Soria Girl

Ren never truly asked me out at that point in time. We had talked and said that starting something long-distance just wasn’t a good idea, considering the fact that we were on opposite sides of the country and the actual thing wouldn’t have started in person. So we weren’t, like, boyfriend-girlfriend. Don’t get me wrong – I was far from loveless. I knew in my heart that we had soft spots that wouldn’t fade.

Now really, I can’t flirt. I’m awful with dudes. That’s why last year, I got a little nervous when first talking to my fellow bandmates in Plaster Caster, since they were all dudes who seemed to enjoy my company. Once I got past the awkward stage, though, interacting with them was a piece of cake.

So I was back to square one at school, surrounded by dudes who were either complete meatheads or total scenesters. Every so often I’d catch sight of a cute guy who didn’t immediately seem like an asshole, but I never gathered the balls to talk to them. When my friendship with Ren was sparked, he was the one who initiated it – it’s funny, considering his shyness.

And I’ve never been one of those girls who constantly have a group of horny boys around them. Now, granted, I had boys, but they weren’t horny (for me, anyway).

I’ve never really identified with most girls, either, except for Aliyah, and that was only because we grew up together. And even though we were polar opposites, we were still friends because we connected on some level I can’t even begin to explain.

At Wooderson Junior High, there were still cliques: preps, jocks, skaters, hip-hoppers, and of course, the other group. The other group was a mix of bookworms, emo kids who worshipped Tim Burton (they varied between depressed to being optimistically pessimistic), and a select few scene kids. Now, I’m far from depressed, I do not like reading (mostly), and I do not know how to tease my hair. But oh no, that didn’t stop those dipshits from lumping me in with the others.

I empathized with them. I really did. Some of them were actually non-conforming to the non-conformists, including me. My favorite conversations had to do with music, and nobody had heard of the bands I whored out on the t-shirts I wore every day.

Oh, how I hated not having anyone to gush about Chamberlain.

Oh, how lonely I felt every time someone asked me what the “Against Me!” on my shirt meant.

Oh, how I just hated school.

I don’t wanna whine and sound like Bella Swan on her period, but really! It sucked! My biggest pet peeves are elitists, and yet here I am, complaining about being different – and it’s hypocrisy as its finest, but it certainly didn’t soften the blow of loneliness.

Well, it was awful for about a month.

Getting to school early meant having to wait in the cafeteria until the first bell rang. I’d wander in when the bus let us off too early, usually with Aliyah and Crash, but one morning, I was on my own since they had an excuse to get to class early.

The cafeteria workers were old hags who bitched if you left your seat, and they dismissed by table, which meant that if you sat at the table furthest from the door, you were screwed.

I sat on the end of the closest one to the door. Didn’t wanna be last this time. Normally when I was stuck there I just chilled and daydreamed. Sometimes I zoned out so bad it took a couple minutes to get back in.

A scraping chair in front of me snapped me out of it. Some guy in a green Castro cap and a flannel shirt was sitting down.

“This seat taken?” he asked in a southern accent thick as syrup.

I shook my head. That getup screamed “Brian Fallon!” Thanks for gluing yourself to my mind, dude.

This kid was tall as shit. I’m talkin’, like, two heads taller than me. Now, I’m already vertically challenged, but he was still pretty tall. Skinny, too. Almost as skinny as Ren.

He took off his hat for a second to scratch an itch. Damn. He was a ginger and it showed, too; freckles everywhere. Not that I was, you know, staring.

I glanced at him a few times because he looked interesting. Once, I peeked over and our eyes met. Then mentally I kicked myself and receded. The last thing I needed was another stupid crush.

Boy oh boy, did I choose the right day to wear my favorite Gaslight Anthem shirt.

“You like Gaslight?” the kid asked, a permanent half grin plastered to his face.

I nodded. “Favorite band.”

“My dad’s the singer,” he smiled smugly.

I laughed a little bit. That was too generic of a statement to be believable. However, like I said before, there was a little resemblance.

“Oh really?” I challenged. “Then what’s your name?”

Deer in the headlights. His body language looked so casual but his eyes were wide. “Uh…Michael.”

I raised an eyebrow. He smirked.

“McEwin. Not Fallon,” he added, tilting his head. Something in his witty eye drew me in. And when he got the singer’s last name right, I felt my heart skip a beat. “If I was his kid, I’d already have ‘The ’59 Sound’ right now. I was kidding.”

“I could tell,” I shrugged.

He folded his arms on the cafeteria table and leaned across over to me. “So you like Gaslight? Really?”

I nodded again.

“That’s funny. Ain’t nobody here who’s heard of them.”

“I know! At my old school, it was like that too,” I gushed.

Michael smiled at me and I smiled at him and oh man, I’m sorry, but holy shit, his green eyes were gorgeous.

