Choosing You

Piper

Holy crap!! I’m making out with Ethan McKay! It’s unreal. It’s insane! It…must be a dream. Even when I’m sure it’s not. My fingers tighten around soft strands of hair. That’s real. And he’s doing all sorts of sinful things with his tongue. That’s real too. A yummy sound seeps between us from the back of his throat, and I know it’s him.

Ethan is my tormentor. And my reason for living. Honestly, he barely pays me any attention—that’s the tormenting part. But in the rare occasion that he does see me, I stand there like a dummy, forgetting how to speak. I’m a lost cause. But in my defense, I’m probably not the only one. Those damn McKay boys are freaking hot.

There are two of them. Ashton, is the oldest, who works for McKay Corp, one of the biggest companies in the world. They’ve produced so many products and softwares, there isn’t just one trade to the name. And that includes creating hot as hell offspring. Ashton has been named sexiest man alive twice in his twenty nine years. And he’s already crushing it in the business world. But, much to the dismay of the women of the world, he's taken, as of last year to a gorgeous red head heiress, who I read stole his heart with not just her beauty, but her kindness.

Then there’s Ethan. The rebel. He’s basically done the opposite of what he’s supposed to all his life, if the tabloids have anything to say about it. Still, he’s set to join the family business once he graduates, which is just one of the reasons people tend to fall at his feet. But there are plenty reasons to choose from, all of which makes him the life of the party and totally out of my league. I’ve kept my distance from Ethan. Even though I just know my heart beats for him. The heartthrob, slash, bad boy is gorgeous with dark hair that flops in unruly waves, and chocolate eyes which—I swear—can see into my soul. His hard body seems built for the sports he’s rumored to have once dominated. And he’s got a rumble in his voice that puts a shiver in my spine. It’s sad to say how often I usually lurk around like some kind of creep just to hear him speak. There’s an earring in his left ear, that only adds mystery to his appearance. And while he knows that I exist in the broadest sense of the word, he holds none of my illusions.

So how did we get here? Making out at a party?

Let’s backtrack for a minute so you can catch up:

“Come on, Piper. You haven’t been out once,” my best friend, Paisley, begs, which is new for her. She doesn’t exactly ever ask for anything. Usually, she announces how it’s going to be and I just go along with the plan. But I was already settled in my dorm, TV cued up to a ROM-COM. “I thought you wanted to get a life.”

I can’t believe she’d throw that in my face right now. I’d told Paisley all about my plans. How things would be different once I left Ashland. That I wasn’t going to be the introvert anymore. I was going out on my own and everything was about to change. Only… that’s not what happened. I worked hard and moved to southern California. Anaheim. And my best friend was able to come too, which was great. Awesome. However, somehow, here we’ve fallen into the same roles we played in high school. Paisley is a bit of a social butterfly. Plenty of other friends to party with. And I’m… still me. Nearly the same me I’ve always been my entire life. I spend Saturday nights in my dorm room alone, reading, watching movies, and staring at the pictures Paisley posts on I*******m. “It’s not your scene,” she usually tells me. And I have to believe her. She’d know better than I do.

Apparently, tonight is my scene, because she showed up, begging me to tag along. And it’s thrown me for a loop. After a year and four months of us being here, I’ve inadvertently made an antisocial name for myself. I’m not sure how to change that. I’m scared.

“I mean, of course, we'll have to find you something to wear that's not so…” Paisley’s voice trails off, and I look down at the t-shirt I have on.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

I already know the answer to that. They’re mostly oversized unappealing frocks that she’d never be caught dead in. Nothing suitable for a party. But I’ve been dressing this way since I was thirteen and was told I had to stay out of sight. When you’re a preteen and you're not exactly sure what that means, I guess you do whatever it takes to stay hidden.

