by Kitty Parker
"What a jerk," Jane laughed.
"Hey, that's MY jerk!" Eden exclaimed indignantly, pointing her finger at the girl who dared to accuse her boyfriend of being anything less than perfect.
Jane just rolled her eyes.
I, however, felt a bizarre clenching feeling in my stomach at the words "my jerk." This probably had something to do with the once-hated boy who had just sort-of-kissed me in the hallway.
I decided that it was time for a feeling evaluation.
Ever since the truce, Kurt had actually been quite nice to me. In fact, it seemed as though he had actually been making a conscious effort not to get on my nerves, which was a pretty big deal, since pissing me off had more or less been his favorite pastime since we were seven. Perhaps Kurt was changing, maturing even. I was beginning to find it impossible to hate him any longer. To the contrary, I was starting to think of him somewhat as a friend. Sure, I had been a bit skeptical of the truce at first, but I was actually rather enjoying having another guy to joke around with.
Still lost in my own thoughts, I nodded my head decisively. Kurt Matthews was alright in my book.
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"Are you serious?" I exclaimed, practically choking on my tea, my eyes suddenly as wide as saucers. A few random people at nearby tables turned around to look at me quizzically.
Mr. Faulkner nodded and took a sip of his coffee, oblivious to the stares that his companion was receiving. "Yup. He's really going to be there. I know you've already gotten into Harvard and all, so he's not judging you or anything. He just wants to hear you sing, maybe get a little preview of what you'll bring to his program next fall."
"Why is the head of Harvard's music department here anyway?" I asked, still attempting to fully grasp the idea.
"He said something about visiting his brother when he called," he answered, shrugging. "But anyway, I just wanted to let you know that he's going to be there. Don't worry about it, though, Lotte. You don't have anything to lose. No pressure."
"No pressure," I repeated to myself, shaking my head. Mr. Faulkner should have known me well enough to know that I would definitely worry about such an important person watching me perform. Perhaps he had known that, which might have explained why he invited me out for coffee before dropping the bombshell.
"Lotte," Mr. Faulkner murmured in a comforting voice, gently patting my shoulder. "I know that you're probably nervous, but you shouldn't be. You have a marvelous voice, and if you don't worry about it and sing like you always do, you'll knock Mr. Harvard-Professor's socks off!"
I calmly poured myself another cup of tea and stirred it gently, attempting to disguise the fact that I was inwardly panicking. "Don't worry, I'm fine." I smiled, hoping to prove the fact.
Nothing could have been further from the truth, of course. I worried straight through the rest of my time in the café, through Mr. Faulkner's (rather dull) rants about Mendelssohn, all the way back to the hotel, and up the elevator and into my room, which was mercifully empty, allowing me to have my little nervous breakdown in peace. I heatedly paced across the floor, back and forth, my mind racing.
After about five minutes of this behavior, I began to get dizzy from all of the pivoting that is necessary when one paces. I sat down on the edge of my bed, head in hands, brow furrowed.
Although I'd never had one of those "I-need-to-be-the-best-at-everything" complexes, I still wanted to impress the Harvard guy, since he would more than likely be a part of my life in the fall. I mentally went through my entire aria, note-for-note, in order to somewhat prepare myself for the concert later that night.
A thought suddenly made its way into my mind: being this freaked out during the performance would definitely increase the possibility of making some sort of gargantuan mistake. I needed a healthy dose of self-confidence.
I stood up with a sense of purpose and made my way over to my suitcase, unzipping it and sifting through its contents until I found what I was looking for: the lacy red bra and thong that Eden had given me in sophomore year. I noted with a chuckle that they were the same articles of clothing that I had once found Kurt inspecting. Oh, the memories.
At any rate, that set had always been my "confidence underwear," as odd as that may sound. So at that moment, in my desperate need for self-assurance, I stripped off my clothes, pulled on the thong, and fastened the bra around my chest. Facing myself in the full-length mirror on the wall, I began to give myself a pep-talk.
