Thirteen: Let's Pretend That Wasn't Totally Weird

Well, that was the most awkward ten seconds of my life.

            I’m not even kidding. Throughout the whole thing, my brain was screaming at me to pull away to end this whole uncomfortable situation, but at the same time I was kind of trying to prolong the kiss just to avoid having to make eye contact at the end.

            I’m expecting Tom to act all confident and smug when we’d... er, done... but to my surprise, when we pull apart, he looks kind of... flustered.

            Maybe I’m just imagining the flush that is spreading over his freckled cheeks.

            I feel kind of weird, too, actually, but that’s expected of me. I can’t do a simple thing without having a panic attack (although I’m not sure I would call kissing one of your friends just to demonstrate your technique a simple thing – more like a totally complicated and freaking weird thing). I clear my throat awkwardly and try to muster an amused smile, since Tom’s obviously not going to.

            “So...”

            He is deliberately not making eye contact with me, which is kind of strange. He was the one who suggested it in the first place, so why has he suddenly been struck down by the nervous virus which usually takes up permanent residence in me?

            “What did you think?”

            Oh my God, this is so awkward. Why did I even agree to this? Ugh, I’m such a pushover. It didn’t exactly take much convincing to get me to do it. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m just desperate for male attention.

            “Oh,” Tom says, sounding like he’d completely forgotten that he was meant to be analyzing my kissing ability. “Um, yeah. Good...”

            Well, this isn’t uncomfortable at all.

            We continue walking in silence for the next few minutes. Tom seems to be, for some reason, rendered unable to speak, and I just don’t know what to say to alleviate the tension (no change there then).

            I’m pretty sure it wasn’t my amazing ability to kiss that has temporarily damaged the part of his brain that allows him to speak.

            But hey, you never know. Miracles could happen.

            “Tom...” I say warily. “You do know where we’re going, don’t you?”

            “Um, yeah.”

            Such a convincing answer. I force a smile – one that I hope reads please tell me what’s on your mind, I am a friendly and reassuring person. “Are you okay?”

            “Fine,” he responds quickly, which makes it obvious this is not the case. Then, he brings his head up and finally makes eye contact with me. “Honestly. I’m fine.”

            “If you say so.”

            “You got a bit of drool on me, though.”

            Immediately my hand snaps upwards to my mouth, self-consciously wiping away any traces of saliva that may happen to be lingering there. It feels dry, but I’m still paranoid. Tom watches my action and after a few seconds bursts into laughter.

            “I was kidding, you know.”

            “I hate you.”

            “If you hate me, then why did you kiss me?” The smug smile has returned to his face. I’m not sure whether I should be relieved that he’s got over the weird behavior of thirty seconds ago, or peeved that he’s back to making fun of me wherever possible.

            “Because you told me to.”

            The smirk disappears, just as it is replaced by a feigned expression of perplexity. “I didn’t tell you to… you just came onto me randomly, revealing some kind of undying love for me…?”

            “You wish.”

            My gaze falls to the dull ground just as our conversation withers away into nothing. The leaves that lay beneath my feet really aren’t that transfixing, but seriously, what else is there to look at in such a boring place? They should really invest in some nice posters to stick on the trees in here.

            Photos of Blake’s six pack wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

            Or Matt Lanter. You know, I’m not fussy.

            “Aren’t you going to ask me to interrogate Blake or something?” Tom questions suddenly, yanking me from my pleasant daydream about my favorite males’ toned abs.

            I am genuinely confused. Did I miss part of this conversation or something? I do have a tendency to completely lose track of reality whilst submerged in a daydream, but that’s hardly the point. I’m pretty sure that if I had heard the mention of the Greek God’s name, I would’ve tuned in pretty quickly. “What?”

            “That’s usually what girls do. Get me to try and find out if he likes them.”

            “So you think I’m just using you to get to Blake?” I say, the corner of my lips curling into an amused smile.

            “I don’t know,” he responds. “You seem pretty obsessed with him.”

            “Hey! I am not obsessed!”

            Okay, so I may have spent eighty per cent of my time here fantasizing about Tom’s brother, but again, not the point. There’s a line between enjoying thinking about a certain person and being obsessed with them, and I think I’m well before that line.

            Maybe a couple of centimeters.

            Or maybe just standing on the line. Let’s just drop this subject.

            “But you know, if you want to subtly try and find out whether he likes me…” I add quietly. “Just purely as a matter of interest… then, you’re welcome to.”

            Tom laughs. “Should’ve known.”

            Hey, he was the one who planted the idea in my head in the first place. I’m not so smart as to come up with that suggestion myself, so it’s his fault really. Maybe he should just let me wallow in my dumbness.

