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CHRISSIE
A week later, at lunch break, Johnathan hands me an invitation to attend his birthday celebration. His fingers brush against mine, creating an explosive sensation in my nerve endings, and he looks at me in that particular way synonymous with him, when he hands me the envelope.
He is always, in my opinion, over-friendly and charming with every girl who will let him, and in the beginning it used to irk me, but then I realized he looks at me in a way he reserves for me only, and not the other girls.
He is so convincing; how could I not be absolutely, head-over-heels in love with him?
Looking at the gold leaf letters printed onto the black cardboard of the invitation he hands me; I recognize in my world this would be good enough for a wedding invitation.
I see the party venue is at an up-market restaurant and frankly, I could not see the point. I am only seventeen years old; I want to go to a party with flashing lights, blaring music which still has my ears ringing the next day, the only refreshments crisps, and cold drinks.
However, everyone in my group is excited, because we were all invited and what the heck, I might as well go, even though I think, personally, it is silly to have a sit down dinner for his eighteenth birthday party.
Besides, it is Johnathan, how can I not go?
On the night of his birthday party, my dad drives me there, and as we stop in front of the restaurant, I see Johnathan is still standing outside.
I am reluctant to admit this, but I feel humiliated getting out of my dad’s car. His car is as old as I am, and although well-taken care off, still aged and by far, not the latest model.
I wait at the curb until I see my dad’s taillights fade into the night and then taking a deep breath, I turn and walk to Johnathan, feeling self-conscious.
In this instance, I judge him too harshly because he does not even notice my dad’s car, make, or model.
“Here you are,” he says relieved. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”
I smile pleased and ask jokingly, “Are you waiting for me?”
“Yes, I am.”
I pretend his words does nothing to disrupt the equilibrium of my world. “Why? Are none of your usual girlfriends here tonight?” I say with a sarcastic laugh.
“She just arrived.”
My heart soars, and his words are the wind beneath its wings.
He puts his arm around my waist, and then we walk into the restaurant.
It turns out to be an enjoyable evening—we laugh and joke, the food is delicious. Johnathan sits close to me, and every now and again, I catch him looking at me.
When it is almost time for my dad to pick me up, Johnathan leans closer to me and smiles a flirtatious smile. “Are you not going to give me a birthday kiss?”
I laugh embarrassed and shrug my shoulders. “Well, now that you’re asking, I might as well.” I lean into him and let my lips fleetingly brush over his. I move away and he looks at me with a look of wonder.
“Is that it?” He asks.
“Yes.” I smile back at him shyly.
“But it tasted like more,” he whispers softly.
I gasp, embarrassed.
After my dad picks me up, and we are driving home, I think to myself delighted that Johnathan must like me, there is no way he did not.
At school though, he carries on as always. He smiles at me adoringly, making my heart jump in my throat.
He makes eye contact and it is as if I can see right through to the very core of him, but then he also does the same to every other girl.
A few days later, I overhear Tanya speaking to Susan. She is talking about Johnathan, saying how much she adores him and how the night before he sent her a text message, which hinted at him still liking her even after everything that happened during Christmas break.
I am so disappointed in myself, for always falling for Johnathan’s manoeuvres.
That afternoon, when I see him walking across the corridor with Tanya, I wish I have super blowing powers like Superman, because then with one ‘whoosh’, I can blow him off the face of the earth.
Watching him though, he has this habit of absent-mindedly running his fingers through his hair, which is endearing, and my foolish heart tilts off its axis.
It is almost mid-term break and I concentrate on the scheduled tests which have been booked over the last two weeks.
I am trying desperately not to think of Johnathan, and I honestly want to dislike him, but I persuade myself that smile is just for me. Maybe if he gets to know me better, I could somehow convince him he only wants me.
The day we have to write our Math paper, Johnathan walks to me, and teasingly he asks, “Are you ready for the test? You know I am looking forward to the competition.”
I answer defiantly, “Johnathan, your ego is so huge, if I beat you, you would be devastated, but I have never backed away from a challenge.”
“If you score more than me in this test, I will take you to the movies.”
I laugh bitter and reply sarcastically, “Ooh, so I had better try really hard then?”
“Come on, Chrissie, I am trying here.”
“Trying what Johnathan? Maybe you are trying to insult me because it sounds as if you want me to do better in the test than you, and then you will reward me with your attentions.” I hiss softly, “You irritate me!”
