Smiles and Sweaty Palms

"Hold me tight,
Tell me I'm the only one."

The microphone echoed Julia's perfect voice through the empty auditorium. My cheesy stage smile became fueled by genuine bliss as I swayed from side to side and started harmonizing with the other tenors.

“And then I might
Never be the only one,” her amazing voice continued.

It's not just her voice, though. Julia is amazing. She's one of the best players on the soccer team. She's really witty, and funny, and charismatic. She's talented—she always gets the choir solos she auditions for, like the one she's rehearsing now—and confident (i.e. She has the guts to audition for said solos, and successfully run for Student Council President, and try out for soccer, and speak up in class...)

She's the very definition of the word 'perfection'. Sometimes I think she's actually some kind of superior being, an alien or an android or something.

“So hold me tight, tonight, tonight
It's you,
You, you, you...”

Julia finished her solo, and some other girl took the mic.

Five-thirty couldn't come soon enough. I anxiously awaited the end of after-school choir rehearsal as we ran through a few more songs. Julia had a solo in the last song, though, so rehearsal was that much better.

Don't get me wrong—I love choir. I love music. In fact, if it weren't for my ultimate lack of talent, I'd probably major in Music Performance or something. However, I don't always like putting in some time outside of class to prepare for upcoming performances.

I wonder how Julia deals with it, balancing choir and soccer and student council and all...

But yeah, choir rehearsal took way too long. When it finally ended, I caught up to Julia as she left the auditorium, my perpetually sweaty palms working more than usual.

“H-hey, Julia,” I greeted her nervously.

She stopped walking and turned to face me. “Oh, hi, Zach!” she replied, smiling at me.I might've melted a bit. “What's up?” she asked.

I had to take a minute to gather my thoughts. Why had I been so anxious to talk to her in the first place?Besides the fact that she's pretty and cool and pretty cool and I'm totally totally crushing on her.

The I remembered—and got even more nervous.

“Um...There's this...local bands...at the park tonight...with me?” I stammered incoherently.

She giggled silently for a moment. That killed any semblance of confidence that I had, and I started rambling.

“I mean, it's okay if you don't, or ifyou'rebusyorsomething, or if--”

“Sure,” she said simply, ending my stream of flustered words.

“...What?” I asked in disbelief.

“Well...concert at the park...with you...sounds good.”
I couldn't believe it. Even when she mocked me, she was perfect.

“But I need to call my mom, so Ineedtoknowwhenwe'llbedone.” She smiled playfully.

“Uh...Ten-ish?” I estimated, unable to say anything else. I was too busy focusing on the pathetic, warm glow by her usage of the word 'we'.

She took a few steps and pulled out her cell phone. After thirty seconds' worth of rapid Spanish, Julia hung up. “She said yes,” she told me. “Ready to go?”

That's when it hit me: she said yes! Julia was going to the park with me. I guess I must've gotten some goofy grin on my face or something, because Julia looked at me funny before repeating herself: “Um...Ready to go?”

That woke me up instantly. “Y-yeah, I am. To the Zachmobile!”Shit. Shit. Shit. That must've been some subconscious effort to be cool. Definitely an epic fail.

She just smiled at me again, and we walked out to the parking lot silently. I headed towards my car, suddenly ashamed of the beat-up blue sedan. I glanced at Julia, but she didn't seem to grimace at the car or anything , so I was relieved. I went to the passenger side and tried to unlock the door for her. It took a couple of tries (I kept using my house keys instead of the car door one), but I opened it, and she just kept smiling. Soon enough—but not soon enough—we were on the road. It was a little scary—Julia wasn't talking, even though she always knows what to say, and she looked a little troubled. Maybe she didn't want to be there, but she didn't want to destroy me.

All the same, I decided the uncomfortable silence could be helped by music, so I turned on the car stereo at a red light. Somehow, though, Hawthorne Heights in the background didn't seem to help, except forteeny-tiny unusually small talk.

“I like this song,” she said.

I agreed.

