Paper Airplane

27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

 

                I was sitting on the couch with my feet propped up on the coffee table and about forty-five minutes into the 2011 remake of Footloose when my phone began to vibrate.  Without sparing it a glance (because really, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Kenny Wormald and no, no one can blame me) I reached over to where I’d set it on the spot next to me and swiped across the screen, slowly bringing it up to my ear.

                “Hello?” I mumbled, reminding myself to blink.

                Why don’t I look like Julianne Hough?  It is actually really unfair.

                “Hey, I’m so sorry I’m running late.  I’m on my way.”

                “It’s cool.”  Vaguely, I realized I was speaking to Harry.

                “I mean, I – “ he began, but cut himself off.  After a second, he asked, “Hey, are you alright?  You sound a little odd.”

                “I’m fine,” I assured him, sighing.  I guess Kenny will have to wait until I get home.  Sitting up straighter and pausing the movie, I cleared my throat.  “Sorry.  I was just watching a movie.  I’m ready whenever you get here.”

                “Oh.  Well, I’ll probably be there in five.”

                I stood and meandered to my bedroom.  “Want me to meet you in the lobby?”

                “No, no, I was going to, uh…  Well if you want to, I suppose, but…  I mean actually, maybe – “

                “Harry,” I rolled my eyes.  “Spit it out, my god.  Do you want me to meet you down there or not?  Either way works.”

                He chuckled awkwardly.  I imagined him petting at his hair and then regretting it, ruffling it and playing with it then to fix what he flattened.  “I’ll just come get you.  Stay where you are, Miss McAllister.”

                I stuffed my feet inside my floral Docs and wedged my phone between my shoulder and ear, raising a brow, attempting to adjust the shoestrings.  “Alright, Mr. Styles.”

                “Good.”

                Honestly, I couldn’t tell if I was just imagining it or if Harry was being extremely unusual, but either way it was slightly frightening.  But nonetheless I responded with, “Good.”  And it may have sounded like more of a question than a statement.

                “See you in a few, then.”

                “Okay, Harry.”

                He said nothing.  I waited for the call to end, but it didn’t.

                “Bye, Harry.”

                “See you.”

                I hung up without a word, then, fearing our lackluster conversation would never end if I said anything.

                “What’s with the glasses?”