Chapter 10 | We're Doing This Wrong

“Don’t be afraid to fall in love. It’s the only thing that matters in life.” ― Country Strong 

“You do realize that what you did isn’t okay, yes?” Dr. Fontana asks me early Saturday afternoon as I walk into his office and sit down across from him in the comfy chair.

“Dr. Fontana, it’s really not that big a deal,” I assure my overly-dramatic psychiatrist. “As you can see, I am perfectly fine,” I add chirpily, gesturing towards myself for emphasis.

“Physically, yes, you are fine but I think we both know that psychologically, you are far from fine. Your mom pays for you to be here five days a week, not just once, Sawyer,” He reminds me.

“True, but now that I am here and am clearly unharmed, you should totally take that as a sign that I don’t need to be here every single weekday for an entire hour,” I say to him matter-of-factly.

“Well, that’s something that you’ll have to take up with your mother,” He replies, unlocking the desk drawer, which is where I know he keeps my file and that clipboard that he’s always writing stuff on.

It’s true that I’ve only been to one of my sessions with Dr. Fontana this week but that’s just because coming to them is just a colossal waste of my time. Besides, on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, I went home with Graham after school to tutor him, which is a really rational reason for me to skip out on therapy, I think.

Granted, we didn’t even study that much this week because Graham is really lazy and when he doesn’t understand something, he has a tendency to just give up, especially where Theology is concerned. In fact, if I had to guesstimate, I’d say we only spent a total of approximately two hours studying in our tutoring sessions in those three days. I’d stay at his house for about two hours each time and I’d tutor him for a little bit and then the remainder of the time we’d just spend hanging out in the living room talking and he also played me a lot of that rock music that he likes—which isn’t all that bad. He doesn’t really listen to modern day music like…whatever music most teenage boys listen to. Mostly he only listens to like, Pink Floyd, The Ramones, Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, The Beatles and Queen. There’s more, I’m sure, but those are just some of the ones I remember him playing for me this week at his house.

Then there was yesterday, which was Friday, and I didn’t come in for two reasons. One- I had to work. Usually, when I have to work on a weekday, I’ll just go in at around 5:30-ish, which is half an hour after I’m done with therapy but yesterday, I decided to skip out on it because I just wasn’t in the mood for it. And two- Piper, Sienna and Aspen forced me to go to the mall with them after I left work so that we could buy dresses and shoes and make-up and a bunch of other stuff like that for the Winter Formal, which happens to be tonight.

So, Monday is the only day this week that I’ve been to see Dr. Fontana and apparently he felt the need to call my mother yesterday when I didn’t show up and to inform her of my absence. Then, when I got home from shopping with the girls last night, she lectured me for a good twenty-five minutes straight on the importance of me actually showing up to the sessions. Not only because she pays literally $5,000 a month to Dr. Fontana for the sessions but also because I “really need to talk to a professional,” yes, that’s what she said.

I disagreed and tried to get her to see things my way for the umpteenth time but she just isn’t having it at all, which I should’ve expected because even though my mom is really nice, she’s also really stubborn. I mean, it’s not like I’m trying to completely stop seeing Dr. Fontana because I know that I need to talk to him. I’m just trying to cut back and maybe only see him once or maybe twice a month because I know I need to be in therapy, just not as much as my mom seems to think. Anyway though, that’s why I’m here on a Saturday—my mom made me come in to make up for the four days that I skipped this week.

“So, tell me, how has everything been going since I last saw you?” Dr. Fontana questions, grabbing his fancy ink pen and the clipboard.

“Everything has been going pretty well,” I reply vaguely, running my fingers through my hair and crossing my left leg over my right leg.

“Great,” He responds, looking down at the clipboard and writing my response on it. “And how’s Graham?” He wonders, looking up at me.

“Erm, he’s…okay, I’m assuming,” I slowly say, giving him a strange, confused look. “Why would you think that I know how he’s doing?”

“Oh, well, I just thought that the two of you were together now, that’s all,” He explains nonchalantly, going back to writing on the paper.

