The Trouble with Flirting

by Rachel Morgan

  “It’s The Banana Pearl!” I yell back.

  ***

  The Banana Pearl turns out to be a less glamorous version of what I’ve seen in movies. Movies give you flashing coloured lights, sexy bodies, smoke machines, and the best dance music. The Banana Pearl got the flashing lights right, but the bodies are sweaty, the only smoke in here comes from cigarettes, and the music is so loud it’s more distortion than actual music. Or perhaps that’s the sound of my eardrums caving in.

  Movies. Full of lies, they are. Planes are quiet, people have actual conversations in nightclubs, everyone is beautiful, and sex is perfect. And not that I’ve had first-hand experience in the sex department, but I’ve heard enough to know that The Perfect Sex Scene doesn’t exist in real life.

  I hold onto Allegra’s hand as she pulls me past dancing bodies, people on high stools grouped around small round tables, and a lounge area. We reach the bar, where the music doesn’t seem to be quite as loud, but I still can’t hear anyone speak. I have no idea how one orders a drink here.

  We find our group of friends at one end of the bar. Charlotte, Amber and Courtney. Rob and a bunch of other people I vaguely know.

  But no Jackson.

  Why is there no Jackson?

  I cup my hands around Allegra’s ear and shout the question to her. She frowns at me and shakes her head. “What?” she mouths.

  I try again, but I get the same confused look from her. So I simply yell, “JACKSON!” until I see recognition on her face.

  She looks around, speaks to a few people—how? How does she speak to them? Am I the only one who’s nearly deaf?—then yells something into my ear. “Jackson … work … couldn’t come.”

  I miss at least half of what she says, but the message gets through: he couldn’t come. I try not to feel as though my whole evening has just fallen apart. I can still have fun, right? I can dance. I like dancing. It’s happened mostly in the privacy of my own bedroom in the past, but I don’t think I’m that bad at it.

  If only Jackson were here to see my sexy dancing …

  I grab Allegra’s arm and motion to the dance floor with my head. If Jackson’s not here, and it’s too loud to chat to anyone, then the only thing left is dancing.

  ***

  The lights are out inside the house when I get back just before 1 am. I stand in the doorway and yawn, my eyes squeezing shut and my jaw just about unhinging itself. I keep telling myself that it isn’t all that late, but my body doesn’t seem to agree. Allegra and I would have stayed out longer, but I was getting bored with no Jackson there, and Allegra quickly lost interest after Rob started salivating all over a girl he’d only just met. We yelled our goodbyes to everyone, saying we had somewhere else to be.

  Yeah. Somewhere like bed.

  After locking the door, I remove my heels and tiptoe down the passage to my bedroom. A strip of light shines beneath Adam’s closed door, and I can hear the sound of muffled voices and studio laughter. He’s watching series again.

  I flick my light on and toss my shoes onto the armchair in the corner. I place my purse on my desk and notice something odd: a pair of polka dot underwear sitting on top of my laptop. Beside it is a note in Adam’s handwriting. Thanks, but I don’t think these will fit me.

  Oops. I guess I missed this pair when I was fishing my undies out of the washing machine earlier. Smiling, I head to the bathroom and turn the shower on. I wash the glitteriness from my skin and the smokiness from my hair. Once I’ve got my PJs and glasses on, I tap lightly on Adam’s door.

  The TV series laughter pauses, and Adam says, “Come in?”

  I open the door, but don’t step into the room. After our conversation earlier, I don’t know if I’m welcome in here anymore. “Hey,” is all I manage to say.

  “Hey,” he answers. He’s turned the computer screen on his desk so that it’s facing his bed. I recognise the paused characters on screen, but I ask anyway.

  “What are you watching?”

  “The Big Bang Theory. Season three.”

  I nod. It’s one of my favourite series too. “I’m sorry about earlier,” I say, my voice so quiet it’s barely a whisper.

  He sits up on the bed and crosses his legs. “Me too. That probably wasn’t the best way to say what I was thinking.”