Then I glanced at the clock. It was only a quarter 'til six, so there were still forty-five minutes to kill before the show.

“D'you wanna stop at Starbucks or something?” I asked, surprised by my composure. I'd managed to utter a full thought without stumbling over the words!

“That'd be nice,” she said, giving me a warm smile.

Maybe the music had helped after all.

A few minutes later, we were ordering frappuccinos. I reached for my wallet and found an empty pocket. I searched my other pocket, and the pockets on my jacket, but there was nothing. The barista looked impatient. Julia was pulling out some money and telling me she didn't mind paying. I was upset and blushing. I mean, do I fail that badly? I know I suck at life, but you know it's just sad when I can't pay for coffee on a date.

Still, I managed to get out of there without looking too much like an idiot—mostly thanks to Julia.

“Thanks.” I said as I opened the passenger door for her, afraid that anything else I said would only make it worse. Just as I was getting back in the driver's seat, I found my wallet, just sitting there, taunting me. I picked it up and took its seat. As soon as I closed the door, I pulled out some money and tried to pay her back, but she refused.

“It's fine,” she reassured me. “We're using your car and your gas money, so...”

Maybe she didn't actually consider it a date.

I tried to think of a good reason for her to let me pay her back, but nothing came immediately, so I started the car again.

As I reentered the main road, I tried to forget about the incident, but that was kinda hard, considering I was drinking my frappuccino. Instead, I tried to think of something else I could say. After a couple of red lights, I'd decided to at least make a more formal apology—something along the lines of 'You shouldn't have had to do that,' or something, but before I could, I was surprised by singing. I'd been a bit unaware of the background music, but I guess Julia was listening.

“I wanna be your lover”

Call me immature, but something about that seemed really awkward to me. It was hard not to burst out laughing. I had to try really hard to keep my eyes on the road.

“I wanna turn you on, turn you out, all night long, make you shout
Oh, lover!”

Most of my wannabe laughter turned into amazement. She'd effortlessly hit the high notes.

Most of my laughter.
I had to chuckle, though, as I pulled into a parking space. I turned to her and found her blushing for once. I was even more surprised.

“I like Prince...” she started to explain

“I noticed,” I said, smiling.

We walked in the park together, drinking our coffee, trying to find the stage. After about five minutes, though, we hadn't found anything—except for a flyer for the concert on a tree. I reread it, wondering why the bands weren't setting up. After a few seconds, it set in. I blushed as I turned back to explain to Julia.

“It's actually on April 17th...not the 7th,” I said, sheepishly.

“Oh,” she said. She didn't look disappointed, but she wasn't thrilled either. Then she pointed at something behind me.

I turned around and saw some playground equipment.

“I'll race you to the swings!” Julia said as she started running. I was taken aback, but after a second's shock, I followed suit. I didn't have chance of winning, but it didn't matter. Running was liberating.

After we'd both reached the swings (naturally, she'd won by a long shot), she sat down in one, and I sat in the one next to her. She was giggling—I guess the return to childhood had had the same effect on her as on me—and I joined in. After we recovered, she gave me a serious look, something that said “what the heck are you doing?”

“...Why are you sitting down?” she asked slowly.

I looked at her in confusion. My heart started pumping faster—why the sudden change?

“You have to push me!” she yelled, sounding more like a six year-old than a sixteen year-old.

I laughed, my opinion of her rising even more. As I stood behind her and moved the swing, I couldn't help but wonder why she wasn't taking Theatre Arts—she'd seriously scared me for a minute.

Weacted like toddlers hung out at the park for about an hour. Somehow, I ended up holding hands with her on the swings. I was surprised to find her hands as sweaty as mine. I didn't even think that was possible.

“You too?” she asked suddenly. Once again, I was confused, so she explained.

“My hands sweat all the time, even when I'm not nervous.”

That was highly unexpected.

Wait, if she thought that was it, then...did she think I wasn't nervous? Was she nervous?

“Um...a-are you nervous right now?” I asked timidly.

She just smiled, her cheeks gaining a rosy hue.