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“I know – sorry – this is so weird, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just – well – because you live across from me… and sometimes I see you out here… and I thought that this might help – it’s stupid, sorry, I’ll just-”
I begin to retract my arm but he swipes his hand out and holds my wrist to stop me. I’m so surprised that I gasp, and then drop the object in my hand. He darts his other hand out and catches it before it hits the ground.
Basketball players.
“It’s a CD player,” he says, no longer frowning as his eyes search mine. Tate Coleson is one of those rare people who have incredibly beautiful eyelashes, and his irises sparkle like sugar crystals. When I look into them I feel like I’m falling inside of a kaleidoscope.
“Yes,” I admit.
“Retro,” he replies, smiling.
Smiling.
I shake my head. “It’s… archaic. Very primitive. I’m sorry. I just thought…” I trail off.
I don’t have any new gadgets even though I’m at the top of my Computer Tech class. I know the other kids have smaller, sleeker, non-battery-powered devices, but I don’t mind. It makes me feel like I’m from a different generation, and in turn it makes the rebuffal of people my own age hurt a little less.
Then I realise. “Obviously you don’t want to listen to music anyway – otherwise you would be using your phone. Sorry –again.” I reach up to take back the player but he shoots his hand up and holds it over his head with his stupid basketball player arms.
“My mom gives me technology curfews, and I’m not allowed to go out on weeknights,” he says. “I’m supposed to be studying and I don’t like doing it when her boyfriend comes over is all.”
He brings down the device and holds it between us. He swallows hard.
“So… you’re letting me use this tonight?” he asks. We look into each other’s eyes again and I think about how his warm fingers are still firmly wrapped around my wrist.
I nod. “You can use it tomorrow night too if you’d like. And the next night. And the night after that.”
Shut up, shut up, shut up.
He ducks his head, shaking it slightly, and when he straightens his posture I can see that his eyes are glittering in the glow of the golden porch sconce.
“Thank you,” he says. His voice is deep and thick. I think that it’s the nicest voice that I have ever heard.
I look up at him with a small smile. “You’re welcome. I guess.” I laugh nervously, which makes him laugh too.
“Can I look inside?” he asks.
He’s talking about the player, but it feels as though he’s about to look inside my brain.
I nod again.
He pops open the top and he cocks his head to look at the inscription on the disc. It’s my Breaking BenjaminPhobiaalbum. The writing is miniscule and it doesn’t even have the album title on it – the sticker mainly occupies a smouldering brown and black Celtic knot, flecked in a way that makes it look like an iris, and the band name and record label border the circle in silver print so tiny that I’m not sure if you can even read it in this light. He squints at it for a long time to try and decipher the text, but after a while his lips twitch with a small smile and then he spins the CD with his middle finger playfully.
There’s a gentle flutter in my tummy when he does that.
“You’re a little emo,” he says with a laugh, but he says it in an endearing way.
I feel my cheeks heat but I don’t feel as embarrassed anymore so I’m smiling now too.
“I’ll give it back to you tomorrow morning before school,” he says.
Instantly, my stomach drops like a tonne of bricks.
He must notice because then he bends his knees a little so that we’re at more of a similar height and he locks my gaze in with his.
“And then tomorrow evening you can come back over here again,” he adds. Then he pauses, eyes wide like he just said something incriminating. “I mean, you can bring it back over here again.” He gives me a nervous smile, eyebrows raised as he awaits my answer.
I can feel my heart in my stomach. It’s thumping like I’m going to be sick and pee my pants at the same time, but kind of in a good way.
