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A social klutz and certified bookworm, Autumn Lyne is content with having just books as companions--that is, until her extrovert of a sister drags her out to meet her band. But nobody has expected that this would mark the plot twis...
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Waking up from my dreams had become an insufferable effort since then. They held much more positive events than those that happened in reality.
How wonderful it would be if the process of love were as simple as in the movies and books that I've seen, in which a person falls love with someone who loves them back. But this is the real world where not everything happens as you want them to, where people are bound to get hurt when they fall in love.
And it made me mad. Not at the idea of love. Not at Michael. But at myself, at my expectations.
I thought I could read Michael as he did to me, but his motives and desires were always hidden. He was a riddle, so I was uncertain if he'd always known that I had feelings for him and if he had turned me down in a roundabout manner. But what about those late-night texts? Those expressive glances? Those after-school adventures? Him serenading me once? Him holding my hand for no reason? What was all that about? I had to wonder whether everything with Michael had been just an illusion and whether my naivety made those moments special and romantic when they actually meant nothing at all.
I shouldn't have let my guard down. A tiny voice in my head had been warning me that I was engaging myself in something dangerous. That being emotionally attached to him would be like running into the middle of a gunfight. But I had ignored that voice. I got myself shot.
It would have been the best time for me to confide in my sister again. Clover seemed to know what she was talking about even though her real-life experience with love was limited. At least she was older and wiser than I was. Her advice, her scolding, and her telling me that I would be fine would have made me feel better somehow. But I had shrunk back into my shell of comfort, afraid to talk. If emotions and unspoken thoughts could be kept inside a bottle, they would have crowded my shelf by then.
Michael and I would hardly speak to each other when we were surrounded by friends, but with enough civility that made us appear normal to others. When there were only the two of us, though, only our eyes would communicate. I knew that both of us could taste the words in the back of our throats, but neither of us could conjure the strength to start talking. Words were screeching in agony, pleading to me to be heard, but they died before they could escape my lips.
It went like that for a while. No hellos. Just radio silence.
──────
On a Friday night, Nate drove the group to the auditorium where the band competition would take place. The town rarely held events like this, so this one was a big grace and entertainment for the residents. All the seats were taken, and many people had to stand or sit on the stairs. It was like sardines in a can, and the clamors could probably be heard ten miles off.
Luckily, we didn't have trouble finding a space to stay because Michael had gone ahead of us to the venue and saved us seats near the stage. As he led us the way, I noticed he was walking beside me, and I felt aloof.
