The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows

Michael

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I’m really not a big fan of tour parties. Especially not on our bus. Spilt drinks, stolen items, and a trashed lounge always seem to be the only end result to them.

But as my tour mates insist…

I make my way through the people I don’t know in our bus with some difficulty, accompanied only by a drink in my hand.

I’m clearly not paying enough attention, because the next thing I know, I lose my balance, bump into Nate Novarro, and my cup is knocked from my hand and into some girl’s lap, splashing its contents all over her white shirt.

She closes her eyes and sighs to herself as if she were expecting something like this to happen.

As if she’s resigned to the fact that the universe enjoys conspiring against her or something.

And I’m frozen to the spot and staring like the clumsy idiot I apparently am.

“I’m sorry!” I find myself exclaiming, causing her to open her eyes to at least acknowledge me. Her light eyes meet my surely flustered-pink face. “Here,” I say, motioning for her to follow me towards the back of the bus.

I hear her sigh again, but I guess she decides she has no choice but to follow the path I’m clearing through the crowded bus.

“Nice look for you,” a dark haired guy teases her as he passes us in the opposite direction.

“Fuck off, Leo,” she mutters back, still following me.

We find ourselves cramped in the small bathroom, her examining her mostly soaked and now see-through shirt with wordless dismay, and me still thoroughly apologetic and embarrassed.

I glance around the tiny square of an excuse for a bathroom and grab a light blue v-neck of mine off a hook on the door and hold it out to her.

“Here. It’s mine. I swear it’s clean,” I offer.

She hesitates, but looks down at her nearly-transparent shirt again and then quickly accepts it, along with a towel I pass her. She pauses before turning her back to me.

“Could you-”

“I’ll turn around,” I say awkwardly, immediately starting to do so. I feel my face getting redder by the second.

I don’t realize I’ve turned to face the mirror until she’s already hastily peeling off her sticky white tank top and toweling herself off.

“Uh…” I freeze, unintentionally admiring the soft contours of her shoulder blades in the reflection, the way her magenta-red hair clashes with her peach skin, the almost-unnoticeable birthmark in the middle of her back…

I close my eyes before she turns back around to catch me.

“Okay,” she finally says, and I open my eyes, turning around to meet her light greenish-gray ones. She blinks, breaking the stare after a few seconds.

“I’m really sorry,” I manage to apologize again, pushing the door back open. She doesn’t get a chance to reply.

“Yeah, Chizzy!” someone claps a hand on my shoulders in approval after eyeing my bathroom companion in my t-shirt as we emerge from the small bathroom.

She rolls her eyes in disgust then mutters a short ‘thank you’ to me just before pushing back through the crowd to the front of the bus.

I sigh and get another cup.