The Difference - Christian Leave

Nine

I stood up and debated whether I should change my clothes. I was in sweatpants (not the cute kind) and a green sweater. I looked in the mirror. The sweatpants had to go. I pulled on jeans and left the sweater. It was oversized but I hate taking things off when you already have them all warm. My hair was a disaster, so I brushed it. It was long and the knots take forever to get out. Now it was fluffy. Great.

I straightened the quilt on my bed and picked up a little bit. Then I sat on my piano bench and stared at the music, just waiting for the doorbell to ring. What the heck am I doing? I've never had a boy in my room for more than 30 seconds and now I invited one over when my mom is not even home?

The doorbell rang. That was fast. I tried to walk slowly down the stairs to make it seem like I wasn't too eager. I unlocked the front door, and opened it slowly.

There stood Christian, his cute face grinning largely.

"Hey!" he said, starting to walk in. He was wearing an oversized gray crew neck sweatshirt with jeans. He looked so cuddly, I wish I could hug him. But that would be weird.

"You've got a cool house!" he said, looking around. We lived in an old Victorian with big, heavy front doors. I'm surprised he liked it. "Thanks," I said.

"So, where's your piano?" he asked, looking at me with those droopy green eyes.

"Actually, it's just an electric one, and it's upstairs in my room," I said walking past him. "Here, follow me." I nodded in that direction.

We started to walk up the stairs. "So, do I get to meet your parents?" he asked. I kind of looked back at him and said, "Well, I only live with my mom, and she's not home."

We were in the upstairs hallway now. "OH, no parents, huh? Didn't think you were the type to have boys over without supervision," he said, winking at me.

"Well, you're the one who asked, and I've never actually had any over. Except for right now. With you," I said. Wow. That sounded epically awkward. I led him into my room, and motioned to the keyboard. I pressed the button that turned it on.

"Oh, cool!" he said, sitting down on the bench. "I've always wanted one, but we've just never gotten around to it." I sat on my bed and leaned against the pillows, book in hand. I figured he'd want to play around for a while. He continued, "I usually practice at my friend Austin's house, but they got rid of theirs a few weeks ago."

He started to play. I was surprised at how many songs he knew by heart. They were all songs that had lyrics. He didn't sing though. He did All of Me, Riptide, Car Radio, and a few I didn't recognize. Then he was just making stuff up. He played better than I expected him to. I loved watching his hands. He has huge hands. I half watched, and half read because I didn't want him to feel too much pressure. He couldn't see me, but you know how sometimes you can just feel when someone is watching you a little too intensely?

He turned around on the bench and looked at me. I closed my book.

"You play quite well for not even having a piano of your own. How many instruments can you play, even?" I asked. This was the only topic we had for conversation so I was going to stretch it as long as I could.

"Uh, thank you. You're sweet for saying that. I don't know...I can play like...eight?" he said, still with a thoughtful look on his face. He smiled, "Do you have any music books?"

"Absolutely," I said. I got off the bed and got on the floor. I grabbed the stack next to the piano on the floor and dragged a chair over. He just watched. I tossed them on the chair.

"Here you go," I said, making a silly face. It was weird to have someone in my room with me. This was my private space, where I did all my thinking. He started to look through them.

"Ugh, classical. More classical. More? Do you own anything else?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Not really. What's wrong with classical?"

"I don't know, it's just...I don't know. Why don't you play for me then?" he said, raising his eyebrows and smiling.

Oh, no. "Um. Well, ok then. If you don't like classical then you won't like what I like to play," I said, walking over to the bench. He got off of it and sat on the edge of my bed.

"Whatever, Josephine," he said, rolling his eyes and laughing. I love how he says my name, it sounds so good. "Just play me your favorite at the moment then."

I sat down at the bench and pushed back my sleeves. I was shaking a little from nervousness. I had done recitals before but I had time to prepare. I really only played for my mom. My current favorite was Dawn by Dario Marianelli. I got my hands in position and started to play. I looked back at him and he was still smiling, just watching me. It was a light song with lots of frills, and as you can imagine, it's supposed to sound like a sunrise.

About halfway though, Christian came over and sat next to me on the bench. I was in the center of it and tried to move over, but he put his hand on my thigh, telling me to stay. So our hips were touching.

I started to get shaky again, and make more mistakes, but Christian just watched, grinning. I finally finished, and I sighed. Then I looked over at him. He really did look directly at you when talking.

"Wow. You're really good." he said, bring up one corner of his mouth a little bit more than the other, and shaking his head a little bit.

"Well, I have no excuse not to be. I mean there is a piano in my room. Staring at me all the time. Torturing me. Watching me..." I started to crack up and so did he.

We looked at eachother for a few seconds. Longer than normal eye contact. Is he looking at my lips? No, he couldn't have been. I looked over at the clock. It was 9:30. We had been messing around for an hour and a half. I don't know how to tell him to leave.

I looked back over at him. He was smirking, and his dark green eyes had the twinkle of mischief. This couldn't be good.

"So, if I'm the only boy that's been in your house alone with you, does that mean something?" he asked, his smile growing. Oh, Christian.

"Well, it means you're the only one that's asked," I said, giving him a "duh" face.

He looked genuinely surprised at this finding.  "Oh, you must be a loser then, " he said, pushing me playfully.

"Ok, peepee boy," I replied, pleased with myself.  He bounced on the bench.

"OH, that's how it's gonna be??" he said, acting really upset.

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I don't know if longer chapters are better? I'm having to constantly look at pictures of him so I remember who I'm writing about. Ok fhgfdeghfg