You're the One That I Want(14)

I was being hypersensitive … a douchebag! Still, it took a while for those feelings to simmer down and disappear and for me to feel like everything was normal between the three of us – between the two of them.

That summer changed my outlook on my own feelings, and not just because of the way I’d found them underneath the Big Green. I’d been to see Pearl Harbour at the cinema (I’d taken my mum out for her birthday), and was left feeling as though my heart had been ripped out. It might sound pathetic, but the message was clear – seize the day, love like there’s no tomorrow and declare your feelings before it’s too late. That’s how I’d come to realize that I could no longer bottle things inside. What, I wondered, was I trying to prove by living in the torturous barricade of my own heart? I’d let myself be tormented by what I hadn’t said, rather than what I had … paranoid about what others might be feeling, rather than just asking outright. Yes, I’d decided to take control, to put my feelings out there to be reciprocated or rebuffed. Either way, something was better than nothing.

With a trip planned in year eleven to the most romantic city in the world, I decided to bite my tongue a little longer. It was only a few months, I told myself, and I wanted the moment I finally decided to lift my silence and speak up to be memorable. And so, for months I thought of nothing but Paris. Vivid images filled my mind – of us together at the top of the Eiffel Tower, surrounded by the romantic view, and the look of adoration on Maddy’s face as I opened my mouth to utter my love confession. It fuelled my sleepless nights that summer and gave me a giddy feeling of excitement in my gut.

It felt as though Paris had become, in many ways, the pinnacle of my very existence. Nights were spent ploughing through information on the web to formulate my plan, hours were spent with a pen and paper writing out what I was going to say when the moment of truth finally came. It was as though years of wonder and desire had led me to that point and to that precise spot I needed to reach at the top of the Eiffel Tower. I wanted, more than anything, for it to go right. It had to be perfect.





Maddy





Sixteen years old …




The best thing about taking Art as a GCSE was that you got to go on an art trip to Paris in year eleven. A week away from parents, exam stress and school work, traipsing around the millions of museums and eating trillions of crêpes and macaroons, understandably sounded very tempting. And that was why the three of us all decided to take up art when it came to filling out our options for the years ahead – yes, we all sat down and had a big chat about certain subjects we should all go for so that we’d get time together. Along with our compulsory subjects, we all opted for French over Spanish, Art over Drama, and History over Religious Education. I however went for Food, while Robert went for Physical Education and Ben went for Graphic Design – something he was insanely good at. Our plans did backfire a little bit when it turned out that each year group was separated into new class sets for the mandatory core subjects as well as those we’d optioned, but we found ourselves together in Art, and at least we all got most of the same homework to plough through together.

In the weeks leading up to that art trip I felt an endless wave of apprehension. No, I wasn’t worried about being stranded in the capital (that would have simply been an adventure) and I wasn’t worried I’d get homesick (I couldn’t wait to get out of the house) … Nope, I was nervous because of a feeling that had been brewing inside during the previous months. Those feelings had nothing to do with Paris, but everything to do with Robert. A fact I was struggling to comprehend.

As a result of that afternoon underneath the Big Green, I was drawn to him like a piece of flimsy metal to a powerful magnet – there was no way of avoiding its strength. No way to resist. That unspeakable energy tingled away beneath the surface, giving me a surge of something unidentifiable every time I thought of him. It felt like we were on the cusp of a momentous change, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

Robert treated me as he always had – like one of the boys he could have a laugh with, or, at times, a little sister he was fiercely over-protective of. He was always draping an arm over my shoulder, or gently mocking me for something I’d said or done. It was how we’d always been. So, was I the only one looking further into every touch shared? Every gaze he placed in my direction? Embarrassingly, it seemed so.

Robert’s enchanting ways (which had naturally transpired from his confident role as our group’s leader) continued to capture more girls’ hearts than ever. He’d always been a charmer (his flirty and confident ways had been buried deep within his gorgeous exterior), but seeing him tease or fool around with any other girl after that moment under the tree was excruciating. Each suggestive glance, wink and mutter that he flung in another girl’s direction stung my teenage heart – a fact that confused me beyond belief. Then there was the gossip that lingered around him – girls speculating over who he’d end up snogging while we were away. For obvious reasons I was never even suggested, but for once, that omission left me feeling jealous. Envious not to be seen as having a chance …