The Way We Talk

"I think we can strike a deal. I'll come with you to your Halloween poetry reading if you come to me and Maika's gig on Wednesday."

I look up from my Sociology reading and shrug, frowning. Only Christian would make a random acoustic performance on Kogan Plaza into such a big deal, Facebook event and all, but I am excited to see him play. Since Chris is abroad, Jay isn't bothering to metro to GW, so it'll just be the two guitarists. But it's an introduction to Christian's music, and an overdue one at that.

"I can't believe that you think that a poetry reading requires a bargaining chip. It's in the Ivory conference room. You live in Ivory. It's an elevator ride away."

Christian pauses from typing a paper for some sort of Advanced Musical Theory course he's taking. "Maybe I just want to make sure you turn up to see me play."

My expression softens a little at this; he's so cute. Unsingle, though. Very, very unsingle. Stop staring at those eyes, Saunders. Fuck, could they be any prettier?

I blink in an attempt to clear my thoughts. "Do you honestly think that I'd miss your gig?"

"Nope," he responds, suddenly gleeful. His lips curve into a boyish grin, revealing two rows of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth.

Pull yourself together, Saunders, I tell myself.

In the three weeks that I've been friends with Christian, I have, as you probably deduced, developed an Africa-sized crush on him, much to the chagrin of his very beautiful but equally evil girlfriend. She does not try to keep her dislike for me a secret. As a nice gesture, I friend-requested her on Facebook; she responded with an eloquent message. You know, as nicely as you can phrase 'please get off my boyfriend's dick'.

Lovely girl, personality of dental floss.

Christian closes his Macbook and places it on the coffee table, then leans back against the couch, his arm draped over the edge. We spend a lot of time in his dorm, whether for handing out or 'studying' (or rather, hanging out with textbooks open). After all, Gelman's either too loud (bottom floor) or too quiet (fourth floor quiet room), Starbucks is definitely too loud, my dorm is tiny, and Maika doesn't really care what we do unless we break his stuff.

"So, what am I supposed to wear to a Halloween poetry reading?"

I blink at him. "I don't know, a costume?" I reply slowly, as if talking to a small child. Close enough. "It's a Halloween party except with poems instead of beer."

He laughs, poking on the shoulder. "In that case, I'll just drink beforehand."

I snort at that, closing my Soc text and throwing it in the corner. "You would pregame a poetry reading."

He shrugs, running his other hand through his messy brown hair. "Hey, I've gotta bring the party somehow." He does have a point.

"Alcoholic."

The door to their dorm opens, revealing an amused-looking Maika Maile. "Who is an alcoholic?" He asks, dropping his English books on the counter.

"Your roommate plans to attend my poetry reading drunk," I respond dryly, gesturing unimpressedly towards the boy in question.

Maika tsks in Christian's direction. "He lacks an appreciate for written word, I'm afraid."

"No," I drawl sarcastically, to which Climer pokes me in the stomach with his free hand. I did not just squeak, I swear.

"The two of you. Behave," He jokes, going to the fridge and pulling out a water bottle.

I pout at this, responding, "He started it, Daddy."

"That statement is wrong on so many levels, Saunders," Maika counters, sitting down on his recliner, "Do you two ever do any work? Every time Erica's over to study, your books are nowhere to be seen."

"You see," Christian points out, gesturing to my Sociology book. Dry piece of shit. "The problem with your logic, Maile, is that you forget to check the floor."

"Oh fuck it, Climer. You know what I mean."

It hits me that Maika's out of class, meaning that it's past six, which inevitably means that I should get my ass out to the dining hall to meet Chels and Ava at six-fifteen. "As lovely as this study session has been, I have a taco bowl at J-Street with my name on it."

Maika grimaces at this. "Burrito Del Rey is a sad excuse for Mexican food. I do not miss having to eat so many fucking meals at J-Street at all."

I sigh. "I know. Fuck my freshmanness."

--

I am told to meet Christian by the gazebo at Kogan at four pm. However, due to my ridiculous need for punctuality, I'm early. Twenty minutes early.

I should not be this excited to see Christian play.

