Love Like Woe

“Alright, that’s the end of class for today. I recommend all of you start writing your papers tonight, I need them on my desk next Thursday once class begins. Have a great day!” My college professor, Mr. Wilson, said, concluding class for the day.

As I stepped out into the hallway, I started brainstorming in my head what I would write my essay about.

It was raining pretty bad outside; the streets were flooding and the light blue sky flashed a neon blue color. As I ran to my car, a loud “BOOM” erupted from the sky. I groaned in annoyance as I pulled my hood up and picked up my speed, eager to get to my warm dry car.

Once I got inside my Lexus, I pulled down the overhead mirror and examined myself. My hood was soaking wet and so was my hair. What little mascara I’d swiped on my eyelashes this morning was streaming down my cheeks; and to top that all off, I was freezing.

I grumbled to myself. If there was one thing I disliked about Chicago, it was the weather. Almost May and it was freezing cold outside. I, as well as many other Chicago residents, was dying for some sunshine. I turned the heat all the way up and started the engine.

For the remainder of the ride, I planned out exactly what the rest of my night would consist of. Once home, I’d make dinner for Layla and myself, make sure she starts her homework, and then I would spend the rest of my night in my room, working on my paper, with a nice hot cup of tea.

I pulled into the driveway, grabbed my hand bag, and made a mad dash to the door.

“Layla!” I yelled as I closed the door and set my purse on the table. “You home?”

“In the living room!” she replied.

I walked into the living room only to find Layla plopped on the couch, a bag of chips in one hand, and a can of soda in the other, watching TV.

I snatched the bag of chips from her hand and glared at her.

“Layla! I’m going to make dinner for you!” I scolded, putting my free hand on my hip to let her know I was serious.

She looked up at me, “Sorry, I can’t help that I got hungry waiting for you for the past two hours.”

I let out a long sigh as I grabbed the remote from the table and clicked the power button.

“You could’ve at the very least eaten a healthier snack,” I lamented. Health was something that no one in my family cared for, save me. They ran on pure sugar, I was sure. “Go upstairs and start your homework, I’ll call you down when dinner is ready.”

Layla obeyed, but not before she rolled her big eyes at me.

I went into the kitchen and searched the cabinets for something edible that would suffice for two people.

The first thing I found were a couple of boxes of Angel Hair pasta. I grabbed them and placed them on the counter as I searched the fridge for tomato sauce.

“Bingo,” I said, grabbing the jar of Prego sauce from the refrigerator door.

I pulled out a large pot from the cabinet, filled it with water, and set it on the stove. Then I pulled out the saucepan, poured some tomato sauce into it, and let it warm up on the stove as well. I decided to go see if Layla needed any help with her homework. That is, if she had even listened to me and started it.

When I opened the door to her room I was shocked to see that she was actually working diligently on her homework.

She whipped her head around and glared at me, “Ever heard of knocking?”

I was going to scold her for talking to me like that, but then I remembered how much I hated when she, Tristan, or even mom walked into my room without knocking when I was younger.

“I’m sorry, it slipped my mind,” I apologized, trying to avoid an argument.

She just nodded and continued writing in her notebook. I walked up to her desk and put my hand on her shoulder.

“You need any help?”

She sighed and put her pencil down, “Yeah, I’m having some trouble with my Algebra homework.”

Math was one of my best subjects when I was in school, so I pulled up a chair next to Layla and helped her through her homework.

Once she finally understood it I looked up at the clock, I had been helping Layla for almost half an hour.

“I better go finish making the pasta. You need anymore help?” I asked, while making my way out of her room.

“No, thank you. But can you bring my dinner upstairs for me? I have an essay that I need to type and email to my teacher tonight.”

I nodded but I couldn’t help being slightly disappointed. I never like eating alone, but I guess I would have to tonight.

I checked on the water, watching the bubble roll over, indicating that it was boiling, bubbles were erupting on the surface. I opened two boxes of Angel hair pasta and broke each bundle of pasta in half, then submerged it into the boiling water. I closed the lid and checked on the tomato sauce. It was already simmering so I lowered the heat and let it continue to warm up.

I set the kitchen timer to 15 minutes and decided to go on facebook or something while I waited. I pulled my laptop out of my messenger bag and placed it on the dining room table, sitting down as it fired up.

I opened Mozilla Firefox and typed in ‘facebook.com’, I entered my email and my password and checked my very few notifications. Two people posted on my wall, one person liked my status, and I had a friend request.