  I close the door behind me, cross the room, and climb over him to sit on the other side of the bed. I reach for the spare blanket at my feet and pull it over my legs.

  Adam hits the Play button on his remote, but turns the volume down so we can only just hear the characters. “How was The Purple Banana?”

  I roll my eyes but don’t correct him. I know he’s just doing it on purpose now. “It was fine. No one offered me drugs or tried to do anything appropriate. The music was cool—when it wasn’t too loud—and the dancing was fun.”

  “But?”

  “Well, Jackson was supposed to be there, but he wasn’t.”

  “Okay.” Adam nudges his glasses up.

  “How was your evening? Did you kick everyone’s butt at whatever game you were playing?”

  “Of course.” He nudges my shoulder. “If you’d been there I would’ve kicked your butt too.”

  He probably would have, considering how long it’s been since I played. I pull my knees up and pick at a stray thread coming loose from the blanket. “I miss playing Xbox. I miss playing my violin. I miss reading and searching for new music to listen to. There just … isn’t time for everything.”

  “I know,” Adam says with a sigh. “That’s why you’ve got to prioritise. Choose the things that are most important to you. And … I guess the things that are important to you might not be the things that are important to me, and … that’s okay.”

  I nod. It is okay, but for some reason it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like I’m losing something. I lean my head against his shoulder. “You’re still important to me,” I murmur.

  After several moments of watching Sheldon try to explain some equations on a whiteboard to Penny, Adam whispers, “Your hair is making my shoulder wet.”

  “Well, you’re hogging all the pillows,” I whisper back.

  “They are my pillows.”

  I crawl to the foot of the bed and grab the cushion from his wheeled desk chair. The chair slides to the side, knocking a notebook that was jutting over the edge of the desk onto the floor.

  “Oops.”

  “Princess Clumsy.”

  I settle back on the bed with the cushion behind me. “Clumsiness is my superpower. We’ve already established this.”

  We watch as Sheldon attempts to begin his explanation from the beginning again while Penny grows more and more frustrated. My eyes start to slide closed.

  “Don’t you have a test on Monday?” Adam says.

  “Mmm.” Don’t think about that.

  “So … you should probably go to bed soon so you can study tomorrow.”

  “Mmm.” You’re not nearly that sensible, are you, Livi? With considerable effort, I open my mouth and say, “My other superpower is scoring spectacularly high marks in a test I am superbly unprepared for.”

  Adam snorts. “If only that superpower existed.”

  From: Alivia Howard

  Sent: Sun 9 Feb, 2:38 am

  To: Carl

  Subject: Dear Carl

  Why can’t they make clubs that are awesome like in movies? Like, classy. With clean floors. And music that is always at the perfect volume. And—cherry on the top—that guy you’re crushing on must always show up right when you want him to.

  Note to self: make a club like this one day.

  Also … figure out how to be obsessed with The Big Bang Theory while retaining cool clubbing image.

  Damn …

  So …

  Tired …

  I mean so damn tired.

  ___________________________________

  When morning arrives, I regret not listening to Adam. My head aches, probably from a combination of d
eafening music and a lack of sleep, brought on by too many episodes of The Big Bang Theory.

  After hitting my snooze button seven times, I manage to sit up. I stare at the gap between my curtains for a while. Dark clouds. Some drizzle. A bad day for the beach and a perfect day to stay inside studying.

  Ugh.

  I shove my glasses on, shuffle over to my cupboard, and remember that the only clean clothes I have are a few pairs of underwear. I can’t sit in my underwear all day. Or can I? Some of my underwear looks just like—

  No, don’t be ridiculous, Alivia. Pyjamas. You can stay in your pyjamas.

  I push my glasses up and rub my eyes. Sheesh. Studying is not going to go well if my brain is in the kind of state where it thinks wearing underwear and nothing else is acceptable. Especially with the cold breeze blowing in through the window this morning. I should probably wait a while before attempting to work. I should … do my laundry.

