Falling into three part Harmony

March 6, 2013
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I’m wrapped up in thought, and I almost completely forget about getting to school on time. I run out my door, trying to tie my choppy dark hair into a bun, and while I grabbed my back pack and I see the yellow bus edge its way to my stop. My feet hit the ground hard as I round the street corner near my house, and try to run as fast as my feet can take me, crossing the street as a biker almost takes me down, and making a final leap just as the bus pulls up to the red sign, where a group of teens were conversing, some, gawking me.

I felt like I had was in a Japanese game show, the ones where you need to jump onto a ledge as the floor gave away, and one girl is left falling to her doom, holding a toilet plunger. And I am apparently that girl, because right as I got to the corner, right as the doors to the bus opened, when the sweet taste of victory was right on my tongue, I wiped out. The taste of blood from where I bit the inside of my cheek danced on my taste buds instead. Papers flew everywhere, and in another spot on my body, red spilled from scrapped skin, and the new holes in my jeans. A chorus of laughter erupted as kids filled onto the bus, some documenting by epic fall on their iPhones, letting the public know of my inability to walk in a straight line.

A few of the stragglers who hadn’t gotten onto the bus pointed and laughed some more, but then, as I tried to get up, a hand was thrust into my line of sight. I looked up, following the path from fingers, to arms, to shoulders, to face. There was a boy in front of me, clad in a t-shirt and pull over, despite it being in the low forties. He had a goofy smile on his face, which made his gray eyes scrunch up at the corners. I took his hand, allowing him to salvage my dignity as I got back up.

“Thanks,” I said, looking down, trying to collect my papers. I tried to keep my cheeks from turning red at the mix of embarrassment, and a oh-my-god-he’s-hot sensation running through me right now. I heard the bus driver scoff.

“I don’t have all day Mica, let’s get a move on.” He shouted at me, only furthering the whirlpool of mixed emotions churning in my stomach. I glanced up at the boy quickly, and fidgeted, trying to collect myself, as I turned towards the bus.

“No problem,” He said, following behind me as I made my way up to the bus.

“Nice job Mica,”
“Have a nice fall?”

A chorus of voices were jeering as I walked down the aisle, trying not to look back at the guy who helped my up.

“F*** off.” A familiar voice shouted back, belonging to a petite little red head in the middle row. The one and only, Lily Boyd. I gave her a small smile, which she returned cheekily, the freckles on her face merging together, and her lips creating this crooked curve. I sat down next to her, and we had begun to say hello, and we had our usual small talk.

She was my best friend. Or, at least, the closest thing I had to one. She was there for me when I was about to fail Pre-Calc, and then fall down some kind of failure chain I created in which a D as an overall grade would bring me to die of hypothermia as a homeless person with no goals or ambitions. That sounds really weird now, but after studying for six hours, and only taking the class to look good on College Apps, it totally seemed plausible.

I was just starting to drift off into my own little world as Lily was telling me about some girl a few seats a head of us, who was talking about her boyfriend, loud enough that we could all hear what exactly they did behind McDonald’s.
But, the rest of the day was pretty normal. I stumbled around with getting to class on time, but how did these teachers expect me to get from the third floor, to the first, and then back? I’m a teenage girl, not Usain Bolt. And ripped skinny jeans do absolutely nothing to increase stamina or stride length. It also couldn’t do anything to stop the images of that morning that kept replaying in my head. The epic fall, the Facebook notification ping resounding in my ears, and those gray eyes, looking down on my so kindly. And the incredibly hot guy who they belonged too.

“I’ll find out who he is for you,” Lily had told me as we parted ways to get to English. “It’s crazy, you have a crush on a guy who isn’t Pete Wentz. What if you guys fall in love and get married? What will poor Pete do then?”

I couldn’t even imagine dating this guy. I mean, I could, don’t get me wrong. He looks like some kind of a Disney prince, and vampire flick hero mix. I mean it’s just … it’s just high school right? So what if like, 60% of people marry their high school sweethearts, isn’t the marriage and divorce rate almost the same? I can’t even begin to think about what I am going to throw to together for my project on Marie Antoinette, which is ‘steadily approaching’, let alone marrying someone at the same age she did because look how that ended. She ate her wedding cake, told the guests to have some too, and died. Well, not exactly but you get the point.

It’s a crisp autumn afternoon. Boxer, my dog, and the unholy mix of lightning and pet hair, was running off of his leash, pulling me in every direction, and jumping all around. Why my parents had believed that a St. Bernard would be good for a family of toothpicks with no upper body strength was a good idea, I can’t tell you. And it’s not like they were the ones who walked him even. If things would have gone my way, we would have gotten a fish. A nice little beta fish, you could pin against other beta fishes, and watch them have epic duels. And like, they are no hassle either. Which is something I am going to need a whole lot less of, if I ever start working on my history project, instead of jamming out to 104.3 and trying to win concert tickets. But what is it the French say? C’est la vie? Via? I don’t even remember.

