I've Had a Funny Feeling About You

“Our what?” I ask, amused.
“Our not-date,” he says simply, running a hand through his afro of curly dark hair. “I figured since, you know, Ali and A.J. are going on a date and Trina and Joey are too, why don't we go on a not-date?”
I grin and tease, “Are not-dates even a real thing, Darren Everett?”
“Are you mocking me, Vivian...?”
“Loraine,” I tell him. “And no, I am not mocking you, sir. Only asking a simple question.”
“Well, Vivian Loraine, not-dates are completely real. In fact, the moment we step out of this car, we'll be on one.”
I raise an eyebrow playfully. “Oh really? And if I refuse to get out of the car?”
He laughs, “Then I will have to force you out myself.”
I snicker, unbuckle myself, and jump out of the car with Darren doing the same on the opposite side. I walk over to him as he smirks.
“No force necessary, I see,” he notes.
I roll my eyes mockingly. “Just didn't want you to embarrass yourself in front of all of these people.” I gesture widely to our surroundings, which is mainly cars and parking lot. Darren grins and loops his arm through mine.
We walk into the carnival excitedly, like two small children in a candy shop, and he drags me to the nearest ticket counter. I begin to stop him when he pulls out his wallet to pay for our ten dollar a piece bracelets, but he just shushes me and says, “Hey now, I pay on the not-dates. Got that?”
I groan, “Ugh, fine. But I pay for our dinner, alright?”
“If you're lucky,” he replies with a nonchalant wave of his hand. He gives the elderly lady at the ticket counter the money and she hands him two bracelets in return. Darren and I help each other put them on and run off toward the rides.
We get on the most dizzying rides first – Tilt-A-Whirl, Scrambler, and Wipeout were the ones we were very careful to get on more than once considering we wouldn't be able to hold down our food if we went on after we'd eaten. As I am about to suggest eating after our fifth time on the Scrambler, he pulls me toward the Ferris Wheel and I immediately draw back. Darren gives me a puzzled look.
“What's wrong?” he asks.
“Heights,” I respond, my eyes wide. “I hate them.”
“Didn't you get on a plane just last month to come here?”
I nod. “And I hated every second of it.”
He advances toward me and puts his arm around me comfortingly. I begin to pull away but he smiles and says, “Come on, Vivi, I won't let anything happen to you on it. Honest.” He holds up two fingers in a boy scout swear.
I stutter a few times before giving in and letting him lead me to the Ferris Wheel. My heart is pounding hard against my chest as the conductor of the ride puts us in our seat. I jump as he slams the bar keeping us in closed and locks it. When the ride starts to move, I bury my face in my hands, willing myself not to have a panic attack. I feel Darren's arm tighten around me and hear his soft chuckle.
“Vivi, you're okay.” When I don't calm down, I know he is beginning to worry. “Hey, look at me, Viv.” He takes my hands away from my face so I have to choose between looking at the ground or his face. Fear of getting sick if I looked at the shrinking ground taking over, I look up into his light hazel-green eyes. Somehow, I can already feel myself relaxing. “You're going to be fine,” he says in a calming tone. “I've got you. You won't get hurt, I swear.”
He gives me an encouraging smile and I try my best to return it, nodding slowly. With a deep breath, I put on a brave face and keep my eyes looking straight ahead. Darren squeezes my hand soothingly and I squeeze back, trying to release all tension and apprehension with it. And just like that, I manage my way through my first Ferris Wheel ride in eight years.
When the ride is over, my legs still feel very weak, like jelly almost, and Darren offers to give me a piggy back ride to the pizza stand. Gladly, I accept and he hoists me onto his back.
“So why the intense fear of heights?” Darren asks me, beginning to walk. I rest my chin on his shoulder.
“It's complicated,” I shrug.
“Let me guess. Traumatic experience when you were but a child and hated them ever since?” he asks, half-grinning.
I try to force a laugh, but there is a pang in my heart as I remember the painful reason behind my fear. Darren must have heard the unnatural quality of my chuckle because he gently sets me on the ground and turns around to face me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, a hand on my shoulder.
I don't quite meet his eyes as I reply rather harshly, “I'm fine. I just don't like to talk about it that much, okay?”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Sorry I brought it up.”
I don't answer and we walk over to the pizza stand in silence. Darren, surprisingly, did not object as I pay for the pizza and we walk over to a table. I pick at the cheese quietly, waiting for Darren to break the awkward silence.
“I really am sorry,” he finally says.
“No, I am,” I sigh. “I shouldn't have gotten mad the way I did. It's just a...touchy subject for me.”
He nods. “I won't bring it up again, alright?” He smiles and holds out his pinky
I take it in my own and return the smile. “Alright.”
We spend the rest of the time on our “not-date” riding the harmless rides that made us not want to lose our dinner. After three hours of total fun, Darren grabs my hand and we walk to his car.
“Drive by my apartment, pretty please. I need to see if Trina's car is there,” I request.
He smirks. “Why should I?”
“Because you love me and I said please,” I reply, batting my eyelashes.
He narrows his eyes and starts the car. “Only because you said please.”
