Delia

Now

“Sorry for acting strange earlier, I was kind of caught off guard,” Leigh said to me while I was putting on my makeup. I glanced at her in the mirror and gave her a sincere smile.

“Nah. I’m sort of used to seeing girls go gaga over my brother.”

She giggled and grabbed her purse from her bed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? Corbin can explain some ins and outs of the places and introduce us to okay people,” I offered.

“You’re a darling, but perhaps tomorrow. I have a date tonight.” She carried on whispering, “He’s sort of famous . . .”

“Okay.”

I didn’t know what to do with that. First, she was whispering when we were the only two people in the room, and second, this morning she looked ready to jump my brother.

“Is he one of the guys who helped you move in earlier?” I asked tentatively and she snorted.

“Haha. Those are just some freshmen who were hanging around the lobby. I flashed them a smile and they jumped to help. You can’t resist the baby blues, can you?” she said, in a teasing voice, flashing a white smile at me. It did look pretty irresistible.

“Is he . . . a teacher?” I continued my guessing game, hoping that she’d say no though.

“Better!” she yelled her exhaltation over the prospect. “A. Big. Shot. Agent!”

I saw the hope in her eyes and I sympathized. I had no idea if this was just a bad idea, a monumentally horrible idea, or maybe fate smiling on her from the get-go. I shot her an encouraging smile. Time would tell.

“Have fun!”

She blew me a kiss from near the door.

“Listen, Cordelia, before I go, I just want you to know that I really want us to be friends this year,” she told me in a honeyed tone.

For a girl who wanted to be an actress, she didn’t manage to convey the right emotion when she said that. Quite the opposite, the dancing of her eyes told a different story than her words did. I wondered if she knew. I nodded to her, and she waved with just the tips of her fingers, and I was left alone to finish brushing eye shadow over my lids.

***

Parties weren't my thing. There were three years separating me from Corbin, which meant I was a freshman in high school when he was a senior and he didn’t want to take me anywhere he went. This wasn’t high school, and it was clear he was willing to make up for that. What my brother failed to understand was that I was so used to being just me and a canvas that I didn't even know what I was supposed to do at a party. Dance, I guessed. Except, I didn't really dance. I had texted Kayla in hopes of drawing her out, but by the time we'd left from Brittany, I hadn't heard back from her. So there I was, regretting the cleavage that was a hint too deep for me and the looks it drew from various guys, standing awkwardly as close to a plant as I could, not knowing what to do with my hands. What did people do with their hands at parties?

Fortunately, I didn’t have to wonder for long. Strong hands grabbed my waist from behind and I was spun around. My initially startled giggle turned into full-on laughter when I turned and saw it was Dalton from my essay class.

“Damn, girl, you clean up nicely.” He told me, and I grinned.

“So do you.” I took him in. He’d traded the tunic for high-waisted pants and a belted blazer with nothing underneath. His ebony chest was sculpted and looked like an open invitation. The guy really had flair in color accessorizing. He also looked like he didn’t give a damn about anyone’s opinion in particular. Forget about teaching me small talk. That was what I wanted to emulate. In that particular crowd, he fit in.

“I could say the same to you.”

He bowed in a theatrical manner, leaning with a grace that suited him perfectly.  

“You know, I am in cinema studies,” he told me.

“We’ll have a group project to prepare until the first break, and they don’t flat out tell you, but the more specialties mixed together, the more credits we receive.” Corbin had actually told me the same thing the first day I got here, so I nodded.

“Yep. Wanna hook-up?” I asked, wiggling my eyebrows. “I mean, uh, you know, for the project—”

“Yes, child, I need an art director! And don’t worry, I don’t swing that way, at least not this year.”

I stuck my tongue out at him and winked at the same time.

“Okay.”

“We should sit together next week and make a plan. Oh, my—” His words cut off and his hand finds my elbow. “Isn’t that Blazing Bangable Hottie from earlier, piercing holes through your skull?”

I looked in the general direction of where Dalton had just been scoping out, only to find Oscar standing there with his arms crossed. They didn’t hide the inscription on his shirt entirely, that I read: “Sarcasm. Just another one of the services I provide.”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to Dalton, ignoring the slitted eyes Oscar was throwing my way.

