~~~
To live my life as it's meant to be
~~~
Amelia In Another Lifetime kept journals.
Our Amelia didn't.
But as it was, Fate didn't reserve itself to those who kept careful stock of it. It spun out yarns for believers and disbelievers alike, shifting pieces into position, aligning stars and crossing paths of its own volition. If Amelia were only so inclined, she would've looked back at a certain day in her life and reflected upon her tendency to stand on the precipice for far too long and the consequences of her lingering, on several occasions. But as it were, 11th April remained unobtrusive and seemingly unimportant, while she continued to teeter on the edge. On many 11th Aprils, in fact.
(2007)
Amelia had pictured this scene countless times - but in no world had she found herself so inexplicably distracted.
Well, not completely inexplicably.
However, it still made very little sense that she was thinking of a stately printed sheet of paper as Jeremy Warner looked at her lips.
But we're getting ahead of ourselves.
An hour and a half ago, Amelia checked her integral equation against her textbook's answer key while Bethany chewed the end of her pencil, fretting about French (of all things) and Wes and her brittle nails.
"Ugh, I hate them", she'd exclaimed with appropriate vehemence and Amelia had silently reminded herself that people at Syracuse would be above all such nonsense. Loyal friend as she was, though, she dutifully reminded Beth to stick to her rosewater routine and not chew on them so much. Jenn and Ed continued to whisper under their breaths and make sappy faces at each other, lost in their own world, while Jeremy scratched his head and waited patiently for Amelia to finish checking for answers so he could inquire after her method.
It was fairly routine, to be honest.
Which is exactly why it made very little sense that Jeremy would stick around an hour later even as Amelia attempted to pick up her books and promptly spill them on the floor.
"I've got it", he said lightly, readily dropping to the ground and picking up her books at a pace so furious that her binder fell to the carpet again. Not missing a beat, he grabbed it and got to his feet, if a little awkwardly, biting his lip for no apparent reason and smoothing back his hair as Amelia stood by uncertainly, looking up at his perfect blue eyes and melting on the spot.
Beth watched from the coffee table with a smirk on her face.
"Thanks", Amelia breathed, shy in the face of such unprecedented chivalry, and took back her books, hugging them to her chest. Jeremy smiled in response.
"That's quite a lot of books you've got there."
"Yeah, calculus isn't my strongest subject."
"I don't buy it - you solved that integral equation in a hundred seconds."
"I'm sure I took longer than that", Amelia replied uncertainly, frowning up at him in confusion, unsure of where this was headed, "but I'd practiced that formula beforehand, so I suppose -"
"Oh don't be coy! You'll ace the exam too, just you see."
"O-okay."
And just like that the conversation died, with Amelia and her thudding heart and Jeremy and his unabashed smile. Even before she could thank her stars properly, Jeremy spoke again, "I was thinking - only if you have time, I don't mean to impose - that maybe you could help me out with matrices too? Maybe a couple hours this weekend if you're free?"
She felt her heart deflate like a balloon and rest at her feet. There it was - yet another motive for a boy to show any interest in her. It was like Wes all over again, only this time it hurt so much more because she'd thought he was different, and he'd been so kind and never teased her about being drunk at Beth's graduation party (and a couple times after) and he even liked Harry Potter and this was just disastrous -
"Amy?"
"Yeah, sure", she replied automatically, seething silently and wishing she'd had the heart to say No, viciously and with attitude, just to see that stupid smile slide of his face and -
"Amy's coming over to my place to study French this weekend."
Amelia turned to gape at Beth who'd vacated her cushion next to the coffee table and now stood, arms crossed against her chest, next to her and facing Jeremy, whose smile faltered.
"Just a couple hours will be alright", he said uncertainly, as Beth's mouth pressed in a fine line, and Amelia said resignedly, "Yeah, come over this Saturday."
Beth turned to look at her incredulously.
"It won't be a problem, you can revise the verbs without me", Amelia said, shrugging, bending down to pick up her bag off the floor, and turned to face him, "But be there on time, we've a tight schedule fixed up and God only knows how we'll pass French this time."
"Brill!" he said enthusiastically.