I decided to check my friend request first. When I clicked on the icon a name that had been constantly mentioned in my life lately popped up.

‘Jack Barakat’

I rolled my eyes playfully and laughed silently. I clicked on the name and it redirected me to his profile. His profile picture was him and another guy whom I realized was Alex from the club a week ago. The only other information on his profile was his sex.

I decided that I would accept his friend request. He had been so generous towards me so why not?

I continued surfing the Internet until the timer finally went off, signalling that the noodles were ready.

I walked into the kitchen and opened the pot of boiling water. I grabbed a noodle from the top and held it between my fingers. A smile spread across my face as I remembered making spaghetti with my mom when I was younger. She always taught me a trick to tell if the noodles were ready or not. She’d take one noodle and whip it at the wall, if it stuck, the noodles were ready; but if it falls to the ground, they need more time.

A feeling of nostalgia washed over me as I whipped the noodle at the wall in front of me. Success, I thought as it bonded to the wall.

I drained the water from the noodles and mixed in the tomato sauce. I grabbed a tray, placed a plate full of pasta, silverware, and a cup of ice cold water on it and made my way back to Layla’s room.

This time, I made sure to knock and wait for permission to enter Layla’s room.

“Come in.”

I walked into her room and placed her dinner in front of her.

“Eat up. I don’t want you to go to bed hungry,” I said, sitting in the chair next to me.

She nodded, her eyes still fixed on her Algebra book, examining a word problem that she was probably having trouble with.

I frowned, a bit disappointed that that was it for our conversation and let out a deep sigh as I walked to the door.

“I’ll be in my room, let me know if you need anything,” I said, before finally leaving her alone.

I fixed myself a plate of food as well before grabbing my laptop from the dining room table, turning out all the lights, and going to my own room to start typing my paper.

I slipped into my favorite pair of PINK booty shorts and a plain black t-shirt, climbed into my bed, and opened up my laptop.

As I began typing I found myself getting distracted and having to snap myself back to reality and resume typing once more. Truth was, for some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about Jack.

I couldn’t describe the feeling, but there was something about him that made me feel… nice.

And I didn’t really know if I liked it or not. It amazed me that I even after I saw the way he danced and looked at all those other girls, I couldn’t get him off my mind. As much as I knew that if I got myself involved with him, I would just be another “pretty face” (as Jesse McCartney would say), there was another part of me that said that maybe Jack’s intentions were good, and he could be trusted.

I mean, why would he go through all this trouble of buying and sending me all these unnecessary gifts if he just wanted to “screw around”?

But then again, maybe he did this routine with other girls, too. Like in those sappy movies where these good-looking guys get every girl they want, but then one girl comes along who doesn’t even give him the time of day, and then he becomes more attracted to her. What if I’m just playing the role of the “hard-to-get” girl?

But wait, those sappy movies always end with the guy eventually winning the girl over, and then they fall in love and live happily ever after. Right?

I mentally cursed myself. I sounded like an unrealistic little girl who believed in fairy tales. I needed to stop making up these silly little fantasies in my head.

Growing frustrated with myself, I placed my computer on the bedside table. I could work on my essay later.

I grabbed my iPod and plugged it into the speakers I’d bought from RadioShack a few months ago. That was probably one of the most useful things I’d ever purchased, simply because tended to play music from my iPod before bed. It relaxed me, creating a lulling effect that helps me fall asleep faster.

I put my iPod on shuffle and lowered the volume so it would only be audible to me.

Ironically enough, The Only Exception by Paramore started to float through the speakers.

And as my eyelids began to flutter shut, one specific lyric of the song kept echoing in my head..

“… You are the only exception, and I'm on my way to believing. Oh and I'm on my way to believing…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*BING*

My eyes shot open and I looked around the room, confused.

“What the hell was that?” I whispered to myself. The sunlight poured in through my window. I groaned and almost threw myself back into bed when I heard it again.

*BING*

I whipped my head towards the sound and my eyes landed on my laptop that was sitting on the bedside table.

I picked it up and placed it on my lap. I looked at the screen and the message flashing on my Facebook tab.

“New Message from Jack Barakat!”

I quickly clicked on the tab and read the messages Jack had sent.

Jack Barakat: Wow, you actually accepted my friend request. I’m shocked.

Well what’s the point of being friends if you’re just going to ignore me?!