Apparently, his band is good. At that first party at Christian and Maika's, their friend Kevin had drunkenly rambled on about how "fucking amazing those fucking fuckers" were. We proceeded to cut him off from further alcohol at that point. But everyone had agreed, just not to that same profane extent. And when Christian talks about music, his eyes light up like a little kid's.

But I probably know that because I spend too much time staring at his eyes.

"Hey, you're here early," I pull out an earbud upon seeing Maika carrying two guitar cases towards me.

"Is Christian not capable of carrying his own guitar?" I inquire, noting his absence.

Maika chuckles as he places the guitars on the steps, then runs a hand through his dark hair. "Nah, he realized that he left his GWorld in his dorm when we were in the elevator."

I nod. That's really not surprising at all. "He'll be here in a minute. Hopefully," he adds, half-shaking his head at his own joke at Christian's expense.

Sure enough, Christian soon turns the corner into Kogan with a group of three girls, and I snicker. "Hey, you're early," He notes as he bends over to grab his guitar, "What are you laughing about, Saunders?"

"Your entourage," I note dryly, my voice just loud enough for Maika and him to pick up on.

Christian half grins at this, looking up at me out of the corner of his eye as he pulls his acoustic to his lap. "Hey, what can I say? The ladies like me."

One of the girls, who I recognize as the Starbucks barista from the infamous coffee-dumping incident, giggles at this. "Who said we were here for you, Christian? After all, Maika's single and lookin' good."

Maika smirks at this, and pauses from tuning his guitar to blow a kiss at her, then winks. I wish I remembered her name.

Christian pouts, then looks pathetically at me. "But Erica still loves me, right?"

"I like that you buy me coffee." He sighs at this as I grin evilly at him, and shakes his head.

"You suck."

I shrug, folding my arms over my lap. "You wish I did, Climer."

Christian's mouth drops open at this, and his cheeks flush. That was either a very, very wrong move, or a very, very good one. Maika laughs at this amid his tuning, and the girls do not even attempt to hide their giggles. "We're going to get along. Erica, right?" I nod at barista girl, who pats me on the back while Christian pretends he's not bright red, "Any girl capable of pwning Christian's cool with me. I'm Cara, the worker at Starbucks."

"This is the girl who dumped coffee on Christian?" her redheaded friend pipes up, and I half-smile sheepishly, "I'm Emma, by the way."

I wave in response. "My reputation proceeds me."

A group of people make their way over to the gazebo. Among them is Deanna, the friendly blonde from the party. She greets me cheerfully before plopping down next to me.

I've grown to like Deanna a lot. While her choice in best friend leaves a lot to be desired, she's genuinely nice to me even if Maria isn't.

Our conversation is interupted by Maika clearing his throat. I redirect my attention towards the boys as Maika speaks up. "Hello, I'm Maika Maile and he's Christian Climer, and we are one-half of There For Tomorrow. This song is called 'Pages'."

I like the song immediately. The combination of Maika's chords and Christian's lead part is beautiful. But it's even better when Maika starts singing. "The turns you had to take still keep you awake, where you once stood. From constant changes you have made, you'll keep inside 'til you have a say."

I grin. They're good. They're really good. Christian's fingers dance along his fret board and Maika's clear voice is heard perfectly over the guitar.

"You're counting days on the back of your hands." Ah, so Christian sings too. His singing voice lacks the mature warmth of Maika's, but it's still good.

The boys transition into their next song, entitled 'Waiting', and I lean against the pillar and enjoy the music.

--

"You really thought we were that good?" Christian asks me a day later.

I adjust my fabulously trashy 80s-style prom dress in the mirror of Christian's bathroom and nod. "Well, yeah. I don't know about Jay and Chris - for all I know, they could suck - but you and Maika can hold your own."

He grins in a shy, aw-shucks kind of way. "You know, that means a lot coming from you. You've got pretty good music taste, and I obviously think you're the shit, so I'm super glad you think we're good."

I shrug, then pull out my eyeliner to sloppily line my eyes. "Why don't you sing more?"

"Um, because Maika's the lead singer?"

"No shit, Climer," I respond dryly, messily doing my mascara. Wearing makeup this bad is seriously painful. "Seriously, why don't you do more singing?"

He shrugs, pulling on his bowtie for good measure. "I'm not that great. Jay's better than me - he does some backup vocals as well - and obviously Maika whoops our asses in this respect."

