Eitilt: Catch a Falling Star

I breathed in deep, feeling the nicotine scrape my veins and settle into my lungs. It was a welcomed friend, a compassionate lover, and a desperately needed escape from reality. I took another drag from the cigarette dangling in my fingers, the smoke drifting past the rough feeling in my throat. The knot that was beginning to form with every hit made me know that every feeling that washed through me would only be as bitter as the taste on my tongue. Another drag lit up my face as the glowing end blazed brighter and dulled back to a low red, the vibrant colour flaring up and dying down.

The cold brick wall behind me was a pair of hands, supporting me and keeping me up as I leaned harder against it. I crossed my free arm across my torso, feeling more secure as my own hand wrapped around my ribs, holding myself in. The feeling of the crumbling stone behind me reminded me of how short my dress was, the material barely a layer between the brick and I. However, it hadn't mattered three hours ago and I was determined for it not to matter now. Nothing mattered to me, not in this moment. This moment belonged to me, and to this silent night. Closing my eyes, I wrapped myself in the quiet air, breathing in the cigarette smoke and cold taste of the night.

"Gotta light?" A voice spoke from my left, low and a little thick with the sounds of something separate, a hint of an accent. I opened my eyes, turning to face the intruder of my peace.

He was tall, but not skyscraper tall. To say he was unattractive would be a lie because he had a face girls would swoon for; but there was something different. It wasn't an obvious feature that made him handsome, but the way he held himself, and the little bit of something that played in his eyes. "Yeah," I let the words come out automatically, deciding that if I gave him the light he'd probably leave sooner, "Here," I handed him the silver lighter, as I felt the cold air snatch at my fingers. His knuckles drug lightly across my palm, as he took the lighter gently from my grasp and with every movement I could feel something strange wash over me; like a low itching in the back of my mind, or a fingertip twitch in anticipation.

He tipped his head, mumbling a low thanks. I watched him as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. The pack looked a little damp, and the corners were bent down and beaten up. His fingers were nimble, and he looked like he had done this often. His lips caressed his cigarette as he took a deep drag, and smoke billowed out. My curiosity got the better of me and before I could stop myself, my next thoughts tumbled out in an outpour of verbal vomit, hot and messy, "I've never seen you 'round. What're you doing here? You don't belong."

In the dim light radiating from our lit smokes, I thought I saw him smirk. He reached over and held his hand closed loosely in a fist before me. I blinked hard, a little thrown off. Then I realized he was handing me something, and when I laid my palm out flat he placed my lighter back where it belonged with me.

I looked over at him curiously, and then I knew it. He was smirking, "And you do belong?" He asked with amusement in his voice, "What colour would you call that? You're hair, that is." He was poking fun at me.

My cigarette dangled dangerously as I turned to face him, irritated that he was initially breaking my quiet and then poking fun at me, "Listen, Buddy. I get it, you're not from here. So you've totally assumed that you understand everything because you have an outsider’s point of view, therefore you must be right and perfect." I was getting worked up, so I let my cigarette drop to the ground where I angrily stamped my foot down on it and ground it aggressively into the concrete pad that I was standing on in front of the outbuilding. I crossed my arms as I sized this boy up, "But let me tell you something, pretty boy. If you think you can march in here, pass judgment on me, and get away with it you have another thing coming."

“You just called me pretty,” His tone was thick with amusement, and I groaned in annoyance.

“You are seriously pushing all the buttons you ought not to push, kid.” My tone was icy, my automatic defense of bitchiness kicking in.

His face broke into a smile, "And why's that, Doll?"

My jaw nearly hit the ground, I could not believe he had just called me a pet name and is insulting me, "Look here! I worked my ass off to get to where I am today. The social hierarchy here is tough shit, and you don't just get to be wherever you want because you want it. I had to fight to gain my respect, and I'm not going to let some prissy assed boy come up and take that away from me." I stood up at my full height, which didn't say much at only five feet and four inches tall, but I felt better and it gave me a boost of confidence. I glared at him, dead into his light hazel eyes that played with a mischievous spark, "Don't fuck with me again, or you'll regret it." I spat, and turned on my heel to stalk off.

I stopped halfway, and turned over my shoulder. I gave him the middle finger, "And it's called teal, asshole!" I called as I stalked away, hearing his laughter follow me.

