Sunshine (22 page)

“So you decided to go after all.” Myles points out.
We’re sitting around my piano room, listening to some CDs after Boo and Trei go home. I spin around in a computer chair I brought in a few days ago when I was mixing songs on my laptop.
“I guess so,” I say, not ignoring the fact that I’m sure he had something to do with it. If he went to all this trouble to go with me, then what the hell, I might as well go.
He stops my chair mid- spin. “You won’t regret this,” he tells me.
“Yeah. I better not,” I joke. “I’m already freaking out as it is.” I’m not joking about that.
He blinks and lets his hands fall. “Why?”
“Because,” I say. “I’ve never been on…a date before.” Unless you count sitting in a car and going to parties where people roofie you. I clear my throat as I shake that thought out of my head. “My God, what was I
thinking
?”
He laughs, obviously not giving a crap about my inner turmoil. “That’s all?”
That’s only the beginning. “Yeah,” I lie. “So you can see how this is going to be totally awkward.”
Myles stares at the carpet, thinking about something.
“And!” I say, suddenly realizing. “The only guy I’ve ever danced with was Jade at my mom and Adam's wedding.”
He laughs again.
“It isn’t funny,” I say. “And besides, you should be freaking out too.”
His eyes narrow, but he seems amused. “Me?”
“Yes, you. You’re the one making me go and I’m just going to mess things up for you. You should take Trei as your date or something.”
Myles kneels down so I have to stare into his eyes. “Trei is not the one I want to go with,” he says. “If I’m not going with you, I’m not going.”
“Oh great,” I say, throwing my hands in the air, “So now I
have
to go. Because it’s important to you and I’ll feel like jerk if I don’t.”
He smirks, I’m pretty sure at my ridiculousness. “That’s the plan.”
“Oh smile while you can, you won’t be smiling so much when I screw everything up.”
His eyes soften. “You’re not going to screw anything up.”
I shift in my chair because it makes me uncomfortable thinking that he’s the one who’s going to be functioning normally as I spaz around the whole dance. “I am too. It’s going to be horrible.”
“Because you’ve never danced with a guy before?” he asks.
“Because I’ve never done
any
of this before.” I stare at the floor, not wanting to look him in the eye. Myles stands. “What?” I ask, watching him as he walks over to my laptop, one hand in his dark blue jeans pocket. He clicks on different songs, obviously looking for one. “What?” I repeat. This is no time to be acting funny.
“I think I can solve both of your problems,” he says. The screen of my laptop creates bright white glares in his eyes.
“Oh really?” I say sarcastically.
“Yes. Just practice.”
Oh great. Why didn’t I think of that? “Uhm. What?”
“We could practice,” he says, turning his face toward me. “We could go on a practice date to see what it’s like. If we don’t like it, we can just go as friends.”
It sounds reasonable. The only logical thing I can think of. So damn it, I agree. “Okay, and problem two? You want me to get dance lessons or something?”
He motions for me to get up and stand near him so I do. “I can teach you how to dance,” he says, clicking on a slow oldies song.
Myles moves closer to me. I’m guessing he wants to slow dance. I swallow hard. He’s already kissed me for crying out loud, but the thought of being so close and so alone with him freaks me out. My palms immediately begin to sweat. I shouldn’t feel this way around Myles. He’s the one that feels right.
“Are you alright?” he asks, smiling slightly at me.
I swallow again. “Yeah. Super.” I mimic his smile.
I’m not expecting it, but he looks a little uneasy too. It’s oddly comforting knowing I’m not alone in that feeling.
He looks unsure of where to place his hands. “How do teenagers dance these days?” he asks
me
of all people.
Shrugging, I try to throw my arms around his neck as casually as I can. So far so good.
Then he wraps his hands around my waist.
Uncomfortable, but I can hide it.
We start to sway slowly back and forth; that too, isn’t so bad.
Then make the mistake of looking at each other in the eyes as the space between us gets tighter and smaller.
His muscles tense up. I hold my breath, look down, and stop moving. This is too much for me. He lets go of me immediately, but he keeps a hand on my arm.
“I’m sorry,” he says. We both don’t look at each other.
“No. It’s me,” I say almost too truthfully. “I suck.”
“You do not,” Myles says, switching from holding my arm to holding my hand, but he lets go after a second. “Maybe we just need to try another way,” he suggests.
Not wanting to just give up, I nod. “Maybe.”
“Ready?” he asks.
Slowly, I look up at him and he’s already smiling. He slowly grabs my right hand with his left. At the same time, he wraps his right arm around my waist, his hand resting on the small of my back. I mirror him. It’s still a little uncomfortable. I still feel all sweaty and nervous, but it’s not as bad as it was before.
