Um, hi.
This is awkward...
But... I'm back :D
It's sorta been half a year, but, don't worry, I haven't forgotten about this story completely!
I actually wrote most of this chapter a LONG time ago, but I never got it finished and tied together nicely.
So today, I decided just to go for it.
Here it is... enjoy!
She asked me.
Out.
On a date.
I know, I know. Technically, it's only romantic if the masculine figure of the relationship does the asking. Landmark propositions are traditionally executed by the male. On the other hand, the female is granted with the simple task of giggling, batting eyelashes frantically, and looking pretty. Easy.
Is it so unforgivable that in this case, it was, well, vice versa?
Isn't it nice that the tables have turned for once?
Romance is unpredictable, right? That's what makes it so energetic, exciting.
If romance was personified, would it not be favoured as the more dark and brooding type?
And fine.
It's true that she only asked me because she was under the spell of the pheromones again.
But would it be so unfair as to hypothesize that perhaps she was also drawn into her brave resolve after catching a glimpse of my glimmering crystal orbs cleverly disguised on my face as eyes? That one quick glance of my pupils hooked her into her final decision? That her heart clenched like a cobra's jaw as she swept her gaze longingly across my face?
Or perhaps I'm just doing too much wishful thinking.
My eyes resemble a muggy, polluted pond.
My face is as interesting as a blank wall in a jail cell.
…Nope, it was definitely the pheromones.
On the bright side,
Echo asked me.
Out.
On a date.
Mom insisted on driving me to the party, saying that she wanted to pick up some milk at Whole Foods. But I wasn't going to let that happen.
This morning, Echo slipped a wrinkled square of paper in my pocket, after I was finished teaching the class about eukaryotes. Everyone else was pretending to be working on the textbook pages I assigned, but I knew they were all gossiping about the scandal involving Jessie Mallory's apparent nose job. So when Echo shifted out of her seat and twisted her way to the front of the class, her worn textbook rested like a plate on her hands, I was overcome with a rush of warmth. My crush actually bothered to do her homework.
When she reached my desk, I brushed my hair gingerly out of my face, widening my eyes to show I was eager to help with whatever queries she had. Instead, she stared at me intently while leaning down to stuff the wrinkled note into the pocket of my jeans. Either there was a piece of dust caught in her eye, or otherwise I swore I saw her left eye twitch. Wink. She was flirting.
Later, when I unfolded the note in my pocket, I about burned a hole through it, I was eyeing it so hard. Echo's address, etched on the paper in a neat, bubbly font.
Long story short, you could guess how willing I was about biking to her house to pick her up. School was only two blocks down from Echo's house anyways, so we walked the rest of the way.
We're the only ones not dancing.
Everyone is dancing, and we are standing here, by the doors of the school, doing virtually nothing.
I am scared, and I want to dance, but I don't, because I'm afraid that I'll trip over my feet and break all my bones in front of the only girl that matters to me in the world.
So instead we just talk.
"You look beautiful tonight," I mumble quietly, flashing Echo a somewhat bashful smile that I pray comes off as either cute or adorable. "You really do."
"Thanks, so do you." She answers automatically, toying with the hem of her skirt. Then she actually looks up at me and realizes her mistake. "I mean, handsome. Woopsies."
"Boys can be beautiful, too." I blurt out without thinking.
Oh my goodness, what am I trying to accomplish here?
Echo looks stricken.
"Adam, you look beautiful tonight." She corrects herself hesitantly, biting her lip in a way that I can only describe as mesmerizing.
"Thanks, so do you." I reply again.
"Can we stop going in circles?" She suggests firmly. Her eyes flash to my hands, which are nervously being wrung.
Before I can reply, her hand finds its way into mine, swift as an arrow. I rub my thumb against hers on reflex, rediscovering the electric feeling I had once explored just days hitherto. In response, she blushes, beet red, looking away, pretending to be interested in the couples on the dance floor.
"This is nice." I state simply, trying to downplay the nerves I'm currently wrapped up in.
In response, she pulls me gently. "Let's go."
She wants to dance now?
As we weave ourselves through the crowd, with the dance floor as our destination, I take a good sweeping scan of the party.
Bright, colourful lanterns adorn the black tweed that strings itself artfully around the scene of the party, drawing a line between the exciting glow of the event and the rest of the dull, sleepy world. Exotic melodies buzz from the stereos surrounding the glossy white dance floor, casting a mysterious vibe to the atmosphere. An oriental-style pavilion peaks through the trees from in an offset corner. Next to it boasts long, silk covered tables piled proudly with decadent Asian treats. Girls sporting luxurious red kimonos saunter around, handing out simple bamboo fans to anyone who notices them.
Echo's arms are wrapped around me, and I rest my palms gently against her hips. We're one unit, moving in sync, swishing to the music, in a foggy trance. At one point, she buries her face against my shoulder, and although I'm almost too boggled to function, a little part of my brain thanks the lucky stars for remembering to spray myself with cologne. Then I remember the pheromones, and realize that those alone are enough to make Echo go stir crazy.
The night passes by in a blur.
We're resting side by side on a delicate white bench when it happens.
Echo's shoulder brushes lightly against mine, a million butterflies tickling skin.
I scrape my fingernail against the wood of the bench in response, flakes of peeling paint surrendering to my vandalism. I've spent the majority of the night close to her, feeling her cheek pressed against mine, fingers curled together like vines.
And yet, it's still not enough.
Echo moves her head in close. She burrows her hair into my collarbone. I can smell it, the subtle sweet scent, bursts of effortless perfection, radiating off her strands. My eyelids droop, half closed, surrendering. I allow myself, for the first time tonight, to truly be ensconced in this serene euphoria.
I allow myself, because I have never been able to grant myself such permission until this moment. If a teenager's frontal lobes of the brain have not been yet developed fully, then so be it. I'll allow it, because now is now, and the future is vast, and the past has passed.
I am utterly drowned in the muffled truth of my thoughts.
When I resurface, I breathe new air.
Echo.
I reach for her hand.
"Kiss me."
The two magic words slip softly out her mouth like gentle daisies. As tiny and delicate as butterflies; yet they hang in the air like heavy weights, a proposal unanswered; a wishful command.
And they are powerful enough to make my mind go on overdrive.
