Dance With Me In the Pouring Rain

All day Tuesday, I was looking forward to meeting Tory later. She was literally the highlight of my day. After a fairly bog-standard day at school – shit by most people’s standards – I walked home, which was thankfully empty. After fixing myself a snack, I retreated to my bedroom. Nudging a pile of clothes out of the way to clear a space on the bed, I sat down. I had about an hour and a half before I was due to meet Tory.

So, I thought, that begs the question, what do I wear? Then: Bloody hell, Fletch. How much of a girl are you?

I sighed. Truth was, I wanted Tory to like me. As a friend or otherwise, I wasn’t sure. But I sure liked her. I wanted – needed – to make the right impression.

Tory doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who cares much about appearances, I told myself. Don’t worry. Just relax. Be yourself. It’s not like it’s a date, or anything.

With this calming thought in mind, I approached my wardrobe cautiously. I felt like an idiot worrying about what I was going to wear. I wasn’t exactly the most self-conscious person in the world.

Biting my lip, I fingered the hoodies I had amassed. Just pick one and get it over with, I thought resignedly. I pulled a green stripy one over my head and put on some jeans.

Perfect, I thought sarcastically. All that fuss for nothing. I sighed and looked at the clock. I had about an hour before I was supposed to meet Tory.

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“You took your time!” Tory exclaimed as I shuffled down the path towards the bench at which she was sitting, swinging her legs casually. “I’ve been waiting ages for you!”

I allowed myself a small smile. “Yeah, well. I had to get changed, didn't I?”

She raised an eyebrow. “And they say girls take ages to get ready.” She tutted mock-disapprovingly and patted the space next to her. “So, Fletchy, how’s your day been?”

“‘Fletchy’?” I queried.

She shrugged. “I was just trying it out.”

“Well don’t,” I grimaced. “It was okay, I guess.”

“Only okay?” she exclaimed. “Crikey, man. You need to lighten up, enjoy life more!”

I rolled my eyes. “So how’s your day been then, Tory?”

“Incredible!” she replied, grinning. “Absolutely fan-dabby-daisy!”

“You know, I never thought about this before, but you’re going to look great in your straightjacket,” I said conversationally.

She thwacked me on the arm and glared at me. “What do you mean, you never thought about it before? Am I not crazy enough for you?”

I cracked up. “Tory, you're insane.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I get the feeling there was meant to be an insult in there.”

“So why was your day so, uh-” I fumbled for the right word.

“Fan-dabby-daisy?” she supplied. I merely nodded. “Oh, lots of reasons. We did this experiment in chemistry, oh it was hilarious. My friend Alice ended up singeing our teacher’s mini-goatee! You had to be there. And in ICT we were just messing about on
Youtube, doing whatever, watching funny videos. Ah, great times. And biology, oh my God. Incredible. Who knew amputating the legs of paper men could be so much fun?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You have way too much fun at school.”

“What can I say?” she shrugged. “I’m a geek, I’m meant to like school.”

“I thought you said no wisecracks about smart people?” I reminded her.

“I said you could make no wisecracks about smart people,” she replied. “I said nothing about me.”

“Double standards,” I muttered.

“Suck it, mate,” she said childishly. She noticed the iPod sticking out of my pocket.

“Cool. Which is it?”

I pulled it out and showed it her. “Nano. Green.”

“Nice,” she said appreciatively. “Can I look at the songs you’ve got on it?”

“Sure,” I replied, handing it over. I watched her scroll through the list with interest.

“There are a lot of pretty depressing songs on here,” she commented gravely. “Fletcher,
I’m afraid I’m going to have to check your wrists.”

Obediently, I held out my arms. She rolled down the sleeves of my checked shirt and examined my forearms.

“Hmm,” she muttered. “I can conclude that you do not self-harm. However, I can also conclude that you have damn gorgeous arms.”

I grinned. “Really? I bet you say that to all your patients.”

“Well, not all of them,” she replied mischievously. “Just the good-looking ones.”

“Good to know,” I replied. “Since I’m your only patient.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You think? I psychoanalyse all my friends. Its work experience, you see. In a way. I want to be a psychologist when I’m older.”

“A shrink, you mean,” I replied. “And you really psycho-whatsit all your friends?”

“Psychoanalyse,” she corrected, rolling her eyes. “And yeah, I do.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” I muttered under my breath.

“So Fletch, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Tory asked. “Famous? A star? In the movies?”

I rolled my eyes. “That song really pisses me off.”

She smiled sweetly. “You’ll regret telling me that.”

“I don't know,” I replied honestly. “I just don’t want to end up like- like my dad.”

“Oh, why not?” she asked curiously.

I shrugged as casually as I could. “No one wants to end up like their parents, do they?”

She just nodded, like she didn't quite believe me. “I was joking about the depressing songs thing. It’s great to find a guy whose music appreciation doesn’t extend further than the UK Top 40.”

“So what music do you like?” I asked.

“Indie, mostly,” she replied. “But I also like rock and alternative.”

I nodded. “It could be worse.” I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t like Katy Perry, do you?”

She grinned. “What if I did?”

“I would never talk to you ever again,” I informed her seriously. “I would purge you from my living memory.”

“Tempting as that sounds,” Tory teased, “no. I don’t like Katy Perry.”

I wiped my brow with mock-relief. “Phew. The Jonas Brothers?”

“Are overrated,” she replied.

“Zac Efron?”

“Is kind of good-looking, but also, overrated.”

“And finally, Twilight.”

She grimaced. “Don’t talk to me about it. It annoys me how much people get into it when it’s really not that good. I’ve not read it, but hey, I don’t need to. The amount people go on about it.”

“Well, Tory, you're pretty much perfect,” I concluded.

She grinned. “Flatterer.”

I held my hands up. “You got me.”

“Well, Fletch, it’s been nice chatting to you, but I should be going,” she informed me. I drooped with disappointment. “We should really do this again.”

“Yeah,” I replied causally, though my insides were going haywire. “Maybe I’ll see you in the park tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Maybe. See you around, Fletch.”

As she hugged me, I inhaled her sweet scent. It was intoxicating.

“What’s your perfume?” I asked her curiously when she’d pulled away.

She merely smiled. “I don’t wear perfume.”

With a wave, she turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the middle of the park.