I turn around and walk away, angry. I am deep in thought, feeling hurt and wounded – chastising myself for liking a boy who is obviously an arrogant, awful person, who uses girls and thinks we will all fall for his charms. I am so annoyed, mainly with myself, and I am not looking where I am walking.
I knock into somebody brutally, and the books I am carrying in my arms scatter all over the passageway. I start apologizing profusely while bending down at the same time to pick up my scattered belongings, and then I look up and into his dark, green eyes. He is kneeling beside me, very close to me.
He smiles, dimples form in the sides of his cheeks, while he helps me to pick up my books, and I feel a hot flush push up into my neck.
When we have gathered all my books and I once again, start to apologize for not looking where I am walking, smiling up at him, he just looks at me. Suddenly his eyes tighten, the smile fades from his face and shoving my books at me, he walks away.
Insulted, I stare after him because I am still in mid- sentence when he just rudely walks off.
When I meet up with Anne, she hands me an invitation, sealed in an envelope, and when I start to open it, she puts her slender snow-white fingers over mine, stopping me. She says, “This is a very exclusive party and I have convinced my friend to invite you as well.”
“Thank you.” I smile friendly, biting the inside of my cheek. I wonder if she truly understands the concept of friends.
She lets me open the invitation and I read that the party is on the last day of school, and it is in The Charleston National Country Club, at Shaun’s home.
Shaun is not in our group, and I do not really know him, but Anne has attended The Christian Academy since the beginning of time, so she knows everybody.
Anne continues, “Shaun lives within a gated community, so I’ll meet you at the entrance gates the evening of the party and then we can go in together. There will then be no need for you to have the access codes.”
I smile, forced. “Okay, that sounds great.”
We talk a little bit longer, and then I excuse myself, walking away. I am no longer able to spend one more second in her company. I feel hurt and insulted because she feels I cannot be trusted with the access codes to the estate.
I know they do not know me. After all this time, none of the students at The Christian Academy even knows where I live, but it still hurts.
Every now and again, someone will say something, and it will bring back the reality of the vast difference between us. How much money they have and how little I have. I know it is not their intention because they are all unaware of this difference, yet it is still hurtful.
At lunch break, everybody is talking about the auditions for the backup singer for ÉLastique.
Anne tells me the band’s manager is insisting they have a female vocal for their first single to harmonize the lyrics, and apparently, he says it would give the song an edge. I do not know if that is how you get an edge to a song, but I am tempted to go for the auditions. Imagine having my voice in a song of a band’s first single release—it would be so exciting. I can sing, I can play a few chords on a guitar and I can play the piano. I have even written a few silly nostalgic songs.
During the week, I discover almost every girl appears to be going for the audition and I am starting to lose my nerve, but Anne and I decide we would both go, so this encourages me.
It is uncanny how I feel as if she is my friend and I can discuss things with her, but that she is not my friend either. Some days we laugh and joke, say silly things, talk about everything from the weather to Math, and then other days she is just simply rude to me. She must have some kind of disorder.
The morning of the auditions, when I arrive with my guitar, slung over my shoulder, and I feel all the curious eyes stare at me, I wish the earth could open up under my feet, and swallow me in an instant.
Not an outdrawn, slow, painful consumption – it must be quick.
After hauling my guitar around with me all day, that afternoon I eventually stand in the queue outside the hall, feeling ridiculous. I told my mom and dad about the auditions as well, so they are both extremely excited and as I said, I do not enjoy disappointing them, so I stay and wait for my turn.
Anne, who went in ahead of me, comes walking out and I smile at her nervously. “How was it?”
She says encouragingly, “Not bad at all. Go on. I am sure you will be great. I’ll wait here for you.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I walk through the backstage door, into the hall and I can hear my shoes echo through the room.
I am just about to turn and sprint out the door, when I hear Mr. Johnson call out to me, as I appear from behind the drapes, “Chrissie? I didn’t know you can sing.”
The girl sitting next to Vincent laughs loudly, obviously not concerned with my feelings. I have learned recently her name is Sabrina, she and Vincent have been a couple since the V-Ball. Rumour has it, this is his longest relationship ever. Her father is the band’s manager, which makes her think she has now attained transferable fame through Vincent. Not many people at school like her and from the few times I have seen her, I can understand why.