I smiled at his messages and began typing a response.

Arianna Roberts: Sorry, I was sleeping.

I waited for a while and then the symbol indicating that Jack was typing appeared.

Jack Barakat: Did I wake you up?

Arianna Roberts: Haha, yeah. But it’s okay, I have go out and run a few errands soon.

Jack Barakat: Sorry about that.

Arianna Roberts: It’s okay. Btw, thank you so much for the flowers, the beer, and the halter top. You really didn’t have to.

Jack Barakat: Yes I did. Did you like the shirt? Did it fit?

I mentally “aww’d” that he cared so much before I typed my response.

Arianna Roberts: Yes, it was perfect.

Jack Barakat: Hopefully you’ll like my next present.

My eyes widened, did he seriously have more in store? Oh boy.

Arianna Roberts: NEXT present? Jack, seriously, apology accepted, thank you. No need to shower me with gifts!

Jack Barakat: It’s not just forgiveness that I want.

I cocked my head at the screen, confused. What else could he possibly want?

Arianna Roberts: What do you mean?

Jack Barakat: Talk to you later, Arianna.

And with that Jack logged off. Leaving me hanging, like the end of a chapter in a really good book.

I turned off my laptop and put it back on my bedside table.

I heard the muffled sound of my AT&T ringtone playing. I searched through the bundled up sheets on my bed and found my phone.

I read the caller ID. It was Mike.

“Hello?” I answered.

Mike’s what seemed like tired voice answered, “Hey, you awake?”

“Nope, I’m sleep-talking,” I said sarcastically.

“Shut up and open the door,” Mike chuckled.

I laughed and ended the call, grabbing a sweater and pulling it over my tank top as I made my way downstairs.

I opened the door and there was Mike, standing with a manila envelope in his hand. I looked at him, confused.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the envelope.

“I got it out of your mailbox for you. It’s from a,” he paused to inspect the writing. “‘Jack Barakat’?” Mike finished in a question. He probably couldn’t read the hand writing.

I snatched the envelope from his hand and took it into the kitchen with me, Mike following close behind.

“Who is he?” Mike inquired, peering over my shoulder to read the letter once I opened it.

Ignoring him, I ripped open the top with my finger. Inside was a book with a sticky note on top.

The title of the book was “Zodiac Signs - Compatability”.

What could this mean? I ripped off the sticky note and read it.

Page 42, paragraph 3

I dropped the sticky note and flipped to the page. The top read, “Gemini & Cancer Romantic Compatibility”.

In high school I’d taken an astrology class for fun, and remembered that Gemini was May 22 to June 21.

“...I’ll be 23 on June 18th..”

Jack was a Gemini.

I smiled and went to the third paragraph and started reading.

"When Gemini and Cancer come together in a love affair, it may be a rather curious relationship. Sensitive, emotional Cancer has trouble communicating clearly, but clear communication is what defines Gemini. Gemini's chivalrous nature and silver tongue may encourage the Crab to come out of its shell more quickly than usual; Cancer, in turn, can teach Gemini to slow down and appreciate the world, which the frenetic Twins hardly ever take time to do. If Gemini seems to ignore Cancer or doesn't provide them with as much reassurance and intimacy as Cancer needs, trouble may ensue. These two Signs approach the world in such different manners that they must be able to understand and accept one another's differences."

I was shocked by how accurate the paragraph had depicted me and my personality when it came to relationships. Even though I’d taken it as an elective, I wasn’t all that into astrology, but this was just so painfully true.

“I repeat, who is this guy?” Mike asked again, breaking me out of my train of thought.

“Maybe you would know if you weren’t so drunk that night at Angels & Kings.” I said, closing the book, clutching it to my chest and walking into the kitchen.

“Hold on. Is this the guy who took us home? And sent you those roses?” Mike asked, almost appalled.

I nodded my head, looking at him.

Mike raised his eyebrow at me, “Why is he sending you gifts?”

I shrugged, “I don’t know. He also sent me a new halter top and a six pack of beer, but that was because he ruined my other top when he knocked over my drinks right onto me.”

Mike rolled his eyes at me, “Look, Arianna, I know guys. He isn’t just sending you all these gifts to apologize. He’s obviously into you.”

“So THAT’S why he asked me for my number the night that he dropped us off at home!” I exclaimed sarcastically. “I wondered what an exchange of such nature could mean. Thank God for you, Mike.”