“This is how people used to dance,” he explains to me. His face is close to mine. “I wonder why it changed so much,” he says to himself.
I can’t concentrate on more than one thing at a time right now, so I offer him a shrug as an answer. It’s a lot easier dancing with him like this. There’s more of a gap between our bodies. This way, if either one of us moves to close the space between us, one of us will notice before it’s too late and it gets all uncomfortable. For either of us.
We quietly sway back and forth for a song, and then it changes to “Blue Moon.” It's the Elvis Presley version, which isn't as good as the original, but honestly, who can hate Elvis? Myles doesn’t make a move to stop dancing, so neither do I.
“You know,” I say without looking at him, because I can’t without feeling totally cheesy, “This isn’t so bad.” Even as I’m saying it I have to force my voice to stay level, but I’m telling him the truth.
“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be either,” he says.
Then we’re quiet again. Eventually I don’t hear my own pulse beating in my ears, my palms aren’t sweaty, and I feel comfortable. “It really isn’t that hard, is it?” I say more to convince myself than him.
“No,” he says, smiling again. “Not hard at all.”

Chapter 21
Playing the part
“Don't dream it, be it.”-The Rocky Horror Picture Show

“You guys, I really don’t think this is working out for me,” I complain.
“Just hold still,” says Laura, twisting my hair up behind my head and holding it there. She brushes a stray magenta strand out of my face. “You just have to use your imagination,” she tries.
I stare at myself in the full length mirror of the dressing room. I do try. But dear God, am I wearing
baby pink
? It’s a nice dress. For someone who is not me. Light pink and strapless, revealing my back tattoo. Which is strike one against it, because upon noticing, Trei asks me why I never show off the pretty feathers.
I guess I’m the only one who can see the scars anymore.
Pretending I didn’t hear her, I complain about the dress. I think the thing is made out of 99% tulle or something. Strike two. And it has
ruffles
down the back. Strike three.
In Laura’s defense, she thought it would match my hair. It doesn’t. It really doesn’t. I take a look at my pink frame again. “Sorry, Laura. I don’t think this dress is for me.”
“Yeah, I know,” she laughs, letting go of my hair.
“You should just pick a blue one,” Trei urges. “It’ll be easier, and they’re all on sale.”
“It’s winter formal.
Everyone
is wearing blue,” I point out.
“That’s the point,” Boo says. He invited himself.
“I don’t care. I’m not wearing blue.” I turn around and walk back to the dressing room. Let’s not take into account that every blue dress within a five mile radius has already been purchased.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Boo asks.
I look down at myself like that’s enough of an answer. “I’m changing back into normal clothes.”
“Oh, no. Not until you find a dress.” He shoves a mound of differently colored fabric at me as I close the door to my dressing room.
How do girls think this is fun? Trying on so many different things at once, only to feel like they didn’t look good in any of them and thus making their day a total waste unless you count lowering your self esteem. Usually when I buy clothes it’s easy. I like it, I buy it, I wear it. But this is different. I’ll try on a dress and I’ll like something about it, but then I’ll hate everything else about it. Or I’ll like everything except one thing, like it’s got a plunging back line to my ass crack.
I try on at least eight more dresses with varying degrees of disgust. When I get to the last dress, I try it on and look in the mirror inside my dressing room before I go out and show everyone. It’s pretty simple: white, not poofy, or shiny, or ugly, or itchy. It’s actually a really nice dress. It’s made out of this knitted material, almost vintage looking. It’s more of an off white, so I don’t completely look like a ghost, and it doesn’t clash with the color of the tattoos on my arms either. It falls just at my knee, and it’s fitted, so it’s not that tight, but I don’t feel like I’m wearing a potato sack either. It doesn’t show any cleavage, which is a nice change, but it’s spaghetti strapped, which is its one down fall. But attached the hanger is a really short jacket made out of the same fabric.
When I look even closer in the dim light of the dressing room, I notice that around the edges are tiny little beads, and amongst those beads, are tiny little embroidered snowflakes. The same detail runs over the edges of the sleeves of the cover up.
“Whoa,” Laura gapes when she sees me.
I go to the full length mirror that every dressing room
must
have, and still I don’t feel self conscious in it. It really is a nice dress. In the slightly stronger light, I can see that it reflects these little silver flecks that are woven into the fabric.
“You look so pretty,” Trei gushes, talking to my reflection.
Boo starts fooling around with my hair. “Myles is so gonna
shit
himself.”
I try not to think about that. I don’t think I deserve to be called pretty and more importantly, Myles should not think these things about me. It’s too hard for me to think anyone sees me for something other than what I really am. Just messed up, plain and simple. But still, it’s nice to pretend.
“You don’t like it?” Laura asks.