Although, while I’m spacing out my dog decides that it would be a great time to barrel through the park we were in, and kick up all the red and brown leaves on the dirt path. He also decided that it would be a good idea to pull me through a sea of reds and browns that followed his path, and also, to run into the first guy in his path and take me down with him.

“Sorry.” I blurted out, trying to get back up, brushing myself off, and calming down Boxer. Of course I had fallen and ripped another pair of holes in my jeans. Third pair this week. I think I should call guinness. This has to be some sort of world record. “Sorry, sorry.” I stutter again.

“It’s alright,” He said, offering a hand. The hand and voice were extremely familiar. As I followed the path from hands, to arms, to shoulders to face, I could just think, well. Great. It was the same exact guy from the bus stop. Who I keep falling for. I mean, in front of. Maybe he has some kind of gravitational pull that keeps messing up my coordination.

“It’s okay. Here, let me help you up.” He gave me his hand, and we both stood up together, and f*** fifty shades of gray, I was sure that I was at least 50 shades of red. His hand lingered a bit, and he stalled, before saying. “I’m Aaron…You?”

“Mica.” I reply, trying to seem cool. Well, about as cool as you could be for an awkward, semi-loner, sixteen year old. I looked him over (checked him out) and I asked him about the song that played when his phone buzzed. I could match the beat of the bass with the tap of my foot, and the lyrics floated from my lips as I whispered along to F.O.B.

I wrote the gospel on giving up
(You look pretty sinking)
But the real bombshells have already sunk
(Prima donnas of the gutter)
At night we're painting your trash gold while you sleep
Crashing not like hips or cars
No, more like p-p-p-parties

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I let the words slip from my lips, going up and down in note, as I moved from singing along to trying to speak like a normal human being. I sounded like a teenage boy going through puberty. Smooth, right?

“Huh?” He looked up from his phone, quizzically. “What the song?”

“Oh my gosh, yes the song.” I tried to keep my voice level. I don’t want to look crazy. I don’t want to look crazy. “It’s great! This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race is one of my favorite songs! I mean, it’s in no way their best work, it’s just that it is one of the first songs I heard by Fall Out Boy, and it really got me into the band, and I don’t even know where I would be without them- ”

“Really?” He cut me off, moving closer to me, brushing up against my shoulder.

“Yeah.” I moved a strand of hair out of my face, and tugged on my dogs leash, trying to stop him from jumping all over the place, and not focus on the heat that was shooting down to my arm where his brushed mine.

“You have a phone?” He asked. I nod. He brings his out, a dinosaur in a Samsung infinity shell, open to a blue screen, New Contact written in big bold letters above a blank space for the seven digit key code to the rest of my teenage happiness. I mean phone number. I typed it in, one-two-eight five-six-four-three, and handed him back his cell, brushing his fingers messily as I transferred the phone into his grip.

“Thanks,” He looked up and down the street, and then back to his phone. He looked a little bit nervous, and maybe a little bit red, but that was probably love-drunk goggles deluding my vision. He couldn’t be nervous. Not with a five foot something, klutz with choppy brown hair, and muddy brown eyes, right there, as her rabid St. Bernard danced around her. “I have to go. I’ll call you later?”

I nodded and waved, turning in the opposite direction, trying to seem collect as Boxer dragged me out of his sight. In, out, in out, calm down, he’s just a boy, he’s just a boy. I repeated as a mantra, until I felt the heat in my cheeks disintegrate. A buzz went through my sweatshirt pocket, the bzzt of a phone on vibrate and I took it out, looking at the screen.

Unknown caller.

“Hello,” I answered tentatively. It was still daylight, so there was no way this could be a serial killer, or something of that sort, but I was still a bit nervous.
“Just checking the number wasn’t bogus or something. Alright, I’ll talk to you later.”


I typed keys furiously into my keypad, strings of sevens and fives, as the dial tone echoed back and forth until a voice crackled on the other line.
“Hello, this is the gingers office, Lillian speaking.” She spoke, adopting a cheezy posh accent, as I tried not to scream.

“Lily, you won’t believe what just happened.”


“So, let me get this straight,” Lily said, as some commercial for hair spray blared through her dad’s surround sound. “You’ve been dating for a month or two right?”

We both grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl in front of us, as the image of a girl with picture perfect hair danced on the screen. I nodded. Me and Aaron had been dating for a little under a month, but that’s what going steady is called these days. I mean, I really liked him, but the first few days, I kept fumbling with my words, and when we went to the carnival two weeks ago, I tripped on my way to the Roller coaster, ruining the hem of the dress I wore, when it decided to get caught between my knees and the ground. I’ve probably lost like, $65.00 in clothes since I started dating him. I guess that is the price of love.

