Chapter 24: Chapter Twenty-Three

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“You guys made out?”

Ava, to say the least, is shocked. After nervously spilling the details of last night, my best friend looks about ready to pass out on the floor. Her mouth is wide open, and seems to be frozen in that position. Still, I can’t blame her. That probably would’ve been my reaction at the time if my own mouth hadn’t been… occupied.

“Shh!” I hiss, all too aware of the fact we’re standing in the hallway, in earshot of probably half of the school. “Don’t say it so loudly!”

It’s probably a bad idea to tell her before first bell, where everyone from the nerdiest freshman to the most obnoxious senior jock is swarming around, and I’m realizing this now. All it would take is for someone to overhear and whisper it to someone else, and that’s it – I’d probably be Charlotte’s murder victim by lunch. Even so, when I’d first seen Ava at the steps of the main entrance, my plan to tell her somewhere more private went out of the window. I had to admit to someone what had happened, and my trustworthy best friend seemed like a good place to begin.

“Sorry!” she says, grimacing. “I just knew it! Didn’t I tell you he liked you?”

“Well...” I can’t argue with her there. “You did, but... I’m still not convinced. I mean, as soon as the power came back on, he was back to freezing me out. He left without saying anything about it.”

Ava’s jaw looks ready to hit the floor. “And you let him?”

“Um...” Color rises to my cheeks and I look at my shoes. “I suppose I was a bit caught up in the moment.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I tried going to his house afterward, though,” I add, although I’ve been trying to push the memory out of my mind. The image of Charlotte’s death glare isn’t exactly something I want to keep on a long-term basis, and I’m kind of scared it’ll become a recurring theme of my nightmares. “He didn’t show up. But, uh... his girlfriend did.”

This is a cue for Ava’s eyes to widen even further. It’s getting to the point where I’m wondering if I should stop with this story, in case all the juicy gossip is putting a strain on her heart or something. “Oh my God, Georgie. You’re  in for it now. So what happened? Catfight in his kitchen?”

“Um, no. I got the hell out of there.”

“Damn,” Ava swears, shaking her head, “it would’ve been good to see Charlotte finally put in her place.”

“Yeah, like I could actually win a fight against her.” Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Don’t you remember? She took martial arts classes until seventh grade. Safe to say she could kick my ass without even trying.”

I’m not even sure why I remember this detail. It’s not exactly like Charlotte and I were ever friends – just acquaintances, up until the whole sixth grade cafeteria incident. I suppose, in theory, I would’ve had her pinned as more of a glittery pageant kid (where else would she have perfected that sugary smile of hers?). But no; instead of twirling in pink dresses and sparkly eye-shadow, from a young age, she was learning to kick some serious butt.

Which, you know, kind of makes her that little bit more scary.

“Minor detail,” Ava dismisses, shrugging. “So what are you going to do now?”

“Find Connor,” I state, my eyes scanning the passing students in the hope of spotting that familiar mess of dark hair, “and talk to him. Preferably somewhere Charlotte isn’t.”

Just as the words leave my mouth, something across the hall catches my eye. The way my head snaps in that direction is almost like an automatic reflex, as if my brain’s become programmed to detect Connor’s presence. And, sure enough, my instincts are right; just in front of the snowflake-ridden poster advertising the Winter Formal, heading for the main staircase, is none other than the guy I’ve been looking for all morning.

“Got to run,” I tell Ava hastily, sidestepping into the main flow of the hall. This is my golden opportunity and, without my dad and his awful timing around to ruin things, I might actually get somewhere. At least there’s no car nearby to serve as Connor’s escape route when he sees me. Unless he hides out in the boys’ bathroom for the entire day (believe me, I’m not going there), he’s going to have to face me at one point or another.

And there’s nothing wrong with this point, right now.

“Um...”

I don’t get to hear the rest of Ava’s sentence as I’m already whizzing down the hallway, dodging the stream of oncoming classmates with extreme skill and precision (and a whole lot of luck).