“What on earth would make you think that Graham and I are together?” I query, raising my eyebrows, giving him a suspicious look then.

“Chace told me that he sees you two together a lot around school, so I just thought you’d finally let him in,” Dr. Fontana informs me then.

“What do you mean ‘finally’? I don’t have a problem lettering people in,” I insist, scoffing at that stamen, which is just so obviously untrue.

“Really? You actually don’t think you have a problem letting people in?” He asks in an incredulous tone of voice, putting his ink pen down.

“Absolutely not,” I deny, shaking my head.

“Do you not remember how long it took you to start talking about Flynn when we first started the sessions?”

“Like, two weeks,” I mumble, remembering how last fall when my mom forced me to start therapy, I’d never talk to Dr. Fontana about Flynn.

“It was actually a month,” He corrects me.

“Well, okay, maybe I do have a problem letting people in,” I agree. “People just kind of suck though—I don’t like them and I don’t want to talk to them.”

“Because of Flynn?” Dr. Fontana guesses.

“Somewhat, yeah, I guess,” I admit. “But also because they suck,” I add.

“That’s a very negative mentality to have, Sawyer,” Dr. Fontana notes, grabbing his pen again and starting to write.

“Well, I am clinically depressed,” I remind him with a sigh.

I avert my eyes away from Dr. Fontana then and to the analog clock that hangs upon the wall behind him. It reads 3:05—which means that I’ve still got fifty-five minutes to go until this dumb session is up. I know that it must seem like I really hate therapy but that’s just because I do. I mean, I like Dr. Fontana and all because he’s a really nice man and also because he’s kind of funny sometimes, in an old man kind of way. Well, I’m sure he’s not all that old because he doesn’t really look like it and also because he has a junior in high school.

That’s irrelevant though. It’s just that I don’t think that it’s very fair for me to have to sacrifice hours out of my week to come up here to talk about what happened to me a year ago. No, I’m not completely over it, I think that much is obvious, but still. Plenty of people have gone through what I’ve gone through (which is really sad to say but also really true) and they don’t undergo extensive (and expensive) therapy. I don’t have much else to do with my time, so it’s not that big of a sacrifice, but still, it matters.

“Speaking of which, how are you doing with that?” Dr. Fontana asks me.

“Some days are easier than others,” I truthfully reply, looking away from the clock and back at him.

“That can be said for us all, I think,” Dr. Fontana says. “What about medication—you’ve been taking it?”

“Yeah—one pill, twice a day- once at breakfast, once at dinner—every day,” I confirm with a small nod.

“Good,” He chimes. “Now, if you’ve been taking them as I prescribed, you should be almost out by now, right?” He asks and when I nod again, he hands me a piece of paper with his scribbled doctor scrawl on it.

“What’s this?” I question, taking the paper from him, reading and then trying to decipher the scrawled writing on it. I think it’d be easier to decipher Morse code though because his penmanship is kind of atrocious.

“It’s a prescription for a refill on your Fluoxetine,” He tells me. “You just take it to a pharmacy and they’ll get you another bottle. Just make sure you don’t wait until you run out of your current supply,” He stresses.

“Okay,” I agree, folding the note and putting it into the pocket of my jeans. I’ve come to learn that I’m a bit forgetful, so I’m likely forget to get my meds refilled, which is exactly why my mom usually does it for me.

“Alright, now, do you mind telling me exactly what was so important that you had to skip out on four sessions?” Dr. Fontana queries.

“I just started tutoring this guy from school,” I inform him, purposely remaining ambiguous with that answer.

“And what exactly made you want to tutor this person?”

“Well, firstly, because he asked me to do it and secondly, if he doesn’t get his grade up in the class, he’ll fail and be one credit short of graduating in May,” I answer.

“That’s very chivalrous of you,” Dr. Fontana says in response. “So, he’s paying you to tutor him, I assume?”

“Nope, I do it for free. I mean, we’re friends, so it’d be kind of weird for me to expect him to pay me,” I explain. “Besides, we do more talking than we do studying,” I add.

