Dearest Kit

Chapter Eleven

   “What’s wrong?” Kit queried. 

   “I just,” I paused, my brow creasing, “there are, there are these girls on my bus, and they’re staring at me in the strangest of ways. They look amazed, disbelieving, but a little in awe too; I’ve never spoken to these girls before in my life and yet they look at me as if they know every word I’ve ever spoken or written down.” 

   “I can picture it.” 

   “It’s as if, as if they’re intrigued by me,” I looked back again, briefly, and they were still watching me, giggling. “It’s almost as if, I’m famous,” and the second I said it, we both knew the reason I had unwanted attention, we both realized what this meant. 

   “Oh no,” he sighed. “I’ll call you back.” 

   “It will be fine,” I took a deep breath and tried to reassure him, and me. I wouldn’t mind being in the papers, I really wouldn’t, but it was the fact that people would find out. My friends, people close to me, would suddenly know that I was dating an actor; I didn’t want it to change their opinion of me.  

   “Lana,” his tone became a little more happy, hopeful, “are you my girlfriend?” 

   “Would you like me to be your girlfriend?” I lowered my voice, not wanting anyone else to hear us. I started biting my fingernails, like I always did when I was a little nervous. 

   “I have wanted you to be my girlfriend ever since you mentioned how much you love Americana,” Kit confessed, causing my grin to broaden. “Will you? Will you be my girlfriend, Lana?” 

   “I don’t know if I have ever wanted something so much,” I nodded, despite the fact I knew he couldn’t see me. “I will most certainly be your girlfriend.” 

   “I thought I’d lost you, you know, before.” 

   “Well, you haven’t.” 

   “But, I was stupid.” 

   “Yes.” 

   “But sorry.” 

   “Again, yes,” I sighed, although in actuality I found his remorse endearing. “I know all that happened, I know that you’re sorry, and I know that despite the fact you were an idiot, I forgive you. You’re worth it, Kit, I know you won’t do it again.” 

   “Never.” 

   “Good,” I smiled. 

   “I’ll call you back in a little while, your lessons start at nine? This is true?” 

   “Yes, nine,” I replied. 

   “Okay, be safe,” he urged. 

   “I will, call me soon.” 

   “I will,” he began to chuckle and I laughed in response. 

   “What?” I wondered. 

   “I’m dating Lana O’Rourke.” 

   The bus pulled up to my stop and I hurried down the steps, being careful not to trip and fall like I often did, knocking my coccyx against the harsh stairs leading down from the top deck. I started up the hill to my school, and, on reaching the school gates, was met by a group of my friends, all looking at me curiously. 

   “Hello?” I raised an eyebrow, eager to get inside, into the warm. 

   “Why didn’t you tell us?” Beth asked exuberantly, her long, dark hair bouncing on her shoulders, her fringe getting caught in her lashes.