Unreachable Love
Chapter XIII
Ciara pushed me through the door and I stumbled onto the floor. I blew the hair out of my face. “Thanks.” I said grumbily.
She didn’t even notice me, she was scanning the mall. Again, I feel clueless.
I got up without her help, unfortunately. I brushed the dirt off, straightened my clothes, and fixed my hair. When I was done I asked her, “What are you looking for?”
“Not what… who.” I didn’t get why we would be looking for someone. She seemed to find who she was looking for. “I just found him.” She started walking forward. “Ciara, what are we doing!?” I asked. She turned around and looked at me. “We’re getting the 411 on Oliver. Starting with his best friends.”
I groaned. Why does she like to torture me?
We walked up to Oliver’s friends and the conversation they had going, stopped. Ciara had a way of doing that.
“Hello, guys. This is Belinda, you know her?” she asked.
“Yeah. She’s all—“ the guy speaking had shout a glance at his buddies to find they were all glaring at him, so he stopped dead in his tracks.
But Ciara pushed on—that’s just how she is, pushy—“Go on. Finish what you were about to say.”
The guy who’d started talking shook his head frantically.
“Yes.”
“No.”
I’m pretty sure it ended up in a “Yes. No.” contest that led no where. After a while one of Oliver’s other friends tried to break up their fight and I joined in.
“Ciara we didn’t come here just so you could say ‘yes’ a hundred times.” I pointed out.
“Okay.” She turned back to the other guys in the group. “We wanna know some stuff about Oliver.” She said plain and simple.
“Hmm. Like what?” this guy named Jack asked.
“Like, what kind of music he likes, his hobbies, what he’s good at, family history, basically just anything about him.”
The four guys grinned at each other. “We got plenty to go around.” Michael said.
What great friends, I said in my head.
---<3---
Two hours later, we walked out of the mall, without a single bag. But a load of stuff in mind.
I felt like we'd been stalking Oliver, and it wasn't a good feeling.
On the ride home I thought about all the stuff we’d learned about Oliver:
Oliver was one of the smartest guys at our school. He never actually shows it to anyone but his friends. He secretly hopes to get into Harvard or Yale. Any Ivy League college.
He is a fantastic singer. His friends suggest all the time that he should get in a band or something, become known. None of his friends can play instruments so it’s not like they can become one.
Oliver is a horrible writer, though. It’s like he can’t form sentences on paper. He always leaves out words, often it’s a verb that really needs to be there. He can barely spell a thing.
He is a great acter. He probably knows Romeo and Juliet by heart, Michael had said. He can fake any emotion on the spot. He can ignore the audience like they aren’t even there, so that he can focus on what he’s doing.
Oliver loves to listen to music. He is obsessed with it. He likes a lot of hard rock music most of the time. But he’s also got this jazzy side to him. His dad used to have a bunch of jazz records in their basement that Oliver found one day.
He didn’t read much. Didn’t have to. But when Belinda came along and basically said she loved books, Oliver started reading them a lot more, Steven had said. He liked stories on fantasies.
His family is kind of torn apart. His dad died a couple years ago and his mother is still in a deep depression. She just won't let go, not even for her children. Oliver has a brother that's a few years older than him named, Matt. He dropped out of high school and was into drugs and all that. Oliver hopes he can make up his family's reputation.
But the thing they told me that I love the most, is that he is a great artist. I suck at drawing. If you tell me to draw an almost perfect circle, mine would be all lumpy. But the fact that they said he’s really good made my eyes spark. He has the ability that would complete me—what I’ve always wanted to add to my list of abilities.
Oliver isn’t perfect—no one is—but, I realized, he’s perfect for me.
She didn’t even notice me, she was scanning the mall. Again, I feel clueless.
I got up without her help, unfortunately. I brushed the dirt off, straightened my clothes, and fixed my hair. When I was done I asked her, “What are you looking for?”
“Not what… who.” I didn’t get why we would be looking for someone. She seemed to find who she was looking for. “I just found him.” She started walking forward. “Ciara, what are we doing!?” I asked. She turned around and looked at me. “We’re getting the 411 on Oliver. Starting with his best friends.”
I groaned. Why does she like to torture me?
We walked up to Oliver’s friends and the conversation they had going, stopped. Ciara had a way of doing that.
“Hello, guys. This is Belinda, you know her?” she asked.
“Yeah. She’s all—“ the guy speaking had shout a glance at his buddies to find they were all glaring at him, so he stopped dead in his tracks.
But Ciara pushed on—that’s just how she is, pushy—“Go on. Finish what you were about to say.”
The guy who’d started talking shook his head frantically.
“Yes.”
“No.”
I’m pretty sure it ended up in a “Yes. No.” contest that led no where. After a while one of Oliver’s other friends tried to break up their fight and I joined in.
“Ciara we didn’t come here just so you could say ‘yes’ a hundred times.” I pointed out.
“Okay.” She turned back to the other guys in the group. “We wanna know some stuff about Oliver.” She said plain and simple.
“Hmm. Like what?” this guy named Jack asked.
“Like, what kind of music he likes, his hobbies, what he’s good at, family history, basically just anything about him.”
The four guys grinned at each other. “We got plenty to go around.” Michael said.
What great friends, I said in my head.
---<3---
Two hours later, we walked out of the mall, without a single bag. But a load of stuff in mind.
I felt like we'd been stalking Oliver, and it wasn't a good feeling.
On the ride home I thought about all the stuff we’d learned about Oliver:
Oliver was one of the smartest guys at our school. He never actually shows it to anyone but his friends. He secretly hopes to get into Harvard or Yale. Any Ivy League college.
He is a fantastic singer. His friends suggest all the time that he should get in a band or something, become known. None of his friends can play instruments so it’s not like they can become one.
Oliver is a horrible writer, though. It’s like he can’t form sentences on paper. He always leaves out words, often it’s a verb that really needs to be there. He can barely spell a thing.
He is a great acter. He probably knows Romeo and Juliet by heart, Michael had said. He can fake any emotion on the spot. He can ignore the audience like they aren’t even there, so that he can focus on what he’s doing.
Oliver loves to listen to music. He is obsessed with it. He likes a lot of hard rock music most of the time. But he’s also got this jazzy side to him. His dad used to have a bunch of jazz records in their basement that Oliver found one day.
He didn’t read much. Didn’t have to. But when Belinda came along and basically said she loved books, Oliver started reading them a lot more, Steven had said. He liked stories on fantasies.
His family is kind of torn apart. His dad died a couple years ago and his mother is still in a deep depression. She just won't let go, not even for her children. Oliver has a brother that's a few years older than him named, Matt. He dropped out of high school and was into drugs and all that. Oliver hopes he can make up his family's reputation.
But the thing they told me that I love the most, is that he is a great artist. I suck at drawing. If you tell me to draw an almost perfect circle, mine would be all lumpy. But the fact that they said he’s really good made my eyes spark. He has the ability that would complete me—what I’ve always wanted to add to my list of abilities.
Oliver isn’t perfect—no one is—but, I realized, he’s perfect for me.
♠ ♠ ♠
Did I base Oliver off anyone? No, I don't think I did. Not this time. He's just kind of... perfect for the story.