Girls Like Me: Young and Privileged of Washington, DC, #4

Chapter 1

Itried to keep up with the crowd’s cheering, even though my voice gave out long before the start of halftime. I didn’t really know this cheer, anyway. But I still wanted to participate so as the fans continued shouting, I clapped. I love these types of events; lots of people all cheering on the same team, routing for the same players.

The jubilant vibe in the bleachers was contagious and I caught the bug. A new cheer started and this time I knew the verses, but since I had no voice I just mouthed the words as I stomped my feet and clapped my hands along with the rhythm of the cheerleaders.

It was a cold October night, but I was prepared for the weather—I was as cozy as a girl could be, thanks to my wool mittens (with Thinsulate lining, of course), and Frye over-the-knee boots that hid knee-high wool socks. Sexy/Cute is what I liked to call my winter look...and what I so wish I really looked like.

Unfortunately, I’m kind-of a wallflower that is best friends with a bouquet of gorgeous and exotic premium blossoms. Even after the obligatory nose job, laser treatments to take care of every bit of unseemly hair on my body, and my many attempts to find the perfect hair color and highlights to layer on top of my mousey brown natural color, I was still painfully average. And yet I swear that all of my best friends are going to be super models.

I cover my boring presence with a lot of long blonde highlights and designer clothes, and hide my introversion behind my friends’ sociability. I’ve learned to hide it well, and I can comfortably get through my demanding social life just fine—as long as I have a good book to curl up with while I’m all alone in my room at the end of the day.

On the rare occasions that I’m by myself in a social setting, I hide my introversion behind a bitchy attitude. So, yes, I’m a cliché bitch, with a nice girl buried deep down inside. Only my friends and family know that girl, the rest of the world knows "that girl".

But there was no bitchy attitude tonight; I was having a blast. I don’t know if it was the crowd mentality—everyone’s cheering and feeling festive—or if it was being together with all of my best girlfriends and a weekend full of activities planned.

Really, we were just piggy backing on my boyfriend’s homecoming weekend—none of our schools had homecoming events and my boyfriend is the star quarterback on the football team for his high school.

The vibe was so cheerful that it was impossible for me to crawl into my space—the imaginary place in my head where I could be alone. I spend a great deal of time there. Not tonight, though...tonight, I was as one with the crowd.

The players started to line up for the first play of the second half and the cheers died down in anticipation. The air still smelled of burning wood, thanks to the bonfire that some students set off before the game. I took a deep breath; I love the smell of fall.

Here you go, my best friend Tori said as she handed me a hot chocolate that she brought back from the snack bar.

Her sister Genevieve (we call her Viv) followed her back to their spot on the aluminum bleachers, with a couple of more drinks and an armful of snacks. We were now set with munchies for the final half of the game.

I don’t even know who was winning or losing; frankly, I don’t care. I’m not really into football. We’re just here because it’s Homecoming weekend—attending a Homecoming game is almost mandatory, even for us private school types.

This game wasn’t at my school, of course; I attend an all-girls school in McLean with Tori. The game’s at Georgetown Prep in Maryland; they’re playing the St. Albans team—my boyfriend’s school. Preston is not only the star quarterback of the football team, but he’s also the highest-ranking student in his class. He’s an over-achiever, obviously.

Two of my girlfriends attend the Sidwell Friends School...yes, the same school that many celebrity children attend. Viv, always different, goes to the Rochambeau French School—she wants to move to France and become a clothing designer some day. Tori and I go to Madeira...a lesser-known school. My parents yelled and screamed when I said I wanted to go to Madeira.

It’s over the river, for heavens sake! How the hell are you going to get to and from school everyday? they had asked.

Over the river meant that it was in Virginia, and the commute across the one inadequate bridge that separates Bethesda—where we live—and McLean is always time-consuming, no matter what time of day it is. But I wanted to do something different than all of my friends, so I chose a different school, one with a new set of kids.

When my parents continued to protest, I suggested another school—Hotchkiss—it’s just as prominent as Sidwell Friends, but Hotchkiss is in Connecticut. So, they had to decide whether to send me over the river, or hours away...those were the options that I gave them.