“Yes, yes he is.”

“What’s his problem?” Dalton asked, dragging me toward the dance floor. I silently prayed he had moves flamboyant enough for the both of us.

“When I figure it out, I’ll let you know,” I grumbled and moved, acutely aware that people were looking at us. I tried to shake my shoulders and hips in rhythm to a new, electronic beat that I wasn’t familiar with. It bugged me that I didn’t know the lyrics. Lip-syncing was half the job of making a song come to life, and everyone knew that. Dalton raised a bottle of beer and howled. I startled and took a step back, regretting it the moment I hit a wall of hard muscle, heat, and anger.

I didn’t even need to turn to know who it was, but I did because it was better than staying pressed against him.

“I can take over,” he told Dalton, spinning me around and placing his hands firmly on my hips, just as the song changed to a slower one.

I turned my head to beg my friend not to leave me but he just blew me a kiss and went searching for another partner. I felt Oscar’s hands squeeze and I turned my attention to him. I willed him to lead the dance, but he seemed immobile, standing there facing me like a statue.

“We meet again,” I tried making a joke, wetting my lips. I saw his jaw working, his gorgeous grin disappearing for a moment.

“Who are you, again?” His voice cut through me like a sword, and I steadied myself.

I couldn’t swallow. Why couldn’t I swallow? Why was my chest so tight? Maybe having all that cleavage out in the cold night air was giving me pneumonia.

With considerable effort, I managed to gulp some air and squeezed my fists so tightly my nails dug into the meat of my palms a little bit too roughly.

He was so beautiful that I died a little. Oscar had grown so gorgeous and manly that my girl parts started a party of their own. I was pretty sure that if I looked down, my nipples would be standing to salute.

But his attention was directed at my agate bead. He looked like he was trying to dissolve it.

Yeah, you know what a magatama is, Oscar, I sent you one in a letter.

Aloud, I just offered a squeaky voice that got me his eyes back.

“You know who I am. We met earlier.” I forced a smile, but wanted to disappear.

“Must have slipped my mind . . . because I can’t remember you,” he answered, his smirk back in full force.

“Sure, ‘cause that isn’t offensive,” I mumbled low enough that I was pretty sure he didn’t hear me.

I didn’t understand the point he was trying to make. I was inadequate, apparently, and not his type. So inadequate that I was obviously forgotten. I shook my head and started to leave. He squeezed more firmly, but remained gentle.  

“I’m sorry,” he said, starting to move us in rhythm with the song. “I was kidding; it isn’t my fault you have the power of a chameleon. You looked entirely different earlier.”

I rolled my eyes. He maybe kind of sort of had a point. I liked playing with colors, clothes, and makeup styles. I had combed my hair slick toward the back, leaving my forehead completely free, whereas earlier I’d sported my long bangs. I had used a deliberate amount of teal eye shadow and glitter, whereas during the day I had only worn winged eyeliner. And I had washed away the purple from before, adding a powder the color of seaweed on my hair. What can I say? I was addicted to color.

I nodded.

I looked entirely different at twelve too.

His hands, which were still planted on my hips, were causing a heavenly warmth to spread through me. Our bodies barely touched and I realized that I craved more contact. Our eyes, though, were a different matter. We seemed to be caught in a staring contest, and all the while, I willed him to recognize me.

Just when I thought I didn’t stand a chance, I felt a finger tapping my shoulder. It was Dalton.

“Your brother is waiting for you in the hallway, darling,” he said and winked at Oscar. “I can take over if you want.”

I seized the chance to make myself scarce and lunged to the table where I’d abandoned my purse. I just wanted to disappear. Right before I exited the room, Oscar pulled me into an awkward hug.

“You never learned how to dance, did you?”

His voice barely rose over a whisper, but it filled me with dread. I lifted my eyes to his, just as he was dealing his final blow.

“. . . Dellie . . .” He said my name with finality and a cruel smirk, turning his back to me and got lost among the dancing bodies.