She's the One

I splashed some cold water on my face and analyzed my current situation. Viola was definitely going to reject me in a huge, embarrassing way. Our friendship had been amazing and it felt like we connected in ways that I didn't feel with anyone else. I would have no choice but to go to prom, alone. My mother would likely insist that I reimburse her for the $2000 she spent on dinner reservations, limo rental, and my dress. Actually $200 of that I used to book a hotel room that she knew nothing about; a hotel room that I would now be sleeping in, alone. Oh yeah and the final kicker (I noted to myself as I looked up in the bathroom mirror), my mascara was running down my cheeks and my eyes were bloodshot. I was going to have to walk out there and accept my rejection from Viola while looking like a meth monkey.

“There's nothing good about this.” I quietly mumbled to myself as I dabbed at the black streaks under my eyes with a wet tissue. “I should have just said something about going as friends, but now I'm screwed. Screwed.”

I heard footsteps from the hallway and then Mrs. Dobson walked in through the door behind me. She smiled faintly in my direction as she walked toward a stall and then stopped as though something had suddenly occurred to her. She turned to look at me in the mirror. “Are you all right, young lady?”

Although she had asked it with less than an ounce of genuine concern in her voice and ten pounds worth of gossipy curiosity, I attempted to appease her. “Oh yeah, it's foolish, really. We were helping the girls with soccer outside and... I got hit in the face with a ball.”

Mrs. Dobson was all over this like a fly on a stick of butter. “Was it intentional? Did one of the girls do it to harm you? I could speak to her mother.” She put her hand on my shoulder lightly, which disgusted me in its falseness.

“No, it was an accident. My fault, even.”

She appeared unconvinced, but nodded and made her way into one of the stalls, leaving me in peace for a brief moment.

I hurriedly finished drying my face and removing all remnants of my eye make-up. Hopefully no one paid enough attention to my eyes to notice that my lashes looked strangely pale compared to how they were five minutes prior. On my way back to the lawn behind the Center I remembered to grab a piece of paper and pen from the community notice bulletin board. It would have made me look extremely silly if I'd returned to Viola empty-handed, since I came inside for that one thing and was gone longer than necessary.

When I reached the back door, I stopped and closed my eyes for a second. “You're over-reacting, there is nothing to worry about.” I said to myself, pretending it would actually work to have a little pep-talk of sorts. With a heavy sigh, I pushed open the door and stepped out into the near-dusk atmosphere where Viola and her evidently obedient gang of sixth graders were quickly turning to silhouettes as they ran drills around the grass. She had her back to me and I could hear her voice call out patient instructions over the girls, who appeared to be concentrating heavily on their tasks at hand, dodging and weaving clumsily.

The more steps that I took, the more that I could feel my chest freezing up inside with anxiety. By the time I got to the edge of the parking lot, I knew I couldn't get any closer to her. It was like a survival instinct that warned me of impending danger; she would tear me up into little pieces with those sparkling green eyes that could stare right into me gently, and I'd never see it coming. At least this way, I had some form of defense. It was weak, and well-formed, but I told myself that if I kept a distance of 20 feet at all times then she wouldn't be able to reject me because we couldn't speak to each other. Now I just had to figure out how to maintain my 20 foot rule until tomorrow afternoon and I'd be golden.

I probably looked like a dick standing on the edge of the grass being very unhelpful. Viola looked over at me several times to see if I was going to come any closer, but I was not. Finally she pulled aside one of the girls and sent her over to me in order to collect the pen and paper; I tried to act casually and not stare at Viola when the girl returned to her, but I couldn't help but watch as she started jotting something down. My curiosity was pressing me to go and see what she was up to, but I knew that I couldn't discover that answer without also discovering her answer to my balls-out question, which was undesirable. So I stayed put, there on the sideline.

Viola had the girls do a couple of high-kicking exercises that seemed to really wear them out before she announced that there was one hour left of the session, and they could all have a break to get water or juice from inside. I froze at this news. She would be sending them in and the two of us would definitely be alone for enough time for her to break the word to me. Why was I becoming so terrified?