"And only two hours, she added firmly. And no forgetting textbooks or stationary", she let a small smile slip.
"Yes, ma'am", he replied courteously, a smile mirrored on his face. "Will five be okay? Your place? I'll walk you to Beth's house after."
"It's just three houses away", she deadpanned
His smile faltered, even as Beth nudged her inconspicuously in the ribs, "You should still drop by, Jeremy - I'll see you at seven then. Friday, and don't forget to bring back my CDs."
Jeremy nodded, his smile fractured, and turned to leave. Amelia began to follow him out when Beth gripped her by the wrist and hissed "Play nice!", but before Amelia could respond, she turned her back and retreated towards the coffee table, picking up her own books.
Bemused, Amelia shook off the warning and walked out of Beth's house.
Jeremy waited outside by the fence, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his face downcast, and as she drew closer he looked up.
"You don't have to do it - if it's too much of a pain."
"What are you - of, no, it's not much of a bother. I'm not really busy."
"You said you had a tight schedule."
"Well, me and Beth do, for the weekend - but I'm okay with Friday, really."
"Are you sure", he said, frowning.
"Yep, Friday's all yours". She said, attempting to give him a friendly smile, "Well, the evening at least. Besides, I haven't practiced matrices in weeks, will be good for me too, yeah?"
He smiled back tightly, and jerked his head back to Beth's house, "So you and Beth are really close, huh?"
"Best friends since we started Nursery."
"Woah, that's a long time!"
"But we made it", she raised her fist in the air in mock celebration. Despite his clear intentions, Amelia felt the familiar sensation creep back through her toes and up her spine, a heady mix of exhilaration and excitement and wonderment at this remarkable boy who stood before her, and the boy in question ruffled his hair, his fractured smile quite mended by now, and proceeded to ask a very important question.
"Can I walk you home?"
Beth's warning echoed in her mind as she nodded, and the two set off on their (two minute) journey.
(2008)
Fine Arts would be the death of her.
She looked at her cartridge sheet in distaste - the ink had run and the colours blended on the edges, and her strokes were too broad and coarse to render any detail legible. She tugged the sheet up irritably, despite its (sad, soggy) state and rolled it up with a huff.
Taking up this class had been perhaps the worst idea of all times.
Not that she really needed he credit - her theory of design class required enough sketching as it was and her design studio credit came at the cost of several sleepless nights a week. She'd barely had time with history and mechanical physics heaped on top but she'd overstated her abilities anyways and gone ahead and taken Fine Arts.
She couldn't hate herself enough for it.
Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she picked up the white camel-hair brush she'd borrowed for that class and walked over to a (loud) group of girls near the back of the class. Four or five of her classmates huddled together, laughing and chatting and recreating the American high school so perfectly that Amelia felt obligated to stand by and wait patiently for a break in the conversation, her fingers fiddling with the brush.
The break came about half a minute later, when Aubrey Hayes spotted Amelia and approached the latter with a smile in place.
"Amy, hi! I was just about to come see you - didn't you get my email yet?"
"Umm - what Email are we talking about?"
"For my party, silly! - I'm throwing a bash at my flat this weekend and getting flyers is so wasteful - you know what I mean?"
Amelia didn't quite know what she meant, and so offered the redhead the paintbrush.
"Thanks for the brush - it's got a bit of red paint stuck to the base but it'll run off if you soak it overnight -"
"Oh, forget about the brush" , Aubrey waved a hand magnanimously, as a blond standing behind her laughed, and even as Amelia tried to recall her name, Aubrey spoke again, "Well, you haven't RSVP'd yet. You'll be bringing a date right?"
"When's this party again?"
Not Cool, Aubrey's eyes tightened just a little but she answered just as sweetly, "This Saturday, darling. And we'll be done with the crits on Friday - everyone from our major is gonna be there!"
"Oh, this Friday?"
"Yep - nothing better than booze after a crit, am I right?"
The blonde tittered again
"I've -uh -I've got plans."
"Plans?" Aubrey arched her eyebrows
"Yeah, with my roommate."
"Your roommate? Umm, Abby, isn't it? The small blonde one?"
