Kiara closed the locker with a light snap and turned around and jumped in fright. Placing her hand on her chest, as if she could slow her racing heart by just that movement, she looked at Emre with wide eyes, and gasped out, "You scared me!"
"You didn't answer my texts," he answered simply a smirk playing on his lips, one shoulder bobbing as he leaned against the lockers looking down at Kiara.
"Your texts? I didn't get any texts...," she trailed frowning. Her hand still on her chest, her eyes moving rapidly from left to right as she tried to remember if she received any texts last night and inhaled sharply. "My phone died last night while I was practicing."
"Practicing? For what, Fight Club?" he said staring pointedly at her pink tinged knuckles, her palm still resting on her chest.
"Piano obviously. I had a bad form day yesterday...," Kiara trailed as she flexed her palms in front of her body. Pouting, "But you know what, the next person who asks me will be getting the Fight Club excuse. At least I'll sound cooler," she finished with a cheeky smile as she continued looking at her knuckles.
Emre looked at the floor, his hand moving on its own to ruffle his hair as he tried to hide the smile that was playing on his lips. No one would ever believe that Kiara Moussa could even hurt a fly, much less be in a fight club. The girl was way too sweet with her Bambi-like eyes and mischievous smiles.
"...Emre, how did you get my number?" he heard her ask slowly, hesitating. "I know I didn't give it to you."
Emre shrugged again, his eyes fixated on her boots. Even with the 2-inch heels, she came up to the tops of his shoulder.
"Is it a secret?" he heard the laughter in her voice. "Would you have to kill me if I found out how you got my number?" she continued giggling, the sound resonating through the recesses of his mind.
"I have my ways," he looked up at her suddenly, pinning her with his gaze.
"Whoa," she whispered, taking an unconscious step back. "Your eyes should come with warning labels on it."
"Oh yeah," he smirked as he leaned closer towards her, his lips tilted in a smirk, "What would the label say?"
"Sorry to interrupt this rather cozy looking rendezvous, but I need my best friend right now," Mila's voice cut through the moment as Kiara looked at Mila, while Emre continued studying the floor.
Before Kiara could say anything, she was yanked away from the lockers by Mila. She kept turning back to lock at Emre and she couldn't help grinning like a loon as she spied him smiling to himself before he walked away.
"So, what is going on with you and skaterboy?" Mila asked, unable to keep the dislike out of her voice.
"Well, nothing since you obviously interrupted. Why? And why do you insist on calling him skaterboy? I get it; he skates, but it's like calling me pianochick...," Kiara rambled catching her breath as they sped walked through the corridor to head to the second floor for their class.
"Newsflash, most people do call you pianochick," Mila said blankly.
Making a face, Kiara said, "Oh...okay then."
"I call him skaterboy, because one, he skateboards like duh. Two, because he hangs out at the skate park near my place with this group of kids that not only do they not go here, they act like they are all better than the rest of us," Mila said heatedly her hands flying all over the place, as she suddenly stopped and yanked Kiara with her, making her stop abruptly.
"Oh my God, Mila. One more time you yank me, I will burn one of your Dior's," Kiara whisper shouted, rubbing her arm where Mila had yanked.
"And which guy was it that rejected you from the skatepark?" Kiara continued, completely unimpressed with her friends' biased opinions.
"I...what...no...I...no one Kiara," Mila ground out. "They're just rude...so rude...and stuck up..."
"But it shouldn't be a problem if Emre and I are friends," she said happily.
"Trust me, that boy wants to be more than friends," Mila muttered bitterly.
"What? Why? What have you heard?" Kiara asked, as she bounced on the balls of her feet, unable to contain her excitement.
"Are you serious right now? You know your mum would kill you if you even breathed about anything else other than Carnegie Hall. You know that right?" Mila asked peering into her friend's eyes. The way Kiara's face dropped at the mention of her mother always bode uneasiness in Mila. Kiara had never spoken much about her mum. It was always about her piano and her dad and the constant ramblings about her favourite Bollywood actor or whatever.
"Yeah, you are right. I can't have any distractions right now. Even if they come with the prettiest of pale green eyes," she sighed, murmuring more to herself than to Mila. "Come on, before the second bell rings...," she says as the first bell rings in the distance, marking the beginning of their school day.
It was during lunch when Kiara finally checked her phone. She saw an unknown number and clicked on the messages.
Hey, it's Emre.
I hope I'm not disturbing you.
Let me know when you want to meet up to discuss the History project.
I can make time most afternoons after school.
Kiara?
You there?
Hello?
Kiara wanted to squeal in happiness when she saw his name on her phone but settled on biting her lip instead, trying to control the smile that threatened to overtake her face. She looked up from her phone, her eyes scanning the cafeteria until it settled on head of dark wavy locks. She watched as he ruffled his hair as he listened to his friend talk, his sharp jaw moving as he chewed his food slowly, thoughtfully.
"Seriously, who would have thought that watching a boy eat is your kink," came Mila's bored voice next to her.
"It's not a kink, shut up," Kiara said smiling widely, her eyes twinkling with excitement.
"I thought you were not going to think about him like that," Mila said, her brows knitted in concern.
"Like what?" she asked innocently, blinking up at her friend. Her expression belying her innocence.
"You have heart shaped eyes, Kiki," Mila grouched, as she pointed at Kiara with her fork. "You look like a damn emoji."
"Can you blame me? I'm finally talking to him!" Kiara said, her voice hushed but still brimming with excitement.
