It wasn’t until a week later that I really got to hang out with Emily again. It was an in-service day, the teachers had been sent to some conference or something. I was sitting at my desk at about 1 o clock in the afternoon when I got a call from someone in my English class about a party. I immediately phoned Emily.
She said she had to work on this AP stuff, but I won her round saying that she could do it tomorrow.
I decided that I was going to be a gentleman for a change, so I walked over to her house and rang the doorbell.
An older woman answered the door. I was rather taken aback; I had half forgotten that Emily had a family. I introduced myself and she made a fuss of my accent. After some light teasing and some “aw… Our little girl is growing up,” they allowed me and Emily to go to the party.
The party wasn’t too far away so we walked. Holding hands had become a very natural thing for me. It was like: if Emily was there, I would be holding her hand. I had a spring in my step, and unconsciously started to whistle.
Emily joined in. The song was Let it Be. I had never met a girl that could whistle before. Every time I learned something new about Emily, I liked her even more.
It was Emily who first upped the anti by starting to hum. I copied her, attempting to harmonise as much as possible and then I began to quietly sing. Emily joined in and soon we were singing as loud as we could.
Emily wasn’t a great singer, neither was I. Eventually we alternated lines, singing our hearts out.
Now, I gotta mention at this point that it was about two in the afternoon and it was a ten minute walk, so we got a few odd stares. Several of the adults passed us and gave us a “well at least it’s a good song” type looks!
“Hey.” She said, stopping and turning to look at me when we finished the song. “Do you want to make that, like OUR song?”
“Yeah.” I agreed emphatically. “That way, whenever I hear the Beatles I will think of you.” I realised when the words had left my mouth that they were cheesy and all I wanted to do was cram them back in. But you can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube.
I looked down and blushed. She touched my hand. “That’s really sweet.” She said and we were kissing again. I wondered if I would ever get tired of having her warm body pressed against me. I didn’t see how it was possible.
We continued walking to the party and I gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. She returned the pressure. Neither of us looked at each other, preferring to just smile as we walked down the leaf shaded, Suburban Street.
This party couldn’t have felt any more different to the last one we attended. There were no drunken seniors or drink of any kind actually unless coca cola counted!
There were about eight people there, five girls and three boys all freshmen. I knew the boy from my English class (Drake) but not the girls or the other guy.
We were the last to arrive and walked into a fierce debate on what to do. One of the girls was suggesting truth or dare.
“I dunno Charlie,” Drake said. “The last time we played that Matt got arrested.”
“I was not arrested I was escorted home by the police. And plus, it’s really you guys’ fault. If you hadn’t dared me to run down the street naked singing ‘I come from a land down under’ none of it would have happened.”
They all giggled at the memory. I laughed simply at the image. The giggles sealed the deal. And the game began.
Like all games of truth or dare the questions and dares started out lame “cluck like a chicken” and stuff. These games take someone to push the boundaries, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to do it.