Amelia repressed her distaste at the description and decided instead to focus on Aubrey's talent of knowing everyone she'd ever shared a class with. Abby's tales of that crafty ginger didn't quite hit home, but Amelia decided to hold onto her loyal streak anyway.
"The very same. But thanks so much for inviting me though - maybe some other time?"
Aubrey smiled in response, the kind of smile that made it abundantly clear that there were no more invitations in the future. Not that Amelia could blame her- she'd been blowing off more and more of her classmates to spend time with Abigail, and quite frankly, she didn't (yet) regret a second of it.
"Well, I've got to run - thanks again for the paintbrush!"
(2009)
"Are you sure about this?"
"I'm positive."
"And what about his relationship with Josep Fontsere?"
"I've covered that in his curricular work."
"And Joan Martorell?"
"Same."
Aubrey paused for a few minutes, and Amelia heard the tapping of her nails on her phone screen, before she inquired again, "And did you check out the university assembly hall he worked on?"
"Yes", said Amelia, a little exasperated, thoroughly annoyed with Aubrey's blatant dependence on Wikipedia even as they sat inside a library. Aubrey shrugged in response, the irony lost on her, and continued Googling Antonio Gaudi as Amelia continued taking notes on Modernism.
In retrospect, they weren't the best suited partners for a project report.
When Amelia had crossed the ocean nearly a year and a half ago, she'd envisioned many things - intellectual awakening, discovery of self, superior peerage - a place of absolute liberation. What she'd found instead were project reports with people who'd very little interest in getting anything done. Namely, Aubrey Hayes.
The culprit currently sat opposite her, engrossed in her phone and playing with her hair - red, glossy, and artistically chopped - Amelia watched her pluck a strand out and twirl it round and round her finger, the tips flicking away at the very last moment, before she shook herself out of her reverie, turning back to her notebook. Now was not the time to stare at Aubrey's impeccable tresses.
"The report's due Thursday, right?" Aubrey asked out of the blue, and Amelia gritted her teeth before answering, "Yes, next Thusday, 24th of April. At noon. In room 305, Wav- "
"I don't need your nasty comments", Aubrey shot back, sitting upright, eyes flashing dangerously.
"Neither do I need idle chit-chat. It'd be great if you start taking notes on Gaudi, Hayes."
"God, why are you so unpleasant?"
"God, why aren't you more productive?" Amelia shot back, ignoring the sting of Aubrey's words. Miraculously, Aubrey put her phone down and pulled a large tome towards herself, flicking through the pages in huffy silence. Meanwhile, Amelia tried valiantly to appear neutral and unhurt.
The truth couldn't be farther.
She was surprised it hurt so much. She'd been the class nerd since she'd been here - the reclusive British girl who spoke little and laughed even less, and she'd reserved herself to Abby's solitary company just enough to know that she'd passed a year and a half in Syracuse without making many other friends. She often roamed the campus alone, completing projects and assignments alone more often than not, and had a steadfast belief that people thought of her as solitary, not lonely.
The belief wavered every once in a while.
As a freshman, Amelia hadn't a thought in her mind of expanding her social circle beyond a select, delightful few, and wasn't terribly disappointed when no one from her major really made the cut. Her roommate had been a darling and a half and she said hi to a few people regularly, and Sarah dropped by every now and the, and all was okay with the world.
It wasn't until this semester that the suspicion had crept up on her that she wasn't maintaining her distance, they were maintaining theirs.
The realisation was harrowing.
Her suspicion had only confirmed itself when she'd had to partner up with Aubrey as Prof. Webber drew up names randomly (God dammit!) and told them all to break out of their comfort of zones and just have some fun, and Amelia had not missed the look Aubrey exchanged with her friends before extricating herself from their midst and joining Amelia by her lonesome at the front of the class.
When the redhead had shaken her hand and said enthusiastically, "We're gonna get an A, I know it", Amelia had breathed a sigh of relief at having fund someone who could muster some enthusiasm at the prospect.
The relief had been short-lived - Aubrey Hayes was no work and all play and Amelia could feel herself going mad with every passing second.
