Seth
Amy was unlike anyone I had ever met before. She was blunt, complicated, and perplexing. Her flaws fascinated me. If I had been smart I would have stayed away from her. I felt as if she could see right through me: a good reason to run away. She was a distraction, and she wasn’t what I needed right now. And yet I was mesmerized; I was also the idiot who asked her to lunch.
As we sat looking over our menus, I watched her, her brow furrowed with concentration. It looked as though deciding on what to eat for lunch was a life-altering decision. She caught me looking at her and raised her eyebrows. I looked down at my menu and glanced back up. She shifted her menu, covering her entire face with it. I smiled.
I decided on grilled salmon and closed my menu. I set it aside and cleared my throat. Amy looked up, then closed her menu and put it aside as well.
Time to start conversing, tough guy, I said to myself after we ordered.
“So, what are you going to school for?” I tried to guess her answer. Lawyer, maybe.
“Architecture,” she said without hesitation.
Wrong guess. Point for her. “Ah. That’s interesting.”
She rolled her eyes. “What did you go for?”
Her question took me off guard. It was strange for her to ask that. As if, one, she knew I had gone to college, and two, that I had already graduated.
“Music,” I said.
She nodded. “So do you play, sing, or write?”
I smiled. “All of the above.”
I could tell she was surprised, but she didn’t show it for long before asking me another question.
“What do you play?”
“Piano and guitar.” I felt like I was getting interrogated.
“Genre?” she asked.
I shrugged, wondering which one to say. My career or my hobby. “I don’t really have one.”
She paused. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t fit into one category. I write the song and it’s just a song. I don’t base it on a certain genre. I write a lot of stuff.”
“I get it.” she said. I nodded, not sure what was next.
“Are we done?” I finally asked after a couple minutes of silence.
“Done what?” she asked, confused.
“Interrogating me with questions.”
“Hah,” she smiled. “Not yet, but I’ll give you time to recover.”
“Whew,” I said sarcastically. “Thanks. It’s my turn anyways.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, pulling her shoulders back and cracking her fingers. “I’m ready.”
I held back a smile. “What school are you going to?”
“The Art Institute of Chicago,” she said fast, as if answering a test question.
“Whoa, you’re smart.” I had to admit, I was impressed but not surprised.
She shrugged. “My portfolio is what got me in.”
“Why architecture?” I asked next. This one she didn’t answer right away.
“Well, it’s sort of like swimming. It’s one of the things I’ve always been good at. My dad is an architect, so we built things a lot when I was little out of Legos and clay. I love building and problem-solving.”
“How’s it like swimming?”
“Swimming and designing are the two most important parts of me. It’s like breathing,” she said, a small smile forming.
“I know how that is.” Our eyes met, and I noticed hers were hazel. She looked away and just then our food came. I stopped asking her questions but continued watching her. Her confidence annoyed me a little. She was so sure about everything. I wanted to ask her something that she couldn’t answer. I wanted to stump her. I just couldn’t think of the right question to ask.
“All out of questions?” she asked.
I nodded. “For now.”
She smiled. “I won.”
I shook my head. “You’re competitive.”
“So are you,” she said, giving me a look.
I laughed. “You have no idea.”
Competitive wasn’t even close to describing me. Winning meant everything to me. Back when I was on the swim team, even getting first place six times in a row wasn’t enough.
Amy seemed that way too, or maybe she was just stubborn. I would let her win just this once. We ate in silence, occasionally glancing at each other. I could tell she was wondering if I had any more questions. I didn’t, but I knew she did.
“So what do you do now?” she asked, taking a bite out of her sandwich.
“Who said it was your turn again?”
She rolled her eyes. “Just answer the question.”
I leaned in closer to the table and clasped my hands together. “Honestly, nothing. First, I haven’t graduated from college yet; I’m going to be a senior.” I paused. “The rest is complicated.”
She cocked her head to the side.
I mimicked her. “What?”
She smiled. “Nothing.”
I squinted my eyes, trying to figure her out. It didn’t take me long to realize my complicated excuse wasn’t going to hold out.
“Where do you go?”
“University of Maryland, School of Music.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And I’m the one who’s smart? I want to hear your songs.”
I shook my head, self-conscious all of a sudden, realizing she was starting to know more about me than anyone had in years. “No, you don’t. It’s more of a side thing. My major is more jazz piano and guitar. Songwriting and stuff is something that probably will never turn into anything real.”
She looked at me curiously. “But you want it to.”
I knew she thought she was figuring me out, and I hated thinking she actually was.
“Oh, come on. If it needs improvement, I’ll give you an honest opinion!”
I shook my head again and smiled. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
I leaned back in my chair. “You would be brutally honest.”
She shrugged. “So you like swimming too?”
I was glad for the change of subject. “I’m part fish.”
She laughed. “That,” she said, pointing her finger at me, “is my line.”
I smiled. I realized then that she still didn’t know my name, nor had she asked. It was odd. Talking to her was easy, and I almost felt like I could be myself. I surprised myself by telling her things and I was pretty sure that it was partly because I knew she’d know if I was trying to hide something
I had finished my salmon, and she worked on the second half of her sandwich. I thought about my dad again and it snapped me back to reality and to why I was really in town.
I sighed.
“Are you okay?”
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
She was very observant.
“You just got this really serious look on your face all of a sudden.”
I smiled. “I was just thinking.”
She smiled back tentatively. We looked at each other for a moment before looking away once the check came. I reached for it and took out my wallet. She took out hers too and gave me a hard look. I held back a laugh. Clearly, she didn’t want this to be a date. She continued to glare at me until I finally gave in and reluctantly handed her the check. After we both paid, she stood up.
“Well, I better go.” She pulled her bag over her head and across her shoulder.
I got up too. “Take care, Amy.”
“You too,” she said slowly. She started walking away from the table when I called out to her.
“It’s Seth,” I said, finally giving in.
She stopped and looked at me, and her mouth slowly curled into a smile. She nodded once and continued walking. If she had been curious at all, she hadn’t shown it. That surprised me; it was not the reaction I’d been hoping for. I wanted her to be curious about me like I was about her.
I stared after her, not liking how she affected me. I never let girls get to me. I was always the one breaking their hearts and leaving them staring after me. But here I was in their position, wondering.