- - -

I searched for my sister everywhere, but I couldn't find her. I knew she had to be somewhere, and she had to be close. It's not like we were at a big party in the city, it was a summer blowout bonfire on the beach. The entire amount of people was probably equivalent to the high school, the post grads, and a few people from neighboring towns and farms. It couldn't have been more than a hundred and fifty people, if you counted everybody twice. Because that was the beauty of small towns and farmland, there weren’t many strangers and the people were the ones you spent your days with.

So then, why couldn't I find my sister? It wasn't like she should've been hard to find. All I had to do was look for the group of loud teenage girls, cheering and doing shots. Whatever the reason I couldn't find her, I was starting to get frustrated. "This is the last time I fucking agree to be designated driver for my little sister again," I grumbled to myself as I picked my way through the sand to one of the bonfire pits.

I turned slightly, looking at the other two pits. This one was to the far left, where the more quiet people usually were. My closer friends and the people who just came to hang out usually stuck here, people you could actually have a conversation with or sit and goof off. In the middle was the pit where people were rowdy, loud rings of boys drinking and cussing at each other and loud dance music blaring from a boom box on the ground. And at the pit at the far right of the beach was where the cattier girls hung out, the ones dressed in heels and sparkly dresses on the beach, where they sipped coolers and took wuss shots, the grade ten rookies crowding around them like they were gods.

I had already checked there twice for my sister, the usual group of grade ten girls who hung out with her had pretended they’d hadn’t seen her all night, but by the giggles of some of the girls I knew that wasn’t true. I groaned frustrated, "McKenna!" I yelled, stomping my foot as I blew all the air out of my chest. I was ready to strangle her.

"Lose someone?" A voice asked from behind me, and instantly my frustration shot through the roof.

I spun around and glared at the person, who was now intruding on me for the second time this evening, "What the hell do you want?" I snapped, getting mad at the boy from earlier who had borrowed my lighter, Mr. Pretty Boy.

He smiled, and held his hands up defensively, "Hey now! I'm not trying to cause trouble."

"Then what are you trying to do?" I asked incredulously, crossing my arms in my signature fashion as I let my hip jut out and tried to look pissed off.

"Apologize," He said, dropping his hands and his smile suddenly.

That shocked me, "You're kidding me, right?" I stood up straighter, but didn't drop my arms.

"No, I'm serious." He slipped his hands into the front pocket of his jeans. The very same jeans that I had just noticed hugged his legs nicely, and made me want to trace his legs forever with either my eyes, or even my fingers. But I quickly shook that thought off, and stared him in the eyes. He cleared his throat, "I feel bad. I wasn't trying to piss you off, just start some banter. You looked so upset isolated from everybody else at the party, that I just wanted to give it a shot. I'm sorry I took it too far."

I dropped my arms, sighing loudly. "No, no." I pinched the bridge of my nose, frustrated again. He was just trying to be nice, and I freaked out, "It wasn't your fault. I'm just having a bad night, and it was like, the straw that broke the camel’s back, y'know?"

"A bad night?" He hummed, pushing his hands further into his jeans. He was quiet for a moment, then he asked, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

I laughed at that, not because I thought it was ridiculous that he was offering to help, although a small part of me giggled at that, too. No, I laughed because he wasn't from here, he couldn’t possibly expect to help me. He didn’t know the way it worked here, or the way one misplaced step could send you to the very bottom of the social hierarchy. No, he knew nothing about here and he couldn’t help me. The last thing I needed was some stranger running around looking for my sister and saying he’s helping me.

“I don’t think so,” I said slowly, as I craned my head around again, looking for McKenna.
“Who is it?” He asked, trying to hide a small smirk, “A horny boyfriend, or a distraught best friend? Oh, what about a drunk ex-boyfriend?”

I tried to hide my smirk too, “Getting closer,” I mumbled, wrapping one hand around the other as I craned my head again, “Try a drunk little sister, who is going to be dead when I find her.”

“Ah, I see now.” He openly smiled, “Let me guess, it’s past her bedtime?” He was witty, and the way he played with his words made me giggle.

“Yeah, something like that,” I laughed, “I was supposed to drive her home tonight. She begged me to be designated driver, and I let her guilt me into it. But now that I’m fed up and want to go home, she is nowhere to be found.”

“Well,” He started, pulling one hand out of his jeans and examining a nail bed as he spoke softly, calmly, “What does she look like? Maybe I’ve seen her tonight.”