To Aubrey's credit, she did materialize two times out of five at the library when Amelia sent her repeated texts reminding her of their project, and she'd only completed about 30 percent of the work when Aubrey had shown any active interest at all. So maybe, all was not lost.
Such logical thoughts didn't occur to Amelia, uncharacteristically, as she wallowed in self-pity and reflected upon her alleged unpleasantness. Somehow, the word hit her harder than any Bitch ever had.
She'd made little progress on her introspection when Aubrey cleared her throat and sat up straighter in her seat, looking meaningfully over at Amelia who took the hint a full two seconds later, and looked up as well.
"Did you find something on Catalan?" she asked dully.
"No - that - screw that for a second." Aubrey said hastily. "Look, I'm sorry for snapping at you like that. You're not - you know - history's just not my forte."
"It's perfectly alright", said Amelia, turning back to her book.
"No - Amy, listen! We've been friends for a year now - don't be like that, let me explain myself."
The word friend caught her attention, and Amelia looked up in surprise.
"You're a great girl, you know. You just get really caught up in college stuff and then you get a little bitchy when something doesn't go - "
"Excuse me", interrupted Amelia hotly, "I get bitchy because I prefer to get a decent grade every once in a while. And this conversation is over."
Ignoring her companion (new-found friend?), Amelia got up, her anger barely contained as she started gathering her things. Aubrey got up too, "Hey, don't be like that!"
"Don't be like what, exactly?"
Amelia couldn't tell if Aubrey see the challenge in her eyes or was simply a better person than she'd had her pegged, but the latter threw up her hands in surrender anyway.
"Amy, don't get offended. I didn't mean it like that, hon. Look, let me make it up to you - let's go out for drinks?"
Aubrey was impervious - Amelia had to give her that.
"Don't - don't bother. I'm heading home."
"God, why'd you get so mad about this?"
"Don't worry about the paper. I'll finish it on my own - it's not much work really."
On that austere note, Amelia turned on her heel and began to walk away, when Aubrey called out to her.
"There's a party at my place next month", Amelia turned back in disbelief, to find Aubrey standing by their table with an appeasing (shameless) grin on her face, "It's a housewarming party for my friend Jason - he just got through Med school - why don't you come over? It's gonna be fun!"
The realisation hit Amelia like a cannonball - this was why she wasn't chummy with her classmates. Exasperated, but slightly amused, she continued to redeem herself with an internal monologue in face of Aubrey's white flag offering, calling out, "Be here tomorrow, five o clock sharp - I'll bring the draft and you'll help me edit the individual building analyses. Deal?"
It'd make no sense in retrospect, but in that moment Aubrey chuckled and waved Amelia off cheerfully. "I'll be here, nerd. See you at that party."
Amelia chewed her lip thoughtfully - Aubrey did call her a friend, right? What was a little name calling between friends?
"I'll think about it."
(2010)
"And?"
"And then", he chuckled lightly, "she smuggled me out of the house through the back door. Somehow, my six year old sister had the foresight to stuff her blue ballet shows in a bag before we ran so I wouldn't make much of a noise when I shuffled, and Tracy held the cat flap open for me while I slunk right though."
"But why the cat flap?"
"Hell if I knew! They opened the door and snuck right out after I crawled out - Jess was probably just channelizing her internal Angelica at that point - and Tracy was up for any of it."
"Didn't you get caught?"
"Somewhere after the fourth house - I think Mr Dobson called up my mum to ask why her three year old son had a powder blue tutu on a cold October night - Boston's crazy that time of the year - and mom ran out in her silk slippers to get me. Jess got grounded for three weeks."
Amelia snickered, "All that talk about you in a tutu and yet the most ludicrous part was how your mum had silk slippers on."
He turned towards her, his smile slipping a little, "She likes being comfortable."
Sensing the friction, Amelia leant forward and pecked him lightly on the lips, "your sister had the right idea though - I bet you made an adorable ballerina."
His forehead smoothened as he smirked down at her, one arm snaking around her waist and pulling her closer, "Is that so?"
Before she could answer, he silence her with his lips, pinning her down on the bed as she felt the familiar thrill creep up her spine and through her limbs, and her breath hitched in anticipation. He kissed her deeply, and for a moment she told herself they had all the time in the world, as his mouth wandered down her neck and her fingers disappeared in his hair.