That doesn't mean I don't have anything else tucked away in my closet. It just means that I’ve been too afraid to step out of my comfort zone and wear it. Not even to a party with Paisley that I’m not one-hundred percent sure I want to go to. Do I want to get out more? Sure. But I know at some point I’ll wind up getting ditched. More because I have no idea what to do at a party. It all seems kind of terrifying, trying to figure out how to come out of my shell. I can’t tell her that. She’ll just find a way to use it against me. So, I remain silent, awaiting her answer.

“Nothing,” she says. “It’s not like people are going to be staring at what you’re wearing.”

“All the more reason not to go,” I tell her. “No one even knows who I am. You should just go ahead.”

She scoffs. “By myself?”

“What about your sorority sisters?”

“Most of them are still gone for the holiday.”

I have to take her word for it, since I’ve never met any of them. I’m not even sure which ones she’s closest to outside of hearing her mention a few names.

She pushes aside some hangers in my closet and confirms there’s nothing spectacular. But she’s like the fashion police. She’ll make something out of nothing. And I know it.

“What about this,” she asks, pulling out a pair of light blue jeans with wide legs, proving my point. “And this.”

The plaid button up shirt is plain blue and red. Classic flannel.

“It’s a college party,” I say.

“So? It’s nice.”

“So…Compared to what you’re wearing, I’ll look like I’m still in middle school.”

She’s got on a pair of super tight jeans and a black shirt that’s barely covering her chest.

I shake my head. “Forget it. I’m not going dressed like a farmer.”

She laughs. “You love this shirt.”

“I do.” I don’t. “But it’s embarrassing enough to be here as long as I have and make nearly no friends. I’m not going to willingly make myself an outcast by going out dressed like that to a party.”

I’m grasping at straws trying to get her to agree that I shouldn’t go. It's not working.

“Okay. Wait a second,” she says, like she’s talking me down off a ledge. “We can spruce it up. Here. Put them on.”

There’s no use arguing. She’s got that look in her eye that basically says this is happening whether I want it to or not. I wait for her to turn around. She sighs, but goes along with it. “I can’t believe you still aren’t used to the possibility that people might see you half-naked. This is co-ed. First semester, I purposely wandered back to my room in just a towel. And let me tell you the people there were not shy.”

“Oh I know.” I stayed at that dorm once. And when I was brushing my teeth a guy walked out of the shower completely naked. I was just wearing my sleep shirt and he looked me up and down before winking and leaving the room. I feel nervous just thinking about it. But that’s not the reason I make her turn around. Truth be told, my friend can be a bit judgmental. I don’t want to be standing in front of her half-naked when that side of her comes out.

She continues. “But you live near the athletic department, you lucky bitch, with some of the hottest guys this campus has to offer. If I didn’t live in the sorority house now, I’d be totally jealous.”

I fasten the last button of my shirt, announcing I’ve finished so she can turn around and look.

She snickers. “No. You said you won’t go dressed like that. So we’ll just…” Her fingers begin unfastening a few buttons from the bottom of my shirt and tying it just above my naval. When she’s done, she steps away and assesses her work.

“Needs something else,” she mumbles, coming closer again. Her fingers go to the collar, and she loosens it, before undoing a lot of buttons from the top and revealing a little bit of my satin bra.

“Woah,” she says. “You’re stacked. When did that happen?”

I look down at my chest. It’s nothing different to me. However, with my clothes always being so big, there’s never been a chance of anyone actually knowing what I look like underneath. I took a lot of crap for that in High School. I’d change during gym class in the bathroom stalls. And someone started a rumor that it was because I had a penis. That only made me hide out more.

I refasten the buttons that’ll at least cover my bra, replying, “Puberty.”

She stares at me for a while in response. Eyes going from head to toe. It kind of makes me uncomfortable. Not like she’s looking me over, but more sizing me up. I can’t shake the feeling—one like she’s holding up internal score cards, which makes me fold my arms across my chest.

“Does it look that bad,” I ask.

“No,” she shakes her head, still lost in a daze, before she clears the fog away and looks me in the eye. “No. You look good. But I’ll understand if you want to button the top completely. Maybe…Tousle your hair a bit instead.”

