Page 9 of Overtime

2 Bright

Sophomore Year, Eva

The lightsonstage momentarily blind me. It takes a few blinks to make out the faces in the crowd. As the rest of the band takes their seats and organizes music for our annual Christmas concert, I’m busy scanning for a particular face. My mother and my grandparents are near the front and to the right. I don’t linger on them for too long lest the constant flashes from the camera blind me once more.

Tini is way in the back with her latest fling. I’m not even sure she knows his name, which honestly makes me feel kinda bad for the guy. He spoils her rotten. She eats it up, but it’s only a matter of time until my younger sister moves on to the next flavor of the month.

I can’t imagine what it’s like to be into a different guy every time you blink. It’s not like there are that many desirable specimens out there. Most guys are like the pubescent spawns of demons. Only a few are worthy of friendship. Certainly nothing more. I guess I can’t really judge Tini for her boy addiction. I’m just as bad if not more discerning. It’s not that I run through them like water. It’s that I’ve been stuck on the same guy for over a year now. If that’s not an addiction, then I don’t know what is. Nobody else even comes close to him. Not in brains, not in manners, not in looks. Not in anything. Never mind he’s never paid me the slightest attention. Forget I don’t really do the whole relationship thing. Or, at least, I never even wanted to try until I met him.

No. Apparently, I just lust after what I can never have. Self-torture really isn’t as fun as masochists would have you believe. Being delusional by thinking I have a snowball’s chance in hell with him isn’t a real picnic either.

I wish I could shake him from my thoughts, but nothing I do seems to matter. No amount of distraction severs my interest. Neither does his lack of attention. He holds me prisoner with nothing more than his eyes and his wit.

He’s so different from all the other guys. Where most sixteen-year-old sophomores are dumber than a bag of rocks, he’s super freaking smart. He never throws it in anyone’s face the way some of the intellectual kids do either. Most guys are loud, attention-seeking jerks, but he’s quiet and kind. He’s the total antithesis of an obnoxious jock. I still can’t believe he’s a football player. Every other guy on the team is eager to take what they can get. On the field, in the locker room, in the back seats of their cars. Not this boy. If anything, he seems uncomfortable with all the attention girls pay him. It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with being good-looking and popular. He’s so freaking adorable I can’t even take it.

Is he here tonight? And if he is, who’s he here to see? As much as I want him for my own, there’s no way I have a shot with him. He’s just too…everything. And I’m nothing.

My gaze continues to wander anxiously over the crowd as someone drops a cymbal in the percussion section. I don’t even register the noise, though several people around me jump in surprise. Mike is predictably here to watch his girlfriend—who’s in the flute section with me—but it’s not the sight of my adopted brother that has me deaf, dumb, and drooling.

My heart beats double time in my chest when I spy the figure sitting next to Mike.

He seems distinctly uncomfortable, his tall frame bunched in the small auditorium seat. His eyes never quite rise to stage level, and he doesn’t seem to fit in with the group of guys he’s sitting with. They’re all talking loudly, laughing, and joking with each other. He’s just sitting there with his chin to his chest. Even from here, the hunch of his shoulders screams embarrassment. It’s almost like they’re making fun of him, but instead of standing up for himself, he’s just taking it.

I guess when you’re as delicious as he is, being taunted doesn’t really register on your radar of epic existence.

He looks like a model ripped straight from the pages of any magazine, wearing a red polo shirt and flat-front khakis, and his hair must’ve taken hours to look that perfectly perfect. I squeeze my flute a little harder, trying to distract myself from the urge to run my fingers through that sandy-brown softness. I mean, it looks so…touchable. It has to feel like velvet, right?

Oh my God. I cut my gaze to the side to see if Alyssa heard me sigh. I think I actually sighed over his beauty. I’ve become the very kind of girl I’ve always judged. Lovesick and stupid.

She must not have noticed, so I return to my silent creeping.

Mike laughs and punches Rob in the shoulder. Suddenly, he lifts his head, and his eyes lock on me.

I quickly avert my gaze to the safety of my music stand as heat floods my cheeks. I squirm in my chair. Shit, I hope he didn’t bust me while I was staring at him. That’s just what I need. For the popular Rob Falls to realize that geeky, little Evie Papageorgiou has an insatiable crush on him.

He’s nice enough to me, but then again, he’s always nice to everyone, so that’s no big deal. It was so much easier to crush on him in secret last year before he turned into the effortlessly gorgeous golden boy of our class. He was always cute, sure, but now, he’s like some kind of shy Adonis. It could be worse though. With his looks, he could’ve turned into Narcissus. Both of those stories end in horrible deaths, so I’d rather keep pretending he’s the timid, skinny boy I first met.

“Hey.” Alyssa bumps me with her elbow. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I squeak then clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Stage fright?”

“Yeah…” I lie. That’s not why I’m freaking out right now, but Alyssa doesn’t need to know that.

It’s believable enough anyway. I do get stage fright every single time. The pounding heart, the nausea, the inescapable fear of screwing up something I’ve practiced so hard for.

Those feelings fly away once the music starts. Who has time for anxiety when so much beautiful emotion flows through my body with every measure? There’s no feeling in the world like playing with an ensemble. It’s an indescribable rush of being part of something so much bigger than myself. The harmony of so many hands and minds coming together to create beauty must surely be the closest thing to utopia that exists in the world. There’s also no worse pressure. One wrong note, and I’ll blow the whole thing for everyone.

“Think about something else,” Alyssa whispers. “Oh! I know! Do you think the roses will be waiting for you when we’re done?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“I figured whoever was leaving them would’ve slipped up by now. How does he even get back in the band room and know which seat is yours? I mean, I thought when they showed up after last year’s Christmas concert, it might have been a fluke. But then there were more after the spring showcase, too? And those ones had your name on them, so we know they were for you.”

She makes a little humming noise in the back of her throat. “I think it’s the same guy who left the teddy bear on your locker last year for your birthday. You have a certified secret admirer.”

“That was last year,” I whisper back. “Besides, if I had a secret admirer, wouldn’t he…I don’t know, have revealed himself by now? I’m sure whoever it was lost interest.”

---