Tallulah

Euphemia didn't like her cousin and took every opportunity she could to let me know just how much she disliked him. I didn't understand why she was so angry—he seemed like the perfect inoffensive gentleman (but that was probably because she didn't see him the way I did, because he wasn't as mysterious to her as he was to me). Or maybe she was mad that I spent most of my time at her house peeking at him over my magazine and holding my breath whenever he came into the room.

There was something different about him, about how he moved, about how he breathed and smiled and acted. I didn't know what it was but I found it fascinating. It wasn't like Percy - because what I felt for Percy was some flimsy little crush and Joey wasn't better off either. I really liked him.

I didn't know if he knew—I doubted Euphemia told him since the only time she talked to him was to tell him how much she hated him or something equally as negative—but either way, little things he did make me wonder if he knew or not.

The Papadopoulos family had a pool in their backyard, but the only people who ever used it were Euphemia and me sometimes. After Adonis moved in, he'd spend his mornings lounging on his back in the pool effortlessly, staring up at the sky with a stupid smile on his face. At first, Euphemia would glare at him from the patio and I would sink as deep as I could into my chair until she got sick of watching him and left, dragging me with her.

Euphemia called me early one Saturday morning to tell me we were getting our pool back, whatever that meant. I left a note on the fridge for Albert and Momma after changing into my swimsuit and went over. I was expecting us to have the pool to ourselves, which is what I thought she meant, but of course not. Lo and behold, who was laying on his back in all his early morning glory but Adonis with his stupid sunglasses and pouty (not really but sort of) smirk and blue swim shorts? I shot Euphemia a look but she shook her head, glaring stonily at him.

"Get out of the water."

"No."

"Adonis," she said harshly. "Get out."

"Hm... no." He swam languidly on his back, arms lifting and dipping effortlessly. "Maybe you should ask nicely. Where are your manners? Your friend is going to think you were raised by wolves."

"I'm asking you to leave." He kept swimming and she sighed, hands on her bony hips. "You need to go away. What about your film?"

"It's still developing." He glanced over at us. "Rome wasn't built in a day, you know."

"Go away, please." He smiled then, pushing his sunglasses up his face—seriously how did he do it?—before lifting himself up out of the water. He smelled like aftershave and something heady and I couldn't breathe—in and out and in—and before I knew it, he was out, shaking the water out of his hair—not a single hair out of place—and telling me that the water was just fine.

After his morning swim—Euphemia's glares did nothing to deter him—he'd go inside and wouldn't come back out until later in the afternoon, with a thick book and a notebook. I guessed he was studying for one of his classes. And of course, I'd peek at him through my window shamelessly because it wasn't like he could see me anyway. I'd sit and watch him study, as he'd gnaw on his lip and cheek and run an annoyed hand through his hair, nervous. I didn't know why I was so nervous. Maybe it was because he could look up at me any minute and catch me gawking at him. He never looked up, but still. Something about him made me nervous and he knew.

I know he knew, but I didn't know what to do.

He came over about a week after Euphemia yelled at him about the pool. I didn't know it was him and since I was expecting Euphemia to come over, I hadn't even gotten dressed properly. I was in a robe and house slippers, my hair up in a scarf. Since Kennedy and Maxine were spending the week at Jean and Sophie's house and my parents were out and about going 'grocery shopping'—but really I thought they were just doing couply things again—I had the house to myself. When I heard the doorbell, I was upstairs so I just hollered for her to come in.

Of course imagine my surprise when I see Adonis standing in my living room, looking around with that stupid small smile. I just stood on the stairs, mouth hanging open. I bit my lip and he looked at me with those curious blue eyes, smiling a little.

I felt like I was going to die of embarrassment.

"What are you doing here?" I ask dumbly, thumbing the edge of my robe nervously.

"Nothing." He smiled. "I was just reading this book for one of my classes, and it made me think of you for some reason. So, here."

It was blue and small and cloth covered and the binding wasn't old but it wasn't exactly new either. I flipped through and saw where he underlined with pencil and where there were question marks and other scribbled notes—he had the sloppiest cursive handwriting in the whole word—and felt my face flush. It wasn't like he had underlined anything inappropriate, but the fact that he had thought of me at all made me nervous for some reason.