“No, I love it,” I say, and immediately they all smile at the thought that they can be done with this nightmare shopping trip and finally go home. “But how much is it?” I ask, not wanting to look and get crushed.
Boo snatches the price tag on the hem of the skirt. “Fifty bucks.”
“That’s not bad,” Laura says.
“Not for
that
dress,” Trei agrees.
So I buy it.
When I get home, Stevie and Jade make me pair it with Mary Janes. I feel weird as they make me parade up and down for them, oohing and ahhing.
With the dress situation out of the way, I feel like the worrying should be done with. It’s not. I’m still anxious about the dance coming up next weekend. I don’t think this is the way normal people act when they go to a dance. Jack will most likely not be there. Little by little, I’ve convinced myself of this.
I think to this little practice date of Myles’ and mine that we’re supposed to go on tomorrow. I’ve been so worried about this dance that I’ve had no time to worry about the date thing.
Going down to my apartment, I change into pajamas, throw my hair in a pony tail to get it off of my neck, hang the dress in its little black bag the store gave me, and I stash it in my closet. Then I collapse onto my couch, thoroughly exhausted.
“Long day?”
I feel a cool breeze so I turn my head to look at my front door. It’s open and Myles is there, grinning.
“Careful about using the door,” I say. “You might make it a habit.”
He shuts the door behind him, sitting down on the coffee table. “So how did it go?”
“Ugh,” is my response. “But I found one.” He’s staring at me. “What?”
“Are you alright?” he asks. “You seem tense.”
“How can you tell?”
“Lucky guess.”
I sit up. “No offense or anything, but I’m really dreading tomorrow.”
Myles doesn’t look hurt when I say this. He smiles. “I’m nervous too.”
“Doubt it.”
“Well,” he says, “probably not as much as you.”
“Damn right.”
“Look,” he says, getting up and scooting onto the couch. He doesn’t sit too close, which is nice of him. He adjusts himself so he can look me right in the eye. “We’ve hung out a lot. A lot of those times, we were alone. Just think of the date as one of those times. It’s just you and me, and we’re going to have fun.”
I realize that he’s right. We have hung out a lot alone. Why should this date be any different? Just because we change the word term hang out to date doesn’t mean he turns into the Date Monster, determined to eat my soul.
The sound of Myles knocking on my open bedroom door the next morning wakes me up.
I’m excited, I guess. And I’m supposed to be, so that’s good.
The numbers on my alarm clock tell me that it’s eight am. “Too early,” I complain as I turn over, wrapping myself in a cocoon of warm blankets. I can hear Myles softly laughing from behind me. I feel him lightly place his hand on my comforter wrapped shoulder. “C’mon. We have a full day of practicing ahead of us,” he says softly.
“Yeah,” I say with my scratchy morning voice. I turn over again so I can face him, my whole body still fully cocooned except for my face. “That means I can sleep until ten, and we’ll still have a whole day left.” I look up at his ocean blue eyes pleadingly and he smiles. There are a lot of bad ways to be woken up in the morning after a particularly rough night’s sleep. His smile is not one of them. “Fine.”
I kick off my blankets and get up. Myles sits down on the edge of my bed as I shuffle over to my closet, rubbing left over make up out of my eyes. “So where are we going?” I ask, trying to figure out what you’re supposed to wear on a practice date.
“That’s a surprise,” he informs me.
Of course it is. I sigh. “Well do you have any suggestions as to what I should wear?”
He grins and comes over to my closet, a little too fast. So fast I almost don’t catch him walking at all. It startles me a little bit. I mean, I know he can move really fast, but I’m not prepared for it this early in the morning.
“Sorry,” he says quickly.
“Don’t worry about it.” I try to run my hand through a knot of hair at the base of my skull. “I’m just tired,” I explain. The knot isn’t budging, and my hand is beginning to be consumed by the massive magenta mass.
Myles catches me just as I’m about to rip right through the thing, possibly causing a nice bald spot. He gently untangles my hand and the knot simultaneously. “Sometimes I forget when I’m around you. I forget what I am.” The corner of his mouth twitches. He runs his fingers smoothly through my hair.
The way his eyes linger on my face and the way he lets his cold hand brush my back makes me feel strange. Uncomfortable, sure, but not really the feeling I was expecting. It’s less like the one you get when you know something bad is about to happen, and more like the one you get when you’re on a roller coaster and it’s about to go down a huge drop.
For a split second I think this is how I’m supposed to feel. Like a normal girl.
But I snap myself out of that as fast as I can.
I grab Myles’ hand just as he’s about to run it through my hair for the second time. I gently take it in my own and place it at his side, like he’s some kind of doll I can pose in any way I choose. I smile almost the exact same lip-twitchy-smile he has.
