The Trouble With Flirting (6 page)

Three weeks into the semester, and I’ve finally run out of clean clothes. I managed to sneak some underwear into a load of laundry Adam had already started this morning—and sneak it out as soon as the washing machine started singing its ‘I’m finished!’ song—but I didn’t have time to do anything more than that.

Allegra picked me up and we spent the morning dashing around Canal Walk, getting our nails done and each looking for a new dress to wear tonight. In their first week here, Allegra and Co. discovered a nightclub called
The Banana Pearl
, and they’ve been wanting to take me there ever since I became part of their group. Instead of admitting that nightclubs have never held much fascination for me, and that I’ve never actually been to one—NOTHING on this earth could force me to confess that little detail—I simply acted excited every time they spoke about it.

But now, after three weeks, they’ve made a plan to return to
The Banana Pearl
with a bunch of other people we sometimes hang out with. And that bunch of other people includes Jackson—a fact that makes
The Banana Pearl
suddenly become a whole lot more interesting. Jackson and I have sat together in lectures, we’ve doodled on each other’s notes, and I even visited his room in Smuts once with Charlotte and Amber while Allegra was busy.

But he hasn’t asked me out yet.

So TONIGHT could be the night where I show him just how amazing and desirable I am.

My hair is straight and sleek, my dress is short and tight, my heels are dangerously high, my make-up is dark and sparkly, and all exposed skin is covered in shimmery powder.

I’m ready to go.

I’m also horrendously hungry.

I barely ate anything all day in order to avoid the bloated stomach look tonight. I’m looking fabulous in this dress—if I do say so myself—so missing lunch was worth it, but I’m starting to think I need to eat
something
before I go out. I
clip-clop
my way to the kitchen and grab a jar of peanut butter and a spoon. I lean against the counter, remove the lid on the jar, and scoop out a spoonful of peanut butter.

“Hey, Liv, do you want—Oh, wow. I guess you’re going out, huh?”

“Mmm.” I remove the spoon from my mouth as Adam enters the kitchen. “Yes. What were you going to ask me?”

“Oh, uh, I’ve got some friends coming around to play Xbox, and I wondered if you might want to join us. You haven’t played in a while, and I don’t think you’ve met any of my new friends yet.”

“Oh, that would have been great. I’m sorry I can’t join you.” I stick a second spoonful of peanut butter into my mouth.

Adam nods. “Yeah. You’ve, uh, got a busy diary these days. I should have known you’d already have plans.” There’s something a little bit … off in his voice. He crosses his arms and leans against the fridge. “Where are you going tonight?”

“
The Banana Pearl
,” I say as I screw the lid back onto the peanut butter jar. “In Long Street. You heard of it?”

He nods again. “Yes, I’ve heard of it. I’ve heard about … things that happen there.”

Ah. So that’s what was off in his voice. That’s what the look is about.

Disapproval.

I place the jar on the counter and cross my arms. “Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?”

“That look that says good girls like me shouldn’t be going out to clubs like
The Banana Pearl
. Or shouldn’t be going to clubs at all. Or wearing clothes like this. Or make-up like this.”

“I don’t have a look like that.”

“You’re giving me that look right now!”

“Maybe you’re giving yourself that look,” he says.

“What? That makes no sense.”

He shrugs. “Whatever. If I
was
giving you a look, it would more likely have been a look that said, ‘Thanks for spending absolutely
no
time at all with your old friends.’” He pushes away from the fridge with a sigh. “It’s clear your new friends are more important.”

Guilt needles my insides. Adam’s words sound awfully similar to the ones I said to Logan when I confronted him during orientation. “Hey, come on, that’s not fair. I’m trying to—”

“Don’t worry about it, Liv,” he says. “It’s a little sad to think that soon we won’t have anything in common anymore, but that’s the way life is, right? People change.” He turns and disappears through the kitchen door.

“Adam!” I shout after him. “Hey, don’t walk away like that.” I follow him, wobbling slightly on my heels. “This isn’t all my fault. It’s not like you’re always around. You disappear to that—that—hippy café place down the road—”

“Which I’ve invited you to several times,” he says before turning into his room.

“You can’t expect me to be available for everything at the last minute, Adam. I have
plans
. I’m a plan-making person.”

“My point, Alivia,” he says, sticking his head out of the doorway, “is that you only ever have time to make plans with one person. That one person who is your gateway to all things Cool. Your pathway to—”

Right on cue, Allegra’s headlights slide across the glass pane of the front door, and my cell phone starts ringing. I stomp—if it can be called stomping in impossibly high heels—into my room and grab my purse.

“Enjoy
The Purple Banana
,” Adam shouts before slamming his door shut.

“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.”