I scan the crowd around me, hoping that no one notices my trembling hands. I tighten my fingers around the cool plastic cup. The condensation leaking from it is oddly comforting.
A guy in black jeans and an Ivy University sweatshirt appears in my line of vision.
"Excuse me," he says in a rush as he whizzes past, into the kitchen.
I step away from the crowd until my back is flush against the cream wall. Suppressing a cringe, I take another sip of my drink. Unfamiliar, fruity and strong, the alcohol refuses to taste better with time.
To an outsider, I probably seem like a timid eighteen-year-old who has never been to a college party before. The anticipation in the stifling air isn't helping, but this party isn't the source of my anxiety.
My phone vibrates from within my pocket. I wipe my clammy hand on my dark jeans and reach for it. I unlock the screen to find a text message from Vera.
Vera Manning. The source of my anxiety.
The small black words inside the gray speech bubble seem to jump out at me: Are you worrying about me instead of enjoying the party? xoxo
A smile stretches the corners of my lips despite the anxiety. Even after five years of friendship, Vera's ability to read my mind still surprises me.
Setting my cup on a wooden table to my left, I type a reply.
Me: Yes. Sorry.
Vera: I'm fine, babe! With Liam now.
I raise my eyebrows at Vera's text. Her latest fight with her boyfriend, Liam Archer, had been their worst yet. After what had happened, Liam and I were furious with her. I knew I had to deal with her calmly, but Liam voiced his anger without restraint. A defensive Vera had exploded, causing a tense, heated fight between the couple.
Me: You two made up?
Vera: Yeah! At his dorm now for movie night. Now go and enjoy the damn party! xoxo
Me: I'll try. x
Two hands land on my shoulders suddenly, causing me to look up from my phone with a start. I find Astrid Jacobsen smiling down at me. She's dressed in a pink jumpsuit that resembles a giant discarded candy wrapper. But with her five-foot-nine-inch frame, black stilettos and lustrous blonde hair, she manages to look like a fashion-forward Hollywood A-Lister.
"Carmen!" she shouts to be heard over the party music, her blue eyes wide with excitement. "Come on, we're starting."
I met and befriended Astrid, a sociology major, over cups of FroYo on a sultry Wednesday afternoon during the very first week of college. Five months later, over similar cups of fruit dessert, she told me about an 'exciting experiment' that she had planned for the upcoming Friday night party.
"Okay," I nod, pushing myself off the wall.
Astrid walks over to the stereo, fiddling with the dials until the song is reduced to a distant hum. Her voice - marked with the traces of a Norwegian accent - travels the length and breadth of the living room as she calls the attention of the partygoers.
In the next three minutes, almost thirty people are crammed into the center of the living room in Astrid's spacious, modestly-furnished home. I can barely raise my arms without coming in contact with someone.
"Please take one and pass the rest," Astrid instructs, handing a big bunch of blindfolds to the boy immediately next to her. As the blindfolds get handed out, she says, "Like I said before, you get three dances. You'll switch partners after every song. And remember, you cannot look at or talk to each other whatsoever. I'll question each of you separately after the three songs are over. The girls will be interviewed before the boys."
The blindfold feels soft as I rub the black fabric between my fingers. People around me fidget with excitement and discomfort; none of us are familiar with this novel concept. I chew on my lower lip, worrying that even with my eyes open, my dancing ability is barely passable.
"Okay!" Astrid calls with a big smile, clapping her hands together. "Blindfolds on! Let's get started."
I take in the dimly lit room around me for one last time. A worn black couch pushed to the corner, a stereo speaker on the far right, a flatscreen TV above the fireplace, a simple cream carpet beneath my feet. My vision is limited to a disconcerting darkness as I tie the cloth over my eyes.
A smooth, slow song starts to play. I laugh when I hear infectious, amused chuckles from the people around me as we flail around for a partner. I jump slightly when a hand connects with mine.
"Oh!" I exclaim aloud and clamp a hand over my mouth immediately.
