Young Adult
PG
3,053 words
This is a sequal to Sonic, which I wrote last month.
"I want to dye my hair pink." I'm the one who says it. It's my idea.
Sonya looks up from twirling a paper cone in the sugar fluff that unspools from the Nostalgia Electrics cotton candy maker I got for my birthday two years ago. "You what?" she asks.
"Pink," I say. "Not all my hair. That would be tacky and way too bubble gum. But streaks."
Sonya is looking at me, not the machine, so I run my finger through the bowl of sugar wisps and lick it off.
"Hey!" Sonya slaps my hand away. "You got the last two."
"Pink like cotton candy," I say.
"You'd have to bleach it," she says. The machine's hum drops in pitch as the sugar runs out, and Sonya switches it off. "And anyway you're too emo for pink."
"Nothing permanent," I say. "Hair chalk. Wash out, you know? Stop looking at me like that!"
Sonya turns the skepticism on her cotton candy and peels a layer of soft sugar off the paper cone. Poking it into her mouth, she looks at the clock. "School starts in half an hour. We'll have to speed."
The store we pass on the way to school only has a rainbow box of hair chalk. But there are three shades of pink. When we get to school, I jump out of the car before Sonya has it in park and run to the bathroom.
"You're going to be late for first period," she says when she finds me in the girl's bathroom five minutes later.
She leans against a sink while I draw on my hair with the bright pink, then the soft pink. I draw a defiant streak down my bangs with the neon pink, and feel a thrill down my spine.
Sonya's mouth makes an "oo."
The girl in the mirror isn't me anymore. Not Emily. She's a parallel version. All the soft edges sharpened. The focus enhanced. The saturation turned up. The girl in the mirror is bold and bright. Daring even. When she smiles, it isn't even my smile. It's more a smirk. Almost tantalizing and mischievous.
I want to be that girl in the mirror. The kind of girl who wear pink in her hair.
"Emily!" Smith stands up from his desk so fast he almost knocks his chair over. "What happened to your hair?" Smith is staring at me like I've gone bald.
"Uh, pink?" I say. No one else filing into the classroom is giving me a weird look. Still, I reach up to make sure my hair is indeed still there.
"I can see the color," he says. "I meant, why is it pink?"
I shrug. It isn't all pink. Just streaks. "For fun." Why is he talking to me?
Sonya pokes me in the side. "I think he meant, why isn't it still all gothic black?"
I roll my eyes. "I'm not goth!"
"Uh-huh." She folds her arms. "And that notebook isn't full of depressing poetry either, is it?" She smirks.
"It's not! This is my algebra homework. Which I am failing, by the way." I flip it open so she can see, but Sonya lets out a squeal and bounds to the door. Literally bounds. Like a rabbit.
"Francisco!"
I don't watch the embrace. I've seen it plenty of times. Instead I shut my algebra notebook and slid into my desk. I'm rummaging around in my backpack for my other notebook when Smith slides into the desk next to mine. We don't technically have assigned seats, but since school is a good three weeks in, everyone has claimed their territory already. I don't actually know the name of the girl who usually sits there, but for all intents and purposes, it's her desk.
"So," Smith says. "How's your week been?"
"Good." Trying to act like this conversation is a normal occurrence, I go back to rummaging around for the notebook. I must have left it in my locker. Drat.
"The pink looks nice," he says.
"Thanks." I flick a look at him to find a compliment to give back. He looks the same as ever. Long. Tall. His hands are lifting the lid of the desk up and down, testing it. It squeaks. I don't even know why we have these elementary-school desks since no one puts anything in them except lame notes and chewed gum. I am about to tell Smith he has nice hands, because he does and I never noticed before, but I realize that sounds weird and catch myself. Then it's been too long to say anything, so I zip up my backpack, use my foot to scoot it under my chair, and face forward.
Our AP Chemistry teacher is always late, so I'm not surprised he isn't here yet.
"You're coming to the drive in movie tonight, right?" Smith asks.
"Of course. Double feature right?" I am actually excited for these movies. Plus, Sonya will be there. Everything is fun as long as Sonya comes along.