"All right, Lotte. You can do this. It's just another concert, right? Right. You haven't got anything to lose. You've already gotten into college. Just sing, and don't think about-"
I stopped immediately as the door to my room (which I had stupidly forgotten to lock…again) swung open and Kurt stepped across the threshold.
"Lotte, can I talk to you about som-?"
His question was cut off as his slowly widening eyes took in what I was wearing. Jaw dropping, he just stood there in what was probably shock, staring at me.
I, also having been caught unawares, stared right back at him, rooted to the floor, completely unable to move or even cover myself.
AWKWARD.
The pair of us stood staring at each other like that for at least a full minute, the awkwardness seeping into our very souls.
Suddenly, Kurt grinned (though a bit uneasily) and stepped closer to me.
Oh Scheiße.
I sent urgent brainwaves to my legs, screaming at them to move, to take a step back, but they refused to obey me. I was stuck where I was, in my underwear, with a grinning person of the male persuasion advancing on me.
I wasn't sure what exactly I was expecting him to do, but when Kurt reached me, he just looked down at my body, then back up at my face. "I remember these!" he exclaimed, gesturing at my attire. "I was hoping you'd model them for me someday…"
At that rather suggestive comment, my body began to function again. Well, more specifically, my shoulder, arm, and hand began to function.
"Ow!" Kurt yelped as my palm made contact with his cheek. "Lotte, what the hell-"
He cut himself off abruptly as he took in the look on my face, and I couldn't really blame him. It must have been slightly terrifying.
"You…" I whispered harshly, pointing a shaking finger at him. "You lecherous, tactless little BASTARD! I can't believe you just…how dare you say…ever heard of KNOCKING? Verdammter Hurensohn!" I began to pace angrily, still sending random German profanities flying in Kurt's general direction.
"Lotte, I-" he began meekly.
"UNTERBRICH MICH NICHT! (Don't interrupt me!)" I snapped, whirling around to face him.
"Um, you're yelling at me in German," he pointed out in a rather small voice.
"I REVERT TO GERMAN WHEN I'M ANGRY!" I barked. "And yes, in case you didn't notice, I AM angry! I can't believe you just walked in on me in my underwear and you didn't even have the common decency to look away! And did you apologize for your intrusion? No, you made suggestive comments instead, du verfluchtes Arschloch!"
As I took a break from my tirade in order to breathe, Kurt weakly attempted to defend himself. "I was just trying to-"
"FICK DICH INS KNIE!" I hollered. "This is exactly why we've never gotten along, Kurt! You fucking piss me off! You always think things that you say to me are funny, but you just don't get that they aren't! They're just sketchy!" I glared at him, my hands planted firmly on my (scantily clad) hips. "Everyone has limits, Kurt, and you've always pushed mine. I thought for a while that you were getting better. Hell, I even started thinking of you as a friend. But now I've just had it! Fuck this whole truce thing! It just can't work!"
Although Kurt was visibly stricken, I was too infuriated to ease up. I did, however, notice that I had been shouting at him in my lacy red underwear the whole time, perhaps undermining the fear-of-Lotte's-almighty-wrath that I was attempting to strike into his heart. Growling, I stomped over to my suitcase and yanked out my fluffy black bathrobe. As I wrapped it around my body, I saw that Kurt was still star
ing at me forlornly.
"Verpiss dich!" I snapped.
All I got in return was a look of bewilderment.
"Piss off!" I translated.
Kurt just sat there, still not comprehending me.
"GET OUT OF MY FUCKING ROOM!" I didn't think I could have said it much clearer than that.
Much as one might expect a dog to exit a room upon being reprimanded for chewing the furniture, Kurt slowly stood up and shuffled to the door, figurative tail between his legs. With one last, defeated glance at me, he left.
Exhausted from my outburst and still royally pissed off, I flopped down on my bed, buried my head in my pillow, and allowed sleep to claim me.
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"Lotte…"
A hand shook me. I moaned in response.
"Lotte!"
I moaned louder.
"Lotte, you are aware that we have to be downstairs for warm-ups in fifteen minutes, right?"
My eyes snapped open and I shot out of bed like a rocket, most likely scaring the shit out of Brigid, who had been hovering over me. "WHAT?"