The masculine hand wraps around my arms, and I step forward to reach the stranger. We shuffle around awkwardly for a moment or two before his hands are around my waist and mine are on his shoulders. To compensate for my lack of balance, I tighten my fingers around his shoulders as we sway in small circles. It's a struggle to remind myself not to apologize every time I accidentally step on his feet.
God, this is awkward, I think, furrowing my eyebrows. What was the point of this ridiculous experiment, again?
The song ends after what feels like an eternity.
"Remember, guys," Astrid shouts from somewhere far behind me. "Do not look at or talk to anyone."
I step back as the hands around my waist loosen. Keeping my arms firmly to my sides, I turn left and right in a useless attempt to see. I take a big step to my left, groaning as my shoulder slams into someone with force. Another step to the left, a step forward and three steps right.
Frustrated with this exercise, I reach out with my right arm and grab the nearest thing I can touch. My fingers tighten around what must be the sleeve of someone's sweatshirt. I can sense the person turning towards me, taking a step forward until we're standing an inch apart. With my free hand, I sense a boy with a subtly defined torso and muscular arms. He seems to be a good four-to-five inches taller.
I realize that I've been gripping his arm a little too tightly. I loosen my fingers, stopping myself just as an apology forms on my lips. Grinding my teeth, I reach for his palm. I trace my index finger over it to form the word 'sorry'. A short laugh reverberates through his chest, but I can't hear it over the new song. His hands trail down my arms to my palm, where he traces 'it's okay'.
The moment that his finger touches my palm, a shiver runs down my spine and goosebumps erupt on my skin. Somehow, the warmth and intensity of this small touch have affected me more than any other touch ever has.
Cautiously, I allow my hands to move up to his shoulders. A strong set of arms wrap around my waist firmly. Much to my confusion, my heart hammers erratically against my ribs as our chests press closer together. An oddly familiar citrus scent clings to his skin, but I can't place it.
Unlike the first time, this dance is enjoyable. He guides me around with ease, as though he's been dancing blindfolded all his life. I fail to register the tune of the velvety song that fills the room, my deprived senses focused on the stranger.
An inexplicable thrill courses through me when I lower one hand to his chest and find that his heart is beating just as fast as mine. I clamp my teeth over my lip as a big smile takes over. My forehead touches his clean-shaven chin when I dip my head.
Suddenly, his right hand wanders up my back blindly and stops at my neck, causing me to freeze. His fingers trace the length of my jaw before reaching my mouth. With a swipe of his thumb, he makes me release my lower lip from between my teeth. I stay absolutely still, not even allowing myself to breathe.
I gasp in utter surprise when the beautiful stranger gently raises my chin with his fingers and presses his lips to mine. There's a tentativeness to it, as though he's unsure of his own action.
My mind - at a total loss for all rational thought - allows my body to take over. I find myself standing on tiptoe, knotting my fingers in his short hair, demanding more. A pleasured groan emanates from his throat when I feel the shape of his upper lip with my tongue. My heart rate soars even higher.
I'd had a few unremarkable kisses before, but this one wipes my slate clean. It leaves me exposed to every sensation, every movement, every touch.
We break apart, warm, heavy breaths mingling from parted lips. My eyes are wide behind the blindfold. Within three seconds of separation, I'm yearning for his kiss already. His fingers tighten into a fist around my silky purple top, raising it an inch above the hem of my jeans.
Who are you? What's your name? I want to ask, but before I can open my mouth to speak, silence fills the room as the song comes to an end.
Before either of us has time to react, people start shuffling around, pushing us apart. Astrid's voice calls out again, reminding everyone not to take their blindfolds off yet. I almost cry out in protest as the stranger's hands are forced to leave my waist, the distance between us growing. I extend my arms, being pushed further back by the crowd. For one heart-wrenching second, the tips of my fingers brush his.
"No, wait," I whisper feebly, my stomach churning with frustration.
I curl my fingers in a desperate attempt to grab his hand, but all that's left within my grasp is the cold, empty air.