Aurelia Rowl - Popping The Cherry

‘Omigod! I’m so sorry,’ I said.

What a klutz!

If I kept this up, I’d do someone an injury. Maybe I should be using my free period to draw up a poster? A warning to everyone to stay away from me for their own safety. For an old lady, she had better reactions than I had. She managed to save my huge mug of mocha, extra sugar, and my pain-au-chocolat from hitting the deck.

‘No harm done,’ she said kindly.

Sure enough, the only evidence of my stupidity was the big slop of cream sliding down the side of mug. And it was getting away. I lunged forward to ‘save’ it—which makes it sound as if I actually had a choice in the matter—and blocked its path with my finger. The cream with its dusting of cocoa settled along the length of my finger. I had it now. Dipping my head to meet my finger halfway, I shoved the gooey spoils into my mouth and moaned as my taste buds took over.

The woman laughed and said, ‘I’d have done exactly the same.’

Oops!

I’d forgotten I had an audience. I offered her a feeble smile, my cheeks warming rapidly. She patted my shoulder, then turned and walked away, but I’d barely managed one bite of my pain-au-chocolat before she was back.

‘Get those down you,’ she said, indicating the painkillers and plonking a glass of water in front of me.

Man, I must look bad .

I half expected her to watch me take the tablets, as my mum used to do when I was little, but she shuffled back behind the counter and left me to it. Only when I was certain she wasn’t about to pop up over my shoulder again did I risk getting the crumpled sheet of paper out of my bag. Even then, I kept it out of sight beneath the table, too ashamed to be caught with it. I grabbed my phone out, too, and checked for messages. Nothing. Good. So I put it on the table next to my mug.

After another quick scan of the baker’s-stroke-café, I was satisfied no one was watching me. A tingle of excitement buzzed in my fingertips as I spread the page across my thigh, pressing it firmly with both hands to ease out most of the creases. Time to check out the nominated ‘candidates’ and also try to come up with a few of my own. I’d read only halfway down the list when the door opened, drawing my attention, and in walked one of the guys from college. I knew that only because I’d seen him on the same bus as I’d been on nearly every weekday since September, the mysterious emo guy who always sat at the back with his headphones in his ears and his eyes closed.

Fascinated to see him with his eyes open and actually moving, I watched him stride over to the counter to place his order. His body language and his voice exuded a level of confidence that made me pay close attention whether I wanted to or not. He was dressed all in black, his skinny jeans and black T-shirt a complete contrast to his pale, angular face. His long, midnight-black hair fell loose over his shoulders, easily as long as mine, reaching past his shoulder blades. When he turned to look around for somewhere to sit, his bright green eyes met mine.

Who is he?

Instead of being embarrassed, caught staring, there was something hypnotic about him that stopped me from averting my gaze. One side of his mouth cocked into a half-smile and he gave me a single nod by way of greeting, breaking eye contact only when a hand tapped him on the shoulder. His order ready, he turned his back to me and—just like that—the spell was broken, releasing me. I reached for my latte, drinking deeply with my eyes closed, gripping the mug to stave off the sudden chills.

Sensing movement near me, I opened my eyes. A tall, dark figure appeared in my peripheral vision and my heart fluttered. Emo Guy was already halfway across the room, mug in hand, and the list was spread out on my lap. Lunging for my bag would be too obvious. I had to think fast. The fluttering sensation turned into a hammering but my fingers still worked. Keeping my movements small, I folded the list in half, then discreetly slid it between my thighs and crossed my legs to hide it.

Close up, he seemed even more vampire-like—in true Gothic style—and I half expected to see fangs when he opened his mouth. Emo Guy wasn’t my usual type at all, but he was definitely hot in his own kind of way.

‘Hi, Lena isn’t it?’ he asked.

The words for my planned introduction dried up in my mouth—he already knew my name—so I gawked up at him and nodded like an idiot.

‘Mind if I join you?’

This time I shook my head, still scrambling to find my voice.

‘Thanks.’ Emo Guy cocked another grin, as if pleased with the effect he’d had on me. I’m glad it pleased somebody, because it was doing my head in. He put his mug of steaming black coffee onto my table, then nimbly eased into the seat opposite. ‘My name’s Hayden.’

Hayden .

Why did his name sound familiar?

Hayden did most of the talking—the usual small talk—and the next half an hour flew by. I wasn’t at all surprised to learn he was a musician—it was either that or acting. After two failed attempts at eating my pain-au-chocolat without making a mess, I gave up and wrapped it in my napkin, but it gave me the excuse I needed to grab my bag. I stowed the shortlist at the same time as the pastry.

Phew .

The alarm on my phone sounded, signalling that my free period almost over. I had to get going: I couldn’t afford to miss another English lit class, but I didn’t want to appear too keen by asking to exchange numbers. Hayden followed my cue, though, and walked back to college with me; he even carried my bag. As we went our separate ways to get to class, I hoped I’d see him again, especially once I realised why his name was familiar.

I didn’t have to wait long. Hayden sought me out on the bus home and plonked himself into the empty seat beside me. I almost cheered out loud, the envy of half the girls on the bus. His leg brushed against mine and a faint zap attacked my senses. When he invited me to come and watch him play on the Friday night, I couldn’t hold back my smile, and with his name already on the shortlist, there wasn’t a single valid reason to say no. Operation: Popping the Cherry was go-go-go.

It took me the rest of the week to come up with my own candidates, what with all the umming and ahing. Despite my reservations, I had to admit the list of candidates was looking dang fine. It was impossible to not feel even a teeny bit excited.

‘We’re off in a minute, love,’ Mum said, poking her head through the gap of the open door.

‘Oh, OK,’ I said, trying to sound natural and not burn myself as I straightened my hair. ‘Have fun. I hope you win.’

‘So do I. It’s been a few weeks and your dad’s poor ego’s getting dented.’

I forced out a laugh. ‘I bet.’

Mum’s smile faded and her brow creased into a frown. ‘So how do you know this Hayden again?’

‘He goes to my college, except he’s in Upper Sixth.’ My hand started to shake, so I put the straighteners down.

‘What time is he picking you up?’

‘The band are swinging by to pick me up on their way to the gig. They should be here in about ten minutes or so.’

Mum’s lips pursed and her right eyebrow twitched. ‘The band?’

Oops. I must have forgotten to mention that bit.

‘Yeah. Hayden’s the lead guitarist.’ Probably best not to mention the band was called, Screwed. ‘They’re quite good, apparently.’

OK, so I’d never actually heard of them until that week, but Mum didn’t know that. I couldn’t even tell her what kind of music they played, let alone if they were any good or not, but it was safe to assume they were more likely to be a heavy-rock band than a boy band.