like hell.
Elton was such a small school that everyone was invited. We drank crappy beer and suspicious red punch, and once my roommates and I consumed way too many mushrooms in some guy’s bedroom before puking them up under a giant magnolia tree on campus. It was still cliquey but again, everyone mingled. Everyone knew everyone. This party is different. The Kappa Sigs have a huge house near the edge of campus. Brick with huge white columns. It looks like a plantation home from the outside. Huge Greek letters sit in the yard announcing the fraternity’s affiliation and people mill around everywhere dressed in tights and capes. Most of the girls chose Wonder Woman or Cat Woman (obviously the patent leather Halle Berry one). I wait for someone to stop me on the way up the massive stairs and ask who I am and what I’m doing here but it’s silly. Everyone knows Tate. And everyone can tell I’m with Tate by the way his hand never leaves mine.
It’s all so...weird.
The weed made me calm and I follow Tate through the house, past the questioning looks and stares. “Why is everyone looking at me?” I whisper as he hands me a drink I’m not planning to consume. I fake taking a sip. Weed and booze are not a good mix for me. Trust.
“Because you’re new,” Tate says. “And you’re with me.”
Something I’m learning about Tate is that he’s absolutely adorable. The egotistical swagger that made me dislike him in high school is still in force here, but I’ve got a different view and I realize I may have been a little harsh in my assessment. The attitude isn’t ego, it’s confidence. Dimples and a wide, easy smile make him impossible not to love. He charms the room, but never leaves my side. No one here knows me, not a soul, but they all treat me nicely because of him. He’s a God in this room and for this very strange night I’m sort of his Goddess. Tate is perfect, but even so, he’s almost too perfect for me. The more time we spent together, the more I realized I liked him; I just didn't like , like him.
His hand links with mine, introducing me to people. I fight him a little at first but then remind myself that I’m b reaking out of my shell. And no one knows me here. No one cares. The warmth of his skin against mine lacks a spark but that’s okay. In fact it’s more than okay.
“Go in the photo booth with me,” he asks. We pose like superhero es. Tate with his huge hammer and I pull out my toy gun. For the third photo he picks me up like I’m light as a feather. On the fourth photo I’m blinded by the flash and the feeling of his lips on my cheek.
“What was that?” I ask, with narrowed eyes. Several girls nod and whisper from nearby.
“Just having fun,” he promises. Probably true, but there’s something else going on here, for sure.
We walk through the kitchen to the back deck. Tate fills our cups and he leans against the wooden railing and takes a long swallow. I watch, surprised, as he places his cup on top of the rail and lights a cigarette. He watches me back.
"What?" I ask. My tongue is still bold from the weed and the few sips of punch.
"You're alright , Pip."
"I don't even k now what that means?" I say, shaking my head.
"It means I like you and I'm not sure why we weren't friends before."
I choke on my drink. "Because I’m younger and back in high school you didn't notice me." I eye him warily. "Or now you think you can get in my pants. Oh wait, and you were a douche."
I don't know what re action I expect to get, but all Tate has for me is a smile. "That's where you're wrong. I've noticed you for a long time."
"Oh, really?" No chance.
"Yes, really. Pretty girls are usually on my radar and Austin High was in short supply."
My cheeks burn . He called me pretty. Now I’m sure he’s trying to get in my pants. I have to admit his methods are pretty solid. "You don't seem like the type to hold back from asking a girl out. Our age difference wasn’t that much."
"True," he
Elton was such a small school that everyone was invited. We drank crappy beer and suspicious red punch, and once my roommates and I consumed way too many mushrooms in some guy’s bedroom before puking them up under a giant magnolia tree on campus. It was still cliquey but again, everyone mingled. Everyone knew everyone. This party is different. The Kappa Sigs have a huge house near the edge of campus. Brick with huge white columns. It looks like a plantation home from the outside. Huge Greek letters sit in the yard announcing the fraternity’s affiliation and people mill around everywhere dressed in tights and capes. Most of the girls chose Wonder Woman or Cat Woman (obviously the patent leather Halle Berry one). I wait for someone to stop me on the way up the massive stairs and ask who I am and what I’m doing here but it’s silly. Everyone knows Tate. And everyone can tell I’m with Tate by the way his hand never leaves mine.
It’s all so...weird.
The weed made me calm and I follow Tate through the house, past the questioning looks and stares. “Why is everyone looking at me?” I whisper as he hands me a drink I’m not planning to consume. I fake taking a sip. Weed and booze are not a good mix for me. Trust.
“Because you’re new,” Tate says. “And you’re with me.”
Something I’m learning about Tate is that he’s absolutely adorable. The egotistical swagger that made me dislike him in high school is still in force here, but I’ve got a different view and I realize I may have been a little harsh in my assessment. The attitude isn’t ego, it’s confidence. Dimples and a wide, easy smile make him impossible not to love. He charms the room, but never leaves my side. No one here knows me, not a soul, but they all treat me nicely because of him. He’s a God in this room and for this very strange night I’m sort of his Goddess. Tate is perfect, but even so, he’s almost too perfect for me. The more time we spent together, the more I realized I liked him; I just didn't like , like him.
His hand links with mine, introducing me to people. I fight him a little at first but then remind myself that I’m b reaking out of my shell. And no one knows me here. No one cares. The warmth of his skin against mine lacks a spark but that’s okay. In fact it’s more than okay.
“Go in the photo booth with me,” he asks. We pose like superhero es. Tate with his huge hammer and I pull out my toy gun. For the third photo he picks me up like I’m light as a feather. On the fourth photo I’m blinded by the flash and the feeling of his lips on my cheek.
“What was that?” I ask, with narrowed eyes. Several girls nod and whisper from nearby.
“Just having fun,” he promises. Probably true, but there’s something else going on here, for sure.
We walk through the kitchen to the back deck. Tate fills our cups and he leans against the wooden railing and takes a long swallow. I watch, surprised, as he places his cup on top of the rail and lights a cigarette. He watches me back.
"What?" I ask. My tongue is still bold from the weed and the few sips of punch.
"You're alright , Pip."
"I don't even k now what that means?" I say, shaking my head.
"It means I like you and I'm not sure why we weren't friends before."
I choke on my drink. "Because I’m younger and back in high school you didn't notice me." I eye him warily. "Or now you think you can get in my pants. Oh wait, and you were a douche."
I don't know what re action I expect to get, but all Tate has for me is a smile. "That's where you're wrong. I've noticed you for a long time."
"Oh, really?" No chance.
"Yes, really. Pretty girls are usually on my radar and Austin High was in short supply."
My cheeks burn . He called me pretty. Now I’m sure he’s trying to get in my pants. I have to admit his methods are pretty solid. "You don't seem like the type to hold back from asking a girl out. Our age difference wasn’t that much."
"True," he
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