  I pick up one of the two close-to-overflowing laundry baskets from the corner and shuffle out of my room with it. I pass Adam’s open door. He isn’t home. He knocked on my door about an hour ago to say he was going with Luke to … somewhere. I think I fell asleep halfway through his sentence.

  The tiny room off the kitchen serves as our laundry/pantry. I open the lid of the washing machine and empty my laundry basket into it. It appears I have far too many dirty clothes, though, because at least half of them land on the floor on either side of the machine. With a groan, I return them to the basket. I locate the little tray thingy for the washing powder, then spend several minutes examining the dials and buttons on the outside of the machine. After all, it’s not like I’ve done much laundry in my life. We’ve always had at least two domestic workers at home to take care of things like that, and last year in Germany … well, I lived in a castle, so it goes without saying that there were staff employed to do the laundry.

  I’m so glad Adam isn’t here right now to see this. I press the ‘Start’ button and step back. A humming noise begins, which I think is supposed to happen. I leave quickly, hoping the machine doesn’t explode or leak or eat all my clothes.

  I make myself a cup of pomegranate flavoured rooibos tea before heading back to my room to begin the arduous task of pretending to study.

  ***

  Afternoon status: I’ve almost fallen asleep twice, sent three different cat videos to Adam, and been on Facebook at least once every twenty minutes. I found Jackson on Facebook and contemplated adding him as a friend, but I didn’t want to seem desperate. Allegra says I should be doing the hard-to-get thing.

  I also did some studying. The content itself isn’t all that difficult to understand or remember. It’s just tremendously boring.

  I hear laughter coming from Adam’s bedroom. He could be laughing at the cat videos, The Big Bang Theory, or something entirely different. Whatever the cause, I’d far rather be in the fun room than in the forcing-myself-to-study room.

  Time for a break.

  I jump up and cross the passage to his room. I tap on the door, then open it. “Have you watched the third one yet?” I ask. “Because that one is the—Oh, sorry.” Adam’s sitting at his desk in front of his computer, but it isn’t a cat video or a TV series on the screen. It’s his girlfriend.

  “Is that Livi?” she asks.

  “Yes.” Adam tilts the screen slightly so the webcam can see me.

  “Hey, Jenna.” I take a few steps forward and wave, kicking a pile of Xbox controllers at the same time. “Oh, crap, sorry,” I say to Adam, who’s giving me an odd look. I crouch down and slide the controllers to the side of the room. “Hey again!” I say with a cheery smile and another wave as I jump up. “How’s matric going?”

  “Oh, you know, it’s not too bad so far,” Jenna says. “I just can’t wait for this year to be over so I’ll finally be done with high school, you know?”

  “Yes, I know exactly what you mean.”

  She smiles—the kind of awkward smile that tells me she’s not sure what else to say.

  “You’re so lucky to have Adam as you boyfriend,” I tell her as I lean against his chair. “I think I can safely say he’s the only reason Sarah and I passed physics.”

  Jenna nods. “Yeah, I know, I’m very lucky to have him.”

  Adam’s ears turn pink.

  Jenna’s gaze moves back and forth between the two of us.

  Right. My cue to leave.

  “Anyway, you guys enjoy your chat. Nice to see you, Jenna.” I hurry out of the room, being careful not to walk into anything else.

  I plop myself back down at my desk and stare at my textbook.

  Focus.

  Read.

  Understand and remember.

  Somehow, I find myself getting into it for the first time all day. It’s not as though it’s become any more interesting, but I’m less distracted. It grows darker outside, rain patters down, and I keep reading, highlighting, and making notes from my textbook.

  “Hey.”

  I look up and see Adam in my doorway. “Oh, hey.” I replace the cap on my yellow highlighter.

  “You’re wearing my jersey,” he says.

  “What?” I look down at myself. “Oh, yeah. Mine are all dirty. I mean, I know it’s summer, but the aircon is always on in those lecture theatres, and it ends up freezing. So, yeah. All dirty.” I start to feel uncomfortable beneath his unblinking gaze.