"Right." He's taken out a rubber band and begun looping it around the desk hinge.
Sonya slides into the desk next to me, and, of course, Francisco into the seat next to her.
Our teacher bustles into the room with an overflowing folder of papers. "Good morning, class!" he says.
It's the last class of the day.
He sets his papers on desk at the front of the room and turns to draw on the whiteboard.
"What are you doing?" I whisper to Smith.
He loops the rubber band through itself and pulls it tight. Then he lifts the desk lid up and down. It doesn't squeak.
"Oh," I say. I lift my own desk lid and peer at the hinge. Mine doesn't squeak.
Smith takes out his Chemistry notebook and flips it open. There are drawings, so naturally I have to peek. They are diagrams, spilling over each other, flooding the page. Little numbers and calculations are written up and down the sides. None of it is tidy. I realize I've been looking too long and snap my eyes away.
"Building an enclosed balcony off my room," he whispers to me.
"Oh," I say, and nod like I understand all those sketches.
Smith grabs a pencil, flips to a new page, and starts another sketch. It doesn't appear to have anything to do with Chemistry. When he sinks a little in his chair and stretches his legs, our desks are close enough that our knees touch. And, unlike at Sonic over the summer, he doesn't pull away.
The weird thing is, neither do I.
I've never been to a drive-in movie before. The parking lot entertains me.
Sonya is driving, since she's a senior and actually has a license and a car. Francisco is riding shot-gun. Which leaves me to bounce in the backseat. And bounce I do.
The parking lot is a series of hills. Every other row of parking spaces is tipped one way and the other, letting cars and the people in them look up at the giant screen. It's like a whole parking lot full of giant speed bumps, and Sonya doesn't take them slow.
I am laughing by the time I get out.
I added a few streaks of purple to my pink and black hair in between school and now, and am feeling obvious. The opposite of vulnerable. Like my hair is a super power. I feel invincible and dangerous. The kind of girl who parties with her friends all Friday night, turns up the music, and dances on the hood of the car. Which is exactly what I am doing when Smith pulls into the space next to us.
I grin, because tonight, I am not Emily. Tonight, I have pink and purple hair. Tonight, I am noticed.
Smith stares at me, and it's the same stare he gave me when I walked into class earlier. And I realize, it's not a what-a-weirdo stare. It's a holly-cow-how-did-I-not-notice-this-girl-before stare. And it just makes me smile more.
I pull Sonya up onto the hood of the car with me as a new song comes on, and I feel something give inside me. The song is fast, and I love the way it pumps my blood for me. I have never danced like this before. It's movement and ease and pace and adrenaline and laughter. When the song ends, Sonya and I collapse panting and laughing against her windshield. I am shiny with sweat, but if Smith's expression is anything to go by, I know it looks good on me.
"Water!" I say, spotting a cooler in the back of Smith's car. He hasn't unloaded it yet, but he does when he sees where I'm pointing.
When he hands me a paper cup full to the brim and it sloshes onto my shirt, I laugh, take a gulp and fling what's left at him.
He jumps back and grins, still dry.
Sonya laughs too, surprised, I think. She gives me a quirked-smile look, and I know she's wondering exactly what I am wondering. Then she slides off the car and goes to Francisco.
"Where are you sitting for the movie?" Smith asks.
I shrug and give him a playful smile. I didn't even know I knew how to give a smile like that. Then I stretch my arms luxuriously and settle against the hard windshield. It's really not comfortable. But I feel powerful, draped across it like that. "Where would you like me to sit?" I ask.
He shrugs too. "I brought a bunch of blankets and stuff if you want to sit in front of the cars."
"Sure," I say, like it's no big deal.
I help him spread all the blankets out, one on top of another, until the blacktop isn't too hard underneath. Sonya jumps of me from behind.
"What's this?" she asks, in that too loud way of hers."
"Blankets," I say.
"You're just full of the obvious today, aren't you?" She surveys the scene. Smith pulls an arm-full of pillows out of his trunk, and Sonya raises her eyebrows at me. She whispers, "Do you-"
"Join us!" I say, cutting her off. "There's room for four. And you've got to admit this is better than the back of your car."