The compromise they agreed to actually benefited me: they suggested that I attend Madeira, but also get a dorm on campus so I wouldn’t have to travel back and forth five days a week—I’d only come home on weekends. If I didn’t want to go home, I just came up with some school assignment that I pretended I had to do. That excuse got me out of going home every time I used it.

So I made out like a bandit. I could have the typical high-school life in dorms, with just a quick half hour drive from my house, in case I got homesick or needed anything.

Holy shit! Did you see that run? my overly emphatic friend, Emelia, yelled at me over the roar of the St. Albans crowd.

I nodded, even though I was lost in my thoughts and not even looking at the field. While Emelia was reliving the events with Asli, another of our friends, I took a sip of the hot chocolate and almost spit it out. It wasn’t hot chocolate at all, it was brown water...clearly this was a messed up cup of cocoa.

Hey, does anyone else have watery hot chocolate? I asked our friends.

Everyone answered no, that their drinks were great. I looked at Emelia’s...hers even had whipped cream—mine did not. What’s new? I always seemed to get the short end of the stick.

I told my friends I was going to get another. Of course, sweet Emelia offered to give me her drink, claiming she didn’t want it anyway, but I refused. I know that she’s just so nice that she’d rather do without than have me walk to the snack bar. Her kindness kills me; I’m just thankful that she has us as friends—we make sure no one takes advantage of her generosity.

Tori jumped up and said she’d go with me. She probably wanted something more to eat—she’s one of the lucky ones. Tori’s a tall and skinny girl who eats whatever she wants and doesn’t gain an ounce. Viv, too...it must be genetic.

We walked through the overly crowded bleachers with all of the cheering fans not paying an iota of attention to us, and then walked the thirty or so feet away to stand in line at the snack bar.

A trio of boys was ahead of us in line, and they were horsing around and making jokes. I didn’t recognize any of them, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the one who was furthest from me.

He was gorgeous. And not in the teenage girl with raging hormones kind of way—no exaggeration, he was breathtaking. At least, he took my breath away. Although he was smiling and laughing with his friends, he seemed more mature than them...a bit above the raucous behavior of teenaged boys. Maybe they aren’t teens at all? I watched him, trying to figure out what exactly I found so attractive.

There was nothing exceptionally notable about him, aside from his platinum blonde, spiky hair. He had a three-quarter length winter parka on, and looked bundled up and warm. His dark jeans were somewhat fitted and went over his boots. It was a rugged, but clean look...and I liked it.

I just watched him for a bit, wishing I could get closer to him. He was mesmerizing. It was almost musical how he moved; he exuded both rough masculinity and elegance at the same time. This was the first guy my age that I found sexy at first sight.

I swear I could feel his energy; as he joked with his friends, my body moved—just the slightest—in the same direction as his. He seemed so familiar to me. I dug around in my head to see if I had met him before, but came up blank.

Wait. Is this a crush? I’ve had crushes on actors or sports stars, and—once upon a time—I had a crush on my boyfriend, Preston. But those crushes didn’t feel like this. This felt...well, different.  

I tried to hear what he was saying, on the rare occasions that he did speak, but his voice was softer than his friends’. That is, it was...until it was their turn in line and his friends weren’t paying attention to the cashier.

Guys, wake up...put in your orders, he said with authority.

As his friends moved forward to the cashier, he stepped behind them—directly in front of Tori and me—to let them order first. When he stepped around his friends our eyes met, and we just stared at each other for a minute.

He looked like he was confused, but he never moved his gaze from mine, except a brief moment when he looked me up and down. When his eyes returned to mine, it’s as if a light bulb had gone off in his head. The confusion left, and his mouth grew into a small smile, but he still looked intense.

I know I was blushing and I felt a small smile creep onto my face, never pulling my eyes away from him. I don’t think I even blinked. This close I could tell he was taller than me; my head was tilted back as his gaze held mine, literally making my body heat up. This must be a crush. Not a kid crush, but an adult crush.

Miko! Your turn! one of his friends yelled to him, forcing his eyes away from mine.

He turned back to his friends and walked up to the counter, put in his order, and paid. As he moved to the side where his friends were waiting for their food and drinks, he smiled at me again—fully this time. I returned his smile shyly.

