Spotlight on Nobody

- 16 -

~ song: All Night by Beyoncé ~

He stands with his hands in his pockets, and I have to rip my eyes away from the thin veins that trace their way from under the sleeves of his shirt down to his hands. I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, thinking about how many times in the past few days I wished for exactly this: Leo here, in my room with me. But this isn't how I imagined it going. He's upset, mad even. I can tell from the way his jaw keeps clenching and unclenching, something I find maddeningly attractive, even when I know I somehow caused his anger.

"You and Parker are pretty close," he finally says.

"He's one of my best friends," I say warily. "But don't worry, he doesn't know about anything that's happened between us," I hastily add.

He must be upset that I've told people about us, even though he never told me not to. Yet still, I've only told Ella and Grace. Not even my own mother! This thing between Leo and I feels like an inter-dimensional pocket, existing out of reality. If I tell people, I make it reality, and that means it carries weight, that it gets yanked down by gravity and ceases to exist in this happy bubble we've made for ourselves.

But another part of me, the 20-year-old girl side, is sad that I can't tell anyone. I've never been one to keep secrets. Not that I'm bad at it – in theory, I could do it quite well – but I just don't like hiding things. I've always been completely honest and open; it makes life a lot easier in the long run. My mom has always been my closest confidant; every prank I've pulled, every boy I've kissed, every fight I've had, I've told her. Come to think of it, I've been subconsciously avoiding her since the Spring Concert, sticking to texts rather than calls, so that I could screen what I was going to say beforehand, otherwise my secret would certainly slip.

"Of course he doesn't," he mutters. Huh?

"Wait, I'm confused. You're the one who doesn't like to be seen in public with me. I thought you'd be happy I haven't told anyone about this, whatever this is."

"Oh, don't pin this on me. I'm sure keeping me a secret helps you juggle your flings more effectively."

I have to hold back a laugh. Me? Juggle men? "You think," I say slowly, "that Parker and I are together?"

"Well you sure looked pretty close when you came in together." He emphasizes the last word.

"Listen to me, I do not like Parker. Or anyone for that matter. I mean, look at me. Do I seem like the girl who even has men to juggle?" I motioned to myself, dressed in loose-fitting sweatpants and a tee shirt.

"You should see the way Parker looks at you, like he can read the future and he knows you two will end up together."

"So you're mad at me because of the way he looks at me?" I try to keep myself from yelling, but I am getting angry. If anyone was juggling flings, it would be Leo. Afterall, he's the beautiful, talented, successful one who is in the company of equally beautiful, talented and successful women every god damn day. Something tugs at my heart when I think, not for the first time since I've met him, how we are not on equal footing, how I am so below Leo in every regard, how our fate rests entirely in his hands. Because, even though I've known him for only a few weeks, there's no way I will be the one to give up on whatever this is. With him, I feel more alive than ever, a feeling so addictive, not even the prospect of heartbreak can get me to stop.

"Do you want to know why I was actually upset at the hotel last weekend?" I take a deep breath, the dam finally breaking. "It's because I had to drive separately from you, then watch you be welcomed in by your fan club, oohing and ahhhing over every move you made. And you fed into it. You hugged, you smiled, you let them kiss you on the cheek, and you enjoyed it." Leo becomes a blurry face in front of me and I realize that I'm crying. I'm crying over a boy I only met two weeks ago. Me, a girl who never has cried over a boy – ever. I get a sinking feeling in my chest, aware of just how invested I am in this, well, whatever this is.

"How do you think that makes me feel?" I continue, standing up to face him. "To know every girl in the world who has reached puberty wants you, and worse, that you like that? That you'd rather pull up stag so that you don't break the illusion that they still have a chance to be with you?" I wipe my cheeks furiously, mad that I'm crying, mad that I'm showing Leo how emotionally invested I am in him.

"I did that to protect you," Leo says angrily. It's the first time I've heard him raise his voice above the soothing acoustic sound that usually passes over his lips. "People would tear you apart if they found out we were together. They would say terrible, mean things because they're jealous, or just because they're bored." His voice softens, "I couldn't let them ruin you like that."

I want to tell him that I'm already ruined, that he's already ruined me, undone me in such a way that I can't rebuild myself without using parts of him to hold me up. But I don't say that.

"You don't have to protect me," I say turning away from him and trying to collect myself. "I'm capable of making my own decisions, defending those actions and taking care of myself." I take breath and ask what I've secretly wanted to this whole time: "Unless you're embarrassed to be seen with me?"

Leo sighs and walks up behind me. "For someone so smart, you can be quite oblivious." He turns me around so I'm facing him.

"Most people think I'm quite intelligent," I say, more softly than I mean to.

"Whoever doesn't think so is certifiably crazy," he agrees, wrapping an arm around my waist. Ugh, why does he have to be so comfortable?

"Are you calling yourself crazy?"

"Only for you," he says smiling and I have to resist rolling my eyes. Turns out, it's not too hard to resist an eye roll when your eyes are closed because you're kissing a boy, which is exactly what is happening right now.

"So how do I tell Parker that I'm not interested?" I say as I pull away, leaning my head against his chest. I can hear his laugh echo into my ear.

"Tell him you're seeing someone," he says. I lean back and look up at him, an eyebrow raised. He sighs. "Me. Nell, you're seeing me." I raise both eyebrows then, fully shocked.

"Like, publicly? We are seeing each other publicly?" I ask.

"Isn't that what you want?" I nod my head. "Then yes, we are seeing each other publicly."

"But is that okay with you? I don't want you to think that every time we fight, I have to win. I mean I usually win arguments, but I do it fair and square. And your PR team – I'm guessing you have one of those? Don't get me wrong I really like you–"

"Wait, can you say that again?" He asks with a smirk. I realize what I said and my face heats up. Wow, nice way to keep it casual Nell! Then again, I'm pretty sure we left casual behind when I flew to Chicago to see him. I try to squirm free of him, but he tightens his grip around my waist.

"Nell." I continue to struggle against him. "Nell." I slowly turn my face to meet his gaze. "I haven't stopped thinking about you since I met you. I. Like. You. No one else, Nell. You." He leans in to kiss me and the stardust and gold that had settled in the base of my stomach swell up again, filling me with a warm, tingly sensation. We smile in the kiss, both feeling the same happiness, and somehow sharing a smile like this is more romantic than any kiss has been.