I'd always been clumsy. But I have to admit, this was bad. Really bad. Even for me.
"I am so sorry!" I stuttered. My cheeks had flushed dark red, and I was on the verge of crying.
It didn't help that my best friend Trish was also crying.
Of laughter.
The stranger just looked at me in complete horror. He was probably too shocked to yell at me. Or maybe he was still deciding between yelling and just straight up punching me in the face.
Now let me explain you something. When I say that I've always been clumsy, I mean really clumsy.
I mean the kind of clumsy where I actually broke my nose once because I tripped over my own feet and fell against a wall.
The kind of clumsy where no one ever wants to be in the same room as me if I've got any kind of liquid or food in my hands, because I will spill it on you.
The kind of clumsy where any really important moment always gets ruined.
But I had never done anything like this.
Trish and I were at our local coffee shop, where we hang out almost every day. Usually, we would sit outside in the sun, but since it was December and quite chilly, we settled for a table in the corner, the same one every day.
It was our table. It was a routine, to get our morning cup of coffee there, catching up.
I would tell her all about the troubles of school and working in my dad's music store. He had given it to me for my 21st birthday. I'd had it for two years now, and it was all working out quite well.
She would tell me all about her troubles of actually finding a job. Right now, she was working as a reporter for some low life gossip magazine.
I hated those. So did she. But she did love money, and it paid quite well.
Today, we walked in chatting. Now for normal people, chatting and walking wouldn't necessarily seem like a bad idea.
But I should've known that I was the kind of person that had to keep their attention at only one thing at a time.
I managed to remain on my feet for a really long time, actually. I managed to get my order. But when we walked to our table, it went wrong.
Really wrong.
Before I realized what was happening, I tripped over a chair. My drink flew out of my hand, landing on top of the only other person in the café.
Screaming in horror, I staggered back, bumping into a table, which scared me, making me jump again. I happened to jump into the strangers guitar, that was lying next to him, cracking it to pieces, and then I continued to fall flat out on my face.
On his table. Throwing his cup of coffee into his lap, where my own cup had already landed.
I slowly got off the table. I was debating between running away in embarrassment, or doing the right thing, which meant I would have to pay for his guitar and coffee.
And therapy, which he would probably need after this.
I decided to take the high road.
"I'm so truly sorry! Of course I will totally pay for everything! And such a beautiful guitar, too."
Thank the lord I had a music store.
"Never mind," the blonde muttered. "Just go away, before you break something else. Like my bones, or something."
I puffed offended.
"Now I'm not that clumsy. I've never broken someone's bones before." I paused, remembering the fiasco with the wall. "Well, except my own, that is. No but seriously, let me pay for the guitar."
"Just…" The boy seemed really aggravated. I took a step back, actually fearing a punch right now. Although I did, maybe, kind of deserved it.
It was a really, really nice guitar.
"I don't need your money. Just, go." He got up. "Actually, no, stay. I'm going. I guess I don't really have a choice, since I'm absolutely soaked in coffee." I took a proper look at him.
His jeans, that was ripped so badly it looked like he plucked it out of the garbage, was completely coffee coloured. It had clearly taken the worst hit.
Luckily, it was already ripped, so he could just throw that out. I never liked the ripped jeans.
Although he could pull it off.
His white V-neck was still mostly white. Only the edges were a little wet, but if he tucked those into his pants, nobody would notice.
Honestly, I would not look that good with two cups of coffee poured over me. It wasn't that bad.
He clearly did not agree. Still looking red with anger, he took the guitar and staggered off.
Trish was still dying with laughter. By now, she'd sat done, her head was lying on her arms and her entire body was shaking from laughing so hard.
After I'd helped the employee clean the coffee of the floor, I sat next to her, patiently waiting for the laughter to disappear.
I had to wait quite long.
"That was the most embarrassing thing I've ever done," I sighed, when Trish was finally paying attention to me. "And that says a lot, coming from me."
"Ally," Trish said slowly, still giggling a little. "Do you know who that was?" I raised an eyebrow.
"What, the guy? No, thank god, I don't know him. And I sincerely hope I never have to see him again."
"Oh, you're seeing him again. On television, probably." I must've looked really confused, because she started laughing again, unable to control herself.
"Ally, that was Austin Moon! You know him, he's had tons of hits! He's a big deal, babe. He's actually performing here in Miami this week."
"Oh," I said, not knowing what else to say. On one hand, it was kind of bad, ruining the outfit, guitar and day of a really famous pop star.
On the other hand, the chance that I would have to face him again was very slim. Because even if my song writing would go like I hoped, and one day I would get discovered and become a writer for famous people, twenty something year old - pop song singing boys were not really my target audience.
"Well," I continued, "I guess that's kind of bad. But on the other hand, I will never see him again, so that's a good..."
"Well," Trish interrupted. She dragged the l's and my heart froze. "I didn't come here just to have a chat, Ally."
Great, so she wanted something from me. And the problem was that I was a people pleaser, so whatever she wanted, she'd probably get.
"I kind of wanted to ask you something. Or tell you something, rather. And it kind of has something to do with Austin Moon. And it kind of has something to do with you spending time with him. A lot of time."
Except that.