Within seconds, the crowd of girls had paraded past me and were bouncing into the Center at the prospect of more orange soda, which apparently was quite the kid-crack.
There was no need for me to reflect on this situation. Viola and I were alone, and she was walking toward me, a slight look of disdain and confusion spread across her face. I racked my brain for something I could quickly say that would break through the awkwardness, while simultaneously let her know that I had been “just kidding” about the whole prom-as-dates thing, and then we could laugh about it later, even though secretly I'd be tormented. Unfortunately the clever quip didn't come to me fast enough.

“Do you want to come over to Starbucks while the kids are doing their juice thing? My treat.”

My mouth couldn't catch up with my brain, it was just too happy to not be hearing about what a crazy douchebag she thought I was. “I uh... yeah.”

She smiled at me softly, and took a step towards me, weirdly. Then as though she were thinking the better of her actions, she turned away and began walking. I followed closely behind in a weak and awkward silence that was starting to feel like a bad habit between us. We didn't look at each other again until we reached the doors and Viola stopped to hold one open for me; it was a sweet gesture that I appreciated, but I stared at the ground as I walked in, despite myself.

The Starbucks was a bit crowded inside, as they often tend to be on weekends, never mind that there seemed to be 20 of them in a 5 mile radius. Fortunately for us, there happened to be no-one in line at that particular moment, so we had the chance to order quickly. The thought occurred to me that we probably weren't meant to leave our sixth graders unsupervised, but I chose to ignore that nagging question and instead assume they wouldn't mortally wound each other in a few minutes' time.

“I'll have a double mocha.” Viola ordered. I should have known that she was the kind of girl who wouldn't complicate her coffee into something pretentious. She nodded toward me as if to give me a go-ahead.

I glanced at the menu and read off the first thing I saw, a pumpkin pie latte. Must have been one of those weird seasonal things they did. Viola paid for our drinks and then we moved down to the end of the counter to wait. I wondered why she was just standing there, and not mentioning the elephant in the room that was my asking her on a date. A huge date.

“Sorry the drills are so boring,” she blurted out with a slight shrug.

“No, don't worry about it. I think it's fine.”

Viola nodded and looked at the wall until our coffee arrived. This gave me a chance to observe her expression, and see that she didn't appear angry or standoffish, simply a bit tense and confused, if I had to guess. I couldn't really know for sure, but something in her eyes seemed more thoughtful than usual. Maybe she was trying to decide whether she should ignore me for the rest of her life, or for only about ten years?

We took our hot coffees (a relief to my chilling hands as the sun began to set), and headed back across the street to the center. Our timing was impeccable and the girls had just begun to shuffle their way into the lawn for round two of drills. Clearly the carbonated orange beast had not yet begun to rise up evil within them because they still appeared normal and calm. Almost like regular people, or something.

Viola had them stretch all over again so that they wouldn't go puking their guts out all over their shoes. I took up temporary residency about 30 feet away from her this time, not intending for it to happen that way exactly, but welcoming the space as it allowed me to ignore all the weirdness between us. When the girls finished stretching, she had them practice bringing the stationary ball up off the ground to bounce in on their knees like giant hacky sacks. I'd seen members of the Illyria team do that before, but I never understood how that helped them in a real game. Maybe she was just stalling them while she pulled out her pen and paper, scribbling away once more.

After a few minutes she folded up her paper and handed it to one of the girls, who promptly brought it over to me. The blood seemed to rush from my head for a second as I accepted it, now understanding what she had been over there doing all this time. Instead of telling me to my face, she had written down her answer, and likely her reasons why she wanted me to never speak to her again for the rest of our lives. Sure, that probably made it easier for her, but for me it was a clusterfuck of damage. I could open it with her standing there gaging my reaction, like a voyeur just ready to unfold horrifying drama. Or I could do the sensible thing, and shove it in my pocket for later, which was exactly what I did.

Viola watched me do this with a slight look that echoed disappointment, but was impossible to read. She took a drink of her mocha before turning her eyes back to the girls, some of whom were making a show of trying to kick each other. “All right, good job,” she called out over them half-heartedly, “now who wants to learn how to kick some goals?”

