Musically Gifted? Well, I Used to Play the Recorder...

Twenty Two: Who Knew Puffy Eyes Could Be a Turn On?

            I’ve definitely learned that just because someone’s completely and utterly gorgeous on the outside, doesn’t mean they’re not arrogant, insensitive and selfish on the inside.

            I don’t know about you, but I can think of one person who fits that description.

            When Tom and I pull apart, he smiles at me with such sincerity that I cannot help but smile too, despite my red nose and tear stained cheeks.

            “Are you still going to leave?” he breathes.

            My choked up throat has finally redeemed itself, allowing me to answer. “I can’t,” I say. “Not now I know what this feels like.”

            This is our cue to replay the kiss scene again, only more delicately, as if savoring every single nanosecond in which our lips spend pressed against each other’s.

            Of course this is what I want. How could I ever have thought anything different? Blake may have the rock hard abs, but what’s the use of toned stomach muscles when your personality’s as shallow as a kid’s pool? I smile back at Tom, who has now taken up the role of the most perfect guy in my life.

            “Come back to the camp,” he says, slipping his hand into mine.

            I take a deep breath, clasping my (probably sweaty, but who cares?) fingers around his in an affectionate grasp. “Okay,” I respond.

            Because I know that however much hatred and pain I feel towards Blake Hudson, and however much I want to punch Cindy DeLuna in the face for being such a smug bitch... I can get over it. There’s no longer a place for jealousy inside my mind.

            Why would there be? The most amazing guy I have ever met in my life is holding my hand.  He’s adorable. He’s funny. He doesn’t suffer a drastic personality change in front of his friends. He actually feels something for me.

            And do you know what? He’s way better than Blake Hudson.

***

            Tom’s hand never leaves mine the whole way back to the campsite. It’s a miracle we actually managed to navigate our way back in the darkness of two in the morning, especially as our tents are pitched pretty much in the middle of the forest, surrounded by an endless mass of dense trees.

            We must have looked a right state, really. Both of us in our PJs, my hair frizzing uncontrollably around my head and my nose as red as Rudolph’s from crying.

            Although, in all honesty, I couldn’t care less.

            When we arrive back, it’s surprising to notice that all is quiet, just as I left it. In my sudden burst of emotion, I kind of expected the whole world to break into chaos along with me, but the rest of the kids are still sleeping soundly under the cover of their tents. The only sound that greets my ears is the wind whistling around us, biting at the skin on my arms with its bitterness, a reminder that I should probably don a sweater next time I’m running through a forest at two in the morning.

            “So,” Tom says, turning to me as we stand at the edge of the empty campsite.

            “So...” I respond.

            He is about to say something, but is cut off abruptly by a shrill screech slicing through the silent atmosphere with the precision and sharpness of a scalpel.