Begin Again - A.I

twenty seven.

"Just go up to her, Michael," I say. "Just ... just be yourself."

He snorts. "Really, Ella?"

"I'm serious! Even though you're vulgar and awkward and loud and crude, you lack the ability to be anyone else. You'll look like a dick if you act like you're someone you're not. And, god, I can't believe I'm saying this, but ... she's an idiot if she doesn't like you."

"Aw, Stanford!" This time he pushes my shoulder, mocking my movements from before. "You big softie!"

I roll my eyes. "That's the last time I will ever say that."

"You think I'm awkward?"

"Duh. You're hiding in a bush to avoid talking to your crush."

He hesitates, thinking it over. "Touché."

"Go." I push him. "Go!"

"Okay, okay! Jesus! It's like my wing woman is the Queen of Hearts."

"Impossible," I reply. "Everybody knows the best suit is diamonds."

He looks at me and laughs. "You're such an idiot."

"GO!"

He stands up, a little shakily, and dusts off his jeans. I suppose he looks no different than how he usually does, so I can't really fix anything up. His hair is a patchy purple, because he ran out of dye, and his black skinny jeans have two rips in them at the knees. The shirt he wears today is of a band called Slipknot and that has rips in it too. I actually feel scared for Natalie, having that approach her table, but Michael is really anything else but scary. As much as he likes to think he's intimidating, he's really not. 

"Maybe I shouldn't." He looks down at me, fingers twisting together. "I mean, she looks busy."

"Michael, do you like the girl or not?"

"Obviously."

"Then act like it."

That seems to get him. He shrugs his shoulders back and runs his hands through his hair before taking a deep breath and nodding. "Okay. Here I go. Wish me luck."

I roll my eyes. "All the luck to you, yipikaye."

I watch as he steps out from the bushes, which I really hope Natalie doesn't see, and walk over to the brunette's table. Just as he reaches the table, she looks up. She smiles, closing her book. He stands awkwardly, hands in pockets, head turned. She laughs. He laughs. Then she's writing something down, and he's walking back.

He subtly points to the right and after ten Christmas' I realise he's meaning for me to get out from behind the bushes and meet him on the street. I do, and his expression is blank. I can't read a thing.

"Soo?" I look at him, running out of patience. "What happened?"

His lips slowly curve into the biggest smile I've ever seen on anybody, let alone him, and he pulls out the slip of paper that, upon looking closely, I see contain a set of numbers. "I'm taking her out Thursday night."

-------

"Okay, take it from the top."

I flip through the latest issue of Cosmopolitan as the boys play the same song they've been practising all afternoon. It was a new one, one I had never heard of until I had heard it seven times too many. Now I don't know how I feel about it. But my foot is still tapping along. Apparently it was important because they had another gig booked, and this one had to be better than the last.

"Woah, woah." Luke suddenly stops singing, his hand hovering over his guitar. "What's that sound?"

Everyone else stops, and I keep reading in peace, my foot halting with the loss of the music. "What sound?"