Mike looked at me, dumbfounded, “So he does like you?”

“I guess so,” I said, skimming through the book Jack sent me instead of paying attention to Mike.

“Then why not just call or text you instead of sending you ridiculous gifts?” Mike asked, sounding a bit irritated.

“Because I didn’t give him my number. And the gifts aren’t ridiculous, I actually think it was very sweet of him!” I said, growing irritated myself.

“So you DO like him!” Mike said, raising his voice.

“I never said that!” I responded, making my voice equally loud.

“Oh please, Arianna, give me a break! I saw the way you smiled when you read that compatibility mumbo-jumbo! Just admit it, you like him!” Mike yelled, slamming his hand on the counter for emphasis.

“I’m done talking about this. And why are you suddenly getting so mad, anyway?” I asked him, raising my eyebrow.

Mike shrank back in his seat, “It’s just that… I don’t know. Forget it.”

I opened my mouth to try to convince him to tell me what was really on his mind, but just then, Layla walked in.

“Seriously, guys? It’s 10:30 in the morning, why are you arguing?”

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Mike said as nicely as he could.

I smiled apologetically at her, “Sorry if we woke you.”

“It’s fine.” She said, grabbing a bowl from the sink, a box of cereal, milk, and a spoon. She took a seat next to Mike and started pouring her cereal in the bowl.

“What’s that?” Layla asked, referring to the book lying on the counter.

“A book that Arianna’s admirer sent her,” Mike answered dully.

I glared at him, I wasn’t sure that I wanted Layla to know all the details about Jack.

Layla raised her eyebrow at me, “Admirer? Who is he?”

Mike picked up the envelope and read it again, “A Mr. Jack Barakat.”

Layla dropped her spoon and put her hand on her chin, “Jack Barakat… why does that sound so familiar?”

Mike shrugged and placed the envelope back on the table.

“Well… he is in a band,” I told Layla, curious to see if that was why she recognized the name.

Mike looked up, interested again, “What band?”

“All Time Low,” I replied, carefully reading each of their faces.

“Shut up!” Layla suddenly yelled.

“You know them?” I asked her.

“Yeah! I mean, I’m not a huge fan. But I listen to their music, and I think they’re great. I just can’t believe that the guitarist from All Time Low has a crush on you.”

“Why’s that so hard to believe?” I inquired, feeling a bit offended.

Layla quickly corrected herself, “No, I don’t mean it like that. It’s just that, a lot of my friends like All Time Low. And I can’t wait to tell them that MY sister personally knows Jack Barakat!”

“Whoa, whoa Layla, slow down, there. First of all, I don’t personally know him. He dropped me off and helped me get piss-drunk Mike inside the house a week ago when we went to the club and second of all…”

Layla cut me off, “Wait! Jack Barakat was HERE? In OUR house?”

I sighed, “Yes, Layla... But that’s not the point. I would REALLY appreciate it…”

She interrupted me again, “This is unreal! I wish I was here! I could’ve met THE Jack Barakat!”

“Layla would you PLEASE listen to what I have to say?” I asked, raising my voice.

Layla stopped talking and looked at me intently.

“As I was saying, I would really appreciate it if you didn’t tell your friends about Jack and how he was at our house. Next thing you know we’ll be all over the internet and then rumors would spread that I’m dating him, and I don’t think he’d like that very much. Our family has been through the rumor mill before and both you and I didn’t like it, remember?”

“But...”

This time I cut her off, “Layla, please... I’m serious. Don’t tell anyone.”

She sighed, “Fine. But if he ever comes here again you have to introduce him to me!”

I rolled my eyes at her and got up from my chair. “I have to go run a few errands before mom comes home tonight. Any of you want to tag along?”

“No thank you,” Layla said, putting her bowl into the sink.

I looked at Mike, “And you?”

“I think I’m just gonna go home,” he replied. And with that Mike got up and made his way to the door.

He opened the door and stepped outside to make his way to his car.

“Mike, wait,” I stopped him.

He turned around, “Yeah?”

“Are you mad at me?”

He sighed deeply and shook his head, “No.”

I looked at him, unconvinced. He walked towards me and stood right in front of me.

“I promise, I’m not mad at you. Okay?”

I nodded my head and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a tight squeeze.

“I’ll text you later,” he said, pulling away from me.

“Okay, bye Mike.”

I watched from the door as he got into his car and drove off. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it.

Something was still telling me that Mike was not okay.