Awful Direction

“Devon, I’d like to introduce you to my older brother,” Pat stated proudly, “Tim, this is Devon. The newest member of the gang.”

They shook hands politely, his practically engulfing hers, and she couldn’t help staring at the pleasant expression on Tim’s face. She couldn’t help staring, period. Honestly, Devon had felt a little uneasy when Pat first suggested she meet his brother. One Kirch boy was enough of a handful, let alone two. Frankly she found it hard to believe Pat was the youngest of four boys. Her mind was physically incapable of imagining the chaos within that household. The day she met his mother, she’d be sure to praise her for the amount of work she must’ve endured the last twenty or so years.

This boy in front of her though, looked nothing close to Pat. She stared to the point it was almost impolite, searching for some sort of resemblance, but found nothing. Tim Kirch was a tall, muscular young man with sloppy brown hair and the sweetest smile. Quite the opposite of the Pat’s naturally small, boney stature. His skin was perfectly sun-kissed, and his brown eyes lacked the wildfire which showed in his little brother’s. Instead, to Devon’s surprise, Tim’s sincere smile matched the kind look in his eyes. He dressed nearly identical to every other guy she’d met thus far; plaid shirt with the first two buttons undone, worn grey jeans (shockingly not skinny), clean Nike sneakers, and possibly the best smelling cologne to greet her nostrils.

“Nice to meet you,” Tim said when they dropped hands, “I’ve heard so many stories.”

Devon blushed. “All good, I hope.”

“Pat says you’re a master chef,” he chuckled.

“Well, Pat’s easily impressed,” she snorted, “I’m nothing special.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. I’m sure you’re a very talented cook. My brother’s picky, but he’s never complained once about your food.”

“Funny, he didn’t strike me as being picky when he gorged himself in gnocchi and ham last week.”

Tim tilted his head back, letting out a hearty laugh. “It took my mom ten years to get him to taste her ham. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you laced his food with something.”

“All master chefs have a secret ingredient,” Devon replied jokingly.

It was nice having a decent conversation with a Kirch. As much as she appreciated Pat’s company, he was hard to bear sometimes the Friday nights he stayed for dinner. She now went out of her way to make sure no sugar was included in the recipes she experimented with, having seen the worst sides of Pat due to even the smallest amount. And with Tim, the playful banter just seemed to fall naturally from her lips. This was the first time in years she’d been able to carry a conversation without fretting over making a good impression. From first glance, she knew Tim was a nice guy. The longer their conversation lasted, the more she realized they shared in common. He was a very laidback, normal kind of guy. Which was precisely what Devon needed right now; a little normalcy.

“So Devon,” Tim said, “Tell me, why aren’t you out there enjoying yourself with the rest of the girls?”

The two of them turned, unintentionally, at the same time to watch their friends on the dance floor. Tonight was supposed to be a big celebration of the boys’ next tour with Boys Like Girls and Cobra Starship, which they’d be leaving for in two days. It was Ketely’s idea to go out with a BANG, the other’s simply agreed for the booze. The moment they walked through the door, everyone split up into their own little clusters to either dance or drink their lives away. She and Jared had been the only ones to find a small booth and drink in peace, Devon with a small Sprite and Jared with a Bud Light. They hadn’t talked much, but she was thankful he didn’t try. Between the loud music and screaming, drunk strangers, Devon only figured talking over the beat of the bass would worsen her migraine.

She couldn’t help but laugh at the three couples and the way their dancing defined their relationships to a T. Ketely and Garrett were merely bopping to the beat, occasionally banging their heads back and forth, whereas Anika and Kennedy grinded against each other shamelessly along with all the other couples on the dance floor. In the corner stood Tamerah and Pat expressing themselves through a peculiar, robotic-looking dance, despite the quick tempo of the song.

And finally, there was Devon. With no one to define a relationship with.

“I’m just not a dancer,” she lied, bringing her Sprite to her glossed lips.

Tim shrugged nonchalantly saying, “I can respect that.”

A few short words were casually tossed between them, as simple small talk, before Tim looked over Devon’s shoulder and chuckled quietly.

She raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“John’s trying to kill me with his eyes,” he stated bluntly.

Sure enough, when Devon whipped around she was face to face with John’s green pools, twisted into an irritated glare. Her cheeks flushed five thousand shades of red suddenly and her plastic cup was now the most interesting object in the club. Perhaps she should’ve spoken up and told Tim it was her John was giving the stink eye, but she was too afraid of scaring him away. Or pissing him off for basically torturing his best friend. Instead she hid herself behind her think, brown curls, building a thin wall between her gaze and the lanky boy’s across the room.

They still hadn’t spoken; for three weeks now. For Devon, it was out of curiosity, and for John she assumed due to unfathomable rage. Because of her pride she’d never admit it aloud, but inside Devon was all but screaming apologies in John’s face. She wanted to go back to being how they were before she screwed everything up and made it awkward. Several times she’d even picked up her phone to call his number, but humiliation got the best of her and she simply sulked in her room.

