Then You Saw Me by Carrie Aarons
6
Taya
He flirted with me. Of his own accord, with a hundred other girls around.
I lie in my bed, hugging one of the eight pillows I always sleep with to my chest like some lovesick teen. I mean, I guess I kind of am, even though I am already twenty.
Austin Van Hewitt had sought me out at the party, talked me up, and I was quite sure something would have happened. Maybe he wasn’t going to try anything with how many drinks I’d had.
I admit, I was drunk. Okay, I was past drunk. I wasn’t blackout to the point where I didn’t remember anything, but I was definitely a little brown out. There were pieces of the night that were fuzzy, because I’d been so nervously chugging on my cup all night before he found me that I was wasted.
There is a vague memory of Austin walking away instead of taking me to dance … I think he asked me to dance? I was a little miffed that I wasn’t in his bed, or at least able to remember a kiss. We definitely didn’t have one of those, though I’d been hoping it would happen last night.
God, how pathetic am I? I talked a big game to Amelie and Bevan at the diner about how I’m not affected by him. That my crush was long gone and we could exist as roommates.
Then our first big party happened and all the fairy tale Cinderella dreams had come true. I thought the prince would finally come and notice me, and he had, but at midnight I’d turned back into the pumpkin.
Would it happen again? Looking up at the ceiling as if willing it to open up and reveal Austin so I could ask him, I wiggle my toes. The giddy energy rolling off of me is ridiculous, but I can’t believe he actually noticed me. I need to get a grip because if it doesn’t happen again and I have to keep living in this house with him, I know I’ll be heartbroken.
Sheesh, I really am pathetic. Plus, I don’t have a lot of hot little numbers like the one I wore last night. I brought my A-plus game, and I’m not in his bed.
Okay, so the fire-engine red dress that looked like a second skin might have been a bit obvious, but it worked. I could feel Austin’s eyes on me as we set up for the party. And for the first time since I started crushing on him, I felt powerful in this dynamic.
And for once in my life, I wanted all the attention on me.
I’m good at fading into the background, blending in, and being the one that doesn’t upset the balance. I play my part, even though it isn’t front and center or superstar of the team. I’ve been doing it since birth.
My cell vibrates on the bed next to me, and it’s as if my mother’s ears are ringing.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my family. I love my parents. They’ve never done anything to discourage me. They’re always happy for me and have a word of wisdom if I need it.
But when your sibling is a goddamn superstar, a legend in the making, it’s pretty evident that your parents have a favorite child.
And unfortunately, I don’t play that role in my family.
It’s not that they mean to be neglectful, but my sister, Kathleen, has been special from the start. She’s an equestrian champion, bound for the Olympics next summer. I was three when she was born, and she rode a horse for the first time at four years old. I remember being seven, at the same riding school our mother bought both of us kids lessons at, and thinking how fun it was.
What I wasn’t privy to was just how natural Kathleen was up there. That the instructor pulled Mom to the side after our second lesson and told her just how much potential my sister had.
From there, Kath took off like lightning. Her practices intensified, and by the time she was five, she was at the riding center three to four times a week, for three hours at a time. My parents would either go together, dragging me along, or take shifts. My sister was ranked regionally, then for the state, and soon nationally.
My entire childhood and teenage years were spent at that riding center, but not because I was actually participating in the activity. I did homework on uncomfortable chairs with the smells of horse and hay around me. My college applications were done on airplanes traveling to other states or countries for Kath’s competitions. While my parents were hard on me about grades, Kath dropped out of high school two months into freshman year and got private tutoring because the Olympics were on the horizon.
I guess I couldn’t be too sour about it; I got to stay with Amelie and Bevan’s families a lot, which made us even greater friends. My life is fine, it’s great, it’s just …
This feeling of inadequacy, of always being second place, permeates everything I do. It would take a ridiculous display of a temper tantrum to even get my parents to notice me, and the amount of times they missed one of my talent shows or school dances because Kathleen had a competition is too many to count.
I’ve carried that weight on my back my entire life, and so when something like what happened with Austin last night occurs, I can’t help the icy fingers of deficiency that creep around my heart.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer, trying to shoo the inadequate feeling from my tone.
“Bonjour, my sweet girl. How you doing this morning?” Mom always greets me in a language she knows I know.
And then I feel guilty for hating on my parents so much in my head. Because they do love me, I know that. It’s just … they love my sister more. Or they care about her accomplishments more.
