Once Again (10)

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Ashley and I show up fashionably late because I could not decide what to wear. As we walk around the back of Patrick’s house, following the noise and people. The first thing I notice is the fire; it is huge. For some reason, I was expecting a typical campfire, only slightly wider. That is not at all what this fire looks like. It is a huge, triangular, towering pile of firewood and flames. 

For a while Ashley and I wander around together, sipping beers and occasionally stopping to say hey to the few people we know. But then we sort of lose each other when Ash stops to talk to some girls she knows from her tennis team. I move around a bit on my own before stopping to simply watch the bonfire. The entrancing flames move and dance, crackling embers float above towards the stars, flickering in the darkness momentarily before dying out.

“You’re Connor’s sister, right?” A voice asks, making me jump, breaking the entrancement of the bonfire but I don’t move gaze.

“Yes,” I answer, used to this question by this point in my high school career. Only, for some reason, tonight, I don’t let it go. He doesn’t respond at first and I go on, without turning to look at the source of the voice. “Why is that always the first question people ask me?” Before he has time to recover and respond, I continue speaking, my tongue loosened by cheap beer.  “They don’t even ask my name. Do you know my name?” I pause for a moment and turn towards the person on the receiving end of my lecture.

He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “One hint: It starts with a ‘C’ and it isn’t Connor’s sister.”

His dark eyes search my face, and I’m not sure if he is staring in confusion or annoyance. “Cara, right?” I have mixed emotions when he gets it right; I am happy that he does know my name, but it also weakens the point I was trying to make.

I focus on watching the flames destroy a crumbling log. I have not consumed enough alcohol to make this situation not embarrassing, but I have consumed enough alcohol to cause this an embarrassing situation. I wait for my victim to abandon the anti-social, mopey, angry girl he had the unfortunate misfortune to begin a conversation with, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he apologizes. “I’m sorry for asking if Connor was your brother.”

I shrug, “I guess it’s not actually that big of a deal.” I am proud of myself to recognize an overreaction when I see one, even when it is my own, and even if my realization comes a bit too late.

“Good,” he says softly. “You know, maybe people ask you that question because they need something easy to say to start a conversation. It’s hard to talk to a pretty girl, you know.”

I stare at him blankly. Is he flirting with me?  His eyes glimmer as he grins, his eyes never leaving mine.

Then, I utter the smoothest, flirtiest response ever to be formed by female lips. “Oh.”

He doesn’t even attempt to counter my suave comment. Instead, he takes a step forward, towards me, and leans down. Before I know it, his lips are on mine, and he is kissing me. And before I can think about how to do anything else, I am kissing him back. There is a strong possibility that I have had more to drink than I realize and that the alcohol is having more of an effect on me than I expected.

This drunken repetitive motion of our lips continues until we are rudely interrupted by a pair of hands pulling me backwards. “Hey!” I stumble a couple of steps. Then I regain my balance and spin around to find Connor standing behind me, his hand still gripping my arm. 

“What’s your problem?!” I’m a little surprised at how strongly my unknown partner in crime reacts; his tone is more aggressive than mine and he is not even related to Connor.

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