            I am kind of intrigued to know, anyway. It’s evident that I’m not exactly the ‘hot’ type that boys are attracted to (pale, freckly, absolutely no boobs to speak of whatsoever…), but Blake must’ve experienced some kind of emotion in order to kiss me, right?

            I’m just going to keep telling myself that. As well as pretending that Blake doesn’t have an unnatural interest in Cindy’s below the neck area.

            Why can’t I just have inherited actual boobs? Life would be so much easier, I swear.

            As we pass what feels like the thousandth tree this morning, I can’t help noticing that the pattern on the bark looks kind of familiar. There are three options here: trees now have identical twins, my eyesight has suddenly deteriorated and now every single plant looks the same to me… or we’re walking in complete circles. Considering Tom’s lack of a navigation plan, I’m kind of thinking it might be option three.

            “Don’t you think we’ve seen this tree before?” I ask, gesturing towards one.

            Tom doesn’t even stop to inspect it. His confidence is ever present, but I’m not sure I should trust it. “It’s a wood, Bailey. There are kind of a lot of trees. Don’t you think they look similar?”

            “You said you knew a way back. If we’re stuck in here forever, I’m suing you for all you’re worth.”

            “Let me know when you find the woodland lawyers,” he says sarcastically. “Just chill out. I told you I know the way, right? We’ve only been walking for like, ten minutes. Unless you want to sprint…”

            Flashes of last year’s first period gym class dash through my mind, immediately filling me with dread. Being forced to run laps around the school field at eight in the morning is not a good way to start your day. Why is it legal to send students outside in the winter? It’s a serious risk to our health.

            Especially when you are as unfit as I am.

            Let’s just say the I have cramps excuse has been my savior far more times than biologically possible.

            “I’m okay,” I say quickly. “But I still don’t trust you know where you’re going.”

            “Blake and I used to camp at this place all the time when we were kids,” he tells me. “Seriously. I know these woods like the back of my hand, okay? You’re acting weird today.”

            “What? No, I’m not.” I’m just always this paranoid, I add mentally.

            “I think it’s kissing me that’s got you all flustered.”

            “Uh, no.”

            He was the one blushing afterwards, anyway. Tom just smirks. “Either that or it’s the wrong time of month…”

            “Oh my God!” I say, a little louder than I had intended. As predicted, my cheeks flush immediately. I really need to start training myself to be able to retain their pale color. “I can’t believe you.”

            “Guess it is, then…”

            “No, it’s not!” My hand flies out and hits him in the arm, although it probably has no effect on him whatsoever. My muscles aren’t exactly strong, to say the least. Let’s just say I won’t be taking part in any weight lifting competitions any time soon (unless I make a major lifestyle choice and decide to become a teenage bodybuilder, which I don’t think is too likely). “You’re so annoying.”

            “Thanks.”

            “Now I’m not so sure I want you to talk to Blake,” I say, averting my eyes to the floor once more. Despite the fact that the conversation has moved off the embarrassing topic of my monthly cycle, my cheeks are still sporting their favorite shade of scarlet, and don’t seem to want to return any time soon. “You might say something embarrassing about me.”

            “Like what?”

            “I’m sure you’d be able to think of something.”

            “I can’t promise anything if you don’t define ‘embarrassing’…”

            “I don’t know!” I say, with an exasperated sigh. Is he being deliberately annoying, or something? I want to be mad at him, but that smile just makes it so much harder for me. It’s not that hard to decide what is classed as embarrassing. “My bra size or something!” I respond eventually, for lack of a better suggestion.

            A glimmer of amusement crosses Tom’s eyes. “Why would I do that?” he asks mischievously. “After all, Blake and I both know it already…”

            “What?!”

            “I heard about the little incident on the day you arrived,” he responds coolly, as my mortification levels soar. I’m pretty sure they are now through the roof. “Blake and I discuss things.”

            “You discuss my bra size?!”

            “Among other things,” he says vaguely, obviously enjoying my discomfort. “And don’t worry,” he adds, with a glint in his eye that only makes me dread what he is about to say, “I won’t mention to anyone that you’re a fan of push up bras.”

            Kill me now.

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Thank you for all the comments on the last chapter :D It makes me so happy reading them (yes, I'm going to get cheesy). It seems most of you are Team Tom, although there are still a few Blake fans in there ;)

I had my English Language mock today. The ironic thing is that the whole thing went okay... apart from the creative writing section. Seriously. The topic was "a difficult decision" and I'm so bad at thinking under pressure. So what did I write about? A girl who wakes up in a house fire, and has to choose between escaping and saving her family. FML. Why did I choose that? -.- Ahhhh, cringe.