"Go straight up to Owen's room, okay?" My mom calls from the car window as I walk up the sidewalk towards the college.
"I will, mom, bye," I call, and her car disappears around the corner.
It's been three days since the incident with Jonathan. My mom and sister have both been overprotective far more than usual. Jonathan, though, was taken to the police for questioning. I'm not sure where he is now, or what's happened to him. I just hope I never encounter him again.
By the time I've walked up the stairs to Owen's hallway, I'm already out of breath and tired. Maybe I should work on that...
I reach out and knock softly on his door. And I wait. Nobody answers. So I knock again, and once again, nobody comes to the door.
I try the doorknob, but it's locked. I guess there's always a first to use the secret key he told me about. I reach up on my tiptoes and slide my hand across the top of the doorframe. My fingers come in contact with a small, metal object. The key.
I open the door, replace the key, and walk inside. Nobody is in sight. Not on the couch, not in the small kitchen area. Nowhere. The bedroom door is closed, and I don't want to invade personal space.
So, I walk over to the couch and sit myself down on it. I don't really know what to do with myself. Where is Owen?
I find myself looking over at the closed bedroom door. He's probably in there. But I can't go look, because that's just not exactly okay.
I guess I can wait for a while. I spend about ten minutes, staring up at the posters on his ceiling. I spend almost twenty minutes on my phone, not exactly doing anything. And for the next five minutes, I walk around his carpeted living area in my socks, trying to build up static electricity.
Finally, I get so bored that I can't help the curiosity.
I walk slowly over to his door. I knock softly, carefully. No answer comes in return. So, I press the door open an inch. It's dark inside, from what I can tell. I keep pushing the door open further until its almost halfway. And I realize why he hasn't come out yet. He's asleep.
My eyes widen, and my cheeks tint pink. He lays on his stomach, arms folded beneath his cheek, lips slightly parted. I can't bring my eyes away as hard as I try.
I should've known that he was asleep... What else would he be doing? I slowly back away, re-closing the door as quietly as I possibly can.
Someone squeezes my sides behind me. I let out a screech, turning around.
Joey stands before me, laughing at me.
"What was that for?" I demand.
"What are you looking into Owen's room for?" He asks, eyebrows raised.
"I didn't know..." I start, looking away and blushing.
"I'm just messing with you, Brinley," he smiles. "Anyways, I've got to go to class. I'll be back in like two hours. Until then, my friend."
He waves goodbye, then leaves, closing the door behind him.
I return to the couch, looking around the room for probably the thirtieth time. Boredom is a miserable thing.
It takes at least an hour before I hear the bedroom door creak open. I turn to face where he walks out. He wears blue and black plaid pajama pants and a tight grey T shirt. His hair is tasseled and messy, and he rubs his eyes tiredly. I don't know why it makes me uncomfortable, or like I've done something wrong seeing him in this state.
He finally notices me, stopping where he is, looking confused. His eyes are barely open.
"Brinley?" He asks, blinking a few times. "Why are you here?"
"Um..." I'm uncomfortable again. Am I not supposed to be here? "My mom dropped me off like usual..."
"But it's Saturday," he says, tilting his head.
"It's Friday, last time I checked," I shrug.
He pauses, contemplating my words for a moment. "I guess it is Friday, isn't it?"
He walks over to the couch, letting himself fall onto it, not four inches away from me. He releases a sigh, letting his arm stretch out across the back of the couch.
I don't know why I do it. It feels natural. I lean into him, my head resting on his shoulder. I can feel him tense up beneath me, as if shocked that I've done such a thing. Then he relaxes, his hand resting on my shoulder.
"What have you been doing since seven?" He asks, looking across the room at the clock. It's almost nine o'clock now.
"Nothing, really," I shrug.
"You should've come and woken me up," he says.
"No," I say, cheeks tinting pink, recalling seeing him asleep. "I couldn't do that."
"You're blushing," he smiles down at me.
"No I'm not."
"Of course you're not," he says. "You just naturally look like a tomato."
"I do not look like a tomato, you jerk!" I say, hitting his arm with my fist. It probably hurts me worse than it hurts him.
"Fine, fine," he laughs to himself. Then he looks at me for a while.
