I really don’t understand guys. (I think I’ve been saying that a lot lately…) Especially the ones who can eat 20 pounds of food and not be full, nor fat. Let’s take Taylor for example…he was at the moment sitting in my sunlit kitchen eating his third piece of cake that my sister had baked the night before. He actually seemed to like it, and wolfed it down like he never once saw cake before. I on the other hand was sitting across the counter from him sipping a glass orange juice, while trying not to think of the delicious aroma of chocolate ten inches away, and trying not to notice the cake crumb sitting on Taylor’s lower lip.
And it didn’t seem to be working, because I couldn’t get past the first paragraph in my history book that I pretended to be so enthralled with. Or maybe it wasn’t the crumb…maybe it was because Taylor wouldn’t stop looking at me. I hadn’t a clue. All I knew was that I was in deep trouble. He was actually in my house. He was eating my food. Somehow I knew this wasn’t part of the “act cool” plan that my sister was talking about. But I couldn’t help it. The thought of a boy actually wanting to talk to me, and hang out with me was more than I have ever experienced. It didn’t matter that it was all a joke. Who knew? Taylor could actually like me…
Yes, people do tell me that I have an overactive imagination. So sue me.
“I hate to break it to you, Alex, but your eyes haven’t left that spot in about 5 minutes.”
Taylor’s voice brought me back to rights, and I looked up from my history book. He had pushed his plate back and was now leaning in his chair, looking intently into my face. I felt my cheeks redden as I slowly realized the same thing.
“So? I have a test next Wednesday, I need to remember every detail,” I said, giving him a glare and returning to my book. I could sense that he was smiling, but he didn’t answer me. He just proceeded to stare. I looked up again, and closed my book.
“Do you like staring at people?” I asked him, reaching for my glass.
“Sometimes,” he said simply, twitching his eyebrows suggestively. I hate it when guys do that. Is it supposed to be some kind of turn-on?
I rolled my eyes at him and shoved my book into my bag and zipped it up. I was trying to keep myself busy under his gaze, but I couldn’t help but look back at him every few seconds. That crumb was still on his lip. It was driving me crazy.
“You have a crumb on your face,” I finally blurted out, standing up from my chair. I watched as his hand reached up to brush it off, and I even saw a hint of pink in his cheeks in doing so. I tried not to smile.
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” I answered, beginning to walk over to the sink to wash off his plate. He stopped me in the middle of the kitchen and grabbed the dirty plate from my hands. Surprised, I looked up at him. He looked kind of shocked himself.
“What are you doing?” he asked me, walking to the sink himself and turning the water on, “I can do this, sit down.” I watched in silence as he continued to wash it.
“You’re the guest,” I muttered, feeling quite stupid 2 seconds after.
Taylor turned his head around and looked over his shoulder. “So?” he asked, smiling. I shrugged off the question.
“Wow, a guy with manners. That’s not very common,” I said, sitting down again and crossing my arms around me.
“My parents teach me well…I guess they have to with seven kids,” he said as an afterthought, placing the wet plate on the drying rack.
“Seven kids?” I said incredulously. And I thought four was bad.
He laughed. “Yeah, seven. I’m the second oldest.”
I shook my head in wonder. “You’re parents must be Saints. My parents were only going for one…”
“Mine were going for three…didn’t happen though,” he said, drying his hands off with a towel, “so how many kids in your family?”
“Four,” I answered, taken aback from the whole conversation. He wasn’t supposed to get personal about my family life…all he was supposed to do was kiss me.
Taylor nodded. “Cool. Sounds better than seven.”
I smiled and looked down at the floor. “I guess so…” I trailed off.
“So!” Taylor exclaimed enthusiastically, “where’s the attic?”
I looked up at him blankly for a second, and then suddenly remembered that we were supposed to be cleaning the attic. I wanted to hit myself for coming up with such a stupid excuse in Biology class…the attic really didn’t need cleaning. It was an attic. They were supposed to be dirty and crawling with bugs. Besides, we would never get it done, and when my dad found out that I was taking up the job, he would make me finish eventually. But I couldn’t tell Taylor this. I would feel incredibly stupid.
“Um,” I said, clearing my throat and standing up, “upstairs. Let’s go.”
As I led him from the kitchen, I couldn’t help but notice the fact that he was walking very close to me. I could feel the heat radiating off of his body as we both climbed the stairs to the second floor. I swallowed nervously and told myself to forget about it.
Finally, we made it to the upstairs hallway. As I continued to walk, I could sense that he had stopped. I looked behind me, and I found him looking up at the ceiling.
“What are you looking at?” I asked him curiously.
His eyes searched the long ceiling. “I’m looking for the attic door…isn’t it supposed to be here somewhere?”
I grinned. “No, silly, we don’t have an attic like that.” I pointed to the small door at the end of the corridor.
“There are stairs beyond that door that lead up to it.”
He looked a bit confused. “Oh. I’ve never seen an attic like that before.”
“Yeah, I’ve never seen one like it either. The stairs go up, and it turns into this maze of rooms and stuff. It’s huge. When my sister and me were little, we used to play hide and seek up there. It doesn’t feel like an attic at all,” I added. Suddenly, I grew embarrassed as I noticed the grin on his face.
“What?” I asked him, feeling my cheeks grow hot.
He shrugged. “Nothing. I can just picture you doing that is all.”
“Oh,” I muttered, nervous. I turned around from his gaze and continued towards the attic door, hoping that Taylor would follow me. As I was halfway up, I realized that he wasn’t. As I returned to the hallway, I didn’t see him at all.
“Taylor?” I called out, peering in each room as I passed each one. I figured he was in one of my brother’s rooms, looking at the sports paraphernalia or something. Finally, I passed my own bedroom and found him standing in the middle, looking at the walls like he was in another world.