The remark by Mr. Johnson also stings me a bit, they must have heard at least a dozen girls by now who obviously could not hold a note, and therefore assume I would also be one of them. I feel the embarrassment rise from my toes, a warm nauseating feeling.
I cannot decide if I am going to be sick, but then Vincent smiles up at me, and for some unknown reason, it calms me.
Mr. Johnson says, “Good, Chrissie, what will you be singing?”
I have my guitar slung over my shoulder, and I am not going to do a cover version. Sometimes people have too much expectation to hit that note exactly right and not paying attention to the actual singing. So, I say, suddenly feeling silly for my stupid decision, “A song I wrote myself.”
“Very good, I think I have had enough of listening to the one song, in different versions, all morning.” Mr. Johnson smiles at me encouragingly.
Vincent is just looking up at me, not saying anything. I notice Sabrina moving closer to him, hooking her arm into his on the armrest.
He turns to her a little and then he smiles.
Mr. Johnson interrupts my thoughts, “Will you be singing today, Chrissie?”
I guffaw, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
Singing my song faultlessly, lost in my own world, Mr. Johnson’s voice breaks through my deep reflection.
I stop halfway through a note and look at Mr. Johnson dazed, while he says, “Chrissie, that was great, but as you know we still have to listen to a few more girls. We will let you know tomorrow.”
Returning his gaze, I smile and turn around to walk away, but then I hesitate and turn back quickly, saying awkwardly, “Thank you for the opportunity.”
After dinner, my mom knocks and then puts her head in around my bedroom door.
Smiling kindly, she says, “I forgot to ask you about the audition.”
I am sitting crossed legged on my bed with a book on my lap. I look up at her, where she remains standing in the door. “It was great. We will know tomorrow.”
“Okay. Good luck. No homework today?”
“None.” This is not a lie, but usually on days without homework, I would do a bit of revision – not today.
“That’s nice. How is your Johnathan situation coming along?”
“Ugh. Same-O, same-O. No change at all”
She shrugs her shoulders a little. “He'll come around."
I roll my eyes at her.
She smiles. "Well, good night, anyway. Don’t stay up too late.”
She leaves on her journey further down the passage and I call after her, “Night, Mom.”
I get a fright when my cell phone suddenly vibrates, indicating I have a text message. I reach for it frustrated. It is from an unknown number, so I open the message begrudgingly – probably spam.
“Hi, I got your number from the audition list, I hope you don’t mind – Vincent”
We have never talked at school, except for one time briefly when I walked into him by accident, and he always has that frown spoiling his face when he looks at me.
I reply: “It’s okay”
Almost immediately, my phone vibrates again. “Thanks for coming to the audition today.”
“It was fun.”
“I am happy to announce you have it. You are now the backup singer for ÉLastique.”
I stare at the screen incredulous – I have it?
After a while, my phone vibrates again, and I open the new message. “Hello, you still talking to me?”
I reply: “I am – thank you so much. I am just so happy - I did not know what to say.”
“I was also happy when they chose you in the end and I could not wait to tell you, so pretend you do not know anything when your name is announced tomorrow in the hall.”
“Okay – thank you.”
“We start practice after the break, in the music centre. You know where that is?”
Of course, I know where it is. Did he not notice me, when Anne dragged me there the other day? Maybe he cannot remember meeting me. I feel surprisingly disappointed.
I can hardly blame him though because he has a girlfriend – Sabrina. She is tall, skinny, gracious, and oozing femininity.
I, on the other hand, am the complete opposite – I am amazingly, astoundingly plain, my bland brown hair is lacklustre, no matter what shampoo I use, and how many promises they make. I am more comfortable in jeans and T-shirts, and my worn, dirty converse.
My mom always tells me boys prefer girls with curves, rather than plank-skinny girls, and I wish someone would tell boys this bit of interesting information.
In my world, it does not work this way, because skinny girls usually get the boy every girl wants, while girls like me usually only remain their friend.
Take Johnathan for instance. I would bet my monthly allowance, if I was a few pounds lighter, I would be fighting him off with a stick at every opportunity he could get, to have his hands all over me.
I am so deep in thought I did not notice Vincent had sent another message: “See you then.”
I instantly send him a reply: ‘Can’t wait.’
I change into my pyjamas and then I get into bed, but I cannot fall asleep, I lay there for the longest time and I actually see the moment between midnight and daybreak when the birds wake up, when the sky is a midnight blue instead of pitch-black.
