by Mia Miller
I turned my head to beg my friend not to leave me but he just blew me a kiss and went searching for another partner. I felt Oscar’s hands squeeze and I turned my attention to him. I willed him to lead the dance, but he seemed immobile, standing there facing me like a statue.
“We meet again,” I tried making a joke, wetting my lips. I saw his jaw working, his gorgeous grin disappearing for a moment.
“Who are you, again?” His voice cut through me like a sword, and I steadied myself.
I couldn’t swallow. Why couldn’t I swallow? Why was my chest so tight? Maybe having all that cleavage out in the cold night air was giving me pneumonia.
With considerable effort, I managed to gulp some air and squeezed my fists so tightly my nails dug into the meat of my palms a little bit too roughly.
He was so beautiful that I died a little. Oscar had grown so gorgeous and manly that my girl parts started a party of their own. I was pretty sure that if I looked down, my nipples would be standing to salute.
But his attention was directed at my agate bead. He looked like he was trying to dissolve it.
Yeah, you know what a magatama is, Oscar, I sent you one in a letter.
Aloud, I just offered a squeaky voice that got me his eyes back.
“You know who I am. We met earlier.” I forced a smile, but wanted to disappear.
“Must have slipped my mind . . . because I can’t remember you,” he answered, his smirk back in full force.
“Sure, ‘cause that isn’t offensive,” I mumbled low enough that I was pretty sure he didn’t hear me.
I didn’t understand the point he was trying to make. I was inadequate, apparently, and not his type. So inadequate that I was obviously forgotten. I shook my head and started to leave. He squeezed more firmly, but remained gentle.
“I’m sorry,” he said, starting to move us in rhythm with the song. “I was kidding; it isn’t my fault you have the power of a chameleon. You looked entirely different earlier.”
I rolled my eyes. He maybe kind of sort of had a point. I liked playing with colors, clothes, and makeup styles. I had combed my hair slick toward the back, leaving my forehead completely free, whereas earlier I’d sported my long bangs. I had used a deliberate amount of teal eye shadow and glitter, whereas during the day I had only worn winged eyeliner. And I had washed away the purple from before, adding a powder the color of seaweed on my hair. What can I say? I was addicted to color.
I nodded.
I looked entirely different at twelve too.
His hands, which were still planted on my hips, were causing a heavenly warmth to spread through me. Our bodies barely touched and I realized that I craved more contact. Our eyes, though, were a different matter. We seemed to be caught in a staring contest, and all the while, I willed him to recognize me.
Just when I thought I didn’t stand a chance, I felt a finger tapping my shoulder. It was Dalton.
“Your brother is waiting for you in the hallway, darling,” he said and winked at Oscar. “I can take over if you want.”
I seized the chance to make myself scarce and lunged to the table where I’d abandoned my purse. I just wanted to disappear. Right before I exited the room, Oscar pulled me into an awkward hug.
“You never learned how to dance, did you?”
His voice barely rose over a whisper, but it filled me with dread. I lifted my eyes to his, just as he was dealing his final blow.
“. . . Dellie . . .” He said my name with finality and a cruel smirk, turning his back to me and got lost among the dancing bodies.
Chapter Six
Delia
Then
We’d been swimming all afternoon, and a few kids had stayed on the dock long after the classes were over, enjoying the orange sun melting toward the forest. I was bent over my sketchpad, my palms covered in charcoal. I was upset that I covered five new pages with things I didn’t want to show to anyone, and I had a project due the next morning. I just didn’t like my results. Oscar was reading next to me, and without warning, he reached over and touched my forehead right between my eyebrows. I smoothed my brow, not even having known I was so tense.
“What’s the matter?”
“I can’t find inspiration!” I said and wondered at the pitch of my own voice.
“What’s the focus?”
“Beauty,” I said, making a face.
He seemed to think about it, but just for a second or two before his hand wandered to my curls. I watched intently, fascinated by his smooth and pale skin that contrasted against my black mane of hair as he wrapped it around his index finger.
“Have you ever done a self-portrait? I’ve never seen hair like yours,” he murmured.
I guffawed, but inside I was so happy. Oscar thought I was beautiful. I couldn’t remember when anyone besides my family said that, and they had to believe so. In fact, I hadn’t thought of myself as that at all. I was taller than most of the boys I knew, except for Oscar, who was exactly my height. I was flat as a board, and I didn’t think I had anything girly about me . . . well, except for my black curly hair, which Oscar was admiring. I beamed at him.
“I think that is called narcissism, not beauty,” I said.
He shrugged and lowered his hand.
“Wait.” He paused and waited as the flash of inspiration took root. “Give me your hand.”
He complied, and I held his hand for a little while, our fingers intertwined. I sketched something with just my right hand and then flipped the sketchpad closed before he could see.
“Hey! Isn’t there some rule about the subject getting to see the final product?”
“When it’s done, I’ll let you see it, but right now we have to go. They are going to start the bonfire soon.”
I stood and held my hand out to help him up. Giving me a look that told me he knew he would never see the sketch, he grabbed my hand and then let go just as quick so he could scoop up his book.