Tori was tapping away on her phone and missed the whole interaction, thankfully. I didn’t want to explain myself to her. I could hear her now: what about Preston?! she’d exclaim in horror. Everyone thought Preston and I were the perfect couple, and all of the girls I knew thought he was such a catch. I guess the hottest guy on earth becomes a bit boring after five years of dating.

I stepped to the counter and Tori followed me without looking up, still typing away. I ordered a hot tea—since my hot chocolate sucked so bad I didn’t want to try another—and bottled water. Tori ordered the same, plus a slice of pizza.

As the cashier rang us up, she told me that our bill was taken care of, and then she swiped a credit card through the machine and ignored my question of by whom?

Miko—the guy that I was currently smitten with—stepped closer to us and took the card that the cashier handed to him. He turned back to face me, but I tensed up. I had no idea what to say, so I just spit out a mundane thank you. Ugh...why are my social skills so weak?

You got a tea, yes? Miko asked me.

I nodded in confirmation, trying with all my might to get the stupid smile off my face. He tilted his head to the side, pointing in the direction away from our friends, and said Come with me. He was smiling when he said it, but it wasn’t exactly a question. Very uncharacteristically of me, I agreed and told Tori I’d be right back.

As Miko passed his friends, he grabbed two teas off the counter and walked around the side of the snack bar to a high-top wooden table. It was dark on the side of the snack bar, and the sound of the crowd cheering was nearly cut in half just by turning the corner.

It was also desolate; tons of people were ten feet away, but this little side area was empty. Steam rose from the teas he set down, and I noticed he wasn’t wearing gloves.

He had large hands that looked nice but rough at the same time. This guy wasn’t weak, that’s for sure. Those hands have seen some action. I envisioned him chopping wood, or carrying barrels of hay. And even with the masculine hands, he was very polished.

He pulled a small black bottle with a purple T on the label out of the inside pocket of his coat. He opened the top, while explaining what it was.

It’s not exactly from my hometown, but it’s close, and well, all I can get in the States that’s similar. I don’t know if you’ll like this, but back home we mix herbal liquors with our tea when it’s cold outside, like if we’re skiing or something. It keeps you warm inside. Would you like to try some? he asked, after he’d already poured some into his cup.

Of course, I’d usually scream hell no assuming the guy was trying to roofie me, but he put some of the liquor into his tea first, and Tori was still nearby, so I figured it was safe. And—as naïve as this sounds—I felt safe with him.

Sure, why not? I said, and he poured a bit of the liquor into my cup. He handed a tea to me and lifted his.

Kippis, he said while tapping his paper cup to mine.

Uh, cheers? I responded, not quite sure if what he said meant cheers, but assuming so. He took a sip and smiled, staring at me again.

What is your name? he asked.

I noticed that he had a slight accent that I couldn’t place. It was definitely European, but I have no idea from which country.

Ava. What’s yours? I asked, even though I heard his friend call him Miko. I just didn’t want him to know I was paying such close attention. He paused before speaking again, but he was smirking as if he held some knowledge about something I wasn’t privy to. I shifted my feet, starting to feel intimidated—not in fear, but because he was so confident.

Miko. So which team are you rooting for? he asked.

Blue. That’s the color of his eyes. It was mostly dark where we stood, but his eyes were shining. And his lips were full, and he looked tall and strong and so...

I cleared my throat when I realized too much time had passed. I should have answered by now, but I was again mesmerized. It was his stare that was holding me hostage.

St. Albans. You?

I noticed that he was watching me like a tourist watching an intense sunset—slightly awed, and fully captivated. I guess that’s flattering; I’ve never really had any guy I don’t know seem really into me. But I felt like he was waiting for something...I just don’t know what.

Georgetown Prep. My best friend used to go here, and his little brother’s here now—playing in tonight’s game, actually. I was back from school so my friend wanted to come to the Homecoming game and show his support for his brother. How about you? St. Albans is an all-boys school, so why are you here?

That’s exactly the question I didn’t want to answer.

I shifted my weight again and looked away briefly. But it was long enough for Miko to recognize the change in me. I’ve never been good at hiding things or acting a part, and Miko just reminded me that I’m not the type of girl who should be drinking some mystery liquor and talking to some mysterious stranger.

