Again, But Better

Cinderella.
I wave goodbye,
trying to catch her eye, but she’s engrossed in the film.
We take the Tube to central London. Sahra leads Atticus and me through the streets and to a
bright red bar in Soho. The place pulses with music and laughter. We grab drinks (I order a glass of
red wine), and the three of us sit on one of the red trendy-looking couches lining the walls. At first
we try to chat, but it’s too loud. Atticus perseveres, trying hard to talk over the music, but despite
his efforts, our conversations die quickly. There’s a mildly crowded dance floor in the center of the
room. The DJ’s playing Top 40 pop music, and after a few conversationless minutes, I’m itching to
get up and move to the beat. I tap my foot against the floor to Rihanna’s “Who’s that Chick.”
“Want to dance?” I ask.
“Why not?” Atticus agrees.
Sahra shrugs. “Sure.”
I give myself to Rihanna, twirling and throwing my arms around. Wine sloshes over onto my
wrist, but I embrace it, cackling. Sahra dances more conservatively, sticking to one or two basic
back-and-forth motions. Atticus busts out hilarious old-fashioned nerdy-looking moves. After a
few songs, someone taps me on the shoulder. I whirl around to find an attractive black man in a
blue button-up shirt.
I smile at him. “Hi!”
“Hey! My friend would like to dance with you,” he shouts over the music, pointing over his
shoulder to another guy. Behind him, a broad-shouldered, freckly, red-faced man built like a rugby
player is looking at me. 
Are we in middle school?
“Um, okay,” I say. Rugby Guy walks over and the two men join our little dance circle.
Eventually Atticus goes off to get a drink by the bar. Sahra stays with me and the two guys.
When we’ve danced for ages, Rugby Guy asks if he can talk to me for a few minutes away
from the floor. After checking with Sahra via eye contact—and receiving an aggressive 
go!
head
nod—Rugby Guy and I find an open spot at the bar. I spot Atticus at the other end, talking to an
attractive man-bun guy.
“So, this is really fun! What do you do?” Rugby Guy talk-yells over the music.
I turn away from Atticus to respond. “I, um, I write! What about you?”
“Like books or articles? I’m a lawyer!”
“Cool, um, both, I guess.” I take a sip of whatever wine managed to survive the dance session.
He stares at me for few beats. It starts to feel awkward, so I fumble to make conversation. “Um
so, what are your thoughts on 
Legally Blonde
? Was that an accurate portrayal of law school?” I try
to smile.
His face lights up. “You are so cute.”
He doesn’t say anything else, so I laugh nervously and pull on a British accent. “Um, so, what
kind of lawyer are you?”
“What’s that accent?” he exclaims happily.
I continue, “I don’t know to what you’re referring?” Before I can register what’s happening, he
pulls me to his face and we’re kissing. 
Whaa?