She considers, and then her eyes light up, mischievous. "Yes!" she says. "Yes, it is."
When Francisco returns a few minutes later laden with cheese-drenched nachos, I am happily cross-legged in the middle of the blankets, clutching a pillow and watching the previews. Sonya shuts off the music and tunes her radio to the station playing the soundtrack for the movie.
"Francisco!" she squeals. Every time, she always has to squeal his name. Sometimes it makes me laugh. "Come here!" She dances over to the blankets beside me and plops down, patting the space on her left.
"This is nice," he says, sitting down and stretching out his legs, careful not to spill to nacho cheese.
And then Smith is there. He its down right next to me. Like, whole-arm-touching right next to me. He tosses his pillow behind him and stretches his long self out.
"How tall are you?" I ask.
"Six three," he says. Then he looks me up and down. "You're tall," he says.
"Yeah, average height for a guy," I say. "True story."
"Tall is good," he says, like it's a fact he's reciting.
I'm not planning on sitting there looking up at the screen and getting a crick in my neck, so I copy him, grabbing up the extra blanket beside me and pulling it up to my chin.
Sonya flops down next to me. "Francisco doesn't have enough room," she announces. "We'll have to squish." Again I see that mischievous glint in her eye and I almost roll mine.
But before I get the chance, Smith has his arm around my waist and has slid me right into him.
"Better?" he asks Sonya.
"Yeah, that's perfect!" she gushes.
I almost want to kick her. Especially when she slides closer and almost elbows me in the face. Almost. But not quite.
Because Smith stretches his arms over his head, and I shift, and somehow his arm is under my shoulders, and my head is against the dip between his shoulder and his chest. And I don't mind. Actually, I more than don't mind. I don't want to move.
The previews end, and the movie starts, and I don't even watch most of it, even though my eyes are glued to the screen. I can feel Smith breathing. I've never been this comfortable in my life. I want to close my eyes and fall asleep and maybe never wake up. Or at least never have to get up.
He adjusts his arm beneath me pulling me closer, and I curl into him.
And the movie goes on and on.
Only, two hours later, it's suddenly over.
There's a thirty minute break between movies, and I know I have to get up. And it suddenly hits me how strange this whole thing is. This is Smith. Once again, I am squished between Sonya and Smith, only this time, I am guilty and Sonya is encouraging it. How did my life become this?
I feel myself push up onto my arm. My little blanket falls off my shoulder and the cold comes in. I realize how warm he was. How fast the end of summer gets cold.
Sonya grins at me. "I need to use the bathroom," she announces. "Like, right now!" She grabs my hand, flashes a smile at Smith, and hauls me across the mini-hills of the parking lot.
She is grinning like a psycho. "What happened?" she squeals. "Tell me everything! And we've still got a whole other movie to watch!"
"Uh..."
"You were cuddling!" she says. "Oh my goodness, you two would make an adorable couple!"
I can't seem to breathe right. "I guess he likes pink hair," I say. "Too bad we didn't figure that out earlier."
She waves this away. "Whatever. I'd never trade Francisco for anyone else. Not even Smith."
"Who does everyone call him by his last name?" I ask. "I don't even know what his first name is."
Sonya considers this for a moment. "Yeah, neither do I." She shrugs. "So, how much do you like him? Like, if he tried to kiss you tonight, would you let him?"
"Sonya!" I smack her arm. "I've hardly even met the guy. I mean, yeah, I hung out with him and his friends a few times over the summer, but we've never even really talked."
"So talk to him and then kiss him," she suggests.
I roll my eyes. "The next movie is going to be starting soon I do actually have to use the bathroom."
"Oooo. Don't want to be late for the next movie. Smith is saving your spot for you. Keeping it nice and warm."
I walk into the bathroom with a reply.
When I get back to the blankets, Smith is indeed saving my spot for me. Not that anyone would take it after witnessing the last movie. We are front and center of our group, like everyone came to watch us cuddle instead of the movie.
I walk past Smith's friend Mike sitting in a camping chair right behind the blankets. He winks at me, and that is when I freeze up inside. I keep walking, but the power and invincibility of earlier is sucked away.