  “You know that your clothes will continue to be dirty unless you wash them, right?”

  “Yes, I know. I actually did some laundry this—Oh, crud, I forgot. My clothes are still in the machine.” I push my chair away from the desk and stand up. “So much laundry, so little time,” I say with a laugh, trying to lighten the atmosphere that suddenly feels way more tense than it should.

  “Maybe if you spent some of your early mornings doing laundry instead of doing your hair, you wouldn’t have this problem.”

  “Well, yes, but then I’d have hair problems.” Another smile. Another attempt to make him laugh.

  Another fail.

  “And did you know it was your turn to do the grocery shopping this weekend? Luke ended up doing it yesterday because there was hardly anything left in the fridge.”

  “Oh, shoot, really? I totally forgot.” I think of the shopping schedule stuck to the fridge. The shopping schedule I haven’t looked at since we sat with our mothers and drew it up.

  Adam crosses his arms. Still no trace of a smile on his face. “Real life getting too much for you, princess?”

  “EXCUSE ME?”

  “You heard me,” he says, his voice raised. “I know you’ve spent your entire life inside Chateau Zimbali, but it’s time to join the real world. This only works if we all take responsibility, okay? We all do the cleaning, we all do the laundry, we all do the shopping. We all contribute.”

  “I KNOW. I said I was sorry, okay? I forgot about the shopping. I’ll pay Luke back for whatever he bought yesterday. Jeez, what is wrong with you?” I pull off the jersey and throw it at him. “I wear one piece of your clothing and suddenly you’re yelling at me about everything I’m doing wrong. You could just talk to me instead, okay?”

  His fingers clench around the jersey. “What is wrong with me?” he repeats. “What is wrong with me? You walk into my room wearing my clothes while I’m having a video chat with my girlfriend, and then I have to spend the remainder of our conversation trying to convince her that there’s nothing going on between you and me. That is what’s wrong with me right now.”

  I stare at him, letting the ridiculous words sink in. “What? Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  “She honestly thought there might be something going on between us?”

  “Yes.”

  I let out a faint laugh. “That’s insane. Obviously you told her she’s got nothing to worry about, right?”

  “Obviously. But she’s there, and you’re here, and she isn’t exactly happy about that.”

  “Yeah, but …” I don’t see what the problem i
s. “Doesn’t she know you’re, like, a thousand percent committed to her?”

  Adam shuts his eyes and sighs. “Just don’t wear my clothes again.” He turns and walks back to his room, the jersey bunched in his hand. He closes his door.

  I blink back tears as I head to the laundry/pantry. I open the washing machine lid and take hold of a fistful of wet washing. I pull it out and stare at it, my lower lip starting to shake.

  My white clothes are now blue.

  From: Alivia Howard

  Sent: Sun 9 Feb, 8:14 pm

  To: Carl

  Subject: Dear Carl

  It shouldn’t be this hard to do laundry. Maybe I should just shower with my clothes on, that way they’ll end up clean. Good idea? No? No. I didn’t think so either.

  Real life sucks.

  ___________________________________

  Monday, first period. I didn’t have time to straighten my hair, the clothes I’m wearing were hastily half-ironed this morning, and I’ve got glasses on instead of contact lenses. My eyes need a break after staying open until 3 am trying to cover all the work in today’s test. Seriously. How did we manage to get through so much material in only three works?

  I scurry into the lecture theatre two minutes before our test is meant to begin. I half expect my four friends to point at my glasses and shout, “Nerd! Be gone!” Honestly, though, they don’t look in spectacular shape either. Well, except for Charlotte, who has the ability to whisper, text, pass notes, and still know exactly what’s happening in every class. She was most likely getting her beauty sleep at 3 am while the rest of us were studying.

  I slide into a seat at the end of the row beside Allegra. “You guys ready for this thing?” I ask.