Dance, Dance
We're falling apart to half time
Dance, Dance
And these are the lives you'd love to lead
Dance, this is the way they'd love
If they knew how misery loved me
We're falling apart to half time
Dance, Dance
And these are the lives you'd love to lead
Dance, this is the way they'd love
If they knew how misery loved me
—Fall Out Boy (Dance, Dance)
Pale blue and red balls of lights dotted the bodies that crowded the make shift dance floor. Though the furniture was pushed aside or pressed up against the walls, bodies still met, gyrating to the DJ's mixes.
I was on foreign territory. It was a wonder why, of all places, I'd be at a party like this. It was loud, it was reckless, it was life—and I wasn't apart of it.
Nope, not me. Not the anti-social I was. My place was in the classroom, where I was known as a genius. In the classroom I actually knew what to say. But here I stood, small and basically invisible to anyone with a life. I felt like I was becoming a prey to the predators who eyed me around the room. A lot of these guys I recognized, people that wouldn't look at me twice.
Normally I was okay with it, actually used to it. But when your best friend is Vee Skye, you feel pretty low on the grand scale. Besides her being a few pounds over curvy, Vee was a Victoria Secret model compared to most of the girls at Coldwater University. She was pretty tall, pushing at six feet (I think), with green eyes and soft blond hair. She cut it last summer, so the short curls gave her a more playful-flirty look.
She sported the kind of sexy I could never pull off, what with my bar-stool legs and stubborn mahogany curls. I always managed to pale in comparison. And the fact that she's my best friend made it pretty clear that she wasn't even a shallow bitch. It's almost impossible to hate her.
Now, where's the justice in that?
Because Vee worked as the sports columnist in the eZine newspaper (which she claimed happily—for obvious reasons, I might add) she managed to flirt her way into this celebratory bash. C.U's Archangels won another football game against a varsity team called the Wombats. These guys definitely did not come off as "cute" as their team name.
Coach McConaughy(who also worked as the Business and International Relations professor at C.U.) and the university's Quarter Back, Rixon something, happened to throw this get together. Vee and I were still considered freshman's and only a select group of the student body was allowed in. Unfortunately for me, Vee could be pretty persuasive when she wanted to be. That's how she got me to agree to my own social destruction.
Vee was abducted by some stringy looking dude with red hair, so I was left alone. I considered parking my butt somewhere until everyone was high on booze and knocked out, but feared Scott Parnell would try to approach or get me alone.
He had been eying me since I got here. I went out on a—forced—blind date with the creep before (courtesy of Vee). It was only the first date and yet he still had the audacity to try and feel me up. When I wouldn't comply, he left me stranded without a ride. I didn't mind, really—who knew what he would've tried. He was probably the worst blind date I ever faced.
He had been eying me since I got here. I went out on a—forced—blind date with the creep before (courtesy of Vee). It was only the first date and yet he still had the audacity to try and feel me up. When I wouldn't comply, he left me stranded without a ride. I didn't mind, really—who knew what he would've tried. He was probably the worst blind date I ever faced.
I don't blame Vee though. She was only trying to be nice. When it came to guys, I could be pretty narrow . . . or so she says.
With a sigh, I settled for sticking by the snack table. It was pretty much vacant but I wasn't alone—in a sense. Since my nerves were getting to me, I turned to the bottles of soda. Hopefully it wasn't spiked under the radar. I didn't get a chance to find out—a rock-built body shoved up against mine, my stomach bowing against the table as it rocked under the impact. The cup I held, slid out of my grasp and spilled all over the snacks and leaked onto the floor.
Great,I thought grudgingly, just awesome.
I moved back, coming up short of a brick wall that brought me to knees and into the puddle of my pineapple soda. My head hurt. I banged it against the edge of the table during my fall.
"Oh, hey sorry," the brick wall I backed into apologized. "I didn't see you,"
See? Invisible. "Of course you didn't," I groaned under my breath.
I registered the outstretched hand extended towards me but ignored it otherwise as I climbed back up to my feet. I found that my left vision was out of focus and realized my contact lens was out of place. It started to burn when I prodded at my pupil.
"You okay?" Brick wall asked, almost genuinely concerned.
"Yeah, I'm alright," I lied, rubbing at my eye furiously. I was starting to see black and white spots all over then.
The stranger dipped his head to my eye level and tipped my chin up a little. "You're eye is red. Wait a sec," It didn't sound like an option because it wasn't. Without permission, he cupped my chin in his calloused palm and titled my head further up. His hands were unnaturally warm against my skin, making my nerve endings hum to his touch. A cool stream of air washed over my eye then, his fingers keeping my lids from fluttering close as it started to tear up.
I tried to pull away politely but his hand's were insistent. It actually felt nice–really nice–but I really wasn't into having a total stranger pick at my eye. "Look, you're just making it worse," I lied, sort of. A tear did slide down my cheek.
"Will you just wait a sec?" he murmured, amusement (probably at my childish fussing) coloring his smooth voice.
"I've got it," I snapped, annoyed at how stubborn he was being. I gladly pulled back when he finally released his grasp on my face but the sudden loss of heat hit me hard.
He held out his index finger, the translucent ring on the tip barely visible in this dim lighting. "Actually, I've got it,"
My left eye didn't burn anymore but it was all fuzzy compared to my right. Carefully, I took my lens from his possession and muttered a muted thank you. I couldn't put the lens back on. My eye was irritated enough and frankly they were dirty. Thankfully, I was smart enough to bring my glasses along. I took out my right lens then but I was stumped. I had no idea where to put these things though but decided briefly, to shove them in my pockets. Hopefully, they wouldn't get lost or break on my part.
