Serendipity, p.16
Serendipity, page 16
I pick up my phone and see the cracked screen, and that stops the next giggle that’s bubbling up in my throat. It’s nice—really nice—to laugh with him, but I remember why I’m here sitting with him in the first place.
“You know, saying it all out loud … I guess I kind of get your point,” he says. He pulls at his collar and winces. And wow—it’s so adorable that I look down. “Uh, I’m Dean, by the way. Dean Bayani.”
“I’ll write that down. For when I’m interviewed for the inevitable true-crime podcast.” My voice is off, cold again. And I’ve got to keep it there. I can’t forget that this cute boy is only next to me, laughing at my jokes, because I wore the same outfit as the girl he really wanted. That I interrupted the romantic grand gesture, no matter how misguided, he had planned for someone else.
I sigh. “I’m Zora.”
Dean reaches out to shake my hand, and I take it for some reason. His palm is smooth, and his grip is strong.
“Nice to meet you, Zora,” Dean says in a low voice, leaning in closer so his shoulder brushes mine. My stomach does this weird flippy thing, and my whole body warms up, like I just stepped into the sun.
What the hell is going on?
Jorge and Astrid better get here now.
I pull my hand away, studying my shattered phone to keep me tethered to reality, and an awkward silence falls between the two of us. I know it’s my turn to talk, but I’m also scared to let anything out.
So, we sit there listening to the muffled sounds coming from the gym, as every molecule in my body is hyperaware of how close his knee is to mine.
“You know,” he says, finally. “This probably doesn’t help to disprove my characterization as, uh, not a reclusive and disturbed stalker.” I turn to look at him, and there’s a different smile there. Not the firework one, not the fake one—this one is small, unsure. “But I’ve actually never been good with girls. They kind of just … look right through me. They always have.”
I don’t see how that can be true when he looks the way he does, but I keep that to myself. I just nod, prompting him to go on. “So, I guess that’s why I did this tonight. This whole big show? And I’m not totally clueless—I know it was, uh, over-the-top. I spent weeks making that stupid phone … and I used all my savings to pay my school’s dance team. But, I don’t know … I felt like I needed to go big in order to stand out to Lulu. To make her even, like … consider me in that way. I know I’m nothing special compared to other guys she talks to. That I had to do a freaking flash mob to even be on their level. And you know, maybe it wasn’t even Lulu, but the idea of her. Because, like I said, we really didn’t know each other.” He exhales loudly and looks down. “I think I just wanted someone to finally see me. Does that make sense?”
I feel whatever anger I was harboring melt away because, yes, it makes total sense. I know exactly what it feels like to never stand out, to be overlooked. I just didn’t think someone like him would feel the same way.
But do I tell him that? Is he going to laugh and say “just kidding”? Or even worse, wrinkle his nose and make it clear that it’s definitely not the same as with me?
I decide to play it safe. “You’re right. That doesn’t help prove your case as not a reclusive and disturbed stalker.”
He looks down at the ground and lets out a little fake laugh. And I realize I got it all wrong.
“I know what you mean, though,” I continue, and his gaze meets mine. “My best friend, Astrid—she has a pretty big personality. She loves to be in the spotlight. She’s always shining. You probably saw her tonight doing a grand gesture of her own, to try to get her ex-girlfriend back. The dance right before yours?”
“Oh, is that what that was?”
“Yeah.” I shake my head. “I wish I could say it was an outlying event, but it’s pretty on-brand for her. So, yeah, always chasing after Astrid … I feel pretty overlooked too. Like, I’m a supporting character in all of her big moments, instead of my own.”
He brushes his shoulder against mine. “I don’t see how someone could overlook you.”
I turn over the words in my head, searching for a different meaning, a slight that I’m missing. It must be all over my face, because he quickly clarifies. “I mean because you’re beautiful.”
“Because I look like Lulu?”
His sparkling dark eyes look right into mine. “No, because you look like you.”
