Deception (Michael Clifford)

Thirty One

I blink my eyes lazily, staring at the page of my sketchbook with mild annoyance.

It still doesn't look... right.
I flick a piece of hair out of my face and reach across the crumpled sheets of my bed for another pencil. It's a warm Wednesday afternoon here in Los Angeles, the weather has been kind to us so far. Not that I've been out much to enjoy it. I've kept myself locked up in here, sprawled across the bed of my hotel room, laptop open, currently running through the credits of School Of Rock, and my sketchbook lying across the bed, winking at me mockingly. I've been working on this drawing all week, and no matter how much effort I put in, it still doesn't look like Michael. I can see it my mind so clearly, they way he limped off into the rain, the water sparkling in his hair, skin turned golden under the gas lamps. I've added shadows and highlights and details to his shirt but nothing I've done has actually captured him.
It's irritating.
With one last attempt I throw my pencil across the bed, and let my head fall into the crook of my arm.

My phone vibrates through the quilt. I look up.
It's Hannah. A text. I grab for my phone, dramatising the effort, and open it. She's been texting me all day, despite the time difference between here and Australia, talking about how she hasn't seen me in so long and whether ill be back for the summer. I told her I doubt it, with the way things are going, I don't think ill be seeing the sunny shores of Australia for a while yet. It's coming up to almost a year now since I've been back home, yet strangely, I don't feel homesick.
'So do you reckon you'll be back for Soundwave? I can't go by myself :('
I read her text and sigh.
'I don't think so, why don't you ask Nick to go with you? Didn't he say he liked your music?'
Nicholas goes to the same University as Hannah, and even though she's been texting me about him for months, and clearly likes him, she's never made a move.
'I don't know.. What if he says no?'
'Then he says no, no harm done, try again with coffee next week. But he could also love the idea and say yes, so give it a try'
I roll onto my back and squint at the warm sunlight coming in through the blinds.
'But he's a Physics major, I don't know many Physics majors that also like rock festivals, plus I feel bad not going with you :( we always go to Soundwave together'
That's true. Every year during the summer holidays, whilst everyone was out getting a tan at the beach or otherwise spending their days in the sun, me and Hannah would be putting on our ripped skinny jeans and band shirts and heading to Soundwave. The benefit of having an event manager as a mum; we could get into concerts regardless of the age limit.
I look down at the Fall Out Boy shirt I'm currently wearing, and smile.
'Just ask him! You never know until you ask'
It takes little more persuasion before she agrees, and I'm allowed to drift around in my own thoughts.

I'm reminded of my situation tomorrow, and how I somehow managed to get Michael to join me. But you didn't invite him, my brain reminds me, he invited himself. I sigh and scroll threw my phone, finding Michael's number and pulling it up.
I stare at it solemnly.
I still haven't gotten back to him with the name of our hotel, I haven't had the guts to text him.
I don't know why.
But it's been 5 days, and the concert is tomorrow. I close my eyes in frustration, and see his face appear behind my eyelids. The way his eyebrows furrowed slightly as he concentrated, the pale light from the phone casting strong shadows across his face. And when I open them again his number is still there, staring down at me, like it has been for the last 5 days.
I groan and roll onto my side.
Originally, I told myself that I wouldn't send it to him, so he wouldn't know where to pick me up, and I could still go to the concert by myself. Maybe that way he would forget about it, and not come at all.
But then I thought, he knows when and where it is going to be, he'll most likely just show up regardless.
I was going into the city anyway.
I open up a message and begin to type.
'Hi, it's Scarlet,' I stop and bite my lip. Is that too formal? ... Should I put my whole name? Nickname? Hi or hey?
'Hey, it's Scar,' I retype, 'Im staying at the Sunset Plaza Hotel.' I pause, staring at the half written message and considering whether or not to add something to the end, 'see you tomorrow.'
I let out a breath. That should do it. My finger hovers hesitantly over the send button, and I read through the message again just to make sure.
And then I send it. I tap the button and wait as it whizzes off through the spider web of satellites, winding through the invisible wires of the mobile network and finding its way to Michael's phone.
Delivered.