As I quicken my pace, I narrowly miss an overwhelmed freshman, who’s clutching her books tightly to her chest as if they’re some kind of safety shield. Still, I suppose that’s not a bad idea when you’ve got me coming full speed towards you, looking slightly deranged and in hot pursuit of someone on the opposite side of the hallway. Thankfully, at the very last second, she’s able to remove herself from my path and we avoid a collision, which could pose a great risk to my “sprint after Connor and don’t let him out of sight” plan. A couple of mumbled apologies are exchanged just as my target rounds the corner.

Ugh, this is getting worse than gym class.

Unfortunately, this thought is enough to falter my concentration for a second – and that second happens to be the precise moment when another familiar guy comes into my line of sight, only giving my brain a chance to register his weirdly close proximity before the two of us slam into each other.

Well, floor, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Wincing, I lift my head to see Nathan sprawled in an equally odd position as my own just next to me. Our gazes meet and I offer a sheepish smile, wondering why I’ve been cursed with the misfortune of being so clumsy.

“Well,” he says, pulling himself into a standing position and stretching out his arm to help me too, “I appreciate the affection, but you really didn’t need to rugby tackle me.”

“Sorry!” Once on my feet again, I brush myself off and readjust my bag on my shoulder, half embarrassed yet half thankful I’ve avoided another Mr. Moore incident. That’s when I get the chance to take a proper look at Nathan; his blonde hair is slightly disheveled but the smile lights up his features completely, and his azure eyes seem to possess an even stronger color in the artificial light of the hall. “My bad.”

Even though I’ve had a while to take it in, setting eyes upon Nathan triggers a wave of guilt that goes coursing through me. What was I thinking, kissing Connor like that? There’s this guy here, who’s unbelievably sweet and practically perfect – not to mention who actually likes me – yet I still feel the need to go making out with another guy in a store closet.

I know I’m a terrible person, and looking at Nathan – as well as the glimmer of affection in the way that he gazes back – only emphasizes it.

I can’t bear to think of how crushed he’d be if he knew what had gone on yesterday.

“Um, I’ve got something I need to do...” I start, biting my lip. Even though Connor’s probably well on his way by now, I can barely stand the weight of the guilt on my shoulders induced by this encounter. I go to sidestep out of the way. “I should...”

“Wait, Georgie,” he says.

I stop, daring to make eye contact. Half of me is wondering whether he knows, even though it’s almost impossible, causing my heart to start pounding. I swallow. “Yeah?”

There’s a brief pause, which, even though is only a couple of seconds long, seems to stretch out forever. I can’t stand the blinking gaze Nathan’s got fixed on me; it feels as if my own expression is completely transparent. My history is telltale enough that I’m not exactly a good liar, and I can’t help wondering if he can figure out everything from the way I’m nervously staring back.

“I want to ask you something.”

Crap, crap, crap. Surely he can’t know. Wouldn’t he be more mad if he did? I made out with another guy, for crying out loud. Although I’m not sure if it’s even possible for Nathan to be mad; he seems too sweet and innocent to ever lose his temper.

“Uh, sure.”

My eyes are drawn to his hand, which reaches behind him and retrieves something from the back pocket of his jeans.

Photographic evidence of my cheating?!

Calm down, I tell myself furiously. You’re overreacting.

When his hand reappears in front of me, I get a good look at the item he’s holding. It takes a second for it to register in my mind, but then I recognize the glittery blue paper of the tickets the dance committee have been flogging all week. Two tickets, decorated by a white snowflake pattern, for next week’s Winter Formal.

“I was just wondering, you know, because the dance is next week and…” Nathan looks up at me expectantly, but I’m so dumbfounded I can’t speak. It’s not as if I didn’t know about the dance, it’s just that lately my mind has been so preoccupied with all the Connor drama, I haven’t really had a chance to think about it. “Well, I just wanted to ask if… if you’d maybe want to go with me?”