The program started to play again, Lily flailing and saying hush, as the girls from Americas next top model came onto the runway for the last time. The first girl, Isis, was doing great, until she caught her heel on her dress. Honey, that’s Armani. Aint nobody got time for that. “Still tripping up as bad as her?” Lily asked, hitting me on the shoulder.

“Maybe not.” I replied, laughing a bit, funny how we got here isn’t it? I wipe out down the street, and next thing I know, I find my punk rock prince charming. Yet, even though I could be having all sorts of fun with him, I’m still at Lily’s, watching the finale of ANTM, with big eyes, and full anticipation, as the girls move from the runway to panel, and Tyra Banks says, ‘Dominique, you are, America’s next top model.’ Something’s never change. But looking at the ridiculous smile on Lily’s face as she cheers for the petite blonde she has been rooting for all season, I guess that’s a good thing. I would never want to fall out of my friendship with lily, and things just seem to be going right. I’m glad she’s there for it.


There was a musty air in the room, and the certain dampness that only basements seem to have, but the acoustics were great as songs ricocheted from wall to wall. Aaron and I were lounging around his room, hanging out when a voice cracked through the radio in the corner, cut through the mix of static and vocals on some Fall Out Boy mix.

“This just in, Pete Wentz of Fall Out Boy, just announced over twitter that after years of taking a break, that he, and all the other members of the band, are officially OFF hiatus, starting today.” His crappy radio voice did nothing but bring a smile to my face, and I might have possibly squealed a little. Just a little though. I’ve been waiting to hear this for a long time okay? “So, lets get back to the tunes, and I’ll leave you with that. Jack out!”

Oh take a chance, let your body get a tolerance
I'm not a chance, put a heat wave in your pants
Pull a breath like another cigarette
Pawnshop heart trading up (trading up)

I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. It was crazy, after years of waiting, they are back. Aaron shot me a look from across the room, and I met his gaze. Something shot through me, adrenaline, hormones, bravery, whatever. But I ran across the room, locked our lips together, and made out a breathy I love you between gasps of air.

“Hmm,” He hummed, running his fingers through my hair. “I love you too.”

We shrugged at each other, and decided to kiss and talk some more. I left my phone open to the text message overflow from Lily and some other band friends about the news, and we continued to mess around in his basement, kissing and touching desperately, and smiling like idiots, as I tried not to fall over, and get tripped up on some wires on the ground. Our hands fumbled to feel new skin, and our lips met skin, salty from sweat. It was messy, and nothing much like the movies, but it was great. More than great. Amazing.

After we cooled down, and readjusted all our clothes from the rumpled mess of off the shoulder shirts, and we laid down together on the couch, the hum of the music so much softer as the ba-thump of my heart beat resounded in my ears, and the sound of the crinkling of his t-shirt fabric underneath my torso.

“So…” He said, his voice a bit high, until he coughed and to level it out. “What prompted that?”

“Besides my whole revelation that I have feelings for you that were unparalleled to anything I had ever felt before? That, as long as we have this spark, I am still going to still say I love you, and that’s okay? I mean, Fall Out Boy announced that they were off hiatus, while one of their songs was playing on the radio. You were there, and I was just kind of happy, you know? It felt right. And besides, I wanted to see if I could be the ‘heat wave in your pants’ the song was talking about.” I chuckled, and nudged him in the arm, looking up at him from where I was laying down on his chest. It was a new image entirely. One of him, so…him I guess. His eyes were bright, and his skin was flushed, and he wore that crazy crooked smile on his face.

“Way to ruin the moment.” He replied, his hazy voice mixing with the sound of crumpling sheets. “But you should have told me. Imagine if I would have gotten you tickets to their concert? You would have probably-”

“I don’t do that, I’m a good girl.” I joked.

“Not if you’re the same girl from thirty seconds ago,” He joked. We both burst out laughing, the kind where you just kind of let go, and laugh from your belly, and snort, and its gross, but you don’t really care.
You know what? Maybe I did love him. Maybe more than just in a ‘good girl’ way. Maybe not. It might just be silly high school love, the kind that you see in those terrible eighties rom-coms, the kind that makes you want to throw the two love birds against a wall when they are making out in front of your locker, and seem to want you to be late for chem.

We might not last, and the divorce rate is as high as the marriage rate right? But I’m not stupid. I’m not going to end up being number seven on a list of evil exes that transcends time and space. But, for right now, I could be his, and he could be mine. And that, that doesn’t sound too bad, for a clumsy girl, who keeps falling into things.

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