---

I clutch my wineglass in one hand and the other hangs limply at my side. He’s kissing me, but
I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing. It’s wet and warm and—my mind flashes to a time Leo
unexpectedly grabbed my head and forced me underwater in the deep end of the pool.
We break apart. That was weird. I look at the ground, eyes wide. I’ve never been so close to
another human’s face before, but 
I did it … I kissed someone.
Someone whose name I don’t even
know. How anticlimactic.
He takes my limp hand and holds it between us as we lean up against the bar. We make forced
small talk for another ten minutes. It’s not much fun because I have to propel the whole
conversation, and he responds with quick, boring answers whenever I ask him things.
Finally he asks, “So, could we go out sometime? Can I get your number?”
How do I say, 
Lol, no thanks
, without sounding mean? I slowly retrieve my block phone.
“Um, yeah, hold on a sec,” I say, navigating through to my address book with the stupid tiny
buttons. I don’t have my number memorized. I had to put myself in my own contact list. I click on
the contact and turn the phone so he can see it. He plugs the number into his phone.
“Thanks!” He puts his iPhone away. “This was fun.”
He pulls me in, and we start kissing again. I let it happen because this is still such a mystery. I
want to feel it out, so I’m not floundering when there comes a time I care about the human I’m
kissing. This kiss is better. I kiss back for sure this time, and it goes on for a little longer before we
break apart. Okay, that was better. That was kind of nice.
1/29/11 10:30 a.m.
It happened. I sit here eating breakfast and writing to you as a kissed human being. It
doesn’t technically count as accomplishing a goal on the list because I didn’t really like
that guy. But I put myself out there a smidgen, and I experienced the thing! And I feel
slightly less left out of general society because of it. Now, I shall relax and begin my
reread of Cassandra Clare’s
City of Glass—which, yes, I brought to London in my
suitcase—as a reward.
“Morning, Shane! You hear from Rugby Guy yet?”
I slap my notebook closed and look up at Atticus. He comes over waggling his eyebrows and
sits across from me with his laptop.
I snort. “No, have you heard from Man Bun?”
“I have indeed. 
Nathan
and I are getting dinner on Sunday.” He grins.
“Wow, that was fast.” I smile at him, before pulling over 
City of Glass
from where I left it on
the table.
“Whatcha reading?” he asks, curiously glancing at it.
“
City of Glass
, one of my favorites!” I tell him happily. “The fourth book in this series is
coming out soon and I’m rereading in prep.”
“Never heard of it!” he says cheerfully.
“You’re missing out!” I tease. “What are you reading right now?”
“Currently 
The Poet
by Michael Connelly. It’s creepy as hell, but it’s good.”
“I’ll add it to my TBR!” I proceed to pitch the Mortal Instruments series until he agrees to
check them out.
Before heading back to my room to read in the bunk, I decide to ask Atticus if he’d be up for
exploring some more of London with me this afternoon or tomorrow. I have to start building my
repertoire of knowledge for the potential 
Packed!
article. He politely declines because he already
has theater-related plans and then of course, his date.

---

I head out of the kitchen and freeze halfway down the hall when I hear Pilot’s guitar. We
haven’t talked in six days now. Should I see if Pilot would want to come with me? Maybe the only
way to fix the weirdness happening between us is to push back against it with forced normalcy?
The door to his room is wide open.
I don’t give myself the chance to chicken out. I walk right up and lean against the doorframe.
He’s strumming Lucy, wearing big old-fashioned headphones, and watching his computer screen.
“Hey,” I say a little louder than normal. He startles, dropping the headphones back.
“Hey, I didn’t see you.” He laughs weirdly. Nervously?
He glances down at the computer screen again and back at me. Oh god, is he Skyping with
someone? But the door was open!
“Um, sorry!” My heart sledgehammers in my throat. “I wanted to see if you wanted to, um,
explore places in London, later today or Sunday with me and maybe the girls? It should be fun.
I’m doing research for an article I might get to write for 
Packed!
and I’m working on this list of
places I want to go check out and, uh … yeah.”
He blinks. “Um, I actually made some plans with the guys down the hall. We’re going to Bath
today and staying till tomorrow, but—good luck, that sounds great.”
An uncomfortable sinking feeling fills my gut. “Oh, okay, wow, um, have fun.” I spin around,
bolt into my room, scurry up the bunk, and lie on my bed clutching Horcrux Nine and 
City of
Glass
.
That was weird; he was weird.
1/30/11 2:17 a.m.
Pilot left for a trip to Bath today … why didn’t he tell any of us about it? I mean, yes, I
guess he’s not obligated to tell me about his life. But he didn’t invite me. Or any of us.
I hate that this is hurting my feelings.
Babe, Sahra, and I are going to explore the city together tomorrow which should be fun.
I got a text from first-kiss Rugby Guy asking if I’d go out with him this coming
Wednesday. I didn’t know how to say no nicely, so I panicked and told him I’ll be in
Germany.
I can’t get to sleep. The day I landed here in London—it felt like my life lit up with a
thousand strands of fairy lights. I’ve been walking around all aglow for the last few
weeks, but with Pilot edging away, a bunch of the strands are going out. Blergh.

---