“Oh, so you’re tutoring Graham?” He wonders with raised eyebrows and since I didn’t really say anything that could make him guess that it was Graham, I’m kinda surprised.

“How did you know?” I question suspiciously, cocking my head to the side in confusion.

“Psychiatrists intuition, I suppose you could call it,” Dr. Fontana responds and I notice that he flips the page on the clipboard then and starts writing on a second piece. I’m not quite sure what exactly he could have possibly written down on the first page to fill it up. I mean, he’s been writing since I came in here and starting talking but I don’t think I’ve said all that much. I’ve asked him about it before, what he writes down in his notes about me during these sessions, but he always gives me the same answer—observations. He never lets me see them either, which annoys me and drives me crazy because I want to know.

“That isn’t a thing,” I scoff, rolling my eyes.

“Oh, but it is,” Dr. Fontana insists. “Honestly though, I’ve been your psychiatrist for a year now and you have never, not once, talked about a guy in the same way that you talk about Graham. I mean, the only other males that I can recall you ever mentioning have been your brother, your father—briefly, Brett, Flynn and Kevin. And you never have anything particularly positive to say about the latter four,” He explains. “And I highly doubt that you’re tutoring your brother, especially since he’s a junior in college and doesn’t have to worry about graduating for another year. I could be wrong, of course, but I can’t imagine there being another guy in your life at the moment that you care enough about to tutor—especially given your history and schedule, what with work and school and therapy and everything, so that leaves Graham.”

“Do you always have to be so psychoanalytic?” I ask with an annoyed sigh.

“It’s a part of my job description,” He assures me. “You know it’s okay, don’t you?”

“What’s okay?” I question, letting my eyes glance back over at the clock, groaning inaudibly when I see that it’s now only 3:15.

“To like Graham,” Dr. Fontana clarifies.

“I don’t like Graham,” I guarantee him.

“Are you sure about that?” He wonders.

“I’m positive,” I quip then with a firm nod.

“Would you like to know what I think?” He asks.

“Not really but I feel like you’re gonna tell me anyway,” I sigh.

“You’re right,” He chuckles. “I think you’re scared and that’s okay, you know, to be scared.”

“You think I’m scared of what, exactly?” I ask, deciding to just go along with it because maybe that’ll make the time go by a bit faster.

“I think you’re scared of letting yourself fall for Graham (or any other guy, for that matter) because the last guy you were somewhat friendly towards hurt you. I mean, Flynn really messed you up, I think that that’s a fair thing to say. But here’s what you have to understand, Sawyer: Graham isn’t Flynn. Now, I’m no genius or anything and maybe I am completely wrong. Maybe a completely platonic relationship is what you want with Graham. I don’t think so though. I think he likes you and I think you know. I think you like him and I think you know that. I know you think I have no idea what I’m talking about, that I’m just some old man who’s a sucker for young love and while that may be true, I’m also a doctor who studies adolescent cognition and behavior for a living.”

“Even if you were right about me liking Graham, which you aren’t, it wouldn’t really matter,” I tell him with a small shrug. “So, really, there’s no use in talking about it.”

“Of course it would matter—your feelings matter,” He tells me. “Why do you think it wouldn’t matter?”

“Because I already told you that people like him don’t date people like me,” I huff. “Besides, it would never work.”

“How do you make it through life being such a pessimist?” Dr. Fontana asks me as he writes more commentary.

I wonder why he doesn’t just type stuff instead of writing it. I mean, he’s got a closed laptop right there in front of him and it’s always there, every single time I come in here.

“Well, the world thrives on negativity,” I shrug, running my fingers through my hair again and then pulling it into a low ponytail for really no logical reason at all, just because.

“That’s really not true at all but back to the topic on hand—you say it wouldn’t work. Why is that? And don’t tell me that it’s because people like him don’t date people like you.”

“I mean, there’s like, a long list of reasons,” I tell him. “Number one- Graham’s a senior—that means he’s leaving in a couple of months so it’d be stupid to start anything,” I say.

“There are plenty of colleges around Andover—maybe he’s planning on going to one.”