“It’s Saturday morning on a college campus. How do you think I’m feeling?” I chuckle.
It’s no secret that college kids party and my parents are pretty cool when it comes to that. Though this morning, I don’t have the usual Friday night hangover. It’s replaced with the lightness of my heart, beating for the boy upstairs.
“Good night, huh? You sound pretty okay to me.” I hear some muffled talking on the other end of the phone, and then Mom yells, “No, the cognac one! She doesn’t like the black leather.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Mom’s attention is back on our phone call. “We’re in Connecticut trying to pick out your sister’s new boots.”
There is a one-of-a-kind riding supply shop there that Kathleen has visited many times, and Mom usually makes the trip with her. Since the Olympics are coming up this summer, my sister’s schedule has intensified. Everything has to be perfect, and my parents will spare no trip or expense.
“Oh, nice. Tell Kath I say hi.” My voice loses some of its luster.
“How are classes? You did so well last semester, you think you’ll land that UN internship this summer?”
It’s nice to know that sometimes they do listen and keep track of what I’m doing. I may be the older sibling, which lends itself to being the more doted upon child, but I’m lucky if Mom and Dad remember I made the Dean’s List.
Flipping over onto my stomach, I hear someone rumbling in the kitchen down below. I wonder if it’s Austin.
“I’m filling out the paperwork now to apply for the internship, so cross your fingers. Classes are good, and I’m especially loving this Russian literature class I got into. It not only delves into the language, but about how the great novelists impacted it. We also have a new room—”
“What’s that, Kath? Oh, crap … Taya? I have to call you back. They don’t have the kind of leather your sister likes, and we may have to custom order. It won’t be here in time for next month’s qualifiers. I have to go!”
Disappointment floods me as she hangs up the phone.
When I wander down to the kitchen, Bevan and Callum are sitting at the table sipping coffee while Scott flips pancakes.
“Can I get some of those?” I sidle up to him, batting my eyelashes.
He snorts. “You’re a mooch. Why am I always cooking for everyone?”
“Because you’re the best cook, and I hate to.” I grab a mug from the cabinet and throw a green tea bag in it while I warm the teapot.
Austin walks in, his sandy blond hair rumpled from sleep. He’s wearing a navy and gold Talcott sweatshirt over gray and navy plaid pajama bottoms, and he looks freaking edible.
“Morning,” he croaks, looking a little worse for the wear. “Is anyone as hungover as I am?”
Callum raises a hand and then lays his forehead on the table.
“He puked this morning.” Bevan snickers but rubs her boyfriend’s back as she bends to coo in his ear.
Well, guess they made up. How long until the next impending blowup?
“Morning.” I smile at Austin.
I try not to let my heart flutter or my stomach dip, but damn, it totally doesn’t work. Traitors.
As for the object of my affection? He barely gives me a passing glance.
Well, guess my organs are now taking a nosedive. I suck in a sharp breath, because this is sophomore homecoming all over again. Does he even realize that we flirted? Was he too drunk and now doesn’t even remember? That would be just my fucking luck.
I want to smack myself for being so stupid, for giving in to these childish feelings again. Here I thought this was the start of something, but I’m nothing more than that desperate high schooler trying to get the older popular guy to notice her.
I busy myself around the kitchen, doing everything and nothing at all, as the conversation chugs along around me. At some point, Amelie walks in and touches my shoulder as she passes.
“Were you talking to someone in your sleep?” Am stretches her arms above her head.
“Mom called. Then hung up on me,” I deadpan, turning to fill my tea.
Bevan snorts behind me. “What a load of bullshit. Let me guess, Queen Kathleen needed her ass wiped?”
My best friend is not a big fan of my sister, especially because it means my parents forget about me a lot because of her. As someone with her own stark abandonment issues, Bevan is my biggest defender.
When I turn, Austin’s eyes are on me. He regards me with something like guarded curiosity, and I want to flip my middle finger up at him. I don’t know why I have the overwhelming urge, but I do.
I want to tell him that no, he isn’t the only one who can make me feel like shit, but that seems melodramatic.
So I do what I always do. I suck it up, put a smile on my face, and pretend that everything is fine. Because even though I’m not a priority in anyone’s life, and even though my heart is slowly fracturing, I’m always the girl you can count on to hold steady.
If I don’t have that attribute assigned to me, then who am I really?