Much later, I fell asleep on the sketch of hands holding each other, my cheek smudging a portion of the charcoal over the night. But my teacher really liked it, and when I finally showed him, Oscar did as well.
Another day, another sunset. The sun was still pretty much burning our skin, and some kids mentioned they’d seen a deer the other day, and we went searching. All we found were squirrels, worms, and a few other truants. We’d been running for what seemed like hours, and we stopped to take a breath. Oscar’s golden eyes met my dark ones, and then his puckered lips were coming toward me. I puckered my lips too, and closed my eyes. And so, I got my first kiss, standing under a kind August sun and holding hands with the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen. It could have lasted a minute or an eternity it was over, my lips felt funny, as if they were a little moist. When I sucked them in, they had a new taste on them, like the wind and the sun and everything else Oscar was made of. I touched my fingers to my lips and smiled at him from beneath my fingers.
“I’ll never forget you, Dellie,” he told me, and I believed him with all my being.
“I’ll always love you, Oscar,” I told him, and I believed myself with all my being.
He pulled at my hand and started running.
“Come get me!”
I chased the perfect boy through the clearing and the forest, down our trail and past the pond . . . all the way to cabins, which is where we both collapsed on the grass, gasping for breath.
That was the first of our kisses, and I hoped it wouldn’t be our last.
It wasn’t, and he stole them from me as often as I stole them from him, neither of us concerned at all about the thefts.
The day before he left, the rain was gushing around us like a bad omen. We had played hooky from a workshop, choosing to trek through the woods, as it had become our habit in the past few weeks. We’d heard the music blaring from the speakers in camp, a distress signal calling all students back to the mother ship. When we got close to the pond, he stopped abruptly and offered me that secret smile in the corner of his mo
uth.
“There’s nobody around,” he said.
I looked left and right, not sure what he was getting at. I felt the pull of his hand against mine right before feeling his lips on mine again. My eyes closed at that taste of sunshine he always seemed to be wearing on his lips. Even through the thickest rain curtain, I could feel the promise of warmth spreading like delicious fire through my veins. Our hands squeezed together, glued from the slickness of the rain. I was never letting go.
Chapter Seven
Delia
Now
“Your lavender latte,” Corbin said, as he brought our coffees to the table.
I dove into the scrumptious drink, savoring its decadent sweetness, while Kayla fiddled with a cup of green tea that was warming her hands more than it did her insides considering she had yet to take a sip.
“Thank you for checking up on me,” I whispered toward Corbin, grateful for his visits.
“Did you have fun last night?” he asked both of us.
I shrugged. “I guess. You know that’s not really my scene.”
“Ah, it will get into your bloodstream, later if not sooner.” His phone started ringing, and Kayla turned to me, looking a little sheepish.
““I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls last evening,” she said. “I was . . . um . . . caught up.”
“That’s okay,” I told her. “We have time to get to know one another. Maybe even, you give me some dance tips.”
Her whole face lighted up at the prospect.
“I live for dancing. I’d love to! Did you? Have fun?” She repeated Corbin’s question only for my ears.
“Sort of. That guy . . . my guy? I bumped into him again.”
“Yeah, man, I’m in the café next door.” Corbin paused to listen for a second before nodding and saying, “See you when you get here.”
“Who was that?” I asked after he’d tossed his phone onto the table.
“That was Enzo, bringing in his newest recruit. We played a few tracks written by him, and, Delia, you will love him.”
I nearly choked on my coffee.
Corbin had a tell. Usually his smiles brought forth one dimple but when he was feeling mischievous or was up to something, there was a second, less prominent dimple mirroring it on his other cheek.
I nearly choked on my coffee.
It couldn’t be. He’d quit playing, years ago. Surely, the fact that Oscar had joined TISCH right when Corb and Enzo were starting a band was just a huge coincidence.
I was still panicking when the door to the café opened and a surge of new customers walked in. It was so hard not to analyze each new face, and I ended up looking anywhere but at the door. The bean grinders at the end of the long counter. There were bistro-style tables interspersed with booths in the larger part of the coffee hours, while the most remote area had huge, red bean bag chairs and round tables with short legs, which gave the setting an oriental look.
Two people stopped right next to our table, and I still refused to look.
It was safer that way.
There was even a hammock in a corner, currently occupied by a snuggling couple. I took my eyes off them, feeling myself blush, and immediately wished I hadn’t.
It was good that I was sitting, since the guy standing next to Enzo was none other than my dreamy Red.
““Enzo, Kayla. Oscar, Cordelia—oh, I believe you two have actually met before, right?” Corbin said loudly and finished on a grunt because I’d kicked him under the table.
I knew I should have mentioned it sooner, but I didn’t expect them to cross paths . . . eyes. It only meant that I would have to explain later, depending of what the truth of the matter was. Either the boy I’d filled his ears about years ago had erased me from his memory or he hadn’t. I couldn’t tell which was the worse option.
“Nice to meet you,” Kayla mumbled, shifting in her seat and looking every bit of uncomfortable as I felt. Her sight went quickly from the guys back into her cup, seemingly not noticing Enzo’s leg barely touching hers, when he slid into the nearest chair.
