Goal Oriented

Chapter 4

The air is cold and windy as Chase and I step outside the cinemas. He'd invited me yesterday - a few of him and his friends were going out with a few girls they knew and he wanted to see if I'd be able to come. I left my stack of homework and dirty plates at home, grabbed some jeans and a jumper, and slid into Chase's car at four o'clock. 

One of Chase's friends - Nick or Nico or Nathan or something starting with 'N' - had made the film. It was alright, the soundtrack has been good, but it had ended with the main character pledging his allegiance to a small-town cult after the death of his rebel girlfriend. Chase himself had made a cameo in that last bit. The cinema had been half full, seventy percent of which were Nick-Nico-Nathan's friends, and they were going out to the bar now.

Chase and I hang back, walking along together in the cold. My neck is prickling with goosebumps, and he wraps his scarf around it.

"What did you think? Of the movie?"

I shrug. "It was pretty good. A little out-there, not really my style, but good."

Chase nods. "Yeah. Nick-" so that was his name - "is really into his film. He's submitted it to a few film competitions."

"Getting it played in the cinema has to be pretty big though, right?"

He shakes his head. "His parents own it."

"Oh."

We don't say anything for a few minutes. The gang ahead of us whoop and talk loudly. Chase's cologne is strong, wafting into my nostrils. It's overpowering, and a little too expensive-smelling for my taste. Had he worn it for me, I wonder? 

I watch our shadows on the ground. We look good together. I feel comfortable with him. His scarf around my neck makes me wonder what would be different if I hadn't got that call, if Hamish were still here, if I hadn't left dinner that night. Would we have gotten together? Would we still be together?

Chase is the whole package. He's got perfect hair. He's clean, tidy, attractive, smart. Head Boy, a family man, with dreams and aspirations and motivations. I admire him, I know that. But sometimes, in moments like this, when I can't find anything to talk about with him, I wonder if I've mistaken my admiration for attraction. 

We walk on for a few minutes until we finally get to the bar. Both of us don't have fake IDs, but Chase parked the car around the corner. He says his goodbyes to Nick and his friends, and as I'm watching him, someone taps me on the shoulder. 

"Guess who?"

I whip around at the sound of his voice.  "James."

"You guessed it!" he says, swapping a plastic bag full of groceries from one hand to the next. "Stalking me on this fine Saturday evening?"

"No."

"Then what are you doing here? Social life and Daisy Johnson are two concepts that just don't seem to make sense to me."

"Very funny," I say. "I'm here with Chase."

He raises an eyebrow, and I wonder if his expression gets a bit darker or if I'm just imagining things and it's the light changing. "You two dating now?"

A little muscle ticks in his cheek and I rake my eyes away from it. "No."

"Okay, Miss Chatty," he says, then puts on a high falsetto voice. "No need to engage in some nice conversation! 'What brings you here, James?' 'Oh, nothing, Daze, I'm just running some errands for the family.' 'How kind of you! Thanks for coming over here to chat to me while I'm standing here looking like one of the most awkward people on earth while all my friends are inside having a great time. Thanks for making me look less like a loner with terrible posture!' 'No worries, Daisy, but sometimes I'm not going to be here to save you, and you may need a few book-balancing-on-your-head lessons soon.'"