I feel those words all over me. My stomach flutters, my skin prickles, my heart thuds all the way up into my throat. I can’t speak, and he must take that as offense because he starts talking fast.
“Sorry if that was weird. God, I seem to be incapable of not being weird.” His cheeks start to heat up again. “And it’s not like I’m trying to hit on you. But uh … not that I’m not hitting on you. And also your appearance isn’t the only thing that matters. I know that we just met—like really just met. But I can already tell you’re funny, and forgiving, obviously—”
“It’s okay,” I cut him off, covering the smile taking over my face with my hands.
“Okay.” He nods once, then twice. “Okay.”
I’m looking down, but I can feel the smile radiating off him, a match to my own. And we both sit there in the darkness, beaming, as my mind races to catch up with what’s happening. Not not hitting on me … so that means …
“Anyway,” he says, cutting into my thoughts. “It sounds to me like maybe your friend needs to take a back seat to you sometimes. She should let you shine and be at the center, while she cheers you on.”
I want to defend Astrid, list all the nice things she’s done for me over the years, but instead I just nod. “Maybe you’re right.”
“And what you were saying about my grand gesture wasn’t, uh, totally inaccurate. But also … I think I’m glad I still took the risk. Even though I made a fool of myself, I put myself out there and I was seen. You know, I tried. It feels good to have tried.”
I scoot a little closer to him, barely a centimeter, and bump my shoulder against his. “Is that just the starch fumes from all that papier-mâché talking?”
He scoots closer too. “It’s possible.”
I take a deep breath. I could follow up with another joke, bring this conversation back to the surface. But I don’t want to.
“I’m not sure I’m as brave as you, though,” I admit. Because as silly as his Carly Rae Jepsen tribute was, well … it was brave. I can’t see myself ever seeking out the spotlight in that extreme of a way.
“Sure, you’re brave,” he says, and he sounds so confident that I think he might be messing with me. But his face is genuine. “You’re not afraid to say what you think, to be real with a stranger, whatever the consequences. That seems pretty brave to me. And, look, I know we’ve just met. And I don’t know you yet. But Zora … I really want to know more.”
The tips of his fingers touch mine, and when our eyes meet, too, it feels like he really sees me, even if just for this one moment. And that may not be a flash mob or choreographed dance to Ariana Grande or any of the grand gestures I’ve seen in the movies, but it feels pretty grand all on its own.
Tires screech in the parking lot, and I look up to see Astrid’s car rolling up to the curb. The doors are vibrating with the newest Chloe x Halle song instead of “Both Sides Now.”
The window rolls down, and Jorge throws his elbow out.
“Get in, loser,” Astrid calls from behind him. “We’re getting tacos!”
Dean looks at me, confused.
“These are my friends for some reason,” I say, shaking my head. I try to stand up, wince at the pain, and then Dean’s arm is at my waist, easing me up. I miss his touch as soon as he pulls away.
Jorge wiggles his eyebrows, and Astrid throws her head back and yelps, “Oh, okay! You go, Zora!”
I close my eyes for a second, letting the wave of mortification pass. “Tacos, huh? What happened to Alannah?”
Astrid shrugs, looking surprisingly serene. “Still with her new girlfriend. But, hey, I did what I came to do. And you know, big scenes like that … they’re really just for the person that’s doing them, anyway.” I hear Dean let out a small laugh behind me. “Plus,” she adds, “I’d rather just hang out with you guys.”
“Okay, then.” I nod. “Tacos.”
I limp over to the back seat. As I open the door, I turn back to look at Dean.
“You coming?”
His firework smile explodes across his face, shining directly at me. I reach for his hand and grab hold of a new beginning.
IN A BLINK OF THE EYE
(Trapped in a Confined Space)
ELIZABETH EULBERG
When it comes down to it, I blame Disney.
In fairness to me, what little girl doesn’t dream of becoming a princess? Most of my impressionable youth was spent watching movies with princesses and their Prince Charmings. So, of course, I believed in fairy tales and true love. In happily-ever-afters.