I groaned a little, trying to keep in my building frustration at the situation, “She’s about my height maybe a few inches taller. Probably around five seven, actually. And a little thinner than I am, though she’s curvier. Blonde, though. A sandy blonde.” I scanned the beach again, my frustration building like the bonfires in the sand.

“There are a lot of blondes here. What about her face?” He placed his hand back in his jeans, and looked me in the eyes, expectantly but patiently.

“Uhm. Button nose, big eyes. Doesn’t wear a lot of make-up, full lips.” At that I paused, and actually thought about what my sister looked like, “Ironically, she looks older than me actually. Although some would argue we have the same nose and eyes, she tends to look more confident than I do. So all in all, I do look like the younger of us, although I am her senior by nearly two years.”

He laughed, and it threw me off guard. His smile caught the bonfire, and his eyes reflected the dancing flame, “You say you look younger? Somehow with the brightly coloured hair and small frame, that does not strike me as surprising.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” I was instantly thrown off, for a guy who so desperately wanted to help me, he did tend to insult and agitate me in the process.
He threw his hands up, the second time he had gestured like that tonight. “I just mean, you look young is all. Innocent, even.”

I snorted, “I promise you, innocent I am not.”

He smiled at that, a mischievous smile that played just in the corners of his lips, “Wanna place a wager on that?” He slowly drawled, as he took a small step towards me.

Now in my bubble, I could feel my heart race at his closeness. He really was attractive, and it was sending all sorts of jolts through my body just recognizing it. But this wasn’t the time, or the place. No matter how my stomach flopped, or my heart pounded. I looked around, avoiding his enticing gaze. “I really must find my sister…” I trailed off.

He instantly nudged back out of my space, so inconspicuously, I almost would not have noticed. If it weren’t for the sudden lack of closeness, and the slow ebbing of tingling away from my stomach.

“I’ll help you find her,” His smile was genuine.

“Why do you want to help me so badly?” I asked, a little thrown off by the mixed signals and the kindness that came and went so easily from him.

“Because,” he looked down, suddenly seeming more exposed, like his actions before were just a front, “You seem like you could use it, and I feel like I could give it.” He looked up and caught my eyes.

“And why is that?” I felt a gentle shiver run up my spine.

“Because you look so sad, and I hate to see beautiful girls look so broken…” His voice was barely a whisper, but I caught every word he said as his eyes locked onto mine and I felt my heart grip tightly.

It was silent between us for a moment, as I tried to process what he was saying. My mind was spinning, my heart thumping, and my hands suddenly sweating. I felt like everything was coming down so fast on me, and I had no way to control it.

Yet something in his eyes, in the way they held mine, calmed me. I felt like there was two sides to me, the frantic, scared, and fragile side that I usually buried under layers of aggression and attitude; and the finely controlled, manipulated side of masks and charades, where everything was okay. Including me.

“Okay,” I cleared my throat, “Here, give me your cellphone.” I held out my hand expectantly, my sudden urge to be in control fought to hide the slight tremor in my fingertips.

He passed me a white iPhone, thin and long and sleek in a silver case with a single white cross the size of a looney on it. I quickly turned on the display screen, slightly shocked to find that it wasn’t locked. I went straight into the contacts and added my number along with my name, and handed him back his phone, still lit up brightly.

“Jane Callaugh,” He read slowly, “You know, you wouldn’t peg me as a Jane.”

I hid my smile, and dug my phone out of my left leather boot, where it had been resting. “So her name is McKenna, you know what she looks like. She’s in grade ten, and probably wasted. She was wearing a tight cheetah print tank top, I think it was pink. And short denim cut offs. She should be easy enough to find, but my eyes don’t seem to be working.” I pinched the bridge of my nose again.

“And if I find her?” He asked slowly, looking at his cellphone.

“Call or text me,” I said, placing my phone in my bra and receiving a smirk from Mr. Pretty. “I drive a GMC Acadia, red and new. Not easy to miss, it’s big and the only SUV here. So, if you find her before me, meet up there. You’ll find it quickly.”

“Okay, sounds good to me. Look for McKenna, runaway sister, if found return to red SUV. Give Jane a call, and rendezvous with her. ” He smiled with a wink, and I had to laugh.

“Yeah, exactly that.” I smiled, as he started to turn away, “Wait!” I called after him.

He turned back, a small smile on his face, “What is it?”

“Uh,” I bit my lip, “You’re name, I didn’t ask you what it was. It seems fair I should know, right?”

“Nicholas,” He smiled wider, and walked away.