What am I doing? I am not this kind of girl.
What does Smith think of me? We haven't been on a single date. We haven't even had a proper conversation!
I sink down onto the blankets and stare at the screen, not meeting Smith's eyes.
Sonya sit down next to meet and scoots up close. "Do you know where Francisco is?" she asks.
I shrug.
As the second set of previews starts, I don't move, curled into myself, legs crossed, neck starting to ache from looking up.
"Do you have enough room?" Smith asks. He sounds confused.
"Yeah," I say. "I'm fine, thanks." I want to lean back. I want to get the cramp out of my neck. I want to curl up under my blanket because I am starting to freeze.
And yes, I want to lean into Smith again.
But I can't seem to move.
"I can't see," someone behind me complains. "If you're going to be up front, you can't sit up like that."
So I grab my blanket, spread it over me, and lay down, arms crossed over my chest, making myself as small as possible.
I don't know what to do.
Sonya elbows me lightly in the side, but I don't look at her. She elbows me harder.
So I shift an inch away from her and she claims the space.
I breath in and out.
I want to turn toward Smith. But I can't. I can't do it. Everyone behind us is watching. And maybe I like him, but I don't even know him. I want to get to know him. I want him to ask me out. I want him to like me. I like that he noticed me. And I can't seem to do a thing except lay there like a mummy.
Smith shifts closer to that his arm is against mine. And I don't move.
Just shift, I tell myself. You can do it. But I am paralyzed. All the courageous flirting form earlier is gone. I am Emily again. And Emily is terrified. Emily has never had a boyfriend. Never cuddled with anyone. Never had pink hair.
"Are you comfortable?" Smith whispers. "You can scoot closer if you want."
"I'm good," I say.
The movie has started, I realize. I don't know what's going on. I try to force myself to slid closer to Smith. Sonya is practically shoving me with her elbow. But I don't.
And a few minutes later, his arm is gone from against mine.
I feel cold. So, so cold.
How did I end up here?
When I get home, I decide, I'm washing to pink out of my hair.
PG
3,053 words
This is a sequal to Sonic, which I wrote last month.
"I want to dye my hair pink." I'm the one who says it. It's my idea.
Sonya looks up from twirling a paper cone in the sugar fluff that unspools from the Nostalgia Electrics cotton candy maker I got for my birthday two years ago. "You what?" she asks.
"Pink," I say. "Not all my hair. That would be tacky and way too bubble gum. But streaks."
Sonya is looking at me, not the machine, so I run my finger through the bowl of sugar wisps and lick it off.
"Hey!" Sonya slaps my hand away. "You got the last two."
"Pink like cotton candy," I say.
"You'd have to bleach it," she says. The machine's hum drops in pitch as the sugar runs out, and Sonya switches it off. "And anyway you're too emo for pink."
"Nothing permanent," I say. "Hair chalk. Wash out, you know? Stop looking at me like that!"
Sonya turns the skepticism on her cotton candy and peels a layer of soft sugar off the paper cone. Poking it into her mouth, she looks at the clock. "School starts in half an hour. We'll have to speed."
The store we pass on the way to school only has a rainbow box of hair chalk. But there are three shades of pink. When we get to school, I jump out of the car before Sonya has it in park and run to the bathroom.
"You're going to be late for first period," she says when she finds me in the girl's bathroom five minutes later.
She leans against a sink while I draw on my hair with the bright pink, then the soft pink. I draw a defiant streak down my bangs with the neon pink, and feel a thrill down my spine.
Sonya's mouth makes an "oo."
The girl in the mirror isn't me anymore. Not Emily. She's a parallel version. All the soft edges sharpened. The focus enhanced. The saturation turned up. The girl in the mirror is bold and bright. Daring even. When she smiles, it isn't even my smile. It's more a smirk. Almost tantalizing and mischievous.
I want to be that girl in the mirror. The kind of girl who wear pink in her hair.
"Emily!" Smith stands up from his desk so fast he almost knocks his chair over. "What happened to your hair?" Smith is staring at me like I've gone bald.