“Taylor.”
His eyes never left the walls. “This is amazing, Alex.”
I walked into my room and followed his gaze. About two years earlier, I was reading a Home and Garden magazine at the doctor’s office, and found this incredible picture of a bedroom wall with a mural of an Italian countryside on it. It was lined with grape vines and flowers, and it was the most perfect scene that I had ever seen in my life. Needless to say, I ripped the page out of the magazine and bought some paint on my way home. I worked for hours on it and about two months ago I finally finished it. I was really proud of it. The thing is, only a few select people have actually seen it.
“Yeah, well, it’s amazing what a little paint can do…” I said nervously, hoping with all my might that he actually liked it as much as I did.
Taylor turned and looked at me. “You did this?”
I shrugged nervously. “I saw the picture in a magazine. When you have something to look off of, it’s not that hard.”
Taylor’s mouth was open in astonishment. “Not that hard? Alex, it looks like you spent years to do it.”
“Well…only two.”
He shook his head. “Man, I would kill for the talent to do this.” He walked over to the wall, and lightly touched his finger to one of the vines. He trailed it along the length in silence.
I watched as he touched my work like it would break in any second. Something was stirring in my stomach; I couldn’t really describe it. I was proud, that was for sure, but the feeling wasn’t about the mural. It was about him. Anxiety maybe. I couldn’t help but imagine what I would do if he wanted to touch me like that.
Taylor suddenly turned to look at me. “What made you want to do it?”
“Italy,” I said simply, clutching my hands together nervously.
“I love Italy,” I went on, “my mom was sponsoring one of her books in Europe, and she took the whole family with her. On one of her days off, we flew to Italy for a day, and ever since then I’ve wanted to live there…” I trailed off, a million memories flooding my mind. Especially of my mother on that day.
Taylor slowly took his hand off of the wall, his eyes never leaving my face.
“So your mom is a writer?” he asked me, maybe sensing some change in me on the subject.
I wrapped my arms around my middle. “She used to be, yeah.”
“Oh. What made her stop?”
“She died in a car accident,” I said, pushing myself to remain calm. It was always hard telling people that my mother was dead.
I could tell by the way Taylor’s eyes were shining, that realization was beginning to dawn about the mural on the wall. How important it really was to me. It looked like he wanted to say something, but it was understandable to me that it was hard for him too. People always wanted to be sympathetic…but then some of them knew me and knew that I wanted them to be anything but sympathetic. Happiness doesn’t come along with sadness…and I wanted to be happy.
“Don’t say anything, Taylor, it’s okay,” I said, trying to make him feel better.
“You made this for her…” he said quietly, more of a statement than a question.
I inhaled a breath quickly. I did…but no one had ever said it outloud before. Not even me to someone else, to tell them the truth. Not even my dad knew the real reason for the mural…all he knew was that his wall wasn’t white anymore, all for the cause of his daughter’s flash of artistry. But before I could tell this to Taylor, a strange beeping noise interrupted the nervous silence. I saw Taylor start to dig around in his pockets. Pulling out a black beeper and reading its message, he looked up at me guiltily.
“Um…” he started.
“The phone is in the kitchen near the fridge. Help yourself,” I said to him, before he could ask.
Taylor looked into my eyes as to say thank you, and quickly left the room. Immediately the room felt empty, along with my heart. Taylor understood. No one ever had before.
I had to tell him. I had to tell him that I knew about the bet, it was the only way that I was going to stay sane, and to keep him from getting even closer. It was a mistake from the beginning to let the game go on longer than it should have. It was amazing to me that I was actually enjoying it for awhile. But I had to tell him. Now.
I walked down the stairs as fast as I could and entered the kitchen. I didn’t want him to come back upstairs, to come into my room again to see another part of me that I didn’t want him to see. He was just hanging up the phone as I came in. He looked up as he heard my footsteps.
“Alex-“ he began, but I cut him off.
“Listen, Taylor, you have to know something…” I started, making myself begin to tell him the truth.
“Alex, wait, I can’t talk now, I have to get home,” Taylor said, stopping me with his own words, “it’s my mom’s birthday tomorrow, and I totally forgot to get her present and everything. That was my brother, Zac, that just called and Isaac is picking me up in 5 minutes.” His voice was so hurried and so rushed that I was amazed. He walked over to the kitchen counter and quickly strapped on his backpack. I saw him heave a deep breath and turned around to face me.
“Listen, Alex…” he started, a look of hurt crossing over his features, “I really don’t…”
He seemed as though he was debating with himself.
“Don’t, what, Taylor?” I asked him softly. He sound of his voice started to scare me. Was he going to tell me that he really didn’t want to kiss me?
His shoulders slumped slightly. “I don’t…I mean…God!” he uttered, his jaw clenched, his fists hitting the counter beside him. I flinched at his sudden outburst.
Taylor noticed the look on my face, and his face softened. “Man, Al, I’m sorry…it’s just that…”
“I don’t think we need to hang out anymore,” he finally spoke.
My eyes widened in astonishment as my throat suddenly started to burn furiously. Two hours ago, it would have been a good thing. He wouldn’t hang out with me anymore, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to kiss me, and the bet would end. But two hours ago, I was mad about the bet. Now I didn’t care, wanted him with or without.
“Why?” I asked him softly, trying to keep my cool.
Taylor shrugged, almost helplessly. “Just…man, just believe me Alex. We don’t click.”
I nodded at this, not understanding, but wanting him to think I did. So he could go and I could break down in peace.
I heard a car honk outside. Taylor looked towards the front of the house, and then back at me. With one last glance, I watched as he crossed the room and exited my house. The slam of the door echoed through the stillness.