I am not a normal girl. I don’t deserve to feel this way. I know it can only end badly. And Myles is a nice guy. I don’t want to screw him up too.
Before things get too awkward, I pull out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt with the “God Save The Queen” logo on it. “This?”
He smiles, all awkwardness gone. “Perfect.”
Going into my bathroom, I get dressed and run a brush through my hair even though I know there are no more knots. I keep my make up simple. Just liquid eyeliner and mascara. I have to admit, I’m stalling.
I finally walk out into my living room where Myles is flipping through another one of my photo albums. “So why am I up so early?” I ask, going to the kitchen to find some form of caffeine.
“I told you, we have a full day of practicing ahead of us.”
I roll my eyes.
“You’re out of coffee,” Myles says from the couch without even looking up.
“Well you know what this means,” I say, slamming the cabinet closed.
“We’re going to go get coffee?” he answers, still not looking at me.
“Well, yeah.”
But he doesn’t move. He keeps flipping through the photo album. Is he serious? I’m in
caffeine crisis
here, and he’s just going to sit there?
“Either you get up now, or I’m going without you,” I announce, walking around the couch and trying to get him to look at me. He shuts the book and smiles at me like he’s trying to be cute or something. “I’m not kidding.”
When he still doesn’t budge, I walk toward the door to get my keys, but he gets there before I do, blocking my key rack. “That’s not fair.” I try to get around him. He twirls my keys on his finger so I’ll look at him. I can’t take this. I wish we could just get this day on with without him playing these stupid games with me.
The carved out dimple near his mouth fades when he sees my expression. “Are you that anxious?” he asks softly.
I decide the best way around this is to play dumb. “What are you talking about?” I try to snatch my keys from his hand. Of course he’s too fast for me. “I just want some damn coffee.”
His smile is back. “Well let’s go.”
It’s a nice day, weather wise. It’s not unbearably cold, but the sun isn’t out either. There’s still some snow on the ground, and I watch it slowly melt into the grass and the mud outside the window of Dunkin’ Donuts. I can’t help being paranoid that someone will see us. I’m just barely getting used to the idea of going on a date with Myles, I don’t need people from school or something.
Plus the three cups of coffee I’ve already downed can’t be helping. That’s not counting half of Myles’ coffee, which he pretty much just bought to stare at, so of course I’m going to drink it.
“So,” I start, reminding myself of the fact that it’s nine o’clock on a Sunday morning and no one is even here besides us and the employees.
“So,” he says back.
“So after this we’re going to start this whole date thing, huh?” Damn coffee soaked tongue.
“Mhmmm,” he answers.
I take in a deep breath. What am I so wigged about? It’s just Myles. I stare at the table and start to finish my fourth cup of coffee. Myles leans his head down so he can get my attention. I finally look at him, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Yes?” I say.
“Seriously. You need to relax.” He smiles, but he sounds serious.
“I am relaxed,” I lie stupidly.
Myles slowly takes his two hands and places them over his heart. He taps them on his chest, mimicking the exact same panicked rhythm my heart is making. He smiles and shakes his head back and forth. I forgot about that.
I sigh. “Fine. You caught me. Happy?”
“Are you sure you still want to do this?”
Despite how nervous I am to go on an actual D-A-T-E, and despite how happy I am with just being good friends with Myles, a part of me is craving something more. Something in me feels like if I don’t do this, I’ll definitely regret it.
“Of course,” I say, “I’m sorry. I had no idea I’d be this crazy about it.” I wrap my hands around my coffee, ready to take another sip.
“It’s going to be fun. I promise,” he assures me.
Then Myles slightly touches my cheek with the back of his hand. Then he catches himself before either of our bodies can reject it. He distracts me by quickly snatching my drink from me, getting up, and throwing it out. “I wasn’t done with that,” I state.
“You’ll thank me later when you aren’t having a caffeine-induced heart attack.” He smiles and sits down again.
Like
that
could ever happen.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks.
“Okay.”
We get into his car and I look out the window and at the coffee shop, leaving the strictly friends Sophie and Myles there. I try to prepare myself for who we could potentially be after today.
Myles was right. I do have fun.
We go bowling, eat pizza, and drive around.
The whole time we talk about little things; nothing is serious, and I love that. After throwing the bowling ball a few times, I start to relax. It really is just like hanging out with him. I find myself wishing that today won’t end, that we could do these normal things forever.
It's already five, but he insists that the day isn’t over. When head back to his house. If it were anyone else, I would think something was up, but I can’t bring myself to think that about Myles.
He says the real surprise isn’t until seven-thirty.
We watch the old movie channel until then. He seems happy to just sit on the couch next to me and watch