“You’re new?” he said.

I nodded, then tilted my head. “Well, I went here for elementary school but I wasn’t here in seventh grade.”

“Ah. An old new kid,” he smirked.

“Yep.”

“So, you got a boyfriend?”

Oh, hell. A funny guy?

“Um, no,” I choked, wondering if he was being real or just being a real asshole. Also, I was somewhat wondering if I should make a white lie and say Ren had been my boyfriend for years.

“Oh. Hmm,” he added. “Hmm, hmm, hmm.” He held his head on his hand and tapped his chin. “Well, who d’you have for first period?”

“Cosby,” I muttered. I hated that dick.

“Shoot, I got him fifth,” he replied. “You guys get to use your notes on that last test?”

I made a face. “Yeah, but I still flunked it.”

He snorted a laugh. “Yeah, me too.” Then he smiled for a second and then looked at me. “Well,” he started. “…What’s your name?”

“Soria,” I said in one syllable.

“Okay, Soria. Would you like me to walk you to your class?” Michael offered.

I blushed. Dude, who does that anymore? “What about your first period?”

“I can be late,” he shrugged, still smiling.

I stared at him for a minute, feeling tingles in my fingers and a budding something in my brain. “Okay,” I agreed.

The first bell rang.

- - -

Oh, Michael McEwin. Three fourths Irish and a quarter of chivalry.

We didn’t have a single class together, but we had most of the same teachers. And somehow after we met I started seeing him more, which was weird since before it all I didn’t even know he existed. He had a vibe. If I felt the presence of a certain really tall dude standing behind me, if I turned around, it was always him.

I don’t know what it was, but it was something. He had a thing for Flogging Molly and Dropkick Murphys and even The Bouncing Souls. He even liked The Gaslight Anthem – and even with the guys in Claymore, they didn’t know who they were until I mentioned them, and then Brendan warmed up to them the most. This kid was freakin’ radical.

I just wanted someone to talk to who shared interests with me and an interest in me. Michael was a good friend. He’d open doors for me, and if we were in a crowded hallway, he’d stand close to me so I wouldn’t bump into anyone (kids are naturally scared of tall people). With us, from me to him, I was strictly friendship. When I first met a genuine guy, I do have some kind of crush-like attraction, but normally it died down. Michael wasn’t an exception.

It was cool to have a buddy who understood me. Just, a friend. The rest of the former Plaster Caster liked me, but we weren’t as similar as me and Michael were, you know? I mean, with the four of us in Claymore, there was something the majority liked, but you couldn’t hold a conversation about it when we were all together. Like Springsteen – the Boss! – me and Ren and Brendan liked him. Luke didn’t give a poop.

No fighting. No “Dude, really?” No “Oh my God, you like Goo Goo Dolls so I’m gonna stop talking to you now.” (I’m not drawing from personal experience for the last one. Really.)

It was smooth sailing. It was friendship.

It was like talking to a boy version of me. I felt like I didn’t need to lie and say I completely hated some pop song even if it totally didn’t fit in either of our SkyPods. If we found out something different about us, we’d go, “Really? Cool,” and carry on.

Michael had a problem, though.

You know how when you got a crush on someone and you look at them and they look back and you get a tingle up your spine? Yeah. When I looked at Michael that totally didn’t happen, after a few days at least. I looked at him and didn’t feel a lovey-dovey spark. I felt like smiling since that’s what we did best together.

Like I said before, Michael was a big-time gentleman. Sometimes, though, he took it a little far. I knew that if I ever saw Ren again I didn’t wanna end up on the Maury show, telling him I cheated on him when we were thirteen. I made sure not to flirt with Michael, even if he was pretty handsome and the nicest person I’d met that year in Santa Monica.

He didn’t try as hard.

Every so often we’d walk in the halls and our arms would brush. We’d look at each other and he’d smile, elbowing me just to emphasize the awkwardness.

And then there were times at the end of the school day when we hugged. It was just an, “Oh, I’ll sort of miss you,” hug. Nothing too intimate. The more we hugged, though, the longer he held on.

Eventually he wanted my phone number. Why not? I gave it to him and the day I did, he called just to say hi.

Now, I’m not keen on boys. I never have been. When a boy took an interest in me I didn’t think too much of it. Michael was different.

This kid was proof that chivalry wasn’t dead. He was sweet. He was friendly. He didn’t talk shit. I felt like I’d known him my whole life!

Problem was, he was a flirt. If we sat together on the bus or on a bench he had to scoot over as close as possible to me. I receded all the time. Then he’d notice (I wasn’t what you would call subtle) and apologize, noticeably getting a little awkward.

I could go on! I blamed my intimacy problems. I’d known him for a month, tops, and within the first few days he’d already tried to hug me. Even with the guys back in Claymore, it was a couple of weeks before I wanted to hug them.