The moment passed.
She sighed in contentment as he drew up and placed a chaste kiss over her lips, and whispered, "I have to go."
The bubble in her chest seemed to pop
"So soon?"
"My shift starts in twenty three minutes."
"Three minutes more? Pretty please?"
He smiled, leaning down for another kiss, but even as she threaded her fingers through his hair he rose back up, abruptly, and smirked down at her.
"Sorry!"
She whimpered in protest, sitting up on his king-sized bed as he chuckled, pulling on his light green scrubs over his head as he walked around the room, picking off his things from where they were scattered on the floor, tossing back her T-shirt which she accepted with an appropriate blush, and continued stalking each of his movements with her eyes, the way his back arched when he bent to pick up his trousers from the floor, the roll of his shoulder as he shrugged on his jacket, the curve of his fingers as he brushed back his hair.
She was enchanted by him. He (in all probability) had no idea.
She continued watching him gather himself piece by piece into Dr Finch, and felt the familiar rush overcome her as he shot her a smile and leant against the doorframe.
"I love it when you look like that", he said, his voice husky and eyes hooded.
Amelia, for once, didn't flinch, "Your loss, then, Mr I-don't-even-have-three-minutes."
"Oh, like you play fair? Miss-I-hate-T-shirts?"
"I don't abhor T shirts. Not all the time, at least."
"And now?" he took a step towards her
"It's hardly my fault you keel over so easily."
"All cos I wouldn't stay for three minutes?"
"All cos you're leaving me home in the middle of the night"
"Duty calls, babe."
She brushed aside the pang of irritation that she felt every time he used that word.
"I'm calling, too."
He stood by the bed, as she sat with her legs hanging off the edge, the two in a temporary stalemate as he smirked at her through his damp hair and she smiled right back, trying not to get lost in the smell of his cologne. There was little light in the room, but all she could see of him, she loved it.
Her stomach gave a jolt at that word.
All too soon, the game was over. Within seconds he had said his farewell and she was pulling on her clothes and padding after him as he walked to the door. Somewhere in the wake of his victory he pulled her close and kissed her goodbye, before telling her to be good (with a wink) and that he'll see her tomorrow. All too soon, even as she walked through the haze that a single word could create, she stood alone at his doorstep, watching him walk down the stairs and out in the dark, and the word died on her lips just as it had for the last two months. On a whim, she dared say aloud the three words she'd heard echo in her mind at his retreating footsteps.
There was no answer - (in all probability) he was already out of the building.
(2011)
Somewhere in the back of a dusty sun-lit studio, Amelia gripped a brush and chanted.
You have a boyfriend. You have a boyfriend. You have a boyfriend.
Admittedly, things weren't going too well.
She tried focusing on her artwork - a foot wide mock-up of the painting intended for her bedroom wall, but her brush didn't feel right in her grip and the sun was too hot and dammit this place was dusty. She had half a mind to ask Sarah for a mop, before she noticed the peeling paint on the windowpanes and wondered if she should touch those up instead. It was her friend's loft after all - her maintenance services were a given.
Except, Sarah would be so offended. And what would stupid McAllister think?
She shook her head in annoyance. Stupid Mcallister had no right to judge her for cleaning up her friend's studio. Or anybody's studio. She was a grown woman for heaven's sake - if anything, he should feel ashamed of how filthy this place had become.
She gritted her teeth in annoyance - where were such nonsensical thoughts even coming from?
She looked up and saw the source immediately - he sat a few places away, head bent in a terrible posture as he painstakingly led little Ben's tiny hands across the canvas, so dedicated to the task that she wanted to bang her head on the table at how miserably she was failing at the same. She could hear him coo to the child, talking in a quiet but enthusiastic voice that was hard to miss and even harder to resist.
You have a boyfriend. You have a boyfriend. You have a boyfriend.
She sighed dejectedly, rolling the brush in her hands as she attempted one bold stroke over the roughly sketched silver doe in the centre, then gave up the task entirely due to the sheer futility of it. Almost compulsively, she picked up her phone and looked at the last message she'd received, even though she knew it's content as well as the back of her hand by now.
