And this day just keeps getting better, doesn't it? I lose all my homework, fail a pop quiz, get a detention, have to get the bus with other, poorer people, and then DJ just has to go and give my double page spread to Noah, just so he can cover some band nobody's even heard of splitting. I was going to give readers an insight into Samantha Ronson's wardrobe... something people actually want to read. God, I could really go for a smoothie right now – something strawberry might calm me down.
I sighed just a little dramatically as I sat gracefully at my desk; even annoyed, Amanda Pearce is always poised. No one paid any attention to my melodramatic tendencies. I suppose they're used to it by now, considering how easily I can be flustered. No, not flustered, because Amanda Pearce is never flustered. Maybe a better word would be... irritated. Yes, I can tend to get a little irritated when things don't go my way, like today, for example. I just want to put this whole day in the past to be honest, so that I can forget about it for eternity.
Just as I was about to begin writing my next article – the best hats to wear this summer – the elevator doors opened. Normally, I would have easily disregarded this event, since it happened so often, but it's hard to ignore an explosion. Yes, this time I really do mean what I say. When Wilder leaves a room, or in this case an elevator, it is, for lack of a better example, an explosion.
He can never simply walk anywhere; he has to fly by on his skateboard, performing amazing tricks that, done by anyone else, I would find extremely tacky and idiotic. With Wilder, though, I can't help but be amazed. It's as though he belongs on that skateboard, although I don't think the board would agree when I count the number of times Wilder's fallen from it.
God, I'm going to have to add this to my list of aggravations for today: I'm getting distracted by Wilder of all people. In my defence, the whole office was distracted by his entrance today. The elevator doors opened and he catapulted out on his board, soaring through the air, only to land (fall) at the foot of the small staircase, spilling a strawberry smoothie over the linoleum. Half the office began laughing at him, which even I thought was a little cruel. The other half rushed to help him, to see if he was okay.
Me? I sat at my desk watching the chaos. I watched as Wilder shooed everybody away, insisting he was fine. I watched as he tentatively stood, tapping each major body part to check for injury. I watched – and smiled – as he then turned instantly to tend to his skateboard, making sure nothing had broken or been scratched during his fall.
Apparently his board was fine as the next thing I witnessed (after watching, highly amused, as he gave it a tender kiss) was Wilder making his way towards me, albeit slightly shaken.
It took all of my great amounts of self-control to contain an uncharacteristic swoon at the sight of his tousled, soft brown hair carrying on the breeze from the air conditioner, revealing his chocolate eyes. The mischievous half-grin on his face did nothing to help.
"Hey, Amanda," he said nonchalantly, seating himself on m desk, "Are you feeling better?"
I was confused, perplexed, completely nonplussed, as was often the case around him. He had the power to render me speechless with one flick of his hair, and I was a hard person to shut up. When had I been ill? The last time I felt truly sick, I had been in the summer after 6th grade, about four years ago; I had been convinced it was because I'd worn a non-designer labelled dress to graduation. Turns out I'd had tonsillitis, but I'd rather not risk getting ill again. It's one of the many reasons I'm so against wearing poor people clothes.
"What are you talking about, Wilder?" I replied, trying hard, once again, to keep from sighing as he smiled wider, "I'm fine." His adorable smile grew even more at my words.
"So it wasn't you sitting in front of me in detention, right next to B.O. Benny? And it wasn't you sitting on the bus, squashed against the window trying to avoid toughing the huge dude beside you? Wow, there must be a lot more beautiful girls in this town then I thought." He pretended to look thoughtful for a moment before meeting my wide eyes somewhat bashfully. "I didn't stalk you, if that's what you're thinking. I did, however, think you might need a pick-me-up after such a bad day..." He trailed off and motioned to something behind him.
After I'd recovered from my shock, I let my gaze follow his hands and fall upon the spilled smoothie that Rebecca was trying desperately to remove before it stained. Then I was filled with a completely new emotion: I was touched. It was rare for people to do something nice for me unprompted, and it felt nice to know I was cared about.
"That was for me?" I asked in disbelief, though I kind of suspected it was. Only Wilder would know exactly what smoothie flavour could calm me down and make me happy. He nodded, offering another, much smaller smile.