(Please notice the past tense. Believed. Now at seventeen, it’s a different story.)
But I still remember watching Prince William and Kate Middleton’s wedding on TV while wearing my Cinderella costume from Halloween. I pressed my nose against the screen as a young woman married her real-life prince.
“Mommy, I’m going to be a princess one day,” I declared with the utter confidence only a six-year-old could muster. The way I saw it: Kate had brown hair and hazel eyes. I had brown hair and hazel eyes. We were basically the same person. If she could marry a prince, why couldn’t I?
“Well, you’ll have to live in England, then,” my mother commented with a laugh.
Neither of us had any idea that little quip would result in me having a full-blown obsession with the United Kingdom. If a book, movie, or TV show had “royal,” “British,” or “princess” in the title, I’d devour it. I once spent an entire month speaking in a very poor British accent, thinking it glamorous compared to my bland, boring Midwestern one.
My tea parties as a kid were based off of high teas served at the finest London hotels. I would take white paper plates and try to recreate the blue-and-white stripes from Claridge’s china. Which honestly was the highlight as peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were all my limited culinary skills could serve at the time.
I’d watch Mary Poppins nearly every day after school, which was when I first set eyes on him. The second I noticed his tall, golden frame, I knew it was love. Even if he’s a little old for me. And lives thousands of miles away from Wisconsin. Oh, and is a building. Of course I’m referring to that handsome devil, Ben.
And here I am, staring up at Big Ben. In all his gorgeous eye-candy glory.
I shake my head, still in shock that this is happening. That the Prairie Glen High School show choir would be competing in our biggest festival to date in London. Of all the places in the world, it’s here!
Ever since that royal wedding, it’s been my dream to visit London. And now I, Morgan Barfield, am in London. London. It still hasn’t hit me.
I give Ben a deep bow before I make my way over Westminster Bridge.
Not to make Ben jealous, but I’ve got a very important date with my best friend and the London Eye. We have a reservation on the large Ferris wheel–like structure that towers over four hundred feet on the River Thames. As much as I’ve been counting down to our performance tomorrow night, this is what I’ve been looking forward to the most: taking in my favorite city in one of its observation pods with the person who means the world to me. I can’t remember a time when Dani wasn’t in my life. We grew up sharing secrets, crushes, and heartbreaks. Now we get some precious alone time together in London.
There’s a spring in my step as I make my way to Dani. She’s easy to spot with her signature bright red rain jacket—even though it’s a rare April day in London without a cloud in the sky. Her eyes light up when she sees me. I wave like an idiot and even do a little dance, not caring about the tourists around us.
I’m in London with my best friend. We have the next thirty minutes together as the Eye slowly rotates above my beloved dream city.
“Hiya, babes,” I shout in my worst cockney accent. I always had a suspicion my accent was quite awful and it was confirmed by the angry glares I got from the hotel receptionist when we checked in two days ago.
“Pip-pip, cheerio!” Dani replies in a surprisingly dead-on posh accent as she takes a picture of me with Big Ben and Parliament across the Thames. “You’re practically glowing, Morgan! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.”
“I’m in London!” I cry out with glee.
Dani throws her head back in a laugh. “Yes, you certainly are. Now, let’s get some more pictures of you and your boy.”
“Oh, you mean—” I whip around and point at Ben. “Him?”
“Exactly how many selfies have you taken?”
“Not enough,” I answer truthfully. I don’t think I could ever get bored with London.
“Work it!” Dani calls out as she snaps dozens of pictures. “Supermodel werk.”
I blow a kiss to her phone, then spin around, and end up in some weird disco pose. Dani laughs hysterically as she starts scrolling through the photos. “Brilliant. It’s you in your element. We’re going to win tomorrow solely because you are in the zone.”
“Nothing bad can happen in London,” I reply.
Dani shakes her head. “I think Henry the Eighth’s wives would disagree with you.”
“Touché.” I give her a bow like she’s the queen of England.
