Be Nice and Play Along

I think I may just be psychic. I’m serious. Ever since I was little I have had these weird feelings, ideas, or just general heebie-jeebies and my gut is NEVER wrong. That new kid in class everyone loves? He’s secretly super mean and I told you so as soon as he sat down. Two people get together that everyone is shocked by? I’ve been Captain of this ship since day one. The man across the street that I always refused to go near (even on Halloween when he would give out king-size candy bars)? Murdered his college roommate. My friends make fun of me for being so cautious about everything but I can't help it - if I think about something long enough it just happens.

Take today, for example. I woke up on the couch in Margot’s parent’s living room, surrounded by snoring partygoers and evidence from last night’s debauchery, and all I could think about was Jerry Schnapp’s “Last Hoorah” party after graduation. It was almost three years ago and my night went significantly worse than last night was and yet I couldn’t help but remember it all. The smell of sweat and food and spilt Jungle Juice, the awkward way my skirt kept shifting to the side no matter how careful I was, how the music kept switching between Drake and ABBA because Nathan Yu and Garret Portman couldn’t agree on “the vibe”.

All of these memories came back and I knew something would happen that could be explained away as a coincidence. I knew it. I thought it would be a text from someone I haven’t spoken to since that night or an ad on Instagram for CPR training (which, after Taylor Quill downed an entire bottle of Grey Goose to show Taemin Park just how little she cares about him dumping her for an Instagram model that thinks the moonlanding was fake, would have come in handy). I assumed someone would crave Mexican for lunch and I would cringe at the memory of drunkenly sobbing to my mom while she attempted to feed me a quesadilla to soak up the alcohol. I would have taken a reenactment of Frida Tesman shoving me in a ditch to hide from the cops and scraping up my entire right side over this. Anything but this. Anything but him.

Breakfast had been a quiet affair in Margot’s parent’s house that morning. I had made pancakes while Margot tried to help DeAndre work the espresso machine, and Teresa had managed to drag Caroline and Alejandro from their love nest in the basement to help set the table (well Caroline helped, Alejandro sat on the couch and went on his phone). As the smell of coffee filled the air, Harry, Priya, and Liam stumbled out from whatever crevices they had crawled into the night before. We ate in relative silence, save for Caroline’s occasional giggling at whatever ridiculous flirtation Alejandro had whispered to her.

After breakfast, Margot announced a journey into town for groceries and, considering it was sitting in a car for an hour or enduring another minute of Caroline and Alejandro’s nauseating eskimo kisses, I was in the car before I even had shoes on.

“I cant wait for you all to meet Maddie,” Margot smiled as we meandered through the frozen foods aisle, “I think you’re really gonna like her. And I can’t wait to meet her boyfriend, she said he’s quiet but a real softie.”

The conversation continued, mostly because Priya loves love, and I held onto the side of the shopping cart like a small child while Margot directed us to the items on her list.

After I finished up the lemon meringue for desert that Caroline and Margot would inevitably scold me for making and inevitably eat all of, I jumped in the shower and tried to wash away the thoughts of Jerry Schnapp and his infamous party. Shockingly, no amount of jojoba conditioner can steady a racing mind, and I was left feeling more confused than I had been before. Why did Jerry Schnapp pop into my head this morning? What had I possibly done or seen that would warrant -

“Hurry up, Princess Di!” DeAndre calls from the other side of the door.

My bathroom contemplation session would have to resume tomorrow. I gave DeAndre the finger as I walked passed him, and spent the rest of my walk back to Margot’s spare room thinking about how much I hate the feeling of carpet on wet feet.

Two hours and 30 minutes of outfit changes later, I sat on the kitchen counter while Margot finished up my makeup and rambled on about why Maddie and I are going to be the best of friends. I wish I could say I knew it wasn’t meant to be, but really I was just excited. Margot always seemed to calm my soul, and if this Maddie girl was anything like her, then we would be two peas in a pod. I wonder if he ever noticed the similarities. Was that why he liked her?

Ding Dong.

“Yay!” Margot burst my eardrum as she tossed the lip-tint she had been fiddling with to sprint to the front door, and a matching squeal filled the air as the rest of us moved to congregate behind them.

