways and quickly cleaned up my mess of papers, notes, and video games. It was surreal how good looking he was, and how he just happened to be in my room. He ran a hand over all of my games and smiled, but didn't provide me an explanation.

"Why are you here?" I asked him, throwing on a zip-up hoodie to cover my tank top. I was dressed in comfortable sleeping clothes, not expecting any company.

Olly looked up at me and tilted his head to the side, parting his lips to say something, but refraining and walking over to sit on my bed, instead. "Uh, well, there's no easy way to really answer your question but..." I let him take a second to sort his thoughts. "When I saw you weren't at the dance, I went and looked for you..." He crossed his sock-clad feet in front of him and kept going with a bit more confidence in his speech. "I wasn't actually going to go to that stupid dance, but I thought it would sort of be an opportunity to... Uh, get you back?" He smiled at me sheepishly, and a wave of comfort washed over me. I edged away from the spinning chair at my desk and sat cross-legged on the bed, facing him.

"What do you mean 'get me back'?" I asked him. "Aren't you with Victoria?"

He grimaced, then laughed a little embarrassed chuckle. "No, no I'm not. I really like you, Char -- that girl just likes to bug me, I think."

I eyed him sceptically, but my butterflies were fluttering. "You told people you didn't like me at all."

He shook his head. "No, I told them I wasn't going to answer to them, but yeah, I didn't know how I felt --" 'Déjà vu,' I thought. "But I was scared of how much I thought about you, but then you ignored me in the halls and I realized you were done with me. It was a shame, though, because I finally knew how I felt and I thought it was too late." Well, this was going better than I had expected. "So I tried to get over you and started talking to Vickie." I scowled and looked away from him but he went on. "That girl is a prick, it's not even funny. As soon as I started speaking with her, she practically told everyone she was friends with that we had a 'thing' going on." He sighed. "I don't even know what 'a thing' is!"

I couldn't help but laugh at his foreign tendencies. I could feel the icy feeling I felt towards him slowly melting as he warmed up to me.

"So, yeah, I realized I couldn't get over you pretty quickly, so the day after, I realized would just stop trying to bring myself to talk to you again -- at lunch, I saw you, but you were talking to some guy and I didn't think much of it; you talk to plenty of people," he ruffled his hair, recollecting his thoughts. "But whenever I saw you again, you were with him... Were you dating that guy?"

"No, it turns out he was more of a jerk than I initially thought he was," I told him.

"How so?"

I explained everything to him, and the more I talked and the more he commented, the more I realized that I missed this: all the chatting late at night with Oliver. Except, this time he was right beside me, close enough that I could smell the clean smell of him, beneath the odour that walking outside late at night gave you. I told him about how I had lost my friendship with Sebastian and Meredith, but got Mere back; how I tried pot and ended up making out with Connor; even the appearance of ecstasy in my life. When I got to mentioning Damian, and his death, I teared up, but Olly didn't freak out, he just pretended I wasn't – which was probably the best thing anyone could do, because I learned that recognizing I was crying made me cry even more.

As I went on, filling in the little bits I forgot to mention -- I was a mess, chronologically -- we grew closer. I felt better around him than I had been, alone, and it made me feel so stupid for antagonizing Oliver. I spent so much time looking for the good in Connor that I didn't see the bad, and the opposite for the boy with his hand on mine, gently wiping away my tears when they fell onto my cheek. My heart was beating at a fast pace and after I reached the end of my spiel, he laughed softly in a benevolent and certainly not spiteful way.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, after he stopped.

"It's not your fault," I replied.

"No, it is. It really is. I was a coward -- I was so full of myself that I dreaded the idea of being with someone but..." He smiled and looked down at my fingers, comfortably between his. "Charizard, you're amazing. You're the most unique person I know, and it kills me when you don't see that. Other girls are at that stupid prom, smuggling alcohol in and getting wasted, while you were sitting here alone, watching retro films and playing video games." I blushed and he just laughed more. "You're great, Charlotte," he added, making eye contact with me. And when his lips met mine, the only thing going through my head were the lyrics to "Died in Your Arms Tonight" by Cutting Crew.

Labels: nanowrimo