Musically Gifted? Well, I Used to Play the Recorder...

Thirteen: Let's Pretend That Wasn't Totally Weird

Thirteen: Let's Pretend That Wasn't Totally Weird

Well, that was the most awkward ten seconds of my life.

            I’m not even kidding. Throughout the whole thing, my brain was screaming at me to pull away to end this whole uncomfortable situation, but at the same time I was kind of trying to prolong the kiss just to avoid having to make eye contact at the end.

            I’m expecting Tom to act all confident and smug when we’d... er, done... but to my surprise, when we pull apart, he looks kind of... flustered.

            Maybe I’m just imagining the flush that is spreading over his freckled cheeks.

            I feel kind of weird, too, actually, but that’s expected of me. I can’t do a simple thing without having a panic attack (although I’m not sure I would call kissing one of your friends just to demonstrate your technique a simple thing – more like a totally complicated and freaking weird thing). I clear my throat awkwardly and try to muster an amused smile, since Tom’s obviously not going to.

            “So...”

            He is deliberately not making eye contact with me, which is kind of strange. He was the one who suggested it in the first place, so why has he suddenly been struck down by the nervous virus which usually takes up permanent residence in me?

            “What did you think?”

            Oh my God, this is so awkward. Why did I even agree to this? Ugh, I’m such a pushover. It didn’t exactly take much convincing to get me to do it. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m just desperate for male attention.

            “Oh,” Tom says, sounding like he’d completely forgotten that he was meant to be analyzing my kissing ability. “Um, yeah. Good...”

            Well, this isn’t uncomfortable at all.

            We continue walking in silence for the next few minutes. Tom seems to be, for some reason, rendered unable to speak, and I just don’t know what to say to alleviate the tension (no change there then).

            I’m pretty sure it wasn’t my amazing ability to kiss that has temporarily damaged the part of his brain that allows him to speak.

            But hey, you never know. Miracles could happen.

            “Tom...” I say warily. “You do know where we’re going, don’t you?”

            “Um, yeah.”

            Such a convincing answer. I force a smile – one that I hope reads please tell me what’s on your mind, I am a friendly and reassuring person. “Are you okay?”

            “Fine,” he responds quickly, which makes it obvious this is not the case. Then, he brings his head up and finally makes eye contact with me. “Honestly. I’m fine.”

            “If you say so.”

            “You got a bit of drool on me, though.”

            Immediately my hand snaps upwards to my mouth, self-consciously wiping away any traces of saliva that may happen to be lingering there. It feels dry, but I’m still paranoid. Tom watches my action and after a few seconds bursts into laughter.

            “I was kidding, you know.”

            “I hate you.”

            “If you hate me, then why did you kiss me?” The smug smile has returned to his face. I’m not sure whether I should be relieved that he’s got over the weird behavior of thirty seconds ago, or peeved that he’s back to making fun of me wherever possible.