“Did I miss something?” Tim asked, turning away from John with an amused grin, “Are you interested in John Oh?”

“W-what?” the blush on Devon’s cheeks burned brighter, “No! We’re just friends! Or at least, we were…”

“I’m sensing there’s been some recent tension?”

She let a long sigh fall from her pink lips. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, whatever it is, I guess he’s ready to talk about it.”

Saying this, Tim pointed a slender finger at John, who was now approaching their table. Devon’s heart leaped in her chest from both excitement and anxiety. Was he going to scream in her face? Tell her he hated her guts and never wanted to speak again? Or was he, as Tim said, ready to talk about what they’d been putting off for the last three weeks?
Whether she was ready or not didn’t matter, because he’d already reached the table.

“Sorry to interrupt,” John said monotone, “But I need to talk to Devon.”

He looked her right in the eyes before adding, “Privately.”

Nothing John said demanded she follow him out of the club. Hell, she even had enough willpower to say no if she wanted. It was just what she’d been waiting to hear since the first day they shunned each other, and with the desire to mend the awkwardness between them in mind she stood from her chair and followed John to wherever he wanted. When she looked back, mouthing a quick apology to Tim, he smiled his sweet smile and gave her a reassuring thumbs up.

And Devon knew she was ready to sort everything out with John.

*~*

What the fuck are you doing? the devil on his shoulder screamed, You’re a damn moron!

Yet she stood without any objection, and followed John outside the club where it was nice and quiet. When the cool are hit her exposed spots, a violent shutter shook Devon’s entire body. She wrapped her thin arms around her chest, as if it would help, but that hardly stopped the trembling. The conflicting emotions clashing in John’s chest kept him from offering her his leather jacket, or wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Instead he simply turned around every so often to make sure she hadn’t run in the other direction.

Great you got her outside. Now what? the devil laughed mockingly, She probably hates you. She has every right to hate you. You dick.

The pack of cigarettes in his back jeans pocket were virtually calling his name. Even after a week of planning, of preparing the right words, John was completely clueless on how he was supposed to apologize. All it took was one look into her muddy brown orbs, and everything he’d been thinking to say evaporated from his mind. God, he missed her vintage clothing; and the accessories which looked like something straight out of her grandmother’s closet. He missed the way her brown hair bounced every time she laughed, and the way her eyes got all squinty when she smiled like a cheeky five year old. He missed just Devon Hennings as a whole, but against his will.

Perhaps he might’ve spoken to Devon sooner, had he not been spending the last week secluded in his room studying his own emotions. Constantly asking himself the same question over and over like a broken record. Did he like her more than a friend? Looking at her now, the way the stars and moonlight gave her tanned skin an angelic glow, John still couldn’t decide. He was still waiting for this big ah-ha moment where the everlasting thunder cloud over his head would clear and suddenly the world would be nothing but rainbows and butterflies.

They’d stopped walking, now on the side of the building, and were just sitting in a discomforting silence. Devon chewing on her lower lip, while John ran his hands through his hair. Neither of them knowing where to begin.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered finally.

John couldn’t help but look surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said I’m sorry,” she repeated, “For taking you to Daisy’s grave I mean…It was none of my business and I should’ve just waited until you were ready to talk about it. So, I’m sorry.”

All he could think of to do was stare at the girl in front of him in awe. She was apologizing to him. For trying to help, nonetheless. For doing what a good friend should’ve done! When it had been he who lost it and verbally assaulted her. Only to have his words come back and kick him in the teeth anyway. He had been a true asshole, through and through, while her only crime was caring about the wellbeing of a friend. The thought was so ridiculous it caused John to erupt in a fit of laughter.

“Why are you laughing?” she asked slowly.

He had to wait until he could control himself again. “I can’t believe you feel like you have to apologize. You really are something else, Devon.”

“B-but I have to apologize! Why aren’t you angry at me? I did something stupid and—’’

“Devon,” John cut her off, “Please, don’t worry about it. You did nothing wrong. If anything I should be thanking you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For caring about me when no one else did,” he replied with a shrug, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

She jumped a little at his words and blushed so furiously John could see it through the dark. Her voice rose two octaves as she frantically explained that he had no reason to thank her, she was intruding in his personal bubble, and if anything she wanted him to be angry with her. But goddamn it he couldn’t do that when she was babbling so nervously in the cutest way. It was one of those moments where you shut her up with a gentle, unexpected kiss; but doing so would’ve been completely inappropriate at a time like this. When his heart was fighting a heated battle between his hormones.

