First Try

Sarah meets George for the first time. Except he's actually Andrew. And she's been meeting him in her head for months.

The house is packed at the seams; filled with young adrenaline and a lot of alcohol, the walls creak under the pressure. One shimmies past vague acquaintances in the narrow hallways and is shoved into corners and out of conversations at the sheer number of co-eds occupying space.

Sarah hadn't meant to stare, she really hadn't. But there George is again, standing and talking with someone she doesn't recognize. That doesn't surprise her, considering she doesn't actually know George. This is the first time she's seen him this quarter; Sarah usually sees him on average three times a quarter and it's always the same. Strangers passing strangers as students go to and from class, darting into streets and blocking traffic. Maybe you'd recognize faces, but you can't even remember where from; was it from that one French class you took last year? Or was it that unfortunate Feminist Studies seminar? Maybe he was in that university play you saw? George was one of those faces for Sarah, but he didn't fit into any normal category. And she saw him so infrequently that she generally forgot about his existence until about twelve seconds into staring at his face.

During her freshman year, Sarah lived in the dorms atop the most devilish hill on campus. George worked yard duty on The Hill, driving around golf carts with shovels and dry brush. That's where she saw him the most. Actually, the first time she had seen him, it was sitting across from her one night on a city bus when the lights came up as the bus pulled to a stop. He'd cut his hair since; the first time she saw him post-haircut was awkward. As she passed him on the path, she'd been staring into space and his face happened to wander into it. Generally, strangers tried not to look up and made an obvious effort to ignore the person with whom they shared a path, but George stared right back. There was no smile of acknowledgement, not even the cursory one given to strangers, and maybe that's why it had taken Sarah a full forty seconds to realize they were staring at each other.

George had passed her before she even realized it had been him. His hair was less red at the roots--roots now exposed thanks to his haircut. The interaction (or lack there of) nonetheless left a smile on her face. There was no way George was recognizing her, right? He never looked up at her that first night on the bus; he shouldn't have consciousness of her at all. Twenty thousand students, and he remembers her face? And if he did remember Sarah, it was as the weird chick that stares at him awkwardly. Great.

Now it's the first week back from Christmas break; irresponsible house parties reined the weekend before classes got serious. Sarah tagged along with a former roommate--one always more attuned to the party loop--whom she'd run into at a café earlier today. Since walking through the door, Sarah decided coming was a bad idea. Parties with strangers never worked for Sarah because no matter what, she felt judged. That she overdressed. That she underdressed. That she didn't dance enough. Flirt enough. Or took everything too far. Sometimes, she just doesn't get college kids. So she makes herself more awkward by hanging in the corner of the living room, avoiding being knocked by elbows of raucous dirty dancers.

George is over by the beer, watching a game of beer pong with his friend and chatting idly. She's cute, Sarah decides. George's friend is tall and thin with perfectly straight brown hair. It was the type of hair Sarah sometimes envied over her own brown curls. But tonight, Sarah's curls look awesome, if she does say so herself. And she does. With a rather confident smirk, Sarah runs a hand over her bangs to push them back because she knows they'll fall perfectly to give her a sexy yet free spirited façade. Nice.

Oh God, he looked up. George's dark eyes meet Sarah's and she clutches at her red Solo cup. He's already been staring for a moment; his cute friend hasn't yet noticed and carries on the conversation. He says something to her but doesn't break Sarah's eye contact. The cup starts to give under her grip and Sarah isn't quite sure what to do. She can't make her face smile at him and looking away doesn't seem like an option.

"Saraaaaaah!" Jerking at her name, Sarah welcomes the excuse to look away.

"Oh! Lydia!" She might have cried out a little more enthusiastically than usual, but parties induce loud and obnoxious behavior. Also, with the chance George could still be staring, Sarah feels like she's performing. Be exciting, be outgoing, have friends. Be interesting. Sarah hugs her drunken ex-roommate "Having fun?"

"Yeah! I haven't seen you at all!" Lydia throws her arm around Sarah's neck and Sarah laughs enthusiastically. "This party is so great!"

"It's a good time," Sarah agrees. "Whose house is this?"

Lydia barks a laugh and shoves Sarah sloppily. "Who cares? I want another drink." Despite the fact that Lydia's eyes look hazy and the tick marks on her wrist meant to track how many drinks she's had have turned into a crude drawing of a penis, Sarah jumps into action. And closer to George.

"Yeah, I was just on my way to get some more beer." She drops the hand holding her half full cup. "Let's go." Feeling like she could be being watched, she does everything she could to be attractive and/or interesting. She threads a finger into the belt loop of Lydia's jeans and tugs her through the mass of people. Lydia has her arm around Sarah's neck again, tugging their heads close together. Sarah drops her current cup of beer on a table riddled with abandoned drinks and uses her free arm to help navigate through the crowd. She brushes her hand over her bangs again, letting them fall perfectly again. She schools her features into a cool and casual expression in order to deviate from the drunken slurred face of Lydia and the rest of the room. She laughs in a way that appears inviting and perhaps flirtatious. God, I'm lame, she thinks.