“I really doubt it—no one actually chooses to stay in Andover when they’ve got the option of leaving,” I remind my clearly delusional doctor. “And let’s not forget how mentally unstable I am,” I add.

“You are not mentally unstable, Sawyer,” Dr. Fontana assures me.

“Coming from my psychiatrist,” I mumble, giving him a pointed look.

“What happened to you is awful, Sawyer—there’s no denying that. But don’t let one bad experience with one guy taint your entire outlook on love.”

“Okay,” I nod in appeasement so that he’ll just stop talking about the entire topic of love and Graham and Flynn and everything.

“And I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to push you into a relationship—I’m not. I’m just saying that you’ve been through a lot in the past year—way more than any teenager should have to go through and if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you. So, just do whatever it is that’s going to make you happy. If being with someone will do that, then I say go for it. If not, don’t. What you can’t do anymore though is allow your past to dictate your future. Because by doing that, you give Flynn the power and Flynn’s not here anymore and I highly doubt that he’s coming back, so you have to stop living in fear of what he did to you.”

I’m tempted to tell Dr. Fontana that creepy Kevin told me that Flynn is coming back home in a few weeks, for the Christmas break, but I think that’d kind of ruin the effect of his whole speech just now, so I don’t.

✿✿✿✿✿✿

“Aspen and the other two are here, Sawyer,” Beckett informs me about three hours later, walking into my bedroom without even knocking on the door, which annoys me.

“They have names, you know,” I remind my older brother, averting my eyes from my laptop screen and over at him.

“Yeah, but I can never remember their names,” He responds. “I kinda just call them Thing 1 and Thing 2,” He says.

“Don’t call my friends Dr. Seuss characters,” I reply, giving him a weird look. “Piper and Sienna,” I tell my forgetful brother for the hundredth time.

“Right, I knew that,” Beckett insists. “Anyway, yeah, they’re all downstairs,” He tells me. “Also, can I borrow your iPad?”

“What happened to your iPad?” I wonder, closing my laptop shut and pushing it underneath one of my pillows, which is where I usually keep it at.

“My iPad kind of had an accident,” He grumbles.

“Well, what kind of accident?” I ask, standing up from my bed. I walk over to my desk and grab my iPad (which I hardly ever even use).

“A watery accident,” Beckett clarifies. “Brett dropped it in the toilet,” He explains as I hand him mine.

“That is very…strange in more ways than one,” I reply. “Keep him away from mine,” I instruct.

“You know he thinks that you don’t like him?”

“Well, that’s good, because I don’t,” I chime.

“Okay, well, I’ll send your friends up,” He laughs before leaving my room.

“Hello love!” Aspen exclaims a mere fifteen seconds later, prancing into my bedroom with Sienna and Piper in tow, also offering greetings.

“Hey guys,” I say in response to my best friends. “What’s up?” I wonder, picking the remote up and turning the TV down.

“What’s up is the Winter Formal and it’s in less than two hours,” Sienna notes, plopping down on my bed with a duffel bag. Piper and Sienna have bags too, so I assume they plan on getting ready here.

“That means we need to get you ready,” Piper adds, spinning around in my swivel desk chair a few times.

“I have yet to understand why you three think I’m incapable of getting myself dressed and doing my own hair and make-up,” I say with a with a sigh, getting up from my bed and walking over to my closet.

“We know you’re capable but this is literally the entire point of having best friends,” Aspen tells me in a matter-of-fact tone.

“If you say so,” I chuckle, pulling the closet open and taking out the new dress that I just bought yesterday at the mall specifically for the formal.

It was pretty pricey and I’m slightly positive that if my mother knew just how much I spent on it, she’d actually strangle me with her bare hands. I mean, I couldn’t blame her for it though because it’s a really, really formal type dress and since this is the last dance of the school year (aside from Prom, which I’m not allowed to go to since I’m a junior, unless I have a senior escort) I’m pretty sure I’ll never wear it again and it’ll just spend the rest of eternity in the back of my closet.

“It’s true,” Sienna defends Aspen’s statement in a singsong voice.

