Bookish London

Chapter 12 - Kyle

Wow…I must’ve missed half of what she has told me about the inn, at first, because I was admiring those little movements she does with her hands when she’s talking about something she’s excited or enthusiast about.
Gosh, I’m entranced by her.
I could look at her for hours and never tire…despite the fact that I TOTALLY still hate her like I have “supposedly” done these past few years.
Nope, that was only my big stupid cover. But I cannot let myself slip anything more or I’ll start spurting love declarations like adults do with candies when kids are involved.
We pay our lunch and leave the inn, and when we set foot outside, I ask her: “Where to next, guide Cuthbert?”
At this she smiles, laughs, and says: “You wouldn’t guess it if you could, Carter. But I’ll give you a hint. Thorns and plays are involved.”
Always so cryptic…I’m starting to like the suspense. It’s like watching a magician play his card tricks, you never know when the ace up her sleeve will come out. Intriguing.
At this, she starts off steadfast, concentrated on her map (since when did she have a map? Don’t we all use internet search engines for our locations nowadays? Well anyway) and the street in front of her.
I tag along, careful to tread not too far behind her, because as we head onto the busiest streets of London’s tourism I might as well loose her amid the crowd.
At one point, I do just that. As I look around the street, panic arising through me, I resolve to call on her, and I yell: “Cuthbert! Cuthbert where are you?”
As no response is made, I fumble for my phone to call her and at that same moment, before I could turn around, she jumps on my back like a koala and throws her hands through my hair…I’d normally yell at her (or anyone who did it really) not to mess up my perfect hair but, strangely enough, today I don’t feel like it.
Let my hair be messy. Let me be messy and not completely perfect as always.
“Surprise!” She yells, laughing, still holding onto my neck with her arms, her legs circling around my waist.
I’m glad I didn’t bring a backpack, or she would’ve squeezed it all up. Besides, she couldn’t have done this if I had, and I’m glad she did it.
It’s been too long since anyone genuinely wanted to surprise me or make me laugh. Not counting my best friends, naturally. They do it all the time.
“Hey, didn’t see you there. Koala!”
I exclaim, letting her down at last. She might look tall and everything, but a feather she is not, and that’s perfectly fine with me.
She can be however and whomever she wants to be, none of it has to be approved or liked by me or any other guy in the whole universe.
That’s none of a guy’s business. He doesn’t bleed and have children and take on a hundred different responsibilities at once during his whole life.
Yes, I’m talking like a feminist. So? That I am. And I am also having a dialogue with my own braincells about humanity…wow.
“Koala?! Is that my new nickname?” She speaks.
“Do you want it to be?” I answer her question with another question…typical me.
“Well…there are definitely better ones out there, and the name “koala” seems like a nickname boyfriends and girlfriends would give each other, don’t you think?” she observes, and nods at a couple passing by us to underline her point.
“Well yeah, maybe…too cheesy for me though.”
Mental note to use it as her nickname when she becomes mine-
“Such an unromantic are you, Carter?” she laughs.
Gosh, her laugh is like a kids’, so sweet and genuine and pure.
“I wouldn’t say that-” as I try to respond she moves toward me and for a moment I panic, thinking she’s going to finally kiss me…but no, she just swerves away from me once more and laughs even harder than before…she doesn’t like me, then. Great.
“You should’ve seen your face, Carter. You looked so confusedly cute, like an actual koala!” as she’s saying this, she’s running around across Borough Market’s square and she’s moving towards Park Street.
Great, now I’m the koala of the situation.
“Did you know I actually saw a koala, like, a real one?” she questions.
“I did not, actually. When did you see it? Where? Tell me more.”
I say lazily, thinking she’s about to say “You” and laugh again.
“I was on holiday in Australia with my mum and dad something around ten years ago, and we went to this wildlife park, and we saw a couple of koala’s sleeping. We could caress them, also! They were so soft! And so cuteee!” she exclaims, smiling like a child. Gosh, she makes me fall in love every time. 
Oh, brain please stop it you’re so nonsensical!
“I’m glad you enjoyed touching possibly dirty animals that much” I say in response. Damn me and my fast sarcastic answer.
“Don’t be daft, Carter, koalas aren’t dirty animas everybody knows that but you!” She retorts, smiling mischievously. I trick her, she fools me.
That’s our tango, lately. That’s how we roll. And I’m good with that. It keeps up the suspense.
“Okay, alright. Pardon me, koala expert.” 
I tell her, rejoicing in the soft giggle she makes as a reaction to my words.
“I’d rather you called me koala protector, at best. But Cuthbert is a fine name for me, anyway.”
She just friend zoned me. No, worse, she just stomped me out of nickname zone…me and my stupid childish advances.
“Would Carter suit you as well?” I pop the question as nonchalantly as possible, but the awkward silence comes as always, breaking our almost-normal conversation.
“Not while it is yours as well.”
And with that, she leaves me standing in the middle of Borough Market’s square like an idiot whilst she runs off towards our destination…why is it so hard for me to close off anything that feels something about her within me, darn it?
Wouldn’t it be better like this? Without the drama?
Without the little heartbreaks her unknowing rejections give me every single time...
Without the pain of knowing I caused the pain to myself, by ignoring her all these years?
We could’ve been best friends…I mean, we like the same books (I think, or at least we both like reading a lot), we enjoy getting good grades (not only for the sake of our academic achievements, but for our own smart-ass pride) and we have a unique love for theatre.
I haven’t told this to anyone before, not even my best friends, but I have a fond passion of theatre and al that it involves: the acting, the tension between reality and fiction…it thrills me to the highest levels.
SHE loves it too, I know that, because she’s always taking to Kayla about this or that play, she saw in one theatre or another during the weekend, and I pain in seeing that Kayla has a very limited level of interest in this, unfortunately.
When I hear Liz talk to her about her passion for theatre, I look at her without remorse and wish my eyes could say: “I’m here, and I would love to listen to your rambling about plays, acting, books…whatever you want. I’m here”.
But no. I only say this in my head, and maybe my eyes are as shy as my character, and so they do not speak nor whisper to her that I’d be glad to listen, and make her heart feel welcome and appreciated.
I wish I had that courage and strength, but I do not.
Truthfully, we weren’t at all that different…and we’d had had some good memories as children, during primary school and all…but that changed in middle school. Everything changes in middle school. Everything.