"What have you been doing all this time, girl?" Lydia asks with drunken inflection and her nose touching Sarah's cheek.

Sarah laughs to appear fun loving. "Just hanging out, ya know. Dancing." Mostly true. Also standing and observing, but Lydia didn't want to hear that.

"We should dance. We haven't had fun together in so long." Lydia trips and stumbles. Catching her, Sarah holds Lydia's weight through the arm around her neck.

"Totally." She's not sure what she's answering, but doesn't think Lydia will notice because they've reached the kitchen island covered with booze.

"Ohhh, yum." Lydia coos, pouring a generous amount of vodka into a cup and then seeks out a mixer. Now, Sarah's not sober and knows another drink will blur life around the edges, but she's conscious enough to siphon a good portion of the vodka in Lydia's cup off into another abandoned cup. Someone will drink it. Lydia returns with a bottle of Sprite and fills her cup without noticing a thing.

"Hey, do I know you?" It's not the first time she's heard his voice. She heard it one afternoon on the bus last fall, but it startles her now. Sarah jumps and the bottle of cheap mixer soda in her hand fumbles out of her hand. She settles it on the counter and grips at the unopened can of beer she'd been reaching for. Turning around, Sarah looks George in the face and this is the closest she's been to him since walking past him a quarter ago, right after that haircut.

"Uhm, I don't think so." She speaks a bit too fast and doesn't think before the words are out, as if they were prepared and suspicious. Great. Lie and make this more awkward. The truth's awkward too, but it was the awkward she could embrace"not the awkward that comes with lying about interpreted stalking.

George runs a hand through his dark red hair and smiles beguilingly. Sarah nearly melts. She's tried not to sexualize George before now because she tried not to be quite so creepy, but he wasn't ugly and the sudden attention was going to her head. They spoke in raised voices--a volume that's quite naturalized in a party such as this.

"It's weird; I swear I've seen you somewhere before. Are you a Poli-Sci major?"

Sarah shrugs and shakes her head. "Sorry, no."

He furrows his brow and looks confused. "I just…Do you work for the university? Or maybe you volunteer at the SPCA?"

Man, he volunteers with animals. Sarah lets out a heavy sigh and laughs because showing him the scared and guilty look she was actually feeling inside wouldn't endear him to her at all. "Well, you caught me. No, we've never met. And have never shared a class. That I know of."

George looks even more puzzled. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. Sarah pats his shoulder because it seems both non-threatening and coquettish. "Don't worry about it, I'm just a weird kid," she says. Casual self-deprecation is engaging--not serious enough to clue into a deeper issue while humanizing a stranger.

Sighing, she confesses, "You're George."

He smirks and amends quickly, "Oh, no, I guess we're confused. My name's not George--"

"No, George Weasley. You look like George Weasley. Like actor who plays him. From the movies." She sounds rather defeated and amused.

There's along pause in which George processes her admission. Sarah stares at him with bright eyes, but raised and questioning eyebrows. Please don't call me a freak in front of all these people, she thinks. Please don't realize that every time I see a tall red head, I hope it's you. He starts to laugh. It's not the most nonchalant laugh, and Sarah thinks he can't quite figure out what to do with her.

"Sorry I'm creepy. I saw you on the Metro once and thought it was funny. I lived on The Hill then and started seeing you around while you were working. I know you're a human being and all, but you kind of became and inside joke to me and my friends." She smiles at him and she hopes it's disarming. "I have to say, it's completely your fault for wandering into my life so often. Looking like an adorable Englishman is only cause for trouble."

It sounds lame even to her own ears and Sarah tries not to regret what she's said. But strangers don't always have to be eloquent in acquainting conversations. George smiles. "Adorable, huh?"

She shrugs as if it's obvious and they both leave the question be. He extends his hand.

"I'm Andrew." Sarah shakes his hand and smiles casually, as if this isn't the culmination of over a year of pseudo-voyeurism.

"Sarah. It's nice to meet you, George."

He laughs because it seems the nickname is incorrigible. "Why not Fred?"

She eyes him like he's joking with her. After a second she says, "Cause he's dead," as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

George snorts suddenly, like he's taken by surprise, and laughs to himself. As he brings his bottle to his lips he mutters, "God that's morbid." She's pleased by this, pleased that she's amused him, and she hides her goofy smile behind a long drink of her beer. They both momentarily scan opposite sides of the room as the swallow. When their eyes dart back center, they catch with a pleasant spark of heat, despite his slightly furrowed brow. This is going better than it should, but it was obvious he didn't know what to make of Sarah. 

Arms around Sarah's waist make her jump and she is tugged back against a body behind her. Lydia's face appears over her shoulder and she grins.

"I think you owe me a dance, roommate."

Sarah laughs and rolls her eyes. She shares a companionable look with George that communicates everything a less sober person thinks of a drunk one, and then she shrugs. "I guess I do."

She lets herself be pulled through the crowd to the mass of dancers but she watched George as she goes. "See you around, Weasley." He raises his hand and his chin to send her off, all with a small smile on his lips.

Author's Note

There isn't any more of this written, but I think I could get more from it.