Wishing On A Dancing Star

He caught me dancing while waiting for the elevator-a flurry of limbs and abstract body movements. I was humming the tune to some song I just heard on the local radio station in the lobby and tapping my feet in awkward rhythms. He walked over in his delicate dress shirt and perfectly ironed pants and lips pulled into a tight line. He seemed indifferent, but I don’t think he knew that I could see the way his mouth arched upwards on the corners.

Finally, when curiosity killed the cat, I assume, he stepped forward and asked, “What, please tell me, are you doing?”

“Well, sir,” I began, smothering my words with the best British accent I could manage, “-It’s called dancing where I come from.”

He laughed, like melancholy honey and licking a lollipop but having it cut your tongue and burn. “What I meant is why?”

This man wasn’t that much older than me, only like a year or two. He had the 5 o’clock shadow and chiseled handsome look, but for a college boy what else could you expect? I was, after all, in his class (though he may not notice me). “Because I’m happy. And I think the world needs quite a few more happy people, don’t you think?” I asked, dropping the accent. Flicking my slightly wavy, sunset-orange hair out of my eyes, I decided to place it in a messy ponytail.

“Yes, yes I do,” He says after minutes of silence. I turn to catch his eye and realize that I’ve never known they were a slight shade of lavender with a pinch of summer-sky-blue stirred in. He finally smiles and I have to turn back around to keep my own smile from surfacing. Because, when I think about it, I’m nothing more to this college boy than a star dancing its way through life and wishing on itself-never taking things with a stern hand.

“I’m Nesta,” I throw over my shoulder, but somehow he made his way in front of me and my blush takes over.

“Uh, Zach.” He sticks his hand out and I take it and unbelievably it’s soft and smooth and I wonder why I find it comfortable. He holds on for a while and I stare at him, waiting for the moment to end but sorta wishing it didn’t, and he has amusement flickering in his eyes like a loose bulb going on and off in the attic.

“Okay Zach, why are you here this wonderful morning?” I began tapping my foot again and silently scolded myself (my mother always says that’s a nervous habit and why should I be nervous around him?).

A shrug and he looks away, towards the elevator. “I was tired of staying inside my apartment and figured I should just walk around and try to find something entertaining.” He turns to look at me then, vulnerability flashing through his eyes (though I have no clue why).

“And the fancy clothes?”

“I have work tonight. Figured I could wander long enough until I have to be there.”

“Sounds like a fun-filled day.” I nod to reinforce my statement.

“What are you planning?” His shoulder bumps against mine and there’s this weird numb-feeling left after.

“Uh…I was going to get coffee and then wander around the park.”

“Coffee sounds good. Mind if I join you?”

“If by join you mean walking there together, then sure. But if you intended for join to mean something totally different, please clarify.” I’m rambling and I can feel the blush coming, so I look at the elevator instead if his eyes.

“I was thinking something along the lines of buying you coffee and sitting together at a table and then maybe going to the park together?”

“Join seems like a loose term, don’t you think?”

“Okay, we can call it a date.”

I looked at him, skepticism clear on every contour of my face. “A date?” He nods. “And why would you want to call it a date?”

He shrugs and before he can answer the elevator opens and he spreads his arms out, allowing me to enter it first. “Ladies first, as they say,” he mumbled as I passed him.

“Thank you,” I say but it’s nothing more than a whisper.

“To answer your question,” he says, quite a bit louder than before but drifting back to the mumbling, “-I notice you during class.”

“Hm?” I whisper again. I’ve pretty much come to terms that this new topic of conversation deserves nothing more than whispers inside an elevator (elevator whispers).

“Yes, you’re very…eccentric and crazy-for the lack of a better term. But eccentric and crazy aside, you’re graceful and beautiful and…and you remind me of my little sister-who I love dearly-but not only that. You have this aura about you where you’re the topic of everyone’s conversations but never there. I mean, I’ll see you in class and every time I try to catch you afterwards you just disappear. And I don’t know why that’s appealing-it’s actually a bad quality in a person-but the human mind is a mystery, is all I can say.”

I laugh, though nothing he had said was funny. In fact, a handsome (very handsome) young man had called me beautiful and graceful and wants to go on a date with me-the dancing star who takes nothing seriously. Which is probably why I laughed, because I don’t take a thing seriously, and maybe he was telling the truth and meant everything he had said.