“Oh, I really like this version of you. I think I can get used to this.” Then Dani strikes the pose from the beginning of our competition number, her hands framing her face, her hip popped. “Are you ready?”
“You know I’m beyond ready to do this! You and me, babes!” I do a kick-shimmy-jazz-hands combo that proves I belong on the piano bench during our competition and not front-and-center like Dani.
Dani grimaces.
“Oh, come on, I’m not that bad.” Even though I am. “Hey, big spender!” I sing purposely out of tune and do my imitation of a drunken Rockette for added effect.
Dani starts fiddling with her charm bracelet, and then it hits me. The grimace. Her looking uncomfortable. She and I have made fools out of ourselves in public on more than one occasion, which can only mean …
Dani gives me a strained, tight smile. It’s the one she reserves for bad news.
“Hey there.”
No.
My shoulders instantly tense when I hear his voice behind me.
This trip was a dream come true, until he got invited.
Most of us had to be in show choir—or like me, the pianist in the pit band—for years to get this opportunity. Countless hours of practice and rehearsal. Fundraisers to afford the costumes and travel.
All Tyler Chen had to do was be a boy. He was a warm body to even out our numbers.
So the trip of my dreams with my best friend has turned into the nightmare I’ve become familiar with during our senior year—one where I play the supporting role of the third wheel.
I spin around and there’s Dani’s boyfriend with a wide smile on his face and his dimples in full view.
I don’t want to come across as desperate or anything, but I feel like asking for thirty minutes alone with my best friend shouldn’t be too much.
Yet here he is.
Dani links her arm through mine, which prevents me from running away. “Hey,” she says in the soft voice she reserves for her younger siblings when they’re about to throw a fit. What can I say? She knows me well. “I thought this could be fun.”
No, it won’t. Saying something will be fun doesn’t automatically make it so. Especially when he’s involved.
“Hey, Morgan, I got you this.” Tyler holds out a KitKat.
Dammit. Tyler’s trying to get on my good side with candy.
I begrudgingly take it. Tyler must’ve overheard me telling a few friends on the bus from the airport that British KitKats are superior to American ones. The chocolate is smoother and richer, and the wafer is thicker.
“Thanks,” I mumble before breaking off a piece.
“That’s so sweet, Ty!” Dani says as she plants a kiss on his lips while I avert my eyes.
“I wouldn’t forget about you, my princess,” he says as he tucks a stray braid that’s escaped from the massive bun on the top of Dani’s head behind her ear. “Sweets for my sweet.” Tyler produces an assortment of Cadbury candy bars and Dani claps in delight.
It’s all so ridiculously sweet I want to barf.
Tyler looks up at the London Eye. “That’s a pretty large Ferris wheel.”
“Technically it’s a cantilevered observation wheel, one of the tallest one in the world,” I correct him.
“Great.” Tyler swallows and a bead of sweat starts forming on his temple. “I, ah, guess we should get in line.”
“It’s called a queue here. We queue.”
“Right, yeah…” He clears his throat as we walk toward the other tourists.
“Besides, you need a reservation. You can’t just crash,” I state as I hold up the tickets I bought for my best friend and me. To be alone. Without him.
“Oh, I, ah—” Tyler fumbles. He looks at Dani. “I didn’t—”
“I’ve taken care of it,” Dani replies softly, with a hint of the guilt she should feel for dragging him along. She then leans in and puts her chin on my shoulder. “Just trust me, okay?”
I follow her, but with a scowl on my face. Of course I trust Dani. She has kept every embarrassing secret I’ve ever told her. And there have been a lot. She even got detention last year because she covered for me. My period leaked through my jeans in the middle of school. I was freaking out so Dani had run to her locker to grab her gym leggings and a tampon for me. When she wouldn’t give her history teacher a reason for being late, he wrote her up, while I got away with it because all I told my male band teacher was, “I can tell you why I’m late, but believe me, you don’t want to hear about it.”