“Hey, Kayla. Hey, Chameleon.”
In the background, I heard Kayla snicker. I nodded in his general direction and did everything I could to avoid looking at Oscar, at the same time feeling his heated eyes fixated on my face. I took another, and another sip of coffee, licking the delicious foam from my lips. But his magnetic force was stronger than me. When I chanced a look, his eyes on my lips made me blush a deep red.
“Where you from, Kayla?”
“Portland, Maine.”
“Interesting!” Enzo’s voice had become softer than usual. “Cape Elizabeth man here,” he explained what was so interesting, raising his hand while announcing their relative neighboring provenance. “Don’t you miss the water?”
“Oh my gosh, don’t get me started. It’s so stuffy in here. I grew up smelling the bay water. It’s something that stays with you wherever you roam,” Kayla mused.
“Give me your phone for a second.”
She hesitated and searched for my eyes. I grinned at her.
“Come on, I won’t bite. Just leaving this number here, you know, in case you miss someone telling you pirate stories,” he joked.
Kayla’s eyes went darker but I had to tear my attention from her for a second, since Corbin was kicking my foot.
“Don’t you two talk so fast that we can’t keep up!” Corbin teased, his amused eyes going between me and Oscar fast. I knew he was not wrong, but I shrugged either way. I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt over not making small talk with their new band mate.
“We do.” My brother and Enzo stood, and as Oscar stood to follow them out the door, his eyes never left me. Once they were gone, Kayla turned to me.
“Want to tell me what that was all about?”
“Remember how I was talking to myself in the bathroom the day we met?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, Oscar is the guy from my past . . .” I went on to fill her in on years’ worth of drama, and about halfway through, my phone beeped with a text from my brother.
Corbin: I’ll call you later so we can talk through this.
***
The top floor of our dorm was a huge common area that was split down the middle by a patrician wall. One side had tables, chairs, and a few small sofas. The other side was a dancing studio almost completely lined with mirrors. The dancers looked like graceful fish, constantly moving. There was occasional laughter, but the space was quiet enough that you could hear your own thoughts. Therefore, Kayla and I kept our discussion barely above a whisper.
“How come your brother calls you Twinkle?”
“For the longest time, the only song I was able to play, was that lullaby. It drove him nuts! So it started as a mockery of my abilities.” I snickered. “But then in high school when I asked him to quit it, he just said I was the light of his eyes.”
“I mean, is that dreamy, or what?” Kayla said on my behalf, eyes glazed on the rapid movements of her fingers as she sewed an intricate pattern onto her newest pair of pointe shoes.
Apparently, it made them less slippery and prettier.
“Are you an only child?” I asked her and she abruptly stopped her work.
“Yes, you could say that . . .”
I wanted to ask what she meant, but we got interrupted.
“So much man candy, all around,” Leigh said as she slid into a chair beside me.
Kayla gave her a small smile before turning to me. “Remember, try to just ignore him?”
“Who?” Leigh asked, and I sighed.
“Long story,” I told her as the hairs all over my body rose. I had felt his presence in the room way sooner than I saw it. I looked around, not even trying to be inconspicuous about it. Sure enough, he was near the door to the dancing studio, watching two girls who were rehearsing something that looked like Zumba. Then he turned and watched me with the same smoldering look he seemed to have perfected over the years.
“Oh, yum!” Le
igh said, following the trail of my gaze. She looked between Oscar and me and probably caught on to the invisible thread of fire that hanged between us. I felt her touch my leg beneath the table and give it a squeeze. What? I didn’t understand.
She got up and walked straight to him, leaving Kayla and I to gape at her.
“Shut up!” Kayla hissed as Leigh lifted herself on her tiptoes and touched Oscar’s side, whispering something into his ear. His jaw tightened, and his eyes shone even brighter, almost feral, and I held my breath. He would reject her in three, two, one.
Oscar leaned into Leigh and said something I wished I were close enough to hear. They lingered in their posture, and I felt an ache I shouldn’t have. He wasn’t mine to possess.
A few seconds later, they disappeared through the door leading to the stairs, and I swallowed hard against my tears. I didn’t know if I felt incensed, humiliated, or jealous. Or which feeling I should give into first.
“So, what are your teachers like, do you know already?” I asked Kayla to distract myself.
“Tough as nails, but I’m used to it, you know? A tough time in the studio means you’ll have an easier time on stage.”
“Tell me something wrong that those girls are doing,” I told her, pointing at the Zumba girls who were standing on their toes near the mirror.
“The one in black is actually really good; I met her at a few competitions throughout the years. We’re on par, actually. The other one, I don’t know.”
“But she was dancing to Latin music earlier,” I said, feeling a little baffled.
Kayla’s laughter was a very crystalline sound.
“Do you only paint with one brush?”
“No, that’s silly.”
“There you go.”
My phone buzzed with a text that surprised me and I showed it to my companion.
LEIGH: I saw the way you two looked at each other. I just thought you guys needed an extra spark or two. I only asked him for directions to the laundry room and he saw me to it. Kiss, kiss!
“I can’t understand that girl,” Kayla whispered after having read the text.
