Up, Up and Away

18// here

chapter 18: here

    HOLLY is losing her mind. At least, she believes so. She walked Walt to Ana's party a few minutes ago and as she wasn't about to spend the nights before Christmas with snobby girls with no true love for anything; she opted out of going with Walt. He didn't protest too much about her absence; he went on and on about feeling great, as he did during the previous days. He was floating on a cloud and she was tired of running to keep up.

   His one and only Ana was paying him much more attention, actually noticing him. It annoys Holly, how Ana didn't see him before he changed. He always saw her; he never missed a single smile or laugh. He saw her as sunset, sunrise and everything in between, while she didn't step out of her reverie to look at him in the eyes. Holly was sure that Ana didn't even know him, or how he simultaneously shivers and giggles when his neck is touched.

   She hates finding herself craving goofiness and a book-smart boy with eyes that could trap her for centuries. This thought is as crazy as she is, to be perfectly honest. She wasn't meant to even remotely like a boy who became her best friend in the space of a month or two, or one that she takes pleasure teasing all the time. He is her friend. That's all. She doesn't want to kiss him, or run a hand through his unruly hair, or count the lashes on his upper lid. Except that she does. His hair reminds her of black autumn leaves, soft and piled up without order. There are around 30 long lashes framing his eyes. She counted when they did an exercise to build up his confidence, making eye-contact with someone while talking for an entire day. That someone was her.

   "Fuck," she says, under her breath. He is too much. He is too kind, too sarcastic, too awkward, too simply beautiful for her.

    She has dated: boys with dark hair, blonde hair, silver hair; boys that were too tall or just her height; boys she could wrap her legs around and they'd smile as if they knew something she didn't; boys with green eyes, blue, hazel, brown eyes; boys that picked her up at 3 a.m. to go to diners and have deep talks; girls with lips softer than any boy, girls with hair that reminded her of Rapunzel and Snow White, girls who snorted when they laughed and girls who barely ever smiled.

   She's never met someone who refuses to drink anything but a cup of orange juice in the morning; or who loves to watch 90's movies every Sunday night. She's never wanted someone's happiness so bad; felt genuine mirth at the thought of going running at 5 a.m. She craves his smile, it's worse than any drug she's ever heard of. His happiness fuels her like gasoline, but she's afraid that in the end: she'll end up exploding.

   He is Walt. She is Holly. And for the first time: she feels as if he is too good for someone like her.

   So, to ignore the idea of Ana kissing Walt under a mistletoe: she goes to see someone she hasn't seen in over a year.

-

   If there is one thing to understand about Robbie Black; it is that he cannot be categorized as a bad boy. He never has been one, and never will be. The difference between him and other stuck-ups in his school is that he gets straight A's and organizes the best Christmas party in the block. (Ana's party is invite-only, while his only rule is: good-vibes-only.)

   Robbie and Holly had only ever talked twice, at one of his parties: when they woke up in the same bed the next morning. The first conversation was one about music, the next was her thanking him for the night. He hadn't contacted her since, she hasn't thought of him. The idea of partying and drinking doesn't seem so bad.

   She arrives to the party with ease; all she had to do was check the invitation one of her private-school buddies had sent her. Music is blasting, people are dancing and laughing. Robbie is scolding one of his friends. Judging by the pool of beer (or pee) on the floor, he was most definitely in trouble.

   He sees her and recognizes her. He smiles, gives her a smooth nod. She makes note of how much better-looking he had gotten over the year. He's taller, brighter and darker all at the same time.

   "Holly. Glad you could make it," Robbie says, an hour later. By then, she has sipped onto three full beers, spoken to five drunk girls and twisted two guys' arms beyond their capacity (possibly broke them as well), because these boys thought that grabbing a girl by her hips and forcing her butt on his groin was the romantic way to say "can I have this dance?"

   "Great party," she says. "Not half as nice as the last one I've been to, though."

   He smiles, and she admires the way his eyes aren't hungry. Tentative. Not hesitating, tempting. He knows she is a flame, she knows that she can burn him. "Is it too late to make up for that?"

   He is not Walt, she thinks. That's all she needs to know for now. So, she tugs her top a little lower, smacks her lips together, grabs his hand and they dance as if they've got nothing to lose.

   And while he dances to celebrate his own party, she dances to forget her life. She dances to fall in love with a moment, with a boy. When she starts kissing him, she laughs a little. How could she have believed that she was good for someone like Walt? She wasn't made for him, she was meant for people like Robbie, who didn't care.

     For just a moment, she doesn't care. And that—that's the best Christmas gift she could ever get.

-

aye. HOLLY GETTING HER GAME ON.