They cheered enthusiastically and began to jump around, high-fiving and laughing. Viola instructed them to get set-up in groups of four and stand in a cross formation. While they shuffled around, she jogged over to me, tossing up a soccer ball and catching it as she did.

“Hey,” she said with a nod to me.

“Looks like they're enjoying this.” I deadpanned.

Vi glanced at the girls. “Yeah, they're not complaining. Seems like they get into the goal-kicking thing.”

“Scoring is the fun part, right?”

“Well I've always thought so.” The first smile of the hour brought to you by Viola's knack for double entendres. “So, probably good if you read that later. Makes more sense.”

“Yeah.” I wasn't sure what else to say to that. Everything was vague enough already.

“Are you feeling ok? Or do you want to go, or something?”

I did want to go. Go and puke my heart out. “Nah, it's fine. Sorry I'm not more helpful.”

“Don't worry about it, I'm still glad you're here. Besides, not like this is hard work or anything.”

Some of the girls announced impatiently that they were ready, in position, and waiting. Viola rolled her eyes at me as if to say 'here we go', and threw her ball toward a group of four. She related the directions for goal kicking to them, and did a quick demonstration, but this time she didn't leave my side. We stayed that way, standing next to each other without speaking, until the hour was through. I drank my latte and watched her instruct the girls helpfully. When it was time to go, one of the Junior League mothers came out to retrieve them and take them to where their parents would be picking them up, so Viola and I quietly began our walk back to my car.

“It went well.” I was surprised to see my breath in the air in front of me as I spoke.

“Yeah, it was good. None of those girls will ever play soccer, but maybe it will help them move faster at tennis, or golf.”

I scrunched my nose up at this, but didn't mention anything about how I played tennis and golf. Neither one of us said anything further until we got into the car and I asked if she minded me turning the heater on full blast. She was distant, but unopposed.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, she sighed with a bit of a tortured expression. “Do you want to come hang out tonight still? Since we're going to my house, anyway. And you have to change back into your own clothes there, anyway. And I rented Hairspray, anyway.”

I half-faked a smile (the real half was due to the way she managed to take something normal and say it in the silliest and cutest possible way), and managed to nod in approval. “Yeah, if you want. I still want to.” Inside, I wondered how this would give me a chance to read her note in privacy and avoid any kind of traumatizing drama (trauma-drama?), but I resolved that if she still wanted to hang out, it likely meant she wasn't hoping for me to disappear off the face of the earth.

When we pulled up to her house, I was surprised to see that it looked dark inside, but then I remembered that Daphne was probably staying behind at the Center with the other moms to make sure that all the girls got picked up. Viola grabbed her duffel bag and dug around inside the front pocket for her keys. Unfortunately I felt even colder now that I'd just started getting used to my car heater and was suddenly outside once again.

“How's that dance working out for you?” Viola remarked with a raised eyebrow.

I realized that I had been bouncing back and forth subconsciously to warm my legs. “It's fighting off the shock to my system. Do you think this is some kind of fluke where we get snow out of it?”

She grinned. “If there's snow, sign me up... aha!” She revealed her keys proudly and started quickly for the front door. I followed suit, eager to get inside the house and begin warming up. Unfortunately I discovered as soon as we crossed the threshold, that the house was not any warmer at all, and my expectations were shattered.

“Shit,” Viola sighed, “my mom must have been so busy ushering out all her friends that she forgot to flip on the furnace. Don't worry, it will only take a few minutes to get going.”

I nodded, wiggling around in my skin with clattering teeth like some kind of spastic.