I shrug; Maika is a better singer, and I've never heard Jay sing so I can't argue. "You look so hot like that by the way, Erica," he adds, to my amusement.

I study my appearance in the mirror. My foundation doesn't match my neck, my eyeliner is messy and thick, and my mascara is clumpy, with a few spots on my lids and cheekbone. I look like cheap whore, but that's kind of what I'm going for. I'm going as the trashy freshman at prom. You know the girl that begged a bunch of upperclassmen to be her date then proceeded to show up looking as trashy as she could? Yeah, I'm dressed as her.

"As do you," I reply with a smirk. Christian is dressed as my date. His hair is slicked back, and he's wearing he dorkiest glasses I've seen in awhile. His dress shirt has a large ketchup stain, and I'm pretty sure that the khakis that he's wearing belong to Jay. "I think you're just missing one important element," I add, then go up on my tip-toes to kiss his cheek. An imprint of my obnoxiously red lipstick is left, to which Christian nods in approval.

He admires his kiss print. "That is seriously going to annoy me all night, though," he mock-complains, but his grin reaffirms my belief that it's a necessary component of his costume.

We link arms and head downstairs.

--

"Christian, I really have to go back to my dorm now," I whine as my eyes catch a glance at the clock. It's minutes until midnight - eleven-fifty-one - and I'm still in Ivory. After the reading, Christian and I went back to his dorm to change back into our day clothes and wash off the makeup. To no one's surprise, we got to talking.

He pouts, throwing an arm over my shoulders, pulling me to his chest so that I can't go. "Nope, you're not going anywhere."

I sigh. The truth is, I don't want to leave. Being around Christian is effortless; I'm so comfortable with him, and I like it. He really is my best friend here. "Christian, I have UW at eight. I'm calling 4-RIDE."

"You know, you could just crash here for the night. I could loan you stuff to sleep in and a shirt to wear tomorrow. 4-RIDE's going to take a good forty-five minutes on a Thursday night."

I raise an eyebrow at his request. "Where am I supposed to sleep?"

He pats the surface of his double bed beneath us. "Come on, Ric. My bed is super comfy and yours sucks."

I scoff at this, despite its truth. My single bed in Potomac paled greatly in comparison to Christian's. To my defense, my room isn't big enough so that I can bring my own bed from home to school. How does he get the thing through the door, anyway? "You just want to say that you have a pretty girl in your bed."

"You know it." he responds, realizing that he's won that I'm slowly giving in. He leaps off his bed and heads to his dresser. He pulls out an Orlando Magic t-shirt and a pair of plaid boxers and throws them to me. I catch them and disappear into his bathroom.

The t-shirt is loose and it smells like him, a combination of his cologne and fabric softener. I study my reflection in his mirror, wearing his clothes. It's an odd thought, to say the least.

I gather my clothes in a ball and exit the bathroom, dumping my shirt, jeans, and bra by my bag. Christian goes in to brush his teeth in only his boxers, and my gaze catches a tattoo on his back, an Asian character of some sort. "What does your tattoo on your back mean?"

Christian holds up one finger, then spits. "Love in Japanese," he responds, wiping the excess toothpaste from his mouth, then rinses the brush. "You can use my toothbrush if you want to," he adds, extending it in my direction, "unless you have gonorrhea of the mouth or something, and in that case, you'll have to get that cleared up first."

I snort, unimpressed, at him and snatch the brush from his grasp. "Asshole."

He gasps in mock-hurt. Drama king. "I can't believe you are being so mean to me after I agreed to let you sleep in my bed, loaned you my clothes, and offered you my toothbrush."

"Someone wouldn't let me leave," I retort, grabbing the toothpaste and squeezing a little on the brush.

"Did I take your phone away so that you couldn't call 4-RIDE?"

"Touche," I mumble through a mouth of toothpaste. I hold my hair back and spit, then rinse the brush and set it at its place on the sink.

Christian's already in bed when I exit the bathroom, and I turn off the lights before settling next to him. His strong arm pulls me to his warm chest as I send a text to Sammy saying that I'm crashing at Christian's for the night and that I'll see her tomorrow. I set my alarm for seven-thirty and drop it on Christian's bedside table before closing my eyes.