“Okay, well, I’m just gonna go take a shower and get dressed,” I tell them, going over to my dresser and taking out a pair of undergarments and other bathing necessities before leaving the room with the dress.

I think that it’s only something like a little bit after 6 o’clock right now and earlier when Graham and I were texting, he told me that he’d be here at around 8 o’clock-ish, which is when the formal starts, so I still have plenty of time to get ready. Not that I was planning on getting super glitzy and glamorous for the formal but I think that my friends might have other ideas for me, which I don’t really mind.

Actually, in all honesty, I’m actually really glad that my friends feel the need to get me all made up and dressed up for parties and dances because I’m really lazy. Anyway though, the school is pretty close to my house—assuming the dance is at the school this year—so by the time we get there, it’ll have started already but it should be past that awkward part where everyone’s just getting there and no one knows what to do.

I make my way down the hallway to the bathroom and then go in, closing and locking the door behind me. I get undressed and then toss my clothes into the hamper before jumping into the shower and turning the showerhead on. Twenty minutes later, I’m out and standing in front of the foggy bathroom mirror with a towel wrapped around my thin frame. I brush my teeth (I obviously brushed them earlier, like, when I woke up this morning but I am admittedly very paranoid about having bad breath and if I’m going to be talking to Graham for a large portion of the night at the dance, I want my breath to be minty fresh) and then wrap a towel around my dripping blonde locks.

After I dry myself off, I pull the strapless bra and underwear that I picked out on and then slip into the long, royal blue dress that I’m wearing tonight. I’m not a huge fan of wearing dresses but I don’t really mind this one because it’s just so pretty, which explains why it cost so much. It’s a high neck maxi dress with a keyhole bodice detail and shiny embellishment. It also has a really cute and intricate bead embellishment type thing around the waistline that matches the one at the neck. There’s a barely visible zip at the back in the center of the and I can’t quite reach it because, well, my arms obviously can’t reach around my entire body like that. Like I said, the dress was super expensive but I think it looks pretty wonderful on me, so it was kind of worth it, I guess.

I leave the towel wrapped around my hair so that it doesn’t drip on the dress and then leave the bathroom, going back to my bedroom. I find that Sienna, Aspen and Piper are all completely dressed in their equally gorgeous dresses and they also all have their make-up on and their hair done. They’re not wearing their shoes though, which makes sense because they’re high heels and it’d be kind of stupid and a bit strange to be wearing them right now. I didn’t really think that it was possible for the three of them to get ready quite so quickly because they usually take forever and a day getting ready for stuff like this but apparently not today. Granted, I was in the bathroom for a good half an hour, I think.

“Well, it took you long enough,” Aspen notes, walking over to me and zipping my dress before leading me over to my vanity and gesturing for me to sit down in the chair.

“You’re one to talk,” I scoff, playfully rolling my eyes at my opposite of unpunctual best friend. “You were late to your own birthday party last year,” I remind her at the memory.

“Details, details,” She says, dismissively waving her hand at that before grabbing my swivel desk chair and pulling it over to where I’m sitting. “Give me your hand,” She urges.

“Why?” I wonder but hold my hand out anyway as Piper comes up behind me and plugs her blow dryer into the outlet that’s near the vanity. Then she pulls the towel off of my head and starts blow drying my hair.

“Because I’m painting your fingernails, obviously,” Aspen explains, picking up a small bottle of black matte fingernail polish from my vanity and uncapping it, starting to paint my nails.

“Do you really think that that’s necessary, Aspen?” I ask her, raising my eyebrows at her with an inaudible sigh.

“Yes, it is absolutely necessary—have you not seen your date?” She wonders, still painting.

“I’m pretty sure I told you like, eight hundred times that we’re going as friends,” I reply.

“Oh, that’s what they call it now-a-days?” Piper wonders with a giggle from behind me.

“Speaking of dates—how is everything with you and your boyfriend?” I ask Piper, trying to deflect the topic of me and my romantic (or lack thereof) life.

“We’re okay, I guess,” Piper replies with a small shrug as she moves the blow dryer all through my hair. “He’s still acting really weird though—you wouldn’t have any idea why that is, would you, Aspen?”

