He couldn't believe how nervous he felt standing outside her door. His heart was pounding. He touched the stitches on his lip with his tongue and it felt rough and foreign. He dreaded the questions that would come, and he could hear it in her soft musical voice, 'Craig, what happened?' all filled with concern. He hated when people asked him that.
He'd brought her a flower, one pale yellow rose. He knew the colors of the flowers were supposed to symbolize something but he had just liked this color, an almost there yellow. He closed his eyes for a second and felt light headed, he felt unreal. But it was almost good.
He knocked and held his breath. He could hear people inside and a second later the door was opened. He looked down at Toby.
"Hi, Craig. Jesus, what happened?" he said, staring at the lip and the color around his eye.
"Just a fight. No big deal. Is Ashley here?" he said, and Toby stood aside to let him in.
"Yeah. She's getting ready. Come in,"
Inside and her house was nice. Not as nice as his but nice. High ceilings, a staircase that curved up to the second floor, the rich wood banister curving with it. It was obvious women lived here because of the subtle decorations that his house lacked. His father tended to buy expensive paintings and expensive things with no eye for how they should be arranged.
"Sit down. I'll go tell her you're here," Toby said, and Craig sunk into the cushions on the couch, clutching the rose. The thorns had already got him but he didn't feel the little cuts on his fingers. He watched Toby jog up the stairs and faintly he heard him calling for Ashley.
He was alone and was glad. He didn't feel up for some interrogation by her mother or Toby's father. He could hear her talking to Toby upstairs but not the words. Just his low voice and her higher responses.
She came downstairs, her hair kind of spiky and straight, red at the edges. Her eyes had dark charcoal eye shadow and her lips were painted with this dark purple lipstick. She had on her best jeans and best little clingy shirt with a V-neck. She looked amazing. He blinked, unable to believe that this girl was interested in him.
"Hi," she said, and he stood up, held the rose out to her awkwardly.
"Here," he said, "this is for you,"
She took it, ducked her head.
"It's beautiful. Thank you," she said, and she twirled the rose between her fingers being careful of the thorns. He watched her, saw how she looked at him and then looked away. Saw the dark polish on her nails and the silver rings on her fingers. The one on her pinky looked like tiny silver leaves that curled around her finger.
"I'll get a vase," she said, and disappeared into the kitchen. Toby rocked back on his heels and looked critically at Craig's injuries.
"Jimmy beat you up?" he said, and Craig looked down.
"Not exactly, it was a fight," he said, because what Toby said made him think of his father, made him think of not fighting back.
"He likes her, you know," Toby said, and Craig nodded. 'Likes her, hates me,' he thought.
Ashley came back from the kitchen, set the vase and rose down on the coffee table.
"So, uh, ready to go?" she said, and he nodded.
"Bye, Toby," Ashley called as they walked out the door.
"Have fun," he said, looking for all the world like a smug little brother.
Outside, the light just starting to dim, all the houses looking closed up against the coming night. Some of the houses had lights on, a warm yellow glow. Others had just the weird flickery blue of the T.V.
"I'm glad your parents weren't there," he said, and she nodded.
"I planned it that way," He smiled, thinking of how he'd planned this night for when his dad was gone, too. This night was theirs.
"What happened?" she said, her voice filled with soft concern and she gently touched the edge of his black eye with her fingertip. Her touch felt electric to him, almost healing. He suppressed his instinct to pull away.
"Nothing. Uh, I mean, just a fight," He closed his eyes, prayed she wouldn't press it further. With who and why and all those questions. He wondered if she'd be mad that he had hurt Jimmy so badly. But she didn't press it, sensing his discomfort.
The movie theater wasn't far. It was packed. Kids had spilled outside, talking and laughing, skateboarding. Craig watched one kid with pin straight blond hair crouch low on his skateboard and glide past them. Ashley laughed and took his hand, suddenly and naturally. He liked the way their fingers intertwined.
It felt cool and old fashioned for him to buy her ticket and buy her popcorn and candy, a package of gummy bears. She looked up at him and murmured thanks. He nodded. Money was truly no problem for him.
"Terminator 3, The Rise of the Machines" was what they chose to see. They sat near the back of the theater.
"So, um, I always see you with Sean and Jay," she said cautiously.
"Yeah?" He didn't sound exactly defensive but it was close.
"So, I don't know. You don't really seem like them. In a way. Why do you hang out with them?"
He pressed his lips together, feeling the slight pull of the stitches. He wondered what she meant. Did he seem better than them? Was it because he was richer, or his father was richer? Was it because he wasn't in as much trouble as Jay? But he got in more trouble than Sean. Was it because they weren't in the top classes like her and her friends? But he wasn't in those classes, either. Maybe he could have been, once. He remembered doing well in school, liking school, before everything turned to shit.
"I don't know," he mumbled. She gave him a sad smile, touched his hair. He liked when she touched him.
The lights dimmed and the previews started. He was glad for the darkness and the noise, the surround sound. Now they could be together but wouldn't have to talk. She slipped her hand into his again and he gave her hand a light squeeze.
Movies. Next to taking pictures they were his escape. He could vanish into a movie, submerge himself into that world no matter how fantastical. For the near two hours of the movie he was gone, there was no Craig Manning, no failing school, no teachers hassling him, no Jimmy being a jackass, and no father. It was sweet relief.
This time, though, he didn't need to completely escape. He was conscious of Ashley's hand in his, of her head on his shoulder, of her lips against his. He was conscious of his hand running through her hair and of her hand on the back of his neck.