He hadn’t even noticed the awkward silence around them until Devon quietly cleared her throat, tugging down on the hem of her peach dress. John might’ve said something, if he wasn’t so fixated on the way her clothing emphasized her round curves flawlessly. The mere sight of her made his mouth water and suddenly a thousand dirty images were all he could think about. How smooth her bare skin must feel against his fingers, how perfectly her naturally pink lips would move against his, how sweet she’d sound sighing his name.

John was lost in his perverse imagination for at least five minutes without Devon so much as batting an eyelash. The way she looked at him silently, patiently waiting for him to speak, made it that much harder to keep his hands by his sides. The two of them were so close, a mere three layers of clothing keeping them apart. A slight breeze brushed between them, causing Devon’s brown curls to dance in front of her face and the sweet scent of her shampoo to kiss John’s nostrils. Dear god it was as if the angels in heaven were begging him to rip off her clothes.

Too much self-control was needed to bring himself back to reality, or to look at the girl in front of him without visualizing something sexual. John suppressed the urge to kiss every inch of Devon’s body and reminded himself that their relationship was strictly friendly. And that neither of them was in any state to become romantically involved, himself in particular.

Whatever you’re feeling..stop. Daisy’s familiar voice cooed in his ear maliciously.

And like a trained puppy, John obeyed.

“Tell me about your mother,” he stated bluntly.

Devon looked up from her boots with a suspicious facial expression. “Well…uhm..what do you want to know about her?”

“Anything,” John shrugged, trying to be calm and collected, “What was she like?”

The sudden spark in Devon’s eyes made his heart beat faster. It wasn’t anything special, in fact it was hardly noticeable and had John not been staring into her muddy pools he wouldn’t have seen, but it was a quick glimpse of pride. A small hint of how proud Devon was of her mother.

“She was…” Devon paused to find the proper words, “my role model. I don’t even know how to describe her. She was everything a mother should be. I wouldn’t have changed anything about my mom. When life handed her lemons, she made lemonade for the whole neighborhood. I remember when I was a little girl I would sneak into her closet, put on some of her clothes, and hope that when I looked in the mirror I would look just like her. Even today I wish I looked like her. She was flawless.”

A light blush colored her cheeks as Devon realized just how much she had said, as if she wasn’t used to having so much of the spotlight. John wondered when the last time she actually talked about herself was. Studying her body language it didn’t seem to be recently. It was, for some reason, attractive to John, the way Devon didn’t like talking about herself. She was more of a listener, rather than a speaker. She knew the right times to nod her head, or make a comment, and she knew exactly what to say when it was over. Although in the short moment she had been talking, John saw a sort of new glow on Devon’s skin as her voice went on and on. Like an excited child finally able to talk after being shhhed by their mother a dozen times. He enjoyed the sound of her voice.

A little too much..Daisy spat.

“Now you have to tell me something about Daisy,” Devon said.

John’s entire body tensed, but he knew putting up a fight wouldn’t do any good. Some way or another she’d make him talk. “She was,” unlike her, he knew exactly what he wanted to say, “unbelievably emotional.”

Devon giggled. “What?”

“She was! Everything a person should feel, Daisy felt ten times more. If she was happy, she was happy. If she was pissed, she was PISSED. It was hard to keep up with sometimes, but it made our relationship…exciting.”

“That’s what you have to say about her?” Devon let out a snort. “You’re practically in love with this girl and all you have to say is ‘she’s unbelievably emotional’? Geez John to get too romantic.”

“Shut up!” John laughed. “I was just being honest!”

“Well, Mr. Honesty, tell me something about how she died then.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t really think about it…” she chewed on her lower lip. “What do you want me to know?”

There were a few seconds of awkward silence before John could think of anything. He’d never gotten very personal with girls, even Daisy. They never seemed interested in anything outside of magazine gossip and nail polish. After she died, it almost felt as if Daisy had dated a complete stranger, and John desperately wished they had, had the time to figure each other out.

“It was just a car accident,” he muttered shyly.

Devon didn’t even flinch. “Were you driving?” she asked out of curiosity.

“No,” John sighed, “But I sure wish I was.”

Before even giving her a chance to reply, or shower him with pity, John looked Devon in the eyes—trying so hard not to get lost again—and kindly asked, “Did you ever end up seeing your mother when you looked in the mirror, Devon?”

She thought long and hard. So long John thought they’d freeze to death in the unusual, bitter weather. Devon didn’t seem to mind the cold anymore, but John sure wished she did so they could get back inside. Yet part of him crossed his fingers hoping she never wanted to go back inside, and just wanted to spend the rest of the night trying to get to know him.

“I don’t know yet.”

It was short. It was sweet. It was, somehow, the perfect answer.

“When we go back inside,” And I really hope it isn’t soon, he added mentally, “Will you save me a dance?”

The biggest smile danced across Devon’s face as she nodded excitedly.

“Honestly,” she admitted with an angelic laugh, “I thought you’d never ask.”