I grin with triumph and turn on the stereo. As soon as the next song on the CD we'd put in earlier comes on, I burst out into laughter. It sounds like the most ridiculous mixture of “Under the Sea” from The Little Mermaid and “Miss New Booty” by Bubba Sparks. I look at Darren, who is bobbing his head along with the music like this is supposed to be normal.
“Darren,” I begin slowly, trying to master my laughter. “What the fuck is this?”
“'Under the Booty,'” he replies, as though I should have known.
“Why?”
He smiles. “Because it's fucking awesome, that's why!”
Darren starts to sing along with it and I cover my eyes with my hands. “Darren...Darren stop...Please...Stop it...Darren.”
“Oh, uncover your eyes,” he demands teasingly.
“Nope. I don't need to see this,” I laugh. I can feel him glaring at me and I release another giggle. “Glare anymore and you will burn a hole through my hand, good sir.”
He finally laughs and I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Fine, fine. I'm done with the singing and dancing, take your hand down.”
I oblige and grin at him. We settle on listening to Harry Potter dubstep until we are driving down the street of mine, Ali's, and Trina's apartment. Darren slows slightly, but speeds up again, even after I was sure of spotting Trina's car. I raise my eyebrows playfully.
“Excuse me, mister, but wasn't that Trina's car on the street?” I question, with a suspicious tone.
He scoffs, “No, of course not. If it was, I totally would have stopped. What exactly are you trying to accuse me of?”
I smirk. “You're just trying to keep me in your grasp as long as humanely possible aren't you? It's only been a month and already you can't live without me.”
“You know, I don't like your tone, Vivi.” His voice raises to a loud and dramatic yell, “Here I am, just trying to make part two of our not-date special and you are tearing me down! I just don't know what to do with you anymore. Shame on you, Vivian Loraine, for shame!”
Somehow I manage to keep a straight face and reply, “Alright, sir king of the dramatics, whisk me away to the wondrous part two of this fantastic not-date.”
“Well,” he says in a much calmer tone, though he is grinning from ear to ear. “It's not exactly wondrous, but it'll be fun, I promise you.”
“Is this half a secret, too? Because if so, I will bite your hand and I will draw blood.”
“Hey hey hey, careful with the threats!” He wags his finger at me. “And, if you must know, we're going to my apartment.”
“I thought you lived in the manor?” I say, slightly surprised.
He shakes his head. “Nah, that's, like, my second home, and it's not nearly as messy as my apartment, so I spend much more time there.”
“And what makes your apartment so special?”
“Two words. Eighties. Movies. I've got tons of 'em.”
I act like I actually have to think about whether or not this is appealing and ask, “Will there be popcorn and pajamas?”
“There will be popcorn and pajamas.”
“Then, I'm in,” I beam.
It takes us at least fifteen more minutes to get to Darren's apartment and when he said that the mess in it was worse than Starkid manor, he was not exaggerating. Darren kicks the clutter of crumpled up lyrics on paper, trinkets, and clothes away from us, making a path so that we can make it to the couch.
“Sorry about the mess,” he says sheepishly. “I never really get a chance to clean. I'm mostly hanging out at the manor, auditioning, writing, or practicing for our next musical.”
I shrug. “Trust me, messes don't bother me.” I plop down onto the couch and stretch out. “Now go fetch me pajamas and make me food, slave!”
Darren grins and disappears into a room off to the side. A few seconds later, he comes back with a white v-neck t-shirt and baggy gym shorts. He tosses them to me as he walks over toward the space for the kitchen.
“Here, go change while I make popcorn,” he says, pointing over his shoulder to another door I assume to lead to the bathroom. I nod and change quickly, tying my hair up with a hair tie and wipe off my makeup in the process. When I come out I nearly run straight into Darren, who is holding three eighties movies in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other. He looks me up and down, smiling.
“Don't you look cozy?” he notes.
I shrug. “Thought I might as well be comfy if we're going all eighties.” I steal the movies from his hand and skip to the couch. “What are we watching?”
I sit cross-legged on the couch and look through each movie and Darren sits next to me, setting the popcorn between us.
“I found us Nightmare on Elm Street, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, and The Breakfast Club. I hope you like all of them because if not you're going to be really damn disappointed.”
I laugh and eat a few pieces of popcorn. “You're just lucky that I love all things eighties.”
“Which do you want to watch first?” he asks. I hold out my favorite of the three, The Breakfast Club, and put the others aside while Darren gets up and puts the DVD in.
Halfway through the movie, I begin to realize how hard it is to keep my eyes open. Judging by the loud yawn next to me, Darren is feeling the same exhaustion. I set the empty popcorn bowl on the cluttered coffee table, grab a blanket from the floor, and lay down next to Darren, making the blanket cover both of us.
“Thanks for the not-date, Darren,” I say, exhausted.
“Best ever,” he murmurs in return, placing his hand on top of mine.
Though the couch was too small for two people to lay on and we still had two other movies lined up to watch, Darren and I both end up succumbing to the fatigue setting into our bones from our long and wonderful night and fall asleep.