Smitten

Kat and Hannah, along with everyone else at the party, immediately turn toward the source of the music and start rocking out with the band. And just like that, our conversation about Reed is over. Which is fine by me.

I work my way through the packed crowd, to a relatively quiet corner, where I can stalk the base of the staircase to await Reed’s appearance. The minute that prick comes down those steps, I’m going to drag him outside and make him listen to the song I heard on Alessandra’s Instagram. I don’t know what song he heard before calling Alessandra’s music “bullshit.” But I can’t imagine he heard the same song I did. Because that song was brilliant! Alessandra sounded exactly like Laila Fitzgerald on the track, for fuck’s sake! And Laila is one of the most talented and successful singers in the world—one of Reed’s top-selling artists! What the fuck is wrong with Reed, that he can’t appreciate that amazing similarity?

Out of nowhere, Georgina appears, yanking me from my thoughts. She’s barreling down the staircase, dragging a blue rolling suitcase behind her. And, unfortunately, Alessandra is trailing right behind her, with a backpack strapped to her back and a cardboard box in her arms. Clearly, Alessandra and Georgina are headed out, for good. No longer staying the night in Reed’s guest room upstairs. Which is probably why Reed himself is trailing behind the women, looking distraught.

As I behold Alessandra, every atom in my body ignites with the urge to race to her, pull her aside, and tell her everything I’ve been thinking all night. Besides telling her she’s beautiful and amazing, I want to say, “Maybe tonight doesn’t have to be the end for us!” I mean, obviously, I have no idea how to do something like that. But I’m thinking maybe we could, at least, keep in touch.

But despite the chaos swirling inside me, I don’t move a muscle—and, this time, not because I’m a loser with no game. But because, clearly, this is a massively emotional moment for Georgina and Reed. A moment of passion and turmoil that shouldn’t be intruded upon by an outsider. I don’t give a fuck about Reed’s privacy in this moment, obviously. He can go to hell, as far as I’m concerned. But I do care about Georgina, and preserving her privacy, no matter how much I’m aching to say what needs to be said to Alessandra.

Shifting my weight and breathing hard, my heart pounding like crazy in my ears, I watch Georgina, Alessandra, and Reed march along the back wall of the party, unbeknownst to the party guests, all of whom are now turned toward the stage on the opposite wall. I watch Georgina swing open Reed’s large, wooden front door and fling herself through the opening like a cannonball, angrily dragging her rolling suitcase behind her.

I watch Alessandra reach the open doorway . . . and then stop and turn around. Her eyes wide, she scans the party, ever so briefly, and I wave my arm above my head in reply, hoping to attract her attention. I shout her name, loudly. But the band is even louder, and my location in the room too obscure, for Alessandra to notice me.

After a brief moment, as Reed approaches her on a bullet train, Alessandra turns and races through the door to avoid a collision. And that’s it. She’s gone. Heading to wherever with Georgie tonight, and to Boston on Monday morning—which is now only about thirty hours away.

For a long moment, I stare at the closed door, irrationally hoping Alessandra will reappear. I imagine her eyes finding mine this time. I imagine her dropping that box she was carrying and rushing to me, while I rush to her. I imagine us crashing into each other in the middle of the crowded room . . . and kissing. Finally. And, of course, in this scenario, our kiss is perfect. Deep. Passionate. Magic.

Damn! Why didn’t I kiss Alessandra when I had the chance? Why did I second-guess myself, over and over again? When I got offstage tonight I had the impulse to kiss her right then! So, why did I second-guess it? Why did I think it would be better to take her outside to kiss her in private, without so many people around? Why, why, why?

I let out a loud, tortured scream into the packed room that’s instantly swallowed by the blaring music and dancing bodies around me, and then drag my sorry ass toward one of the bars in a far corner.

I know why, why, why I fucked up tonight. Because Alessandra was the first girl I’ve genuinely liked in a really long time. And the thought of moving too fast and making things awkward, or less than perfect, or, worse, getting flat-out rejected, the same way all those girls used to reject me in high school, felt like too big a risk to take.