Hey babe. Things have been crazy. See you tonight for drinks - my place?
Her chest ached even looking at those words - in the past, she'd gone running back to Jason for less, but something about this was different. There wasn't even a hint of an apology - he'd likely typed out these words in the middle of his shift even as he went in for an appendectomy and hadn't thought twice about it, caring little about the millions minutes she'd spend analysing his words and intentions and how messed up it'd all be.
But that wasn't his concern - that was hers. His concerns were charmingly simple, though she'd taken a year to figure that out.
She kept the phone resolutely down, dead set on not replying and definitely not reciprocating. There was no way she'd go meet him tonight. No way at all, was there? Maybe just drop by to hear what he had to say. Maybe a couple drinks...
"That mock up's so appealing I might as well steal it away and do it behind you back."
She huffed irritably - why'd he have to come here and interrupt her train of thought, of all people?
She looked up unwillingly and found him leaning down to her level, his face uncomfortably close to hers. Holding her ground, she hardly moved back an inch and said as cheekily as she could, "Be my guest."
"Whoa, you're surprisingly easy."
Her cheeks flared at the comment - did he just say that? "Not that you would know."
He smiled in response, a wide, friendly smile that held no trace of flirtation, and sat down in front of her, "I love the line-art, by the way. The strokes are wispy but decisive - it's lovely."
She barely held in the words for a second before they came spilling out, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" he shot back, almost challengingly, his lips lifted in a smirk.
"Nope", she said, a smile creeping on her face despite her best efforts.
He looked at her for a few seconds, and she took the opportunity to take in his features (as she did everyday) The dark blonde hair was tousled as always, rimmed with red this time, and so was his white t-shirt, (she neglected to note, quite forcefully, that the fingerprints were adorably tiny, and instead maintained that he was merely messy). She was only beginning to appreciate the lighter shades in his blue-green eyes when he abruptly sat down.
Mere inches away from her.
He smiled. She gulped.
It was stupid how much of an effect Adam had over her.
She bit back her retort and trained her eyes over his arm instead. The one covered in tattoos. Shee could see a half-naked cherubic girl cavorting over his bicep, followed by some very strangely embellished circled, followed by a giant warrior that seemed to be ripping through a black backdrop of his own skin. It was a riot of colours - the craziest collection of tattoos she'd on one single arm at such close quarters, and somehow it didn't match up with what she perceived of him - he should be handling motorbikes, not children with Down's syndrome.
Yet here he was - his knees touching hers as he gently tugged at her sketchbook and looked closely at her work, as she distracted himself with the art on his arm.
"They haven't all got stories, in case you were wondering."
She looked up at him, startled, to find him peering at her through his lashes. Her breath hitched at the sight (for just a second) before she quipped, "Astute observation."
"Wasn't it?"
"What about the ones that do have stories?"
"Not very good stories, I'm afraid."
"All stories are worth telling", she said off handedly, "unless it's a butterfly on your back. That I don't want to know."
He looked at her for a few seconds, before bursting into laughter. She mentally congratulated herself for not having lost all of her wits, then returned her focus on the man sitting in front of her, devotedly ignoring the jolt in her stomach, trying to pay attention to his words instead.
"...and is the palette going to be Warhol-esque? Cos I think that'd look very dramatic if you could pull that off - of course, you could always go old school and apply patches from a spatula like Van Gogh, but that'd require a much bigger canvas for the mock up."
"Didn't you realise I don't speak your language?"
He shot back mischievously, "I didn't realise American was a language."
"Oh ha ha", she replied drily, "and we shall simply ignore your quips about Warhol-esque art, shall we? Especially when there's all this tea to be thrown overboard?"
"So you did get what I said."
"I'm not completely uncultured."
"But wasn't that my point?"
The two sat in delectable silence for a few seconds, him smirking back at having made her admit about her artistic acumen, her smirking to hide the butterflies in her stomach. She longed for him to walk away as much as she wished he'd stay, her will playing tug of war with her heartstrings as the whole of his being continued to tip the game against her favour. It was torturous, really.