“And that laugh-I basically spill my guts to you and you laugh but I can’t get angry at you because I’ve been dying to hear that laugh since I saw you.” This was more of a rhetorical statement, not really meant for me, but I still took it to consideration.

Because, when asked, I would tell anyone that everything he says is just his way of trying to mess with me and that I was just an experiment to everyone, but deep down I believed in what he said and what he was trying to say and him (and it’s about time I tell him that, don’t you think?).

“I, uh-I noticed you too,” I confess (well, more like blurt out as if keeping it inside me any longer would cause my inner workings to explode). “But you’re not that interesting, when it comes down to technicalities. Honestly, you’re like every single guy who goes to a college-handsome, yes, but also well-known and liked by everyone, especially girls. Don’t get me wrong, you’re probably not that shallow-I hope you’re not that shallow-but I’m still that girl that still gets called a freak, even when she thought people had matured since high school. Though in reality this is even worse than high school, and right now the prom king is stuck in an elevator with the nobody who just floats through school hoping she’ll someday be somewhere better.”

It was his turn to laugh this time, though not at my poor analogy. “Nesta, I was labeled as ‘Most likely to die alone’ in my school’s yearbook. I had braces and acne and a pocket protector that held my calculator I had gotten for my 16^th birthday. I’ve never had a girlfriend and I’ll be damned if I went to prom, much less be titled Prom King.”

“Oh.” Heat filled my cheeks in embarrassment. I should have known better than to judge him before I knew him, but, when you think about it, isn’t it so much easier for someone to be out of your reach than for them to be in it? When you wish on a star, you don’t actually believe it will come true, but that’s what makes it so intriguing-the fact that it’s only a slight chance it will work (because some things are meant to stay miracles). “Well, even if you were nerdy in high school you’ve obviously changed.”

“I got my braces taken off and I started using Proactive. Not much of a change there.”

I look at him for a moment before asking, quietly, “You still have your calculator?”

He stares at me in disbelief for a second before laughing and I can’t help but smile at him like it’s what I’m meant to do (like I was born simply to make him laugh). “Yes, Nesta, I still have my calculator.”

I lean in a little, like I’m telling him a secret, and he follows my action. “I still have my calculator too,” I whisper. “But I got mine for my 12^th birthday.”

He laughed, one of those laughs where you just throw your head back and let everything go, and I found myself laughing along with him (our laughs sound well together, I later mused). “Maybe I can come over and we’ll compare calculators,” he says once we gain breath again.

I flash him a smile. “Sure, tomorrow work for you?”

He nodded, almost eagerly. “Perfect.”

“I have another secret for you.” I rock back and forth on the balls of my feet like I used to do as a little girl.

“I won’t tell, I swear.”

I wait a second before whispering, more out of nervousness than anything else, “I actually liked talking to you today.”

I try not to look at him for fear of blushing (even more than I was), but when he didn’t say anything for at least 2 minutes, I looked up at him questioningly.

He placed his hand on my cheek and I wanted to step backwards, because I knew, I knew, where hands-on-cheeks lead. But something stopped me, and before I could get myself to change my mind he was kissing me.

And it was like time was kind enough to stop for just this once (just this once) so I could cherish the fact that 1) I was kissing an extremely handsome guy, and 2) I was actually enjoying it. I mean, sure he wasn’t the jock or prom king or my best friend who fell in love with me but was too afraid to mention it or the annoying bad boy who loved seeing me angry, but he was a guy and I was a girl and we both wanted this (needed this), because we both knew what if felt like to not have somebody there for you. And I think it’s time we get our cliché, don’t you think?

He pulled away, looking at my lips and then at my eyes. “Me too,” he breathes before kissing me again (and his breath smells like mint leaves and green tea, I remember). 

Author's Note

Probably my favorite short story, out of all that I have written. Thanks for reading it. :)

Reviews

[JuliePetunia]

Aww, that was so adorable!
You gave me the warm fuzzies!
Everything flowed so well and seemed so casual, I liked it alot.
The only thing I found fault with was the last line in parenthesis because it kinda ruined the flow and was unnecessary. Other than that, yay!