Stories In Scars
Can't Get You Out Of My Head
The next morning, I went job hunting. But all I could think about was dinner. And that kiss. That wonderful kiss. That kiss was like none other. It was like dancing. It was like...
“So if you care to find me,
Look towards the western sky,
As someone told me lately,
Everyone deserves the chance to fly!”
Damn. My phone. Oh, nevermind, not damn. It was Ryan.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hi. Grey? It’s Ryan. Uh, from last night.”
“Hey!” I replied, a bit too enthusiastically, “What’s up?”
“My friend, Jon, wants to come to dinner with us. Is that OK? Oh, and there’s this really good pizza place that Spencer and I like.”
I reply, “Um sure. I mean, I really don’t care who comes. I mean, I’d love to meet Jon. And pizza sounds great.”
“Okay then... I’ll pick you up at around seven-ish?”
“Sounds lovely. Um... Bye.”
Click.
Okay, seven-ish. That means I have... thirty minutes to get ready! Dammit. What am I going to wear? My hair looks like shit!
“Breathe,” I tell myself, “Just breathe.”
I walk into my closet, and decide on my old, faded skinny jeans and a black To Write Love On Her Arms shirt. TWLOHA is a very important organization to me, since it helps people who battle depression and self-injury. I try to support their clothing as much as I can. For shoes I choose my ever-trusty red Converse that I’ve had forever.
I run into the shower, trying to hurry. When I’m done, I blow dry my hair. Dammit. I have so much hair. Why do I like my hair long? My mid-back, now red hair, was wavy and thick. When it finally dried, I put it in a messy bun-type-thing, and slipped on a thick red headband. When the doorbell rang, I just finished putting on my mascara, my last step in beauty-dom.
“Oh, hi Ryan.”
“Hey.”
“Um, come in. I just have to get my shoes and stuff.”
“This is a really nice place,” he said, trying to make small talk.
“Thanks. It was the only place I could afford.” I ran and grabbed my shoes and bag. “Ready.”
In his car, there was a slight tension. From the kiss, most likely.
“You know,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about that kiss last night. All day. I really can’t stop thinking about it. And you.”
What!? Did he really just say that?!
“Me too. It’s been on my mind all day,” I admitted.
“So if you care to find me,
Look towards the western sky,
As someone told me lately,
Everyone deserves the chance to fly!”
Damn. My phone. Oh, nevermind, not damn. It was Ryan.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hi. Grey? It’s Ryan. Uh, from last night.”
“Hey!” I replied, a bit too enthusiastically, “What’s up?”
“My friend, Jon, wants to come to dinner with us. Is that OK? Oh, and there’s this really good pizza place that Spencer and I like.”
I reply, “Um sure. I mean, I really don’t care who comes. I mean, I’d love to meet Jon. And pizza sounds great.”
“Okay then... I’ll pick you up at around seven-ish?”
“Sounds lovely. Um... Bye.”
Click.
Okay, seven-ish. That means I have... thirty minutes to get ready! Dammit. What am I going to wear? My hair looks like shit!
“Breathe,” I tell myself, “Just breathe.”
I walk into my closet, and decide on my old, faded skinny jeans and a black To Write Love On Her Arms shirt. TWLOHA is a very important organization to me, since it helps people who battle depression and self-injury. I try to support their clothing as much as I can. For shoes I choose my ever-trusty red Converse that I’ve had forever.
I run into the shower, trying to hurry. When I’m done, I blow dry my hair. Dammit. I have so much hair. Why do I like my hair long? My mid-back, now red hair, was wavy and thick. When it finally dried, I put it in a messy bun-type-thing, and slipped on a thick red headband. When the doorbell rang, I just finished putting on my mascara, my last step in beauty-dom.
“Oh, hi Ryan.”
“Hey.”
“Um, come in. I just have to get my shoes and stuff.”
“This is a really nice place,” he said, trying to make small talk.
“Thanks. It was the only place I could afford.” I ran and grabbed my shoes and bag. “Ready.”
In his car, there was a slight tension. From the kiss, most likely.
“You know,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about that kiss last night. All day. I really can’t stop thinking about it. And you.”
What!? Did he really just say that?!
“Me too. It’s been on my mind all day,” I admitted.