It’s not difficult to tell that he’s nervous. Even though we’ve been dating for a couple of weeks, he seems unable to shake off the nerves he suffers in my presence. I suppose it’s a consequence of admiring from afar for so long, and it is kind of cute. However, there’s no denying it’s on a whole different level to Connor’s assured dominance, peppered with sporadic moments of sensitivity.

I snap out of my reverie at that moment, blinking. “Um…” My gaze scans over Nathan’s shy expression and I let a smile creep onto my face. Whether it’s genuine, I’m not entirely sure. “Yeah. I’d love to.”

Even though it’s highly unlikely I would’ve turned him down – we’re supposed to be dating, after all – he looks overjoyed with my response. A grin graces his features, and he holds out one of the tickets, which I take gingerly.

Turning it over in my hand, I find myself wondering what overenthusiastic designer was in charge of them. Whoever they are, they seem to have a fetish for all things snowy and glittery, which is reflected in the layout of the ticket. The words North Shore Winter Formal are set against what looks like a blizzard of snowy glitz. I just hope that the same person isn’t in charge of the decorations on the night; we’ll probably be assaulted by snow cannons as we walk through the door. Dragging my attention away from the paper in my hands, I look back up at Nathan.

“Thank you,” I say.

His brows furrow as he peers at me curiously. “For asking you to the dance?”

“Well, yeah,” I answer, biting my lip, “but for everything else too. You’re so sweet to me all the time. I’m so lucky. I don’t know, it’s just… I feel like I need to thank you.”

“You’re kidding, right?” His smile returns, this time even wider. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m the lucky one. I’m dating you, aren’t I?”

He pulls me in for a hug and I wrap my arms around him, letting my head rest on his shoulder. I breathe in, inhaling his familiar scent whilst wondering if I can keep this up. Already the guilt’s gnawing at me, and I’m not sure how long I can keep on an indifferent mask without breaking down and admitting my shameful secret. It’d crush him if he knew, but a part of me insists I should tell the truth.

What if he finds out later, rather than sooner? It’ll only make things worse.

Still… I just can’t tell him.

He breaks away from the hug, still holding my hands in his, and plants a soft kiss on my lips. “Let me know what color your dress is, okay?” he says, his lips twitching into a smile. “I want to match.”

“I will.”

My mind drifts back to Connor, mentally estimating where in the school he’ll be by now. I’ve wasted a while with Nathan, but if I hurry, maybe there’s the possibility of catching him before homeroom...

What am I going to do, anyway? Even if I do manage to get him alone, there’s no guarantee that he’ll talk. Obviously, that kiss was something he regretted, but what possessed him to do it in the first place? Every second we spent in the closet together only adds another hundred questions to my already extensive list.

“I should probably be going,” I state. “Um, I’ll see you at lunch?”

“Sure,” he says, as our previously linked hands drop. “See you then.”

I offer him a small smile as I slip the ticket into my bag and head off down the hallway. First bell is due to ring any minute, and any hope I had of catching Connor this morning has pretty much vanished. Ducking my head, I ascend the main staircase to the first floor, where my homeroom class is situated. I enter just as the bell rings, its shrill sound echoing around the room before coming to an abrupt stop. Ava’s already in her seat when I slip in beside her, and she shoots me a questioning look.

“No luck,” I mutter, as the rest of the class begins to settle down. “Nathan asked me to the dance, though.”

Her eyes widen for a second and she shakes her head slowly. She goes to say something, but it’s then that both of our attentions catch on the guy that strides through the door. I hold my breath as he walks past, dropping his bag before slumping into his usual seat – the one beside Ava.

The next person to enter the classroom is our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Young (who’s anything but young), who slams her bag down on the desk with unnecessary force. She’s never a ray of sunshine in the mornings, but, as is evident by the violence towards her desk, today isn’t going well for her. As a result, our class falls silent, and she stands threateningly at the front of the room, as if daring one of us to speak.