"Uh, pink?" I say. No one else filing into the classroom is giving me a weird look. Still, I reach up to make sure my hair is indeed still there.
"I can see the color," he says. "I meant, why is it pink?"
I shrug. It isn't all pink. Just streaks. "For fun." Why is he talking to me?
Sonya pokes me in the side. "I think he meant, why isn't it still all gothic black?"
I roll my eyes. "I'm not goth!"
"Uh-huh." She folds her arms. "And that notebook isn't full of depressing poetry either, is it?" She smirks.
"It's not! This is my algebra homework. Which I am failing, by the way." I flip it open so she can see, but Sonya lets out a squeal and bounds to the door. Literally bounds. Like a rabbit.
"Francisco!"
I don't watch the embrace. I've seen it plenty of times. Instead I shut my algebra notebook and slid into my desk. I'm rummaging around in my backpack for my other notebook when Smith slides into the desk next to mine. We don't technically have assigned seats, but since school is a good three weeks in, everyone has claimed their territory already. I don't actually know the name of the girl who usually sits there, but for all intents and purposes, it's her desk.
"So," Smith says. "How's your week been?"
"Good." Trying to act like this conversation is a normal occurrence, I go back to rummaging around for the notebook. I must have left it in my locker. Drat.
"The pink looks nice," he says.
"Thanks." I flick a look at him to find a compliment to give back. He looks the same as ever. Long. Tall. His hands are lifting the lid of the desk up and down, testing it. It squeaks. I don't even know why we have these elementary-school desks since no one puts anything in them except lame notes and chewed gum. I am about to tell Smith he has nice hands, because he does and I never noticed before, but I realize that sounds weird and catch myself. Then it's been too long to say anything, so I zip up my backpack, use my foot to scoot it under my chair, and face forward.
Our AP Chemistry teacher is always late, so I'm not surprised he isn't here yet.
"You're coming to the drive in movie tonight, right?" Smith asks.
"Of course. Double feature right?" I am actually excited for these movies. Plus, Sonya will be there. Everything is fun as long as Sonya comes along.
"Right." He's taken out a rubber band and begun looping it around the desk hinge.
Sonya slides into the desk next to me, and, of course, Francisco into the seat next to her.
Our teacher bustles into the room with an overflowing folder of papers. "Good morning, class!" he says.
It's the last class of the day.
He sets his papers on desk at the front of the room and turns to draw on the whiteboard.
"What are you doing?" I whisper to Smith.
He loops the rubber band through itself and pulls it tight. Then he lifts the desk lid up and down. It doesn't squeak.
"Oh," I say. I lift my own desk lid and peer at the hinge. Mine doesn't squeak.
Smith takes out his Chemistry notebook and flips it open. There are drawings, so naturally I have to peek. They are diagrams, spilling over each other, flooding the page. Little numbers and calculations are written up and down the sides. None of it is tidy. I realize I've been looking too long and snap my eyes away.
"Building an enclosed balcony off my room," he whispers to me.
"Oh," I say, and nod like I understand all those sketches.
Smith grabs a pencil, flips to a new page, and starts another sketch. It doesn't appear to have anything to do with Chemistry. When he sinks a little in his chair and stretches his legs, our desks are close enough that our knees touch. And, unlike at Sonic over the summer, he doesn't pull away.
The weird thing is, neither do I.
I've never been to a drive-in movie before. The parking lot entertains me.
Sonya is driving, since she's a senior and actually has a license and a car. Francisco is riding shot-gun. Which leaves me to bounce in the backseat. And bounce I do.
The parking lot is a series of hills. Every other row of parking spaces is tipped one way and the other, letting cars and the people in them look up at the giant screen. It's like a whole parking lot full of giant speed bumps, and Sonya doesn't take them slow.
I am laughing by the time I get out.
I added a few streaks of purple to my pink and black hair in between school and now, and am feeling obvious. The opposite of vulnerable. Like my hair is a super power. I feel invincible and dangerous. The kind of girl who parties with her friends all Friday night, turns up the music, and dances on the hood of the car. Which is exactly what I am doing when Smith pulls into the space next to us.
