Thoughts and Random Things

Stella

"She's such a bitch," Bailey whines.

"No she's not," Maggie cuts in. "If Stella were a bitch, she wouldn't be human. To prove my point, I'll pull up the definition of bitch from Google."

Bailey rolls her eyes. "Maggie, quit being such a know-it-all. I think we all understood--"

"Bitch," Maggie interrupts. Bailey throws her head back and groans loudly in frustration. "A female dog, wolf, or fox. Now do you see where you're incorrect, Bailey?"

"Yes, I see, Maggie," Bailey grunts in an exasperated fashion. "My point was, though, that Stella is a stuck-up insufferable shell of a human being."

"That, I agree with," Maggie remarks.

The conversation unfolding in front of me-- well, if it could even be considered unfolding-- is so off-putting and unengaging that I'm considering tuning out completely.

We're all comfortably cuddled in Bailey's basement. Bailey herself is stretched out on an old, hideously-patterned loveseat, resting her calves and ankles on Maggie's lap. I'm curled up in a recliner a couple feet away, on the other side of a coffee table. The identical recliner next to me was empty.

Something is making Bail and Maggles laugh. I don't know what it is. I'm not paying a lick of attention.

Stella.

Stella is what I'm thinking about.

Her hair is brown, dark but not too dark, similar to the color of warm melted chocolate. It's cut in what would normally be considered a "boyish" style-- short, almost buzzed in the back, and a longer sort of fringe in the front. Her eyes are this riveting shade of blue-green; her septum is pierced, and it looks damn perfect on her. She has this adorable tendency to wear heavy, oversized sweaters, even in the summer. It's the cutest thing.

Jeez. I am so gay for Stella.

Floral-scented candles are lit and burning on the coffee table in front of me. I hate the smell of flowers. Yet, I do know that Stella loves the fragrance, and I imagine myself one day bringing her a bunch of hand-picked magnolias, knocking on her door, and she'll open it in her adorable PJ's, no makeup, no nothing, and I'll offer the bouquet to her, and she'll blush and hide her face and invite me in, and--

"Right, Perry?" Maggie asks me, adjusting her glasses and looking up at me. I shift my gaze to Bailey. She's looking intensely at me too, awaiting my response. I have no idea what to say. What were they saying? What am I being asked? What? Ahh!

I clear my throat. "Um, right," is all I manage to say. It's all I can think of. Really, Perry? "Right"? That's the best you could think of? I mentally scold myself.

I feel Bailey's glare intensify, and Maggie scratches at the back of her neck in that way that she always does. I know I'm about to be chastised for not paying attention, not being a good friend, et cetera, et cetera....

But the chastisement never comes. Instead, a different sound fills my ears. The sound of the creak of the basement door opening. I turn myself around in a very awkward way, positioning myself so that my neck cranes around the back to the chair to see who's at the door.

I feel my heart sink and jump up into my throat, somehow at the same time.

Oh shit.

It's Stella.

Did I mention that Stella is a proud member of our little clique?

Yeah, she's that friend. The friend who no one likes. Of course, she's clueless to it, but there's no way I'm gonna be the one to disclose the truth to her. I like her too much, and I don't think I'd be capable of dealing with the emotional pain that would come with making her cry.

A thought crosses my mind.

No one invited Stella.

"Hey, guys. Hey, Perry," Stella greets. It's nearly impossible to tell her emotions based on her tone of voice, and she's hiding behind a surprisingly solid poker face. Why did she mention my name separately? Am I not one of the "guys"? If not, then what am I to her?

"Hey," Maggie replies stiffly. She's the only one who says anything in response to Stella.

Stella approaches the center of the room, inhales deeply, and falls backwards into the recliner next to me. I don't know why, but it makes my heart flutter, knowing she's sitting down so close to me. My mind hurls itself into the gutter with wild, reckless abandon, fantasizing about all the R-rated things Stella and I could do in that recliner.

My cheeks burn hotter than the candles on the coffee table.

"So," Stella begins. I pay too much attention to the syllable, trying to decipher the emotion being put into it. "I see you all are hanging out without me."

She's pissed. I want to leave the room. I'm feeling a bit nauseated.

"How did you find out we were here?" Bailey questions.

"I know you've been actively ignoring my texts," Stella spits bitterly, "but you night wanna at least read them."

Maggie reaches her arm behind her head and scratches her neck. Bailey extends her arm out to her phone, which is laying face-down on the table.

"Six missed texts from Stella," Bailey reads. She swallows. She's clearly humiliated.

"Read them out loud," Stella demands harshly. Woah. The bossy Stella is hot. I never pegged her as the aggressive type. It's, uh, interesting.

Bailey begins to read the texts out loud.

"12:01: Hey

"12:17: Are you free? We and Perry and Mag should hang out

"12:55: Try and get back to me asap, okay? I'm getting worried

"1:10: I'm worried.

"1:22: I get it if you're busy but you can at least spare ten seconds to text me back and let me know you're okay

"3:35: I'm seriously concerned, I'm coming over."

By the end of the recital, Bailey is in tears, most likely feeling severe guilt. Stella's nostrils flare around her nose ring. Maggie is pale as a sheet of paper. So am I, presumably.

"I was freaking worried about you, Bailey. But you seem fine and dandy, chatting it up with our friends. Or do I not have the right to say 'our'? Am I even in this group anymore? Tell me, what was it you guys were discussing that you just had to spare me from?" Stella rants. She's fuming. I don't blame her.

Bailey is silent. Maggie is silent. Stella waits quietly for someone to say something.

"Stella," I speak up, and surprise myself at the boldness of my own voice. "Stella, just go home."

Stella plants her feet on the ground and jets up from the couch. I've never seen her so mad before. I may have just ruined the only chance I ever would've had with her. She turns around and goes to exit the basement, but stops herself right in front of the door.

She turns back toward the center of the room.

She saunters up to the recliners, passing by her empty one.

She kneels next to mine, putting us at eye level. Our mouths are centimeters apart.

She leans in and kisses me.

My eyes flutter shut as I lose myself in the feeling of her lips on mine. Her septum ring is could against my nose. I like how this kiss feels. I like it too much.

She pulls away from my mouth and leaves the basement before I can even react. By the time my eyes open, she's gone.