Page 57 of Drawn Together
How rude of her, Fletcher thought. To come barreling into his life right when he was starting to figure things out, just to turn them all back upside down again.
Eighteen
Wordoftheday:cafuné
Definition: the act of tenderly running your fingers through the hair of someone you love
My feet tuck under my butt as I squish down in the tiny hall closet, like a ninja waiting on her enemy's arrival. We are three bottles of wine down between the six of us and someone—I don’t remember who, but I have a feeling it was Stephan—had the excellent idea of us playing ‘sardines.’ Which, as they described it, is basically backwards hide and seek, where one the person hides and everyone else searches. When someone finds you, you both have to hide until everyone is eventually back together. We have already done two trial runs, but Margot was hiding the first time, and when Lennon got close to her hiding spot, she started hysterically laughing and shouting that she had to pee.
Then there was Stephan, who hid behind the living room curtains and the game was over before it could even begin.
Lennon said, “The smartest in the room needs to do it.” And just as I turned to point at Fletcher, everyone else pointed at me.I tried to argue, but Fletcher shook his head and pushed those round frame glasses up his strong bridge. “Flora, no question.”
Hence, the closet.
Feet keep shuffling back and forth and when Noah says “Has anyone checked the hall closet?” Margot responds, “Duh, I checked there first.”
She didn’t. She checked the half bath beside me and said, again, she had to pee. I think at least one bottle of the missing wine was due to her.
The door cracks open, and I jump in my skin, knees tucked to my chest.
Fletcher smiles, and it’s a goofy one. All wobbly and silly, and it makes me giggle. He dips down to the ground beside me, feet pulled in tight. He looks so young like this.
“Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi,” I whisper back.
The others’ voices slide down toward the nearest bedroom, so Fletcher leans forward to close the door before settling in to wait.
This closet is far bigger than any of the ones in our apartment, but it’s still a closet, so when the sides of our thighs graze one another, my arms erupt in goosebumps.
“They talk so loud,” he whispers.
“Because of the wine?”
“No, it's like this all the time.”
“Oh,” I snort.
Fletcher reaches a hand up, grabs a lock of my curls and twists it around his fingers, pulling them through the tight coils. It bounces back toward me at the end, and he watches it, fascination in his dilated pupils.
So, this is what Fletcher looks like tipsy. All warm and fuzzy, grainy edges, and wobbly smiles.
“Do you think if we stay in here for an hour, they’ll eventually fall asleep?”
“I think you severely overestimate their power to stay awake after drinking.”
“Thirty minutes?”
Feet go rustling past, a little slower this time.
“Five minutes, tops.” Fletcher whispers loudly, and I don’t know why, but it makes me chortle.
Sitting in a hall closet with my newest best friend, a shoe rack poking my side and the arm of a leather jacket grazing my head, I feel like I’m being pulled into this whole other world. Like, I finally caught a glimpse of maybe what college was supposed to be, instead of studying alone in my dorm for an art final or taking every weekend to go back home to work in my parent’s shop. No extracurricular, no friends, no fun. Was this what everyone else was experiencing, though? Was this what Austin found in his friend group when I wasn’t around? Was this everything I missed out on during the years that were supposedly the ‘ones I would miss forever,’ according to our class valedictorian?
I soak in it, resting in the joy, the youth, and the giddy feeling of being in a closet with a boy who smells like rain and cloves.
“You make me feel young again.”