(I still have it, somewhere in a box of things that used to make me happy.)

"I—um—thank you." I smile nervously.

"I only needed the book for an exam, and I took it yesterday, so..." He shrugged. "Euphemia told me you liked poetry."

"I do."

He smiled again and looked towards the door.

"Well, I'm going to get going." He smiled again and I could hear my heartbeat and my face felt warm and I didn't know why. "Bye, Tallulah."

"Bye," I managed to croak out.

Still, I didn't know that he knew for sure until I went out on a Saturday night with Euphemia and these boys she met somewhere doing something. She wouldn't tell me what or how. All I knew was that she wanted us to get out of the house and go dancing with these guys, maybe get some dinner. And since I hadn't gone out in a few weeks, I figured, why not?

I went over to her house around five. We were going to do our nails and get all "prettied up" for our date later that evening. Adonis, who was a normally cheerful and happy person—or seemed like it, anyway—was oddly sullen and quiet. Euphemia was ecstatic. She grinned as she dragged me to her room, giddy.

"What's going on?" I asked her as I sat down on her bed, watching as she paced about her room.

"With what? Him? I don't know. He's been in a bad mood all day. Who cares?" She rolled her eyes and held up two dresses that looked almost exactly the same. "Do you like this one or this one?"

It bothered me for the rest of the afternoon. Why was he so upset? When I went to the bathroom, I walked by Adonis' room. The door was open, and he was lying on the bed with his arm over his eyes, a record I didn't recognize playing on the hi-fi. I couldn't stop thinking about him as I fixed my hair in the mirror in Euphemia's room.

What's wrong? And why did I even care?

Euphemia was fixing her lipstick when the boys came around. Adonis answered the door, shut it loudly, and yelled at us to get going because our dates couldn't wait forever. The guys were nice, I guess. I couldn't help but to feel like we were being stared at, and sure enough, Adonis was peeking at us from the curtains.

I spent the whole afternoon uneasy. I don't know. The date itself went okay—I barely remember anything from it because I spent the whole time thinking about how intensely blue his eyes were and how neatly he parted his hair and how he didn't have a single pimple or freckle or anything on his whole stupidly perfect face.

After dinner, we split up. Euphemia went off with whoever her date was—she winked at me as he drove off in his car—and left me and whoever sitting by ourselves. He wanted to go dancing, so we did.

I didn't like dancing with him. Among one of the few things I remember from our date was that he kept stepping on my feet and his hands were sweaty and dug into my side and he was wearing too much cologne. I kept comparing him to Adonis. I couldn't help myself.

Call me a glutton for punishment.

So we sat down and he went to get drinks—we were at a party of a friend of his from college or something—and I was bored out of my mind. I made a note to yell at Euphemia for dumping me with her date's stupid friend when we got home. When he comes, he gives me my drink and it smells like something died, so I leave it alone. And he wants to dance.

Of course he does.

So we're dancing, and it's one of those dances where you keep changing partners, so I'm kind of relieved when he goes off to the poor unsuspecting girl, but I almost choke on my gum when I see him. It's Adonis. He's smiling that stupid smile and he's got his lips right next to my ear and he's muttering something about how blue really is my color and it takes all I have to not drop dead or stumble. Somehow I manage to keep myself upright.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was invited by a friend," he says coolly. He's a good dancer, gives my poor toes a rest and twirls me and makes me feel different. "It's a Saturday night. I'm not staying home."

"Ah."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here with a friend. Sort of."

"A friend isn't a date."

"It was Euphemia's idea."

"I thought you had better taste." I almost miss a step and step on him, but regain my composure and do my best to keep my voice still.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"I really don't," I say quietly, because there's no way he knows and maybe he's talking about the song or something and somehow he's got us in a dark corner. (He was so damn sneaky.)

"It's not like I don't see you." He smiles. "You're not all that sneaky, darling." I want to die and fall through the floor because I'm so embarrassed and how could I have not thought he would have seen me and how could I have been so stupid and— "But maybe I was wrong and maybe you really do have poor taste after all." He shrugs and kisses my cheek and tells me that my date is looking for me and I stand there, dumbfounded as he sneaks out through one of the back doors.

I spend the rest of the evening a mushy, embarrassed mess, unable to shake the press of his lips on my cheek.