“How long are you going to throw the fact that I had sex with your boyfriend in my face?” Aspen wonders, not looking up from my hand as she continues to paint my fingernails.

“Until I get some confirmation that it’s never gonna happen again,” Piper responds chidingly. The two of them actually love each other like sisters, Piper and Aspen do, but as I’m sure you can imagine, after Jason cheated on Piper with Aspen, their friendship was never as strong as it was before. They kinda bicker about it sometimes but for the most part, they’re normal best friends, Piper and Aspen, which is good.

“It’s been like, nine months, Piper—if it hasn’t yet, it’s not gonna happen, I promise,” Aspen replies.

“You two are just so weird and dysfunctional,” Sienna notes from where she’s sitting on my bed, typing away on her iPhone.

Piper finishes my hair about thirty minutes later and it looks really amazing, which isn’t anything surprising because Piper has like, a gift. She blow dried it and curled the ends of my long blonde hair, leaving it down. Once Piper is done with my hair, Sienna quickly does my make-up because it’s already 7:45 and Graham (and Jason) should be here pretty soon. I have to remind Sienna to not make me look like a foreign object though because the term ‘natural’ is pretty much unheard of to her. She lines my eyes with a light black eyeliner and then dabs on some light mascara that elongates my lashes. She also puts me on a light layer of light blue eye shadow along with some foundation and lip stick. She tried for lip gloss but I really hate lip gloss because it’s sticky and weird and just not really my thing, so she went for lip stick. When she’s done, I put on a pair of really gorgeous blue sapphire earrings that I never wear because…well, I don’t know why I don’t, but I just don’t and I also slip the opulent style diamond bracelet that my grandmother bought me for my 16th birthday onto my right wrist. Just as I’m pulling on my shoes (a pair of silver heels with an ornamental rhinestone detail) my mom walks into the bedroom (without knocking).

“Girls, your dates are here,” She announces in a singsong voice.

“Their dates,” I correct my mother as I grab my iPhone from the charger.

“Whatever,” My mother replies before gesturing for us all to come out of the room and when we do, she turns the light off.

Because I am obviously an idiot, I end up being in front of Aspen, Sienna and Piper, which means that I have to go down the stairs first. This is a problem because the stairs lead directly into the living room, which means that I’ll be the first one that they see. I mean, I don’t mind being the first one seen by Graham, I guess, it’s just that I’m so incredibly anxious and clumsy that I’ll probably miss a step or trip on the bottom of my dress and fall all the way down the rest of the stairs and it’ll be really embarrassing. So embarrassing that I’ll actually probably just die of embarrassment right there in the middle of my living room.

Thankfully though, I reach the bottom of the stairs without falling, which really is just a miracle. What also is a miracle is the fact that Graham, Jason, Ian and Luke (Sienna and Aspen’s dates, respectively) aren’t all standing there at the bottom of the stairs like the guys always are in the cliché teen movies.

Graham’s sitting down on the couch beside Beckett and from where I’m standing, it looks like Beckett is giving him the third degree, which wouldn’t surprise me because like I said, Beckett’s grossly over-protective of me. I mean, it’s sweet that he cares so much about his little sister but it’s also just so awkward and annoying. Jason, Luke and Ian are all sitting on the other couch in the room and they’re talking about something that I don’t really care to know about, so I just walk over to where my brother and Graham are sitting. As I’m walking over, I overhear my dumb brother talking.

“I mean, she’s really sensitive and naïve, so you obviously have to respect that,” Beckett informs Graham, which makes me roll my eyes.

Before Graham has the chance to reply, I gently hit Beckett in his stupid and disproportionate head. “I am not naïve, nor am I sensitive,” I correct.

“Also, add ‘violent’ to that list,” Beckett advises Graham, who laughs at that before standing up from the couch and walking around the back of it so that he’s standing right in front of me.

“Hi,” I chirp, absentmindedly running my fingers through my loosely curled hair.