She sprinted out to the next room, calling out to me over her shoulder that the basement would get hot the fastest. I didn't wait to figure out why exactly this was (despite the fact that it seemed backwards somehow), and headed down the stairs.
When I'd been dating Sebastian we rarely hung out in the Hastings' basement, even though I'd always thought of it as the kind of place I wish I had in my house to bring friends over and hang out in. The electronic equipment was lacking – the TV was from the 70's or something and had one of those built-in wood cabinets that were popular before people actually needed to plug things in to their sets. There also was a funny smell, and some of the steps squeaked as you stepped on them which made things precarious. But these were the basement's only short-comings, and it made up for them tenfold with amazing décor and the greatest, comfiest couch to ever grace a hang-out room. I figured it must have been Mr. Hastings' little hide-away when he couldn't stand his wife, because he'd installed an enormous bar with plenty of those retro neon signs that read things like “Ask for Bud here” and “It's Mountain Time with Coors”. There was, of course, a pool table and a dart board, and even a pinball machine that took 10 cent coins. I felt like I could take my laptop down there, grab a beer and some friends, and forget to come out until summer.

Viola hopped down the steps, pulling me out of my daydreams. “Sorry it's freezing, it will get better quick though. The furnace is behind those boards over there,” she pointed toward a storage area beyond the bar, “so it should heat right up.”

“Thank you, it feels a little better down here already.”

She nodded and handed me my clothes, along with a sweater that I didn't recognize. “I grabbed these for you, the sweater might help. If you want to change, there's actually a bathroom behind the stairs... but I don't think the toilet flushes.”

I thanked her again and took the clothes, heading into the bathroom as she flopped down on the couch and started to watch TV. I flipped on the light and closed the door behind me. It was more like a utility closet than a bathroom, but at least there was a mirror and enough space to change. It surprised me at first to see my reflection; I had forgotten about taking off all my eye make-up a few hours before, and I didn't expect to see myself without it.

As rapidly as I could, I got out of the borrowed sports clothing and back into mine, pulling on the sweater last. It was definitely warm and snuggly, amplified by the fact that it smelled very much like a certain green-eyed soccer player. I pulled the bottom hem up to my face and breathed it in deeply. It was my last happy action before it came time to do the very thing I was dreading most.

“Ok, suck it up,” I whispered with a sigh, reaching into the pocket of the discarded shorts and retrieving the note.

My first reaction as I opened it was that it looked nearly to scribbly to read, but then I remembered she had been using her other hand as a clipboard to write on when we were out there on the grass. I squinted hard and did my best to make out the words.


Olivia
Thank you for asking me to go with you, I know it must have been weird/hard. I'm sorry I don't know how to say this to you or give you an answer to your face. There's a lot I want to say but I think I'd lose my nerve. The simple thing is this: I swore to myself that I would never be Seb again no matter what. It pisses me off that he ditched you but if I try to fix that by pretending to be him I will betray myself. I don't want to turn you down, but I have to. I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me. But you probably will. I just hope you don't.


She hadn't signed it, but she didn't need to, of course.

I stared at it for a minute. I couldn't say that I didn't expect it, but in a way, I still felt very surprised. She had used her brother as her excuse not to go with me, something that I didn't understand, and thought maybe she knew my motives better than I did. The thought of her going as her brother had occurred to me, but I knew it wasn't Sebastian that I wanted there at my prom, on the biggest night of my high school existence. I hadn't been asking her to go as anyone else but herself, but maybe that misunderstanding didn't even matter to her, and the bottom line was that she had said “no”.

I put the note back into the pocket of the shorts and opened the bathroom door slowly. I could see her lounging casually, watching I Love Lucy and giggling quietly. I resolved that even though she may not have conveyed all of her motives or reasons to me, she had made the effort to note how important it was that we stay friends and I not 'hate her'. The least I could do was just go on acting like everything was normal to reward her for her honesty, and keep her friendship I was so certain I was about to lose.

Our friendship.

Why was it that I was scared to death of losing it, but now that I knew it was safe, I felt so unsatisfied?

I would take what I would get, and not push her for any more answers, even if I did think she had misunderstood me when I'd asked her. It was too much of a risk without enough to gain. This was my stubborn attitude as I took a place next to her on the couch (aka comfiest couch in the world), and set her jersey and shorts on the coffee table. Viola looked at me and smiled with gentleness in her eyes. It wasn't everything that I'd hoped for, but I would take it.