I grin, because tonight, I am not Emily. Tonight, I have pink and purple hair. Tonight, I am noticed.
Smith stares at me, and it's the same stare he gave me when I walked into class earlier. And I realize, it's not a what-a-weirdo stare. It's a holly-cow-how-did-I-not-notice-this-girl-before stare. And it just makes me smile more.
I pull Sonya up onto the hood of the car with me as a new song comes on, and I feel something give inside me. The song is fast, and I love the way it pumps my blood for me. I have never danced like this before. It's movement and ease and pace and adrenaline and laughter. When the song ends, Sonya and I collapse panting and laughing against her windshield. I am shiny with sweat, but if Smith's expression is anything to go by, I know it looks good on me.
"Water!" I say, spotting a cooler in the back of Smith's car. He hasn't unloaded it yet, but he does when he sees where I'm pointing.
When he hands me a paper cup full to the brim and it sloshes onto my shirt, I laugh, take a gulp and fling what's left at him.
He jumps back and grins, still dry.
Sonya laughs too, surprised, I think. She gives me a quirked-smile look, and I know she's wondering exactly what I am wondering. Then she slides off the car and goes to Francisco.
"Where are you sitting for the movie?" Smith asks.
I shrug and give him a playful smile. I didn't even know I knew how to give a smile like that. Then I stretch my arms luxuriously and settle against the hard windshield. It's really not comfortable. But I feel powerful, draped across it like that. "Where would you like me to sit?" I ask.
He shrugs too. "I brought a bunch of blankets and stuff if you want to sit in front of the cars."
"Sure," I say, like it's no big deal.
I help him spread all the blankets out, one on top of another, until the blacktop isn't too hard underneath. Sonya jumps of me from behind.
"What's this?" she asks, in that too loud way of hers."
"Blankets," I say.
"You're just full of the obvious today, aren't you?" She surveys the scene. Smith pulls an arm-full of pillows out of his trunk, and Sonya raises her eyebrows at me. She whispers, "Do you-"
"Join us!" I say, cutting her off. "There's room for four. And you've got to admit this is better than the back of your car."
She considers, and then her eyes light up, mischievous. "Yes!" she says. "Yes, it is."
When Francisco returns a few minutes later laden with cheese-drenched nachos, I am happily cross-legged in the middle of the blankets, clutching a pillow and watching the previews. Sonya shuts off the music and tunes her radio to the station playing the soundtrack for the movie.
"Francisco!" she squeals. Every time, she always has to squeal his name. Sometimes it makes me laugh. "Come here!" She dances over to the blankets beside me and plops down, patting the space on her left.
"This is nice," he says, sitting down and stretching out his legs, careful not to spill to nacho cheese.
And then Smith is there. He its down right next to me. Like, whole-arm-touching right next to me. He tosses his pillow behind him and stretches his long self out.
"How tall are you?" I ask.
"Six three," he says. Then he looks me up and down. "You're tall," he says.
"Yeah, average height for a guy," I say. "True story."
"Tall is good," he says, like it's a fact he's reciting.
I'm not planning on sitting there looking up at the screen and getting a crick in my neck, so I copy him, grabbing up the extra blanket beside me and pulling it up to my chin.
Sonya flops down next to me. "Francisco doesn't have enough room," she announces. "We'll have to squish." Again I see that mischievous glint in her eye and I almost roll mine.
But before I get the chance, Smith has his arm around my waist and has slid me right into him.
"Better?" he asks Sonya.
"Yeah, that's perfect!" she gushes.
I almost want to kick her. Especially when she slides closer and almost elbows me in the face. Almost. But not quite.
Because Smith stretches his arms over his head, and I shift, and somehow his arm is under my shoulders, and my head is against the dip between his shoulder and his chest. And I don't mind. Actually, I more than don't mind. I don't want to move.
The previews end, and the movie starts, and I don't even watch most of it, even though my eyes are glued to the screen. I can feel Smith breathing. I've never been this comfortable in my life. I want to close my eyes and fall asleep and maybe never wake up. Or at least never have to get up.
He adjusts his arm beneath me pulling me closer, and I curl into him.
