I stand awkwardly alone, wondering if I should try to start a conversation with a creepy lurker. Even though a lot of people think of me as part of the popular crowd, I couldn’t feel further from it. If I walked up and talked to someone from outside our circle, they’d probably look at me like I was insane, and then I’d die on the spot. At least the lurkers might think I was worth kidnapping.
I’m still standing there undecided when I feel someone close beside me. I turn and find Oliver sipping from a water bottle.
“You made it,” he says, smiling at me shyly. He looks different than usual, more edgy, with a tie worn loosely over a vintage CBGB T-shirt. His black hair is damp and curls around his forehead and ears, and his thick fringe of dark lashes sweep down to hide his lavender eyes when I keep staring.
“Care for a nip?”
He thrusts the bottle at me, his gaze still on the floor, and I’m too embarrassed at being caught staring not to take it out of politeness. After all, I didn’t answer his greeting because I was too busy drooling over how freaking hot he is.
Yep, definitely fit in better with the creeps than the populars.
I take a gulp, hoping it will awaken my tongue from its awkwardness-induced coma, and I’ll remember how to actually speak.
Cold liquid hits my throat, but it burns like fire going down. I almost cough and spew it all over him, but for once fate spares me, and I manage to swallow it instead of spitting in his face. Becausethatwouldn’t be even more rude than not speaking for the entire minute since he walked over.
“That issonot water.”
I immediately wince at how lame I sound.
He takes a swig from the bottle. “I get nervous,” he says with a bashful smile.
That dimple is an unfair advantage. We’re like two aliens from Planet Awkward competing to fit into this world, but how I am I supposed to function like a normal human when he has a weapon like that at his disposal?
“You’re in the band?” I ask incredulously, gaping at him.
“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I am. You didn’t know?”
I can’t tell if he’s disappointed or just surprised, but at least he didn’t take offense to my shock.
“Um, no,” I mumble. “I guess no one told me.”
“I should probably get up there. See you after the show, yeah?”
“Yeah. See ya.”
As he turns to walk away, Jessica moves in and takes his arm, smiling up at him adoringly. “Hey, lover,” she purrs.
“Colin’s up front,” he tells her, standing up straighter and leaning back from her a little, aloof.
“Oops, sorry.” She giggles and lets his arm go before heading for the stage.
Oliver looks at me and shakes his head.
I smile and shrug. But I watch him go, thinking how bad it must suck to be Oliver, the one the girls don’t try to hook up with. Not that he’d hook up with any of them anyway. But if I had a twin who looked exactly like me, but all the guys wanted her and mistook me for her, and then were disappointed when I turned out to be the undesirable one… I’d probably drive off a bridge.
The club has filled up a lot since we got here. The band comes on a minute later, and everyone cheers. A handful of girls at the front scream like Colin is a famous rock star, even though they haven’t even heard him play yet. Tonight he’s wearing black jeans with a studded belt, a vintageRamonestee, and combat boots. Apparently I’ve developed a thing for bad boys, because combined with the attitude, I can sort of understand the girls tripping over themselves to get his attention.
When the screaming dies down and he speaks into the mic in his Irish accent, I’m as captivated as they are. “This is our first show on American soil. We call this song ‘Tyler Durden’s Yellow Rubber Glove.’”
They start playing a thrash-emo-punk-ska song. Colin sings while writhing like a man possessed, thrashing and headbanging and scissoring his body forward to scream out the incomprehensible lyrics. Oliver plays guitar, standing sideways from the crowd and not looking up from his instrument the entire song. I don’t recognize the other two guys in the band.
When the song’s over, Colin chugs from a water bottle, then wipes his forehead and smiles indulgently at all the girls in front of the stage, clearly loving the attention. Oliver keeps hisshoulder to the crowd and never even looks our way. I wonder how two people so totally different can look so alike.
A few songs later, a cute guy I don’t recognize smiles at me from the crowd. I glance around to make sure he’s not looking at someone else, but no one around me is paying any attention. I give a tiny smile back, feeling self-conscious and flattered at the same time. He tucks his hands in the front pockets of his dark jeans and steps a little closer. His vintage sweater vest and glasses make him look both preppy and a little nerdy. By the time the song ends, he’s worked his way over to me.
“Hey,” he says. “You here alone?”
“Uh, no, not really,” I say with a little laugh. “My friends are around here somewhere.”
