Chasing Stars - Part One

He bumbled through the door with his friends, his high school tie askew, a sheepish smile tilted on his small, freckled face.

‘Harry!’ My best friend jumped over to him. ‘I want you to meet my best friend, Lexi.’

His smile grew. ‘Hi,’ he managed, his sea-blue eyes meeting mine.

‘Hi.’ I gave a half-wave, glaring at the greasy chip shop floor. I wanted to run so fast. His friends started elbowing him and jeering, and that’s thankfully when a voice called, ‘Salt and vinegar, girls?’

‘He was cute,’ my best friend said, scoffing her chips.

‘Don’t do that again. That was so embarrassing.’

*

‘Alright class, today we're exploring the principles of DNA replication. We'll be discussing the enzymes involved and…’

His sea-blue eyes darted up at me from his notebook when he thought my eyes were fixed on the teacher. But I felt his gaze on me like the summer sun. My cheeks were hot, so I scribbled notes to distract myself. Until I noticed his friend saying something to him. Then my eyes darted up. He caught them before I could look away.

*

‘Would you write in my yearbook?’ I finally plucked up the courage to ask him after class was over.

We hadn’t spoken much since we met months ago, but our eyes had said a great deal in between during science class and as we brushed past one another around school.

Harry nodded, blushing. ‘Have you…’

‘Oh. Yep. Uh…’ I pulled a pen out of my shabby rucksack. ‘Here.’

He had short, brown hair, gelled up like all the year eleven boys did, and had a contagious smile. He was sweet, almost mouse-like, but there was something about him that made me feel completely jelly-like, completely intimidated.

‘What happened to your arm?’ I asked, pointing to the blue cast.

He shrugged, wincing slightly. ‘Footy injury.’

‘Ouch,’ I said.

He pressed his lips together, looking unsure. ‘Uh... so... I'll just…’

‘Oh!’ I nearly tripped over my own foot. ‘Um, yeah, I’ll just wait over…’ I pointed to my friend.

‘You got French next, Lex?’ my friend asked but rolled her eyes when she saw my attention caught up with Harry.

He hadn’t put pen to paper yet. He just stared at the page. What was he thinking? What did he think of me? Did he like me? Was he wondering how to politely let me down? Oh no. I should’ve waited till he asked me to sign his first. Maybe he thought I was desperate. Oh, it was too late. He glanced up at me and saw me staring. Oh, great. He smirked and went back to gazing at the page. What if he declared his undying love for me? What if he did ask me out? What would I say?

‘Here you go.’ Harry was suddenly in front of me with my yearbook, barely able to meet my eye.

My heart flipped at all the romantic possibilities enveloped in those pages.

‘Great, thanks!’ I grinned and stalked off as fast as I could.

‘Lexi, wait for me!’ My friend called down the hall, but I didn’t stop until I got to the girls’ toilets.

I flicked it open.

All the best for the future, Harry.

Not even a kiss.

*

A week later, I staggered down the corridor after the most mind-numbing maths lesson, passing by the empty hall when the most enchanting melody caught my ear. Titanic's My Heart Will Go On.

Who was playing that? It was mesmerising. Music wasn’t usually my thing, but I could’ve listened to that all day. I peered into the hall, where sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a golden glow across the floor. The resonant notes echoed off the walls, and then I spotted who was sitting at the grand piano.

My heart stopped. My mouth was dry. My eyes were fixated.

Harry.

He leaned into the music, his expression deep in concentration but at a natural ease, as though he could do this piece in his sleep. The hall, usually bustling with the noise of school life, was filled with a sanctuary of sound.

I stepped closer, eager to catch every note.

Harry looked up and met my gaze, his eyes seeming to peer into my thoughts while flawlessly playing this incredible piece, not missing a single beat. He seemed to have more to say with his eyes than with the words he had pencilled in my yearbook.

I smiled, and so did he. The room fell silent in awe.

*

The cafeteria at school was bustling more than usual on Thursday. Burger and fries were on the menu. I threw my crisp packet in the heaving bin, and as I turned around, Harry was there, flustered, tucking his hands in and out of his trousers like he couldn’t keep still.