"So," he began, getting up from his position on my desk and instead rolling over on his own chair, "I've finished my piece for this week and you look like you need to vent." He raised an eyebrow at me, waiting for my confirmation. Now it was my turn to smile a little – it was hard to do anything but smile when Wilder was around and acting so thoughtful. Needing little encouragement (I do enjoy talking about myself), I launched into a long and detailed explanation of everything that had grated in my nerves today. "... And then you burst in, which really annoyed me because," I stopped my rant suddenly, aware of the momentous secret I had been about to unintentionally reveal. I added hastily, "Forget I said that," before promptly turning an unattractive shade of red.
Wilder sat there for a moment taking it all in. He let out a low whistle and said simply, "Wow, you really did need that smoothie. Sorry Amanda." I had to giggle at his sweetness. The boy has turned me to mush, I swear. Amanda Pearce never giggles, no matter how cute the boy.
"And I'm sorry I annoyed you as well," he added, his eyes, for once, serious and sincere, "I'm not quite sure how, but..." He trailed off, leaving me to watch helplessly as he began to walk away. I've no idea what came over me – Amanda Pearce always lets the guys chase her, not the other way around – but I had to let him know how he'd gotten on my nerves, and I had to tell him now.
"Wilder?" I called out to his back. He stopped, so I took this as a sign to continue, "Can I tell me why you're annoying, please?" A hopeful smile graced my (gorgeous) features when he turned to face me again.
"You know," he began in his I'm-saying-something-clever-for-once voice, "Coming from anyone else, I'd take that as an insult." He laughed, and I had to join in because he's just infectious, really. I took a deep breath and checked to see no one was listening – I couldn't have anyone overhear our conversation, in case he rejected me.
"You annoy me because..." I paused, unsure how I would get the next few words out with as little damage to my pride as possible. I settled for saying them really quickly, arguing that the less time I spent saying them, the less embarrassing it would be. "Because I-kinda-really-like-you-and-think-you're-really-cute-and-funny-and-sweet." When he didn't respond, I started to panic a bit, though obviously I maintained my unflustered composure; remember, Amanda Pearce does not show when she's panicking.
"Wilder?" I asked again, shyly. Suddenly, and I mean instantaneously, without any warning whatsoever, Wilder's face broke into the biggest, brightest smile I'd ever seen and he hugged me tightly. Of course, like any girl with a crush, I'd imagined many times what it would feel like for Wilder to hug me like that, but he managed to beat all my expectations and dreams. He smelled different to the rich boys I'd dated in the past – he smelled like Wilder. Again, I giggled, which turned into a mirthful shriek as he lifted me and spun me, still grinning like a loon.
"Amanda, Amanda, Amanda," he repeated, finally setting me down, though not releasing his hold on me, "I think now is a very suitable time to tell you," he tilted my head (even in my expensive four inch heels, I'm still almost a foot shorter than him) and whispered in my ear, "You annoy me too." His breathy chuckle sent shivers running through me, and I was filled with a sudden, though not entirely new, urge to kiss him.
Only he beat me to it. His lips captured mine in the sweetest, purest, most breath-taking kiss I'd ever experienced. It lasted only a few seconds, but it's memory wouldn't fade for a long while. His forehead rested on mine after we break apart, and it took immense effort to steady my breathing. My heart was racing; with our closeness, he could probably feel it beating against my ribs.
When I sought out his eyes, I found them staring dazedly at my right cheek, and I couldn't help but giggle once more. The sound seemed to break Wilder out of his stupor, and his eyelashes brushed lightly against my skin as he blinked rapidly. "Awestruck," he whispered, so quietly I nearly didn't hear.
Finally, he looked me straight in the eye – I could see how hard he was trying not to go cross-eyed, which would really take away from the importance of the situation we'd found ourselves in. As chocolate brown met ice blue, Wilder murmured those four little words I'd unknowingly been dying to hear my whole life: "Be my annoying girlfriend?"
I could only nod and answer him with another (amazing) kiss. My only thought, other than how great a kisser the boy attached to me was, was how that day really only could get better.