Needless to say, no one does.

She starts off the morning announcements, but her monotonic voice barely registers with me. All I can concentrate on is the fact that Connor’s sitting just two seats away from me. What is he thinking? Is this indifferent exterior just a cover, or is he truly unconcerned about what went on between us?

He’s impossible to work out.

I stare ahead at Mrs. Young, but no matter how hard I try to concentrate, my mind refuses to stay away from that kiss. I try to focus on her graying hair, swept upwards into an impeccable bun, or the way her mouth moves with every enunciated syllable, just to keep my mind from wandering.

No such luck; my brain’s just as restless as the rest of me.

Eventually I give in to myself, ripping a page from my notebook as discreetly as I can manage. Scrawling my message in pencil, I fold it in half and clear my throat quietly to get Ava’s attention. Her eyes flicker toward me and I slip it over, telling her wordlessly where to deliver it.

She seems to understand, transferring it to Connor’s table without even taking her eyes off the front of the room. I hold my breath tensely as he looks down at the folded message before him. After a brief moment of hesitation, he picks it up, holding it gingerly as if it’s a hand grenade about to blow up in his face.

I watch as his eyes scan over the paper, taking an unnaturally long amount of time to read the four words that are scrawled on it.

We need to talk.

Four simple words, vast in their meaning. There are so many unanswered questions that lie between us – all of which could be solved if Connor would just cooperate. Suddenly, after what feels like an eternity of him staring emotionlessly at my note, he balls it into his hand and crumples it in one motion.

My heart lurches and I release the breath I’ve been holding. This is not going well. Why did I expect him to listen to me, anyway? Hasn’t he made it clear enough in the weeks that he’s been here that he wants absolutely nothing to do with me?

Maybe I’d be able to believe that if he hadn’t kissed me.

Without thinking, I rip another sheet of paper and scrawl a second message; this time, Please, Connor. Can’t we figure this out? However, before it’s able to make its way to the intended receiver, it’s snatched from my hand by another (and a noticeably wrinkled one, at that).

Looking up, my eyes meet with the narrowed glare of Mrs. Young, who’s now standing threateningly over me. “Am I boring you?” she asks, but I have enough sense to stay quiet. “What have we here that’s so much more important to you?”

Inevitably, everyone’s staring at me, and I can feel my cheeks turning beetroot.

“It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” she responds, before squinting at my message through her glasses. “Please, Connor. Can’t we figure this out?” A couple of suppressed snickers run through the classroom. “How sweet. Well, you can figure it out alone in detention. Lunch. Today.”

Defeated, I sink back into my seat as she throws the note in the trash and resumes her position at the front of the room. I risk a glance at Connor, whose expression betrays no emotion as he stares down at his desk. When the bell finally does ring to signal the end of homeroom, he’s one of the first to leave.

“So,” I say to Ava, as we get up, “guess I won’t see you at lunch.”

“Right,” she says, looking at me sympathetically. “You know, you don’t need to stress about the Connor thing. You guys will work it out.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, sure. Probably on the same day pigs fly.”

“I know you will.” We pause as we reach the end of the hallway, where we’re due to part for our separate classes. “Have fun in detention. And um, don’t murder Mrs. Young. Okay?”

“I’ll try.” I force a wry smile. “But I’m not making any promises.”

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I know it's late again, but you probably expected it by now :( I thought I was losing motivation for this story, but it seems to have got back again. I'm excited to write the ending, even though it's a while off. So... sorry to disappoint again! You don't get to find out just what's in Connor's head yet ;) Is the suspense killing you yet?

I have an idea for the story I want to write next. I'm so tempted to start it but I don't want to neglect this one :P Out of interest... how many of you guys will actually read another story I write? It'll be another teen fiction-y one, but are you here just for FFD? :P

Anyway, that was a long author's note. I'll go now ;) Much love!