"What?" I ask, suddenly defensive.
"Are you going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"Why you were blushing," he raises his eyebrows.
"I wasn't blushing," I roll my eyes.
"Okay," he says slowly. "But if you were to be blushing, why would you have been?"
"No reason at all," I say, crossing my arms.
"You just blush for fun?" He raises his eyebrows.
"Yes."
I guess he gives up the subject, because for at least a few minutes we're silent. The only noises heard are our breathing and heartbeats.
"I never exactly heard about us," I say.
"What about us?" Owen asks.
"The time we spent together," I reply, looking up at him. "How it all happened."
"Well," he sighs. "I guess I had better start with the day I realized I felt something more than friendship for you... It was my Sophomore year, you were a Freshman. You were dating this boy, Gabe. I guess you had a thing for older boys, because he was in my grade too. Anyways, you were dating him and about two weeks in you came to me all excited and wanted to tell me something."
Jonathan. Gabe. Owen. All older than me. I guess I did have a thing for older guys. And still do.
He smiles sadly at the memory. "You wanted to tell me that you had your first kiss. You expected me to be happy. I couldn't figure out why I wasn't. And then when I actually witnessed you two kissing the next week in school that it hit me like a brick wall."
"You were jealous?" I ask him.
"Yes," he replies with a snort. As if it is blatantly obvious. "I walked up to you straight after school and told you how I felt. And you laughed. You thought I was kidding. And I realized that I had been friendzoned."
My eyes grow wide. "No way..."
"Yes way," he smiles. "I didn't try again after that... That is, until Jonathan came around. After I helped you through that mess, I think you realized your own feelings as well. And then we got together this year."
"What did Clarin have to say about it?" I ask curiously.
"She said she knew it was going to happen the whole time," he chuckles a little, "and that we were both idiots and it took us too long to realize it ourselves."
"I really loved you then?" I ask, letting my eyes fall closed.
"I would hope so," I can sense his smile.
"Really," I say, "do you think I loved you a lot?"
"I think you did," he nods. "And I love you a lot too."
"Not past tense?" I ask, my heart going on a loop.
"Not past tense," he repeats, "I think I've made myself clear that I still love you, Brinley."
"By default?" I ask. "Because I already knew about us being together? Because letting the old Brinley go would be too hard?" I pull away slightly, to look into his eyes.
He looks at me for a long time. "No, Brinley. Not by default. I've spent a lot of time with you since the accident, you know. It's been over a month. And whether you believe it or not, you're the same girl you were. And I love you just as much, if not more."
I feel warm everywhere, hearing his response. I believe him. I pull away again, enough to look directly into his eyes.
"Well then it's a darn good thing I feel the same way, isn't it?" I ask.
He stops for a moment, as if startled by my words. Or surprised. Or wondering if he imagined them.
"Wait, what-"
I stop his questioning by pressing my lips against his. He responds immediately, one hand around my waist, the other tangled in my hair. My fingertips tingle, and it moves through my arms and through my entire body.
He pulls away, only centimeters.
"You aren't taking me back by default are you?" He asks.
I smile at him. "Who ever said I was taking you back."
And his hand behind my neck brings me back towards him. Our lips hardly touch when he hear a bang and a gasp.
Out of instinct, I jump back away from Owen at least two feet. We both look over towards the source of the noise, startled.
Joey stands in the doorway, his Physics textbook on the ground. He stares at us, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.
"Oh," is all he says. "Don't mind me. Don't let me interrupt..." He smiles to himself. "...your moment."
He hurries through the door to his room, forgetting completely about the textbook on the ground.
Owen shakes his head, annoyed, then looks back at me. My hands are still shaking. I clasp them together, trying to hide it.
"Is this real?" Owen asks, reaching out and taking my hand in his. "Am I dreaming right now?"
"No," I look at him with an eyebrow raised.
"I want this to be real," he says.
"Well then you're in luck," I say.
"I'm more than lucky, Brinley," he says, pulling me back towards him. He presses his lips to my cheek softly, and I can't stop the warm feeling rushing through me.
He stops, looks me in the eye, intense emotion visible. "You have no idea, Brinley Shane. You have no idea."