“Hey,” Graham replies and I notice then that his tie is blue, which is kind of ironic since I didn’t tell him that my dress was blue but I assume Sienna—being the prying person that she is—told him.

A minute and a half long silence passes through us then before either of us speaks again. I was expecting him to say something else but he didn’t—he’s just looking at me. Well, the dress, I guess.

“What?” I ask with a small laugh, which makes his eyes come back up to mine. “Why’re you looking at me like what?” I clarify.

“There’s just a whole bunch of adjectives flying through my head right now and I’m trying to pick the one that’s most appropriate for a semi-friend to say but also adequate enough to describe how amazing you look,” He tells me in a nonchalant tone, which makes my face flame red. He has a habit of doing that though, subtly complimenting me, I mean—I’ve noticed that. It doesn’t happen too often, but I do catch onto it.

“I think that in itself was a compliment,” I reply with a small giggle. “Thanks,” I add because even though he didn’t directly compliment me, I think he kind of indirectly did. “And you look good too,” I add truthfully then. He’s wearing a normal black suit (but it looks pretty fancy and expensive) and a light blue button down shirt with the royal blue tie around his neck and a black sports jacket type thing, or whatever the jacket that goes over the button down is called. Before he can reply though, my mom jumps into the conversation.

“Okay, everyone, picture time!” She exclaims.

“Mom, pictures aren’t really necessary,” I groan.

“Yes, Sawyer, they really are,” She assures me. “Come on, it’ll be quick,” My mom promises.

So the eight of us (Piper and Jason, Sienna and Ian, Aspen and Luke and Graham and I) follow my mother’s direction over to the fireplace mantle and we end up taking about ten pictures in all before I speak.

“Okay, well, we should probably be going now,” I note, checking the time on my iPhone—8:30.

“Oh, right,” My mom agrees, looking at the grandfather clock that hangs on the wall above the fireplace mantle. “Have a lovely time and be safe,” She adds.

“Have my baby sister back before 11 o’clock, Cambridge,” Beckett demands as the eight of us head towards the door, Graham and I behind the three couples.

“Her curfew is 1 o’clock, Beckett,” Our mother reminds him. “Stop being so weird and overprotective,” She adds.

“Well, 1 o’clock is really late for her to be out with a bunch of horny teenagers,” Beckett explains.

“Beckett, stop it,” My mother replies before gesturing for us to go. “I’ll see you later, honey,” She says to me as Graham and I walk out together, heading over to his shiny, black car.

Jason and Piper, Sienna and Ian and Luke and Aspen get into Jason’s Hummer because I guess they’re all riding in his car. When we get to Graham’s car, he pulls the passenger door open for me.

“You do know that you don't have to do that every time, right?” I ask him as I get in and he closes the door behind me, going around to the driver’s side.

“Yeah but I like to,” He explains with a boyish grin once he’s behind the steering wheel. He starts his car up and then backs out of the driveway then before following Jason’s Hummer down the road.

✿✿✿✿✿✿

“Come on, let’s dance,” Graham suggests, standing up and holding his hand out for mine.

“It’s a slow song,” I laugh lightly as a new song—Beneath Your Beautiful by Labrinth and Emeli Sande—comes on.

“Are you afraid to dance with me to a slow song?” Graham teasingly asks me with a grin, raising his eyebrows in question.

“Like I said, get over yourself, Graham Cambridge,” I reply, jokingly rolling my eyes at him before grabbing his hand and letting him pull me up.

We got to the dance about an hour and a half ago and I have to admit, it’s been pretty fun. I don’t know where any of my friends are but I assume they’re around here somewhere. Also, I was expecting the gym to look absolutely terrible like it did freshman year but it actually looks really super cute, the way that they decorated it.

The entire place is like, covered in white and silver decorations, which makes sense because of the whole winter aspect of the Winter Formal. If I didn’t know it already, I don’t think I’d even be able to tell that it’s a gym. The shooting baskets and the bleachers and all of that, they’re completely out of sigh. Anyway, since we’ve been here, Graham and I’ve danced a few times but not too many because I’m awkward and not the world’s best dancer by a longshot.

