Hold Me Too Tight (previously Angel of Music; ON HOLD)

Chapter Two

Sugar nudges my hand, causing my pencil to stray a thick line off the edge of my paper as I write my name at the top of my links worksheet. I’m working on the research for my argumentative paper in English Literature, but my computer is a dinosaur and takes forever to load. Though I can’t really complain, I did have all weekend to start. The little yellow bar at the bottom of the screen reads thirty-five percent loaded. I groan and push my thick hair out of my eyes.

It’s a little after three o’clock. Jonathan would be here, in my house, at five-thirty. I’ve never had a boy in my house. Not once, unless you count my father, and that’s been years. I can’t help but feel like I should clean my room. Not that he’s going to see my room, or even come upstairs, for that matter. Maybe I should take a shower. Do something pretty to my hair. No. I don’t know this guy. What if he’s just like everyone else? What if he likes me at first, but then changes his mind? “Claire Collins, cool girl turned crazy,” I muttered. That’s what everyone seems to think.

               I used to be cool. I used to be someone to admire. I used to be myself, but now I’m not so sure I know who I am. I’m not Claire Collins, singer, performer, or superstar that I thought I was before. I wanted to be a superstar back then. I wanted to be on Broadway with Michael Crawford. Those dreams are long faded now.

               I decide to take a shower. The mirror is steamy when I get out and take a look at myself. The girl staring back at me in the mirror has dark hair, like ebony, and eyes grey-green like the sea. Her lips are somber and there’s an ever-present frown upon her pretty face. Her skin is too pale, almost translucent, and her nose too big, but she’s pretty. It doesn’t feel like I’m looking at my reflection. The girl I’m staring at isn’t me.

               I pull my curly hair into a ponytail and throw on a t-shirt and jeans. I’m not going to try to impress Jonathan. If he likes me, so be it, but he will like me for me. I jiggle my mouse; my computer is loaded eighty-eight percent. It’s nearly five. I touch the power button on my monitor, forcing it into hibernation as I go downstairs to check on my mother.

               She’s fussing around in the kitchen. She always gets nervous when we’re expecting company. “Need anything?” she asks me, looking up in my direction.

               I shake my head.

               “Can you set the table in the dining room?” Mom hands me five plates.

               “Five?”

               “You, me, Scott, Mary, and Jonathan,” she says, not looking up from her cooking. She’s making stir fry and it smells delicious. Stir fry is my favorite. She turns her brown eyes up at me again. I have my dad’s eyes. “Go change into something nicer, please. It isn’t just us tonight,” she adds.

               I roll my eyes and return to my closet. I color code my tops. I pull out a blue-and-white striped top that I haven’t worn in years. It’s sort of indie, and it has lace aligning the back. I like indie things. My mother picked it out, and I’m sure she will be happy to see me wear it. I decide on capris that stop just below my knees. Mom is happy when I return downstairs and am changed.

               It’s five thirty-five and the doorbell rings. I linger behind as my mother answers the door. “Scott, Mary, won’t you please come in!” she exclaims excitedly.

               A couple enters the room and I get a good look at them. Scott, the father, is built for his age. He’s probably about forty and his hair is turning grey, but his biceps are larger than his head. He’s short, however, and he looks very awkward and disproportional. He’s smiling when he enters with his wife on his arm. Mary is much smaller than her husband. She looks older than him too, her hair completely greyed and her face painted with laugh lines and wrinkles. She pushes up her glasses that sit very low on her nose. They look nice enough, but I hardly notice them.

               There he is. Jonathan. He’s really tall and tan and blond, as I saw earlier, but now as I look at him, I realize he is so much more. He has very large, pink lips and a strong jaw. He’s muscular and fit and I can tell he seems to care about his looks, but it isn't hard to tell that he looks nothing like his parents. What I notice most about Jonathan is his eyes. They’re not hard and rigid and intimidating like I thought they would be. No, though intense, they’re deep and passionate and soft and make me melt. He’s beautiful.

               When he opens his mouth to speak, his voice is like honey. He whispers a “Hello” to my mother and that’s when he sees me. When he looks at me, it makes me feel like I’m standing stark naked. I blush and cross my arms in front of my chest, feeling utterly exposed. Everyone turns to look at me then.

               My mother breaks the awkward silence, and I thank her silently. “This is my daughter, Claire,” she says, reaching out a hand to me. She pulls me close and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Welcome to our home,” she adds, “I’m sorry to say that it’s just Claire and I here.”

               Way to go, mom, I think. They’ve just arrived and you’re already bringing dad into the conversation. She always does that. I think seeing so many happy couples makes her miss him more, but what does she expect? She can’t expect everyone else to be unhappy just because she is.

               As we sit to eat dinner, the table is alive with conversation. Only Jonathan and I are silent, as we sit there awkwardly next to each other. He bumps my hand as he passes the butter to his mother. Our eyes meet for a moment, but I look away. He’s not exactly what I expected.

               Mary says something about my mother’s decorating. She says she admires my mother’s classical design. I would call it earthy.

               My mother laughs lightly. It’s a fake laugh really, but she’s just ecstatic to have company. Mom is weird like that. She replies how she hasn’t changed much since…well, in a few years anyway. She makes tea after dinner and the adults make conversation.

I abandon the chat and sit on the porch outside. The light wind whips my hair. It smells of wood, rustic and old. It smells like fall. Even in the dim light of the moon, the trees are alive with color. “Mind if I join you?” It’s that honey voice. Jonathan sits next to me and smiles. He looks almost too tan against the night.

I don’t say anything. I avoid his eyes as he stares at me.

“Claire, isn’t it?” he asks kindly.

I nod. He’s so beautiful, and he seems nice.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiles. Jonathan holds out a hand, but I’m hesitant to shake it. “Don’t worry,” he adds, “I don’t bite.” He winks and turns up his dark eyes.

I can’t help but smile. “Good” is all I can say. The silence stretches between us for a few minutes and it gets awkward.

“I heard we’re going to be going to school together,” he says.

“Yeah,” I reply. I remember what my mom said about me showing him around, and I quickly add, “I’ll be glad to help you find classes.”

“Maybe we could even eat lunch together, if you don’t mind me intruding in your crowd,” he smiles. His teeth are extremely white.

“There’s no crowd,” I laugh, “but knock yourself out.”

Jonathan stares at me for a few minutes before bidding me goodnight. “Until tomorrow,” he says, turning to his house. He stops and looks back at me, flashing me another million dollar smile, “It really was nice meeting you, Claire.”

               My computer is loaded when I return to my room, but it’s far too late now to start my research. I fall asleep in my clothes and I feel rested when I wake for the first time in months.