What lies behind the glamour

I can’t say it… that was all I could think. Not now. Not here. Wrong time. 

Still, she was hanging on the other line of our dial-up phone and all that was between us was static. I couldn’t even hear her breathing. Just static. “I’m being called for dinner” was all I could muster, before the usual awkward and off-kilter goodbye between us. The spaghetti was still on the boil, the table hadn’t even been set yet, but my tone was kind, and we would see each other in school anyway tomorrow. 


This was what it had come to. After years of this debilitating infatuation and the strange flips between her liking me and then me liking her. Just static. Something about her undid me and at once frustrated me. I was so hopelessly beguiled by her long blonde shiny hair. She knew how to dress and how to make all the boys look. In many ways, looking back, there were so many red flags and uncomfortable semi-conscious feelings between us. 

We had met in class - of course - in the beginning of Spring term. She had entered the room in this enormous black faux fur coat with her mother, clinging to her arm. I remember being enthralled by the glamour. Was this what it was like when Marilyn Monroe entered a room, where soldiers with greased back hair eagerly awaited?
 Yet, there was something real about her and genuine. Something sweet and kind. Surely this was the most dangerous combination. Glamorous, blonde; with a sweet underbelly of kindness and sincerity. Was something darker being masked behind the beauty? 

In class the next day, the energy between us was practically electric. My woolen sweater was bristling with static as we sat at our desks, only separated by one other person. 


The morning was long, and my belly ached for the packed lunch that awaited me. Dad had made me his famous beetroot, falafel sandwich with his homemade sourdough and freshly whipped up mayonnaise.  Our school did not have a dining room and so, when the lunch bell rang, we all gathered on the benches by the radiators that lined the entrance hall. 

As I walked towards the benches, I mustered the courage to begin the trajectory over to where she was standing. She was with her best friend, and they were laughing together in an idle position near the drinking fountain. 
As I approached her, our eyes met for a second and I could see this probably wasn’t a good time to speak. I made a pivot to walk the other way but - mid pivot - she called my name, 
“Hey, Dan! Wait up!” This was such a typical occurrence. I would judge the situation, usually through my lens of self-doubt and then get caught off-guard and have to back-step, back-peddle and improvise my way into a conversation that, seconds ago was no longer happening. Must stop this self-doubt. Must stop misjudging things only to then pass further judgement on myself. Damn. Damn. 


“Oh… hey Clara. I was — I was gonna come over, but I saw you with Hanna and you looked busy so…” Why so awkward?!


“Oh no, she and I were done. She's going to the basketball court for lunch.”

“Oh? How come?”


“She missed the last training and wants to practice before the game next week.”


A pause and then, “Did you dad make you his insanely good sandwich again?”
 How did she do this to me? 


“Yes… Should I ask him to make you one too?”
 She chuckled and we began walking to the radiators. 


“So…last night.” She said. 


“Yeah… I wanted to tell you but—”


“But what?”


“I dunno, maybe I was nervous.”


“Nervous?”


“I’ve not really done this before.”


“And you think I have?”


“Well of course you have!” I blurted with instant regret at how that made her look. “I mean, just look at you - wow - isn’t every guy just falling at your feet?” A good recovery but too much flattery and dangerously veering towards becoming ‘the nice guy’. 


“Not really. I’ve always been a loner really.” Her lips rose to a smile on one side. 
There was a pause and we sat down on the benches, and I reached for my lunchbox. 
Was she lying?

I felt so hopelessly inept and so shamefully self-conscious because I could feel beads of sweat under my armpits slowly making their way down my arm. Did I smell? I hadn’t showered last night as my reading had taken priority and suddenly it was ten o’clock and lights were out. 
She showed me the book she was reading and told me about how, last night after our phone call, her father had yelled at her mother, and she’d hidden upstairs; praying that they would not get a divorce. Praying that the yelling would stop, and they would just go back to being a normal family again. I listened intently but found it hard to relate as my family was so close-knit and mellow. She must have somehow picked up that I did not have the capacity to fully understand what it must be like. I emphasized with her, and I gave her my full attention, but inside me I just kept telling myself, keep looking at her eyes, keep looking at her eyes and don’t for a second glance down at her breasts. She changed the subject. She would always flip from one subject to another and I would have to make the jump too, piece together what led x to y.  Sometimes it felt like we jumped from h to y. 
“You know, “I piped, “Would you like to come to my house for dinner one day?”
 Something in her transmuted and her face lit up. 


“Oh my god, I would love to! I love your parents!”
 Holy cow, was it that easy? Had I just asked her out for a date? 
That afternoon, before heading home, she could not stop hounding me about which day would work and how I should call her tonight to let her know which day my parents agreed to. 
Somehow, in a way which surprised me, I felt overwhelmed by this attention and just wanted to get into my mum’s car, put on my headphones and sit back in the passenger seat. 


As we finally said our farewells and I made my way to my parent’s car, a strange thought invaded my mind. That girl is dangerous. Stay away. 
I half chuckled to myself as I stepped into the car. That night, however as I lay under my covers, I was in ecstasy. I had actually asked her out. She wanted to come. Wanted to see me, in my house, with all my stuff, my guinea pigs, the mounds of books and papers and shelves that hadn't been dusted in weeks. I never liked inviting people over but with her, I felt a sense of pride. 


As I began to drift off to sleep, the same thought from earlier in the playground returned. Stay away, stay away. That girl will break you.