‘Hi, Lexi.’

‘Hi, Harry,’ I replied with a nervous laugh.

'Haven't seen you around for a while.'

'Just been busy.'

‘Oh. Okay. So…I wanted to ask. I mean…’ His eyes darted to the jam-packed hall and back at me, although he couldn’t meet my eyes. ‘Would you like to…I mean, do you want to…um, go to prom with me?’ His cheeks were as pink as the blusher I swept over my face that morning. ‘We’re getting a limo and everything.’

‘Uh, yeah, okay,’ I stammered and stalked off.

My palms were clammy, and my chest was clenched. My feet paced down the corridor, unable to stop. I couldn’t go to prom with him. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him. I did. I wasn’t sure what I thought. Why was this such a problem? Why did everything inside of me recoil at the idea? I’d never properly dated anyone. A week of flirting here or there. But dating? Commitment wasn’t something I wanted. And this…this felt like commitment. What if it all went wrong? What if we didn’t even get on? We barely knew each other. I was a Christian. I didn’t know what he believed in. We had different friends. We were mostly in different class sets. We were so opposite. What if he expected something from me? I couldn’t be his date. I wasn’t date-material. He’d have much more fun with someone else. ?Not that I wanted him to go with someone else. I didn’t know what I wanted.

‘Just do it, please,’ I begged my best friend the next day at lunch, pushing her towards Harry. I was a total coward as I peered from behind the vending machine in the school cafeteria while she went over and told him I’d changed my mind. My heart crumpled as his face did the same.

*

‘You look nice,’ Harry said, looking so unbelievably cute in a suit that was slightly too big for him and made him look like a penguin. But the cutest penguin there was.

‘Thanks,’ I looked down at my black satin dress as though I’d forgotten what I’d spent months deliberating over for prom. My face was burning from the embarrassment of how I’d treated him. ‘So do you.’

‘Do…’

‘Well…’

We laughed.

‘We’re sitting over here if you want to join us?’ I offered.

He nodded, but I saw another girl hanging around his table, waiting for his return.

‘See you around,’ he said with a small smile that was enough to tell me he’d already forgiven me.

My heart fizzed like the glass bottle of Coke in my hand. Perhaps we could still be friends.

*

Summer came and went in a flash of heat with our loyal showers dotted around. I went on my family camping holidays, and Harry went on his family caravan holiday. We text in between, met up a few times, and wildly debated our views on who created the world on MSN. He called me crazy, and I called him crazy. Then we said goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow in sixth form.

*

Our first year of sixth form had begun.

I studied hard. Harry distracted me even harder.

Harry went through a phase of dying his hair black, I went through a phase of adoring Take That.

I asked if he wanted to join my friends and me for our weekly dessert and drinks evenings at a restaurant, and he said yes.

For many months, Harry and I hung out, tumbled in the long grass and laughed about everything and nothing all at once. We watched films at friends’ houses till midnight, stuffing our faces with popcorn and cuddling during the ‘scary parts’. We texted each other non-stop, 24/7. My heart was opening more than ever. It scared me more than it should, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stop it. I wasn’t sure if I could.

Then he popped the question around the back of a friend’s house where we’d been spending the evening: ‘Lex, do you want to go out with me?’

‘We have been hanging out,’ I said, playing dumb, my body clamming up again. I grabbed the long sleeves of his hoodie that he’d draped around my shoulders.

‘I want to be your boyfriend…’ His eyes bored into mine. He smelled of damp grass because we’d been lying in the garden for hours talking, even after our friends went inside to escape the spring chill.

He was being so patient with me. I wondered why he kept trying. But that commitment – the fear of us failing, of him hurting me, of me hurting him, of everything going wrong, of feeling stuck and belonging to someone – we were only sixteen.

‘I can’t,’ I said, wishing I wasn’t so afraid.

That’s when my dad came to pick me up, and I shot off, holding on to the scent of him still draped around me, to the idea of something that could’ve been great.