She stared at me, bemused. "Er, warm-ups…fifteen minutes?"
I immediately threw off my bathrobe, dashed to my suitcase, and began frantically searching for my concert outfit (a black skirt and white blouse), tossing other random articles of clothing over my shoulder and onto the floor in my haste.
"Dude, calm down, you're going to hurt yourself," Brigid warned.
"Don't care," I grunted. "No time."
Remembering finally that I had, in fact, hung my concert clothes in the large wardrobe across the room to prevent them from wrinkling, I quickly spun around and bolted across the room, not really looking at the shirts, pants, and whatnots scattered on the floor. My foot suddenly made contact with a silky something that slipped out from under me and, just like banana peels in those old slapstick comedies, caused me to fly backwards and land on my lacy-red-thong-clad ass. I ignored the "I told you so" look that Brigid was sending my way, choosing instead to glare pointedly at the black camisole I had slipped on as though it had tripped me on purpose in some scheme of revenge for packing it next to my socks or something like that.
Jane stuck her head out of the bathroom door and stared at me incredulously. "Dude, why are you sitting on the floor? We have warm-ups in-"
"I KNOW!" I snapped, jumping to my feet. My nerves were becoming increasingly frazzled. I hastily scrambled to the wardrobe, yanked my blouse off of its hanger, and pulled it on, not even bothering to unbutton it. As I was attempting to force my head through the top, the door swung open and Eden walked in, frown etched upon her delicate features.
"Lotte," she began, making contact with my eyes as they emerged from my blouse. "We need to talk."
Ah, the four worst words in the English language. I yanked my head the rest of the way through my shirt and shook my hair free, then reached into the wardrobe for my skirt. "What about?"
"Kurt."
I paused, skirt halfway up my thighs. "What about him?"
She folded her arms over her chest. "What did you do to him?"
I resumed dressing. "Can we talk about this later?"
She sighed. "Yeah."
"Ok," I mumbled, haphazardly throwing my hair into a bun and applying mascara as fast as I could. "Done!" I exclaimed, proudly screwing the cap back on. I dashed to the door, threw it open, and began sprinting down the hall toward the elevator.
"Lotte!"
I whirled around to face Jane, who had stuck her head out of our room.
"What?" I demanded, exasperated.
She raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
"Like what?"
She looked pointedly at my feet. I, too, looked down, only to realize that I wasn't wearing shoes. I felt my cheeks begin to burn.
"Yeah, that," Jane chuckled. She popped back into the room for a moment, then tossed my black heels out the door. "Here."
Smiling gratefully, I pulled them on. "Thanks, pal."
She grinned. "No problem."
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"There she is, Mr. Esquiada!" An excited Mr. Faulkner made his way over to me through the crowd on the stage, dragging a tall, middle-aged man with graying brown hair and glasses by the hand. "This is Lotte Leisch!"
When the pair reached me, Mr. Faulkner patted my shoulder enthusiastically. "Fantastic job tonight, Lotte! I'd like you to meet Mr. Esquiada, the chair of Harvard's music department."
Mr. Esquiada shook my hand firmly, warm smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Leisch."
"Likewise," I replied, beaming.
"You have a marvelous voice," he went on. "I'm looking forward to working with you this fall. You should consider auditioning for the Pitches, our female a capella group. I'm the group's advisor. We could use a strong soprano voice like yours."
My smile widened. "Thank you, sir. I will."
"Good." He glanced at his watch. "Unfortunately, I've got to be going. My train is due to leave in fifteen minutes."
I shook his hand again. "It was wonderful to meet you, sir."
"You as well, Ms. Leisch. I trust we will be seeing more of each other." He made his way toward the exit, Mr. Faulkner happily chatting at his side.
Letting out an enormous sigh of relief, I headed offstage toward the dressing room and sunk into the nearest armchair. I closed my eyes contentedly, just wanting to relax.
"Lotte!"
Drowsily, I opened one eye. Eden was making her way over to me.
"What?" I moaned.
"Come on," she urged, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet. "We have to talk, remember?"
