“Oh,it’s, um … it’s Poe. I memorize a lot of his quotes and stuff,” she said, herblush creeping over her cheekbones. “Well, anyway,” she continued, not waitingfor a response, “I guess all I can really say is that, you are wasting yourtime building houses.”
“You’veneverseenmy houses,” I said pointedly.
Shefound my eyes and held my gaze. “I don’t need totoknow that you could never love anything as much as you love playing thatguitar.”
Ijust smiled and nodded, because It was then, in that moment, I truly knew therewas one thing Icouldlove more than that guitar, if she let me.
But,she saw it: my dreams of being a musician, a singer, a song-writer. Sheunderstood it and she accepted it, just like my grandfather, the man who gaveme that guitar. She didn’t tell me it was silly, the way my father had after Igraduated high school. She encouraged it, and I had only just met her.
Iopened my mouth to reply to her when a bleached blonde stumbled across thelawn.
“Ohh, Ky-lie!” she crowed, dropping on the grass behind thatpurple-headed enigma, flinging her arms around her neck. “I’ve been lookingeverywherefor you, my beautiful, beautiful b-best friend.”
“Thedrunk friend?” I asked, grinning so hard it hurt.
Kylienodded slowly. “Yep.” She unwrapped the girl’s arms from her neck. “Come onBrooke. Get off me. You reek.”
“Ismell like beer and s-e-x,” the friend, apparently named Brooke, said, pokingKylie’s cheek with every letter. “That spellssex, by the way.”
“Yes,thank you,” Kylie replied with an accompanying eye roll.
Brooke’seyes landed on me as I bent over to zip my guitar back in its case. “Andspeaking ofsex… who’s the Kurt Cobain wannabe? He’s fucking h-o-t.”
KurtCobain wannabe?I glanced down at my plaid flannel, Van Halent-shirt and jeans, and shrugged. I guess it was a fair assessment, and Kylielaughed at my self-scrutiny.
“Thisis Devin,” she said.
“Youmet another poet-freak? That’s soadorable. Did you guys do it? BecauseKy, ifyoudon’twannado it with him, I will.He’s h-o-t.”
“Yes,you’ve already spelled it out for me,” Kylie grumbled, her cheeks blazingcrimson and heat. I could only laugh, knowing my own cheeks were matching incolor. “And no, we didn’t ‘do it,’ Brooke. Some people can go to a partywithout getting laid.”
“Onlythe boring ones,” Brooke grumbled, falling backward against the grass. “HiDevin.”
“Uh,hi Brooke,” I said, unsuccessfully hiding my amusement.
“Youlook like you’ll fit in p-perfectly in Kylie’s coffee shop,” the blondemumbled, rolling her head lazily against the grass.
“Coffeeshop?” My eyes met Kylie’s, and she flushed.
“Idon’t have a coffee shop, but one day I will,” she hastily explained, and Inodded.
“Well,I hope that works out for you,” I said sincerely, and looking back to Brooke, Iwondered where my own drunken companion was. I glanced back toward the house.“So, um … I should probably find my cousin and get out of here.”
Ihated saying that. I wanted more time. It didn’t feel like I’d had enough, andit wasn’t fair. I wanted to stomp my feet and whine andprotestagainstFather Time for stealing the perfect night away without mypermission.
“Yeah,”she said with regret. “I should get her back to the dorms.”
Whatis it aboutthatmoment that feels so awkward? The moment when you don’tknow if you should get her number, even though you just spent the mostincredible hour and a half of your life walking and talking with her andserenading her under the stars. Maybe it was only that I didn’t know whatitwas—did she like me? Did she want to go out sometime? Did she simply want afriend—a friend with benefits, perhaps?
Iswallowed, pushed a hand through my mop of hair and stood up. As I grabbed myguitar case and opened the truck’s backseat, I hoped to some higher power thatshewould make the move, or at least give mesome kind of hint.
“So,are you going to ask me for my number?” I heard her say. I turned around andlooked down at her. “Because if you’re not, I’m asking for yours. You’re toonice not to be friends with.”
“Friends,huh?” I asked, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
Kylieglanced over to her friend before drifting her eyes back to mine. “I’m notreally looking for anything more than that right now,” she said in a quietvoice. Her gaze dropped to the asphalt and her feet shuffled against thepebbled ground as she added, “Sorry.”
I’dbe lying if I said my disappointment wasn’t stifling. What guylikesbeing friend-zoned? But … I resigned myself to being happy just to know her inany capacity, and besides, thingscanchange. Things change all thetime.