She snatched back her sketchbook and said with an inadvertent smile, "Go teach some real students."
"See, when you put it like that, you just break's Sarah's heart", he said lightly in response.
"What about your heart?"
Shit. Why'd she have to go and say that?
He'd stood up sometime after handing her sketchbook back, but now paused in his tracks and looked back at her, a smile slowly creeping up his face.
"There are ways to make mine whole again."
"And what would those ways be?"
You have a boyfriend. You have a boyfriend. You have a boyfriend.
"Come out for drinks tonight. You, me and Sarah", he added hastily as she opened her mouth in protest. I know you won't be back for weeks now, Sarah told me your thesis approaches - so let us give you a proper send-off."
Her phone seemed to burn against her thigh.
"I-I have plans tonight."
His smile slipped down, just a notch, but before she could even confirm his disappointment he shot back another bright smile, and her heart melted just a little.
"Can't those plans be cancelled?"
Technically, you had a boyfriend.
Her stomach gave another jolt. There wasn't much to be done.
(2007, again)
What was promised as a two minute journey had somehow lengthened into half an hour as the two teenagers stood by the Barnetts' front lawn, chatting about whatever struck their fancy, more than one heart thudding in anticipation without the knowledge of the other.
Sometimes, Amelia would look back on this day and think about how at all it went so right.
She couldn't tell how it happened. Or when, either, really, but there was a moment when she was inexplicably distracted by the sight of Jeremy Warner's lips, when the said lips uttered the words,
"I'm going up to Cambridge."
It took her a few seconds to swallow that pill.
"You're - wow - that's fantastic! But how..."
"I sat for a few exams in Feb for early admission - I just got my letter two days ago."
"But that's amazing! Your parents must be thrilled!"
"Yeah, they are. I was just - Beth told me you were going to go up to Cambridge too."
In that moment, many things occurred to Amelia at once.
For one, Amelia's own mind was occupied by the letter she'd received from Syracuse the previous morning, the one even Beth didn't know about. Neither had it occurred to her that Beth and Jeremy had ever discussed her in her absence, and this realisation formed a pit in her stomach.
Thirdly, it became abundantly clear why Jeremy didn't follow Beth around like every other St. Anthony boy. She also realized she didn't quite know what to feel about that.
For a few seconds the two stood in absolute, but comfortable silence, she formulating her response to this convoluted proposal and him staring intently at her lovely bottom lip, that she was unconsciously chewing on. In Another Lifetime, Amelia would've thrown caution to the winds and stepped a little closer to Jeremy who'd have tucked her hair behind her ear as a cautionary action and then proceeded to kiss the lass.
This wasn't that Lifetime.
Even as she felt Jeremy inch closer, her mind became abundantly clear on how she should respond. Amelia was a sensible, logical, practical girl, and there was no sense, logic or practicality in leading the poor boy on.
"I got into Syracuse."
"Syracuse - Greece?"
"Syracuse, New York"
It took Jeremy a few seconds to regroup.
"You - you applied to a college in America?"
"Yeah - couldn't wait to get away."
To his credit, Jeremy never shared that anippet with anyone (but his fiancé - but that was another story).
"So - um, you aren't coming to Cambridge?"
"I never applied to Cambridge."
"But Beth said -"
"Beth doesn't know yet", she said emphatically, "so please don't tell her. I'm going to break it to her this Friday."
"Oh."
Oh, indeed. Amelia felt something within her die - and something take its place almost immediately, something much bigger than the dark-haired boy with the kissable lips and the blonde best friend who would scream at her for going away. Something bigger than her front lawn in Surrey and her school a mile away and her little world that constituted of everything in between.
Something as big as her would-be kingdom in Manhattan.
For once, Amelia conceded the existence of Fate - for she believed hers was going to change for the better - as she held her hand out to a let-down Jeremy, who shook it with a weak smile. She never discovered he used chapstick.
Author's Note - I'm extremely sorry for the delay - I've had a terrible two weeks and couldn't get around to updating (blame illness, freak burns and my boss). Now that it's here though - I really, really hope you like it. Do vote and leave a comment - it makes my day oh-so-bright :)