How Cliche (Narry Storan)

How Cliche (Narry Storan) Part 2

    He shouldn't have called me. Maybe more like I shouldn't have agreed to meet with him. When you're friends with someone long enough, you know their every mannerism and what tone of voice means what right off the bat. He sounded excited and that got me scared. Lately he had been a half sort of depressed and I was beginning to get worried about him. But I could tell there was something behind the excitement that I probably wouldn't like. I don't think I could've been more right.

       Harry introduced her to me as Chelsea. "Two e's, one l," she informed me brightly. As if I couldn't have figured that out myself. She was the type of girl who would normally be sitting three tables away from Harry and me with her jock boyfriend. We would be laughing at her from behind our menus and relaying her every idiotic move to each other through sneaking glances. Normally, that's what we'd be doing. But today, she and Harry were sitting on the same side of the booth. I was sitting on the other side, alone. I bet anyone anything they were holding hands under the table. They kept sneaking glances at each other.

        She looked like she belonged in some soap opera. She had curves. It was enough to make me look down at myself and almost gape at the difference. Her blonde hair hung over her shoulders and seemed to bounce with every step she took. She could've walked straight out of several advertisements. One for her hair: Keep the bounce in your step and the bounce in your hair! One for her clothes: One size fits all...if you've got the perfect body type. One for her make-up: Fool even your closest friends! Make-up for a lifetime of cabaret acts! Limited supply available. One for her smile: Meeting your boyfriend's best friend? Lower his self esteem with your award winning smile! Our toothpaste is sure to steal his confidence and replace it on you!

      I tried not to say anything when she asked the waiter if the crawfish was fresh. Crawfish. The most expensive thing on the menu was a bacon cheeseburger for four dollars and fifty nine cents and she was requesting crawfish. I tried not to say anything when she wouldn't eat the chili fries-the best in town as proclaimed by Harry and me-because she was watching her weight and they looked too cheesy. I even tried not to say anything when she commented on Harry's hair, saying it was too long and he said he would consider cutting it for her. But I couldn't keep my mouth shut when she asked me if I liked her shirt. It was some type of polo shirt that was probably purposefully two sizes too small and was hot pink. To match her lip gloss, she explained. I wanted to tell her it didn't match. What it did match was her personality: loud and obnoxious.

Instead, all I said was, "Are those real?"

She giggled and looked down at her chest. It almost made me sick. She glanced at Harry and then back to me. She leaned forward a little with a perfectly manicured hand up to the side of her mouth. "Just between us," she whispered. "No."

Then as if she shared some dirty secret, she returned to Harry's side and giggled again, her shoulders and face scrunching up in laughter. Harry grinned at her first, then turned to me. He was asking for my approval. I smiled halfheartedly. It took a lot to do when I really wanted to slap her and maybe Harry for being so blind. He never went for girls like her. I didn't get it.

I hadn't ordered anything but a Coke. Chelsea hadn't ordered anything at all because like she said before, she was watching her weight. She just needed to drop those three extra pounds so she could hide behind a telephone pole and not be seen. I didn't get anything because looking at her and Harry made me sick. Physically. Harry got his usual-Coke, fries, and a cheeseburger, with tomatoes but no lettuce and a swirl of ketchup which he added artistically. I bet Chelsea didn't know that was his usual.

It was finally quiet at our table. I didn't think Chelsea had it in her to shut up once in awhile. I sighed and glanced around the place. Everything here was familiar. The sticky tabletops and black and white tiled floor with red booths lining the wall and a bar on the other side, the pinball machines in the back and Jerry, the fry cook, who knew us by name and our orders by heart. Everything but Chelsea was familiar.

"Wanna play pinball?" I asked Harry, hoping to get away from Chelsea for at least a few minutes.

Harry's face broke into a smile and he nodded. He turned to Chelsea whose eyebrows were up in a feigned amused expression. I was expecting a Can you let me out? seeing as she was on the end. Or maybe even a Can I borrow fifty cents? But no. What she got was a You can play winner.

I had to bite my lip to keep my jaw from dropping. He was letting her intrude. Not even letting her, he was inviting her. We all got up, though, and walked towards the pinball machines. Normally, Harry and I like to play the biker one. It shouts insults at you every time you miss the ball and the background is filled with hefty men in bandanas and thick beards and women in skimpy bikinis. We like to pretend that we're betting our bikes and whoever loses the ball first has to pay insurance. But this wasn't normally. Harry let Chelsea choose which one we played. She chose the regular one. All you get are beeps and flashing lights, most of which are broken from the ten year olds constantly playing it.

Harry inserted fifty cents and was greeted by three lights on the right side blinking while one blinked on the left side. Chelsea smiled as he let the ball go and it shot into the main part. I leaned back against the side of the biker machine with my arms crossed, hoping Harry lost so I could beat Chelsea later.

As soon as he got to 1500 points, I said, "Hey, Hazza, your mom's here."

He jerked away from the machine and looked toward the front of the diner. The machine wailed a beep of failure while Harry frowned and turned back to me.

"Liar," he accused.

I grinned and shrugged. "Two more balls," I told him, gesturing with my head to the machine.

I managed to find a way to distract him both times. The first time, I kicked his shoe and told him I accidentally slipped. He knew I lied again, considering you would stick to the floors before you slipped on them. The second time I coughed loudly until he asked if I was choking. As the metallic ball went through the flippers, I immediately stopped and said I was fine.

Harry and I switched places, Chelsea automatically latching onto his waist. They watched as I inserted my own change. I don't know how long I stood there, hitting the ball to the top of the machine and back again, occasionally allowing it to go to the sides. I didn't care about the points or winning anymore. I was focused on beating the ball until it cracked in two. The ball had become Chelsea and I was punishing her for getting to Harry before I had the courage to. By the time I had lost all three balls, the sunset was visible through the window behind the machines.

"Wow," Chelsea said with a small giggle. "I don't know if I can beat that score."

"You can't," I said instantaneously.

Harry's eyebrows rose and his mouth became thin and straight. I crossed a line.

I cleared my throat and wiped my hands on my jeans. "Go ahead," I said as politely as I could. "I probably won't have time to play another game, anyway. It was nice meeting you, Chelsea. See you later, Haz."

I got as far as the parking lot before I was joined by Harry. I was ready to tell him he left something inside before he spoke first.

"What was that about?" he asked, giving me a look.

"What do you mean?" I inquired, examining my nails and picking at the edge of my pinky.

"You know perfectly well what I mean, Niall," he practically snapped.

"Touchy," I murmured before sighing and glancing at the setting sun behind the line of houses to our left. "I don't know. It's just...different. I'm not used to sharing you," I told him half honestly. There was more to it, but I wasn't ready to tell him yet.

He smiled a little and I noticed then how the trees cast just a slight shadow over him. "There will always be time for you, okay?" he reassured me. "I'll make sure. Don't worry." He left me with a hug and the thought that Chelsea was still at the pinball machines.

There will be time for me. After there's time for Chelsea and the things she wants to do. He'll make sure. He'll make sure Chelsea is happy before I am. I won't worry. I won't worry because Chelsea will only last as long as her tan.