Kiara had admired Emre Ersoy the moment he stepped foot into school as a 11-year-old transfer student. His parents from Turkey, had moved to California before Emre was born. But as most of his extended family had moved to different parts of New York, they had decided it was time to make that long awaited move to reunite with their family. When he entered school, he was out of place, the school was so diverse that he didn't know where he fit in. She found him in the music class one day, sitting by himself as he strummed a beaten-up acoustic guitar and the 10 year old Kiara decided that she would speak to him.
At 10, she felt confused as to why her heat beat sped up when he peeked up at her with the palest of green eyes that looked at her with wonder. He talked about his favourite music, the skate park that he missed, the friends that he missed, and she just listened to him talk in that sweet voice that was brimming with innocence. She remembered telling him that he sounded good when he had hummed a tune, and he smiled ever so brightly at her.
As they sat and talked, other students shuffled in, and she introduced them to Emre knowing most of them from grade school. And that was the first and last time they spoke. Emre with his diverse interests fell into different social groups, all beyond her circle.
They often times acknowledged each other's presence, with a smile here and a nod there; but they never really spoke. Simply because Kiara didn't know what to speak about other than school, Bollywood, and piano.
Her finger practically jumped on the screen as she shot off a text to Emre, secretly watching him as he pulled out his phone from his worn but relaxed fit, dark wash jeans, and thumbed through his phone. She could see that he was biting the side of his cheek, as he read the text. It wasn't all that exciting as far as texts go, she was just telling him her timetable of when she practiced the piano.
"Hey, stalker! Quit starin' and eat your food," Mila hissed as she snapped her fingers in front of Kiara.
With a happy sigh, Kiara picked up her fork with her right hand and twirled it into her homemade spaghetti Bolognese. Her left hand started tapping out a happy tune that only her ears could hear.
"Don't you think this crush, or whatever of yours, has gotten out of hand?" Mila said after a pause, stabbing the leafy vegetable with unnecessary force.
"What do you mean?" Kiara asked, her fingers stilling their rhythmic tapping.
"I mean, you're supposed to be focusing on Carnegie Hall, not some boy," Mila said with disdain. "And look at the two of you...you don't match up."
"So, what you're trying to say is; I need to choose who I crush on...?" Kiara said, sounding confused as she frowned at her friends' words.
"Yeah, I think it's better if you crush on someone like Oliver, you know. He's smart, he's hardworking, he speaks to you; not only for final projects, and he wears clothes that fit and don't look like they are from Goodwill," Mila continued, haughtily.
"Are you really judging Emre by his clothes?" Kiara almost laughed. The notion of it was so absurd that she could feel the giggles stuck in her throat. "And Oliver is...soooo not my type...at all, more...what's her name?...Allison's type. And they are doing their on again, off again thing; aren't they?
Mila shrugged her shoulders noncommittally and continued eating her salad before launching into another round of school gossip.
Hey you! Sorry again about ignoring your texts. I know this might be totally unfair to you but I have non negotiable piano practice times for 2 hours after school everyday, and 4 hours on the weekends. But before that, have you ever watched any Bollywood movies before? â K
Emre chewed on the inside of his cheek as he reread Kiara's text message. Truth be told, his mother and his little sister did watch Bollywood movies whenever they manage to catch something good on, but he never really paid any mind to it. He was always in and out of the house; busy with school, his job at the grocery store, skateboarding, and his music.
Well, will you educate me on Bollywood movies Ms Kiara? Tell me, what do I need to know...
Emre hit 'sent' before he could change his mind about sending the text. He was dying to see how Kiara would react, but he ducked his head lower as he nodded along, pretending to listen to what Max had to say.
"Oi...You have not heard a word I just said, right?" Max said annoyed, as he leaned back on his chair.
Grimacing, Emre nodded. Looking up at his friend; a head full of curly, sandy blonde hair, and brown eyes frowning at him.
"What's got your panties in a twist?" Max asked not missing a beat.
"Nothing," he said as he continued spearing his fork into the kofte (meatballs) his mother had packed for his lunch.
"If by nothing you mean Kiara Moussa looking at you with the goofiest smile, then yeah of course nothing," Max said rolling his eyes.
Emre wanted to raise his head immediately to see what the hell Max was on about, but he had to play it cool. Remembering to breathe, and pausing his movements every few seconds, Emre finally lifted his head and locked gazes with Kiara. He could feel his chest expanding when she lifted her hand up and waved at him, the goofy smile still plastered on her face.
"So, you're still into her huh?" Maz said bored, as he continued eating his pasta salad that he got from the cafeteria.
Exhaling roughly, Emre pulled his gaze away from Kiara to train it on Max before focusing on his food, "Yeah, I don't know what you're talking about."
"People like her, call going out with ppl like us 'slummin' it'," Max said tightly, the change in his mannerism sudden.
"Who pissed in your cereal today?" Emre asked Max, taken aback by his words.
"No. No one. Just, fucking be careful," Max grated out, stiffly.
Hesitating, Emre nodded slowly as he watched the tight lines that seemed to suddenly show up on Max's face. Max was one of the only friends' from school that hung out with him at the skatepark and sometimes when they practice music at one of his bandmates' garage. He knew something must have happened for him to react the way he just did, but he also knew better than to keep pushing it.
He knew his friend was trying to keep him from getting his heart trampled on. But when Kiara Moussa smiled at him brightly, mischief radiating through her mannerisms, as she walked pass him at the table her iPhone in her hand, he picked up his phone and saw that there was already a text waiting for him from her.
Come over to my house today at 6.30pm, and I'll teach you what you need to know ;p