Fluctuate - Van McCann

16

Van and I sit down on the piano bench with two electric guitars that were already in the practice room. They weren't the best quality, but it was still nice that the school had some in every practice room.

Van adjusts himself on the bench so one leg was fully on the bench and the other was on the ground so he could prop his guitar up on his knee. I sit on the bench with one leg crossed over the other.

The two of us start messing around on the guitar, playing random riffs and chords patterns. I spent a long time watching Van and how his fingers moved swiftly across the fretboard. He clearly was more skilled than I was.

Van hums some random melodies over his chords progressions. I don't understand how someone could be so confident. Never in my life have I sung or even hummed in front of anyone else. I guess it made sense, though. Van was talented, of course he should be confident.

"Ah, any ideas?" He asks me.

I shake my head. "I hate this part of writing songs. The beginning, that is," I say.

"Nah, don't think like that. What do you want the song to be about. Let's start with that," Van says, trying to help me out.

"Well, us, I think. That would make sense," I say with a short laugh.

"See that?" Van smiles. "Already got the topic of the song. The rest will come to us naturally, I'm sure of it."

"You make it look easier than it is," I sigh.

"Come on," Van pursues. "Just a little writers block. Here's a ciggie for ya. I find they help a lot." He holds his hand out with a cigarette that he got from a box in his pocket.

I push his hand away. "I didn't know you smoked," I say. Of course, I had smelled smoke on him previously, but I guess I never made the connection.

"Yeah, Just every once in a while," he says with a shrug. "To get my mind off things, ya know?"

"Yeah, I understand," I tell him. Both of my parents have been smoking since before I was born. They're always telling me to never pick up a cigarette because it'll destroy my lungs. They don't seem to have a problem doing it to their own lungs, though.

"I'll take it you don't smoke?" Van questions.

I nod my head. "I tried when I was about sixteen. It was my moms. I hated the taste of it so I never had one since," I explain to him.

"I see. Probably better for you, anyway," he smiles and puts the cigarette box back into his pocket.

I look back down at my guitar's fretboard and play a few random patterns, acting like I'm actually trying to figure something out. It takes a while for me to notice that Van isn't playing anything in his guitar.

I slowly look up and my eyes meet Van's. He gives me a small smile–it was barely noticeable. "What's wrong?" I ask, my voice breaking the silence in the small room.

"Nothing," he answers. "Absolutely nothing. I just enjoy this; being in here with you."

"I...I," I say, but then stop. What am I trying to say? "I-I...I," I stop again and sigh, annoyed with myself. This only happens around Van. I never have trouble speaking my mind around anyone else, but something was different about Van. It's like I'm scared of making him mad or upset with me.

"Shh," Van hushes me. "You don't have to say anything," he says, his voice quiet. His hand reaches up toward my face and he brushes the hair from my face, resting his hand on my cheek once he finished. "Don't worry," he coos while looking me in the eyes.

He sets his guitar and then my guitar on the floor next to the piano bench we were sitting on and lifts me up, bringing my to his lap. My legs wrap around his torso.

Van rests his forehead against mine and I can hear his steady breathing, contrasting to my own breath, which was shaky and uneven. "God, Peyton," Van breathes out. "You really are the most beautiful girl, ya know? And... I think... I think I need you to be my girlfriend. You just drive me mad. It makes me crazy thinking of you with another man. It drives me insane just thinking about your everything: your face," he touches the side of my face. "Your hair," he moves his hand to my blonde hair. "Your body in my clothes," he puts his other hand on my thigh. "Your personality."

I rest my hand on Van's hand that was on my leg. He grabs my hand in his, ignoring the fact that it was clammy from my nervousness. His list continues. "The way you lose you words when I talk to you," he whispers. "And the way you go all red when I say things like this to you."

My heart starts beating faster. It was probably obvious, but it still felt strange knowing Van knows what he does to me. I don't think I'm usually a readable kind of person, but I guess Van can see right through me. Without thinking, I boldly lean my head in and press my lips gently onto his own.

Van doesn't pull back, and his lips move with mine. His arms wrap tighter around me and he brings me even closer to him, our chests now touching. We stop kissing, only to catch our breath, and then continue again.

I could only hope that I was doing okay. I've never kissed anyone before. No boy has ever even given me a second glance until Van came along, I don't think.

Van's teeth gently grab at my lower lip while I work on his upper lip. He groans and squeezes the side of my waist with his hand. "Tell me what I want to hear, baby," he moans. "Tell me you'll be mine."

"I am," I say in one breath.

Van pulls away only to ask one question. "You're what, Peyton?"

"I-I'm yours."