Graham and I find a free spot in a corner of the dance floor that’s not too close to any of the couples that’re swaying along to the song. Most of them are making out or like, fondling each other, which is a pretty weird thing to do at a school dance (the fondling, I mean, obviously, the making out was to be expected).

Graham wraps one of his arms around my back and places his hand right above the small of my back, which is the customary stance for slow dancing, I guess. I’m not entirely sure what to do with my arm but most of the other girls have it resting on the guys’ shoulder, so that’s what I do. With his other hand, he grabs my other hand and interlaces our fingers, which I didn’t think he’d do (I thought he’d just like, cup them) but I don’t really mind it.

“I feel like we’re doing this wrong,” I inform him after about fifteen seconds of moving together.

“What do you mean?” He wonders with a small chuckle, looking down at me curiously.

“I mean like, the other people are all either making out or like, fondling,” I say matter-of-factly.

“I’m definitely down for either one of those if you are,” Graham tells me but I know he’s kidding.

“You’re so funny,” I sarcastically inform him, playfully rolling my eyes at him again.

“I know, it’s kind of a gift,” He explains. “I’m pretty sure the rest of them are couples though, but if you wanna talk, we can talk.”

“What about?” I wonder as the song hits the thirty second mark.

“I dunno, just anything,” Graham replies with a small shrug. “Like, what’s your favorite color?”

“White,” I instantly respond.

“White?” Graham echoes, glancing down at me. “Why is white your favorite color?” He laughs.

“Because it symbolizes innocence, purity and safety,” I inform him matter-of-factly. “I like that,” I note.

“That’s kinda deep,” He tells me and I feel him gently push his hand against my back, which makes me move closer to him a little.

“I guess so,” I agree with a small laugh. “What’s yours?” I wonder.

“I dunno if I have a favorite color,” Graham admits. “Blue is cool though, I guess.” He decides. “What’d you wanna be when you grow up?”

“Well, I kind of want to be an artist,” I say, letting my head rest on his chest since it’s so close to my head already. “But I’m not sure yet. What about you?”

“I’ve always wanted to play in the NFL,” He informs me. “If that doesn’t work though, maybe I’ll be an occupational therapist,” Graham says as we move.

So we go on like that for the entire four minutes of the song, just asking each other questions back and forth. I learn that he’s had two girlfriends but has only been in love once, he learns that I’ve had zero boyfriends but have been in love well over twenty times, thanks to fictional characters (Augustus Waters, Nathan Scott, Julian Baker, Peeta Mellark, Nate Archibald, etc.) and male celebrities (Alex Pettyfer, Logan Lerman, Dylan O’Brien, Francisco Lachowski, etc.).

I learn that his favorite movie is The Cabin in the Woods, he learns that mine is Footloose (the 2011 remake). I learn that his dream college is Kansas State University (I told Dr. Fontana that no one wants to go to college in Andover if they have the option), he learns that mine is the Maryland Institute College of Art if I decide to be an artist but otherwise, it doesn’t matter.

“Hey, Sawyer?” Graham asks as the second slow song—Kiss Me Slowly by Parachute—hits the half-way mark.

“Yeah?” I reply, my head still resting on his chest.

“I think you’re a pretty cool girl,” He informs me.

“Well, clearly,” I giggle. “But I think you’re a pretty cool guy too,” I assure him as we continue with our question game while the song plays above us.

Author's Note: Hello lovelies! So, I'm tired and sick right now, so I'll make this quick:

#1. Thank you for all of the lovely comments last chapter-- you seriously do not understand how happy I get when I read them because they're just adorable and wonderful and cute and gah. Also, don't forget that the person who leaves the comment that I love the most on this chapter gets the next chapter dedicated to them! That being said, this chapter is dedicated to Reinvent_ because I loved her comment on chapter 9 the most! 

#2. Thoughts on this chapter? Sawyer? Graham? Aspen? Sienna? Piper? Beckett?

#3 Notice the song and the picture (Sawyer's outfit for the formal). 

And that's it! I'll see you lovely people next Sunday! <3