And the movie goes on and on.
Only, two hours later, it's suddenly over.
There's a thirty minute break between movies, and I know I have to get up. And it suddenly hits me how strange this whole thing is. This is Smith. Once again, I am squished between Sonya and Smith, only this time, I am guilty and Sonya is encouraging it. How did my life become this?
I feel myself push up onto my arm. My little blanket falls off my shoulder and the cold comes in. I realize how warm he was. How fast the end of summer gets cold.
Sonya grins at me. "I need to use the bathroom," she announces. "Like, right now!" She grabs my hand, flashes a smile at Smith, and hauls me across the mini-hills of the parking lot.
She is grinning like a psycho. "What happened?" she squeals. "Tell me everything! And we've still got a whole other movie to watch!"
"Uh..."
"You were cuddling!" she says. "Oh my goodness, you two would make an adorable couple!"
I can't seem to breathe right. "I guess he likes pink hair," I say. "Too bad we didn't figure that out earlier."
She waves this away. "Whatever. I'd never trade Francisco for anyone else. Not even Smith."
"Who does everyone call him by his last name?" I ask. "I don't even know what his first name is."
Sonya considers this for a moment. "Yeah, neither do I." She shrugs. "So, how much do you like him? Like, if he tried to kiss you tonight, would you let him?"
"Sonya!" I smack her arm. "I've hardly even met the guy. I mean, yeah, I hung out with him and his friends a few times over the summer, but we've never even really talked."
"So talk to him and then kiss him," she suggests.
I roll my eyes. "The next movie is going to be starting soon I do actually have to use the bathroom."
"Oooo. Don't want to be late for the next movie. Smith is saving your spot for you. Keeping it nice and warm."
I walk into the bathroom with a reply.
When I get back to the blankets, Smith is indeed saving my spot for me. Not that anyone would take it after witnessing the last movie. We are front and center of our group, like everyone came to watch us cuddle instead of the movie.
I walk past Smith's friend Mike sitting in a camping chair right behind the blankets. He winks at me, and that is when I freeze up inside. I keep walking, but the power and invincibility of earlier is sucked away.
What am I doing? I am not this kind of girl.
What does Smith think of me? We haven't been on a single date. We haven't even had a proper conversation!
I sink down onto the blankets and stare at the screen, not meeting Smith's eyes.
Sonya sit down next to meet and scoots up close. "Do you know where Francisco is?" she asks.
I shrug.
As the second set of previews starts, I don't move, curled into myself, legs crossed, neck starting to ache from looking up.
"Do you have enough room?" Smith asks. He sounds confused.
"Yeah," I say. "I'm fine, thanks." I want to lean back. I want to get the cramp out of my neck. I want to curl up under my blanket because I am starting to freeze.
And yes, I want to lean into Smith again.
But I can't seem to move.
"I can't see," someone behind me complains. "If you're going to be up front, you can't sit up like that."
So I grab my blanket, spread it over me, and lay down, arms crossed over my chest, making myself as small as possible.
I don't know what to do.
Sonya elbows me lightly in the side, but I don't look at her. She elbows me harder.
So I shift an inch away from her and she claims the space.
I breath in and out.
I want to turn toward Smith. But I can't. I can't do it. Everyone behind us is watching. And maybe I like him, but I don't even know him. I want to get to know him. I want him to ask me out. I want him to like me. I like that he noticed me. And I can't seem to do a thing except lay there like a mummy.
Smith shifts closer to that his arm is against mine. And I don't move.
Just shift, I tell myself. You can do it. But I am paralyzed. All the courageous flirting form earlier is gone. I am Emily again. And Emily is terrified. Emily has never had a boyfriend. Never cuddled with anyone. Never had pink hair.
"Are you comfortable?" Smith whispers. "You can scoot closer if you want."
"I'm good," I say.
The movie has started, I realize. I don't know what's going on. I try to force myself to slid closer to Smith. Sonya is practically shoving me with her elbow. But I don't.
And a few minutes later, his arm is gone from against mine.
I feel cold. So, so cold.
How did I end up here?
When I get home, I decide, I'm washing to pink out of my hair.
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