“Come in! Come in!” Margot ushered them in, and as I began to follow Teresa’s lead into the kitchen for proper introductions Margot’s cat Mowgli started trying to eat Teresa’s guacamole.

“That’s not for you, sir.” I said with an arched brow and, like he always does, he understood and wandered off.

My ability to communicate with Margot’s cat will probably forever irritate the O’Neill family, and a sense of pride will probably always fill me when the grouchy old feline deems only myself worthy of his attention. He’s a mean old thing, yet no matter how many times he lashes out at the rest of the world, I have never experienced anything but a mutual respect. Kindred spirits, and all that.

I heard an obnoxious laugh that reminded me of when the mean girls in middle school used to flirt with the math teacher, and it took every ounce of my control not to turn around and hide in the basement. No, I told myself, this is Margot’s best friend and you need to be nice. I should’ve stuck with my gut.

As I rounded the corner, my eyes immediately connected with his and the flow of the blood in my veins seem to switch directions.

“Oh! Perfect!” Margot is saying, “Maddie, this is Diana, the girl I said reminds me of you.”

Her hand is rougher than mine but its warm and strong and tanned. She’s better than me, I can tell already.

“Nice to meet you, this is -” I know who he is, girlie - “Ben.”

He hasn’t taken his eyes off of me since I entered the room and I know he hasn't taken his eyes of me since I entered the room because I spent eight years with his eyes on me and I should have known he wasn’t gone from my life forever I knew Jerry’s party would haunt me and I should have known -

“Nice to meet you.”

It seems to me as though everyone in the entire world can tell that my chest has just fallen into my toes and I wonder if this is how it feels right before you die. His eyes, those golden brown eyes that I have dreamt of and memorised and missed for almost three years, are looking directly into mine and I know that he’s hoping - pleading - I’ll just play along and I don’t know why he’s decided to stab me in the heart like this and I dont know why I take it upon myself to twist the knife and play along.

“You too.” It doesn’t sound like my voice but no one says or does anything to indicate otherwise so I turn away and play along.

Play along, Diana, for the love of God, play along!

The conversation has moved on now, to driving through the mountains or someone’s birthday or something but all I can do is pay attention to my chipping nail polish and pray to the gods above that Teresa’s potato salad bursts into flames and starts a fire and dinner is ruined.

“Diana?” Margot nudges me and oh no everyone is actually looking at me this time.

“Pardon? Sorry.” I shake my head as though I was thinking about something unrelated to the current situation and not the fact that Ben Trafford is within ten feet of me and I’m still breathing.

“Margot told me you used to live in Singapore, so did Ben!” No shit!

I try to remember every lesson I learned in high school theatre and feign delight.

“That’s so cool!”

“I know!” Maddie squeals again, “How fun would it be if you guys crossed paths?”

Not fun at all, Madeline, not fun at all. My hands start picking at my nail polish and I don’t have to look to know he's staring at me while I do it and I know that he knows that I know that he's staring at me and why won't that stupid potato salad just explode already -

Margot’s timer goes off and the group begins to navigate to the dining table but I can’t seem to convince myself to move. If I start walking now, I’m pretty sure I’ll keep going until I’m as far from here as possible.

This isn’t about you. Be nice and play along!

I repeat it six times before my feet finally start to move. He seems upset that I move right past him but I try not to focus on that. He started this charade, I’m just playing the part.

His hand brushes my arm and I physically stall, overwhelmed by the memories of how his skin feels against mine. When he helped me up during a game of tag, when he wrapped his hand around my waist on a bumpy street car, when he grasped my hand and led me through crowd after crowd. When he wiped the tears from my face and left me on the roof at Jerry Schnapp’s “Last Hoorah” party after graduation. Moments flash through my mind as I realise just how often I think about him. About all the things I wished I had said and didn’t, and all the things I did and wished I hadn’t.

I breathe deep and push past him.

This isn’t about you. Be nice and play along!

I have thought about seeing him for so long, I should have known it would happen. I just wish it hadn’t been like this.