"Eeeeden!" I whined as she led me down the hallway. "I'm tired!"
"We can talk while you're getting ready for bed, in that case," she insisted, dragging me into the elevator. A waiter with a room service cart followed us, cutting the conversation short.
When the elevator doors finally slid open at our floor, Eden and I headed to our room, smothered by a rather tense silence. I knew she wasn't mad, but I could tell that there was something bothering her that somehow involved me. I also knew that it was about Kurt, and I had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with the fact that I'd yelled at him earlier.
At that thought, the slightest feeling of guilt wormed its way into my heart. Although I was still pissed at Kurt, I also realized that I'd overreacted, probably because I was nervous about the concert. I tended to be a bit volatile when I was on edge.
Eden opened the door to our room with her key and shoved it open. I made a beeline for my bed and flopped down, snuggling into the pillows. There was a soft click as Eden closed the door behind her.
"Alright, Lotte," she began, hands on her hips, look of suspicion on her face. "What did you do to Kurt?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, even though I knew exactly what she was talking about.
"About half an hour before warm-ups, I went over to Matt's room. As you know, Kurt is one of his roommates. I went in and found Matt pacing around and Kurt lying on the bed, just staring at the ceiling. I said hi to him, but he didn't even notice that I was there. He was just completely out of it. I asked Matt what was wrong with him, and he said that he didn't know, but it had something to do with you." She looked at me expectantly. "So what happened with you guys?"
"Sit down," I sighed, patting the bed next to me. "It's a bit of a long story."
Eden did as I wished, and I relayed the entire saga, beginning with the news of the Harvard guy and ending with Kurt walking out the door. Eden nodded, oohed, and ahhed in all the appropriate places, throwing in a couple of "hm"s and "huh"s for good measure. She even groaned once or twice.
I took a breath after I finished. "So yeah, I might have taken out my nervousness about the Harvard guy on Kurt a little."
"You think?" exclaimed Eden sarcastically. "Jeez, no wonder he's so upset."
I bit my lip. "Are you mad at me?" I asked, looking up at my best friend sheepishly.<
br />
She looked somewhat surprised at my question. "For what?"
I shrugged. "For being a bitch."
A reassuring smile appeared on her lips. "Of course not, sweetie." She pulled me into a hug. "Everyone has their bitch moments now and then."
I chuckled. "Yeah."
Eden sighed as we pulled away. "You really should apologize to him, though."
"Yeah, I know," I admitted. "I just don't really know what to say. I think I'll jump off that bridge when I come to it."
She smiled. "Fair enough."
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That night, I tossed and turned in my sleep. I couldn't seem to get Kurt out of my head. He even haunted my dreams…
I ran around the playground, chasing after Eden. I was "it." I hated being "it."
"Haha, Lotte, you can't catch me!" she taunted. "You're too sloooooow!"
"Be quiet, you poopy-head!" I shouted back. Although I had only been in the country for a year and had yet to lose my accent, I was starting to learn the local dirty words. A little Asian girl in my class called Jane had taught me.
"I'm not a poopy-head!" Eden retorted. "You're the poopy-head! And you still can't catch me!" She giggled.
"I am catching up!" I boasted. I hadn't really mastered the use of conjunctions yet.
Suddenly, a foot flew out in front of my running legs, tripping me and sending me flying across the asphalt. I landed with a thud, skinning my knee, and began to wail loudly.
A boy came running up to me. "Oops. Are you ok?"
I glared at him and wiped the tears angrily from my cheeks. "Kurt Matthews, you tripped me on purpose!"
He shuffled his feet. "Maybe…but I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You did!" I shouted indignantly, pointing to my scraped knee.
"Oops." He looked down at his feet sheepishly and nibbled his bottom lip.
"It hurts!"
Kurt knelt down beside me. "Want me to kiss it and make it feel better?" he asked.
I wrinkled up my nose in disgust. Boys had cooties. Eden had told me all about it. "Ew! No! You are icky!"
He grinned mischievously. "Too bad." With that, he seized my leg and gave me a big, sloppy kiss, right on my knee.