I sighed in relief, once my glasses were slipped on. Everything was back to perfect clarity—even the tall, dark stranger who stood before me. My smoky eyes fell on his bottomless orbs, the irises devoured in black. Any light that reflected on them seemed to just get sucked in with no return.
Patch Cipriano
Unusual name, yes but none-the-less alluring. He was Coldwater's Half-back and notorious for the brawls he brought to the game. It's almost unfathomable how sexy he is. His armor made of this Mediterranean glow, his black hair softly curling about from under his black beanie. His lips thin but oh so taunting—and in my case unattainable. He stood about a head taller than me, wearing steel toed boots, dark jeans and a red button down plaid over it black t-shirt. The assemble did nothing to diminish his taut and intimidating muscles.
So tempting . . .
"Huh?" I said, pulling out of my reverie. I realized he asked me a question I didn't catch.
He grined, the corners of his mouth curling up a little. "Have I seen you around before? You look familiar," he asked.
Yeah, once.
But he wouldn't remember it. It was probably during my of second semester at C.U. and I happened to get hit in the head with a football during cheer leading tryouts. (Keep in my that I was only there for support—I'd never be a football groupie). I could've gotten a concussion from the blow and thankfully I didn't. It's kind of hard to forget a face like that hovering over yours like his did mine.
But I didn't tell him that. Instead I shook my head and lied.
"No, I've never met you. I mean I've heard about you but I've never met you. You've never met me," I rambled. The words just seemed wrong as they left my lips but I knew it was just my nerves. I huffed, frustrated by my obvious discomfort and stuck out my hand sharply. Why? I have no idea. "I'm Nora,"
"Patch," he said politely, enveloping my hand in warmth for a brief moment.
"And I'm Marcie," A voice rang out from behind Patch. I furrowed my brow and cringed internally when the strawberry blond flanked Patch's side the next second. Marcie Millar. She hated me. For one thing, I always exceeded (academically, at least) at everything she did and for another because Vee and I were a combo pack and boy did she despise Vee.
The only reason Vee was a cheerleader was because of the scholarship that could pay off her college funds that her intuition failed to prepare her for. She made the squad without even trying but was pushing up on Marcie's territory.
Now I was in her territory, speaking to her on and off boyfriend for the last couple of months, with no Vee to back me up. This was not going to be pretty.
"Where were you," Patch's brows were furrowed, as he met her gaze.
She waved a dismissive hand. "No where, I went to the bathroom. It's getting hot here and you know my hair gets frizzy when it's humid," she said smoothly and turned her gaze on me. "You know what mean," she added, referring to my many layers of curls.
Thank you, like I wasn't aware of the tumble weed I'm sporting. It's not my fault my flat iron is too spineless to tame it, I thought but said nothing.
"Marcie," Patch's voice held a hint of warning in it, but unlike me, she acted oblivious to the note.
"Nora right?" I didn't get a chance to confirm it before she continued. "Isn't you friend—what's the blond girl's name again?" she asked, feigning interest when I knew better.
"Vee," I said suggestively because apparently she had amnesia or something.
"Oh yeah, Vee. If you're looking for her she's in the kitchen, helping herself to a snack." a smug grin slivered across her lips and I knew what she was insinuating but didn't call her on it.
"Thank you,"
I wouldn't let her get to me, mainly because she was pretty intimidating when you were on your own. But when I made to leave, a cup was chugged in my face. The smell of bourbon wafted through my nose. "Want some?" Marcie asked, her tone taking a genuine turn to friendly but her eyes were anything but.
I cringed away from the cup, wrinkling my nose, and muttering a "no", but Marcie didn't give. The rim of the cup met my nose again.
"It's not gonna kill, what are you scared of?" she challenged. It was pretty clear that it was either take the cup or continue this back and forth thing she was perusing, so gingerly, I took the cup. I mean, I didn't have to drink it, right?
Boy, was I wrong.
"Marcie, don't—" Patch started but it was too late. Marcie had already done her damage.
Marcie shoved the bourbon up my nose, socking my face and stuffing my nose. I reared back from the force of it, my face now damp, and a burn in my nose igniting.
Blindly, I rammed into the snack table, harder this time, and knocked everything to the ground. A cacophony of noises rung in my ears—the music, the crowd, the clashing spills and banging. Shrieks erupted out of nowhere as sparks flew, the lights flickering and the music stuttering between lines. Then the room went black. Puzzled murmurs filled the darkened room.
I was on my side, sprawled in a puddle of my own destruction. In that moment, I felt like Godzilla basking in his downfall. I sensed a hand tugging on my shoulder and instinctively knew it was Patch hauling me up to my feet.
How kind of him.
"Everyone alright?" Coach's voice was loud and clear. Abruptly, the party goers began complaining about sudden loss of music and lights. "Shut your traps, alright," he ordered and for a moment the crowd hushed. "Someone must've short-circuited the plugs," he said unhappily. I could feel myself shrinking into Patch's side. I takes real talent to make a total fool of yourself and ruin a party, 30 minutes in.
Annoyed murmurs fogged the room. I didn't think I could feel any smaller than I did at that moment.
I hated Vee for dragging me to this party. I hated Coach and whoever this Rixon guy was, for throwing the party in the first place. I hated Marcie Millar for making me feel like the biggest dork in history.
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