I remove my chestnut hair from it’s usual ponytail and braid. It’s long. Too long, since I’ve never cut it before, which means it’s waist length makes styling take forever. But tousling? I can do that. Running my fingers through it until it falls wildly over my shoulders and down my back, I step in front of the mirror and get a look at myself. The shirt doesn’t seem too bad for me now, and when I consider the look I’m sporting next to Paisley’s party girl motif, I decide it’s fine the way it is. Turning to show Paisley, I hold out my hands. “How’s this?”

An amused chortle slips from her half-smile, as her eyes widen slightly, and she smooths out her own hair. “Yeah. That’s—that’s good. You’re ready. Let’s go.”

We leave my dorm and head down the hall, and out the door. Paisley knows exactly where she’s going, and who she’s going to see. I’m jealous for that. I worked hard my entire life to get here—a private elite college half a day’s drive away from where we come from—yet still I don’t know much about the fraternities and I know even less about parties.

“We’ll know we’re late, if Ethan is there already.” Paisley interrupts my thoughts, walking a mile a minute down winding paths and through courtyards.

“You didn’t say Ethan was going.”

“When isn’t he going? Besides, he’s one of the only reasons people make an appearance at these things.”

I stop in my tracks, unsure of how to take this. Ethan makes me nervous. And totally hot in a way I can’t understand. He’s a jerk. A known asshole, yet the massive crush I have on him makes me blind to it sometimes. And I stand there all slack-jawed while he makes his rounds, wondering what his mouth would feel like on my own. I think I even drooled once, which goes to show I’m in no state to run into the man of my dreams. But at the same time, my heart beat kicks into a pulsing rhythm of hysterics because I want to run into him.

“You okay,” Paisley asks.

I nod calmly, while inside, I’m a ball of nerves. “I’m good.”

“Great. Let’s go,” she says. “I don’t want to miss my chance before other girls get there and start flirting with him first.”

My heart plummets, as I grab ahold of her arm, before she can move away. “Do not tell me you’ve been flirting with Ethan.”

Leave it to me to almost have a breakdown over finding out that a guy I’ve been obsessing over for a year and a half has been flirting with my best friend. I mean, Paisley flirts with everyone, but Ethan? I hold my breath, waiting for her answer.

“Okay. I won’t tell you,” she shrugs, continuing the walk.

Paisley has never expressed an interest in Ethan before. Not to me. Or maybe I wasn’t paying attention, too busy harboring feelings of my own since the day I laid eyes on him at freshman orientation. We ran into each other at registration. And I almost fell flat on my ass. But he caught me at the elbows keeping me pressed against him. When he was done, he flashed this amazing smile, and loosened the collar on the shirt he was wearing, before walking away to get in line. My stomach leapt for joy that day and it hasn’t stopped since. I’ve never told that to my best friend though. And I doubt I will now. Too afraid she might call me stupid.

When we reach the party three blocks over, Paisley adjusts her boobs before grabbing the knob and pushing inside. Smoke billows out so I can barely see a single face. It smells like cannabis and sweaty bad choices mixed with booze. The scent combination, it seems, for a good time.

My best friend makes her way through the crowd, some people wave and smile at her as she goes. Not me. Of course, not me. No one knows who I am. I’m virtually invisible, struggling to keep up before grinding bodies collapse behind her as she moves.

It seems like it takes forever for us to reach the kitchen. But when we get there, someone immediately hands her a SOLO cup, and they start to talk. I feel out of my element. The same as I did back in high school, which is why I avoid these things, where no one wants to talk to the oddly quiet girl in the corner. The one who could easily blend into the background. That admission is just as embarrassing as it is following Paisley around the party most of the night, while she dances with guys, smokes with friends, and has a few drinks. I’m not even sure why she wanted me here. My best friend has basically moved on, like we were all supposed to do after high school. She’s grown so much. And I’m still the same. Still a nobody, invisible to everyone in the room.

No. Not everyone.

Because when I look up, the first person I see is Ethan McKay. And right now, I’m not invisible to him. He’s looking right at me.