I knew this conversation was about to go south quickly.  Either I was going to look like a bumbling idiot—if I tried to lie, which I suck at doing—or I knew I had just a minute or two left to be in his presence, before he found out I’m not single.

Uh, well, my friend is the St. Albans quarterback...so...

Your friend? he asked with a smirk on his face. I was caught.

Well, my boyfriend, I admitted.

Ah, of course. I should have known you’d be spoken for, and by the quarterback at that. But I have to ask you...I mean, you weren’t looking at me like you had a boyfriend, he prodded.

He was still smiling and didn’t seem too put off by my relationship status. I wasn’t sure how to respond to this. Should I be honest? Tell him my life story? Or do the right thing and say whatever’s needed to shut this down?

My instincts quickly pushed me into full defense mode, as they usually did. And the inner bitch that I try to keep inside started to rear her ugly head. I jutted my chin out and took a deep breath, knowing I was throwing away any chance of getting to know this guy any more than I currently did.

I’m sure you’re mistaken. You and your friends were being rambunctious; I was simply observing your antics, I said, hoping that I’d convinced him.

Really, he said, very slowly. Clearly he didn’t buy it. His crystal blue eyes happened to pick up light from somewhere that I couldn’t see. Again, I couldn’t remove my gaze from him.

Really. Preston and I...

Preston? he chuckled. That’s his name? And he goes to an all-boys school? I’m starting to get the picture.

St. Albans is a wonderful school, and...

Sure it is, he said, cutting me off. But there are wonderful coed schools as well. When boys have to choose which school they’re going to attend, a lot of factors come into play. I, personally, value the female mind equal to a man’s so I wanted to be educated alongside them as well. Going to an all-boys schools is, well, archaic.

OK, you know what? This guy is starting to piss me off. He doesn’t know me, nor does he know Preston. It is quite judge-y of him to say these things.

...of course, I totally agreed with him.

The only reason I chose Madeira is because Preston wanted me to go to an all-girls school and I felt all nostalgic about the idea, like I’d be going back to a simpler time when girls in dorms just studied, bonded, and braided each other’s hair. Quite unlike what private school is really like...at least my private school. Now that I was older and wiser, I wish I had made a different choice.

I don’t know. I go to an all-girls school and love the idea that I don’t have to be bothered with boys while I’m trying to learn.

"I totally understand a girl making that decision...boys are heathens. But for a guy to make that decision is different," he said, cutting me off again.

That’s it. This gorgeous guy is beyond getting on my nerves. I get a little protective about Preston, though I don’t really know why. And I really do agree with what Miko’s saying, but I’d never let him know that.

If you find women and men so equal, why are there two standards for choosing to be educated with or without the opposite sex? I asked with a very snippy tone. As soon as I finished that rhetorical question, I picked up my tea and prepared to walk away.

Thank you for buying our snacks, but I have to get back to my friends.

I didn’t mean to offend you, Ava, I... he started, sounding repentant.

I’m sure you didn’t, I said, this time cutting him off, but I really must get back. Thank you again, and it was a pleasure to meet you, Miko.

I turned and walked back to Tori, who was now engrossed in a conversation with one of Miko’s friends, laughing at something he’d just said to her.

Let’s go, I snipped at her.

What? Wait a sec. Dylan was just telling me about... she started to say, clearly wanting to get to know this guy more.

"Tori, please. We need to get back to our friends," I snapped.

Luckily, my well-hidden desperation reached her loud and clear. To everyone around us, I sounded like a total bitch. To Tori—who’s known me my whole life—I sounded like her wounded best friend. And she instantly jumped into action.

OK. Dylan, it was a pleasure to meet you. Enjoy the rest of the game! And don’t cry when the St. Albans boys kick your preppy boys’ butts! she cheerfully teased.

Dylan smiled at her, but looked disappointed. I’ve seen this look on dozens of guys as Tori walks away from them. She, as well as her twin sister Viv, is stunning. And she’s got it all: long blonde hair, height with long legs, brains, personality, and the list goes on. But the best part is, she’s not conceited at all. I gave Dylan a look of sympathy, as if to say sorry without using words.

Ava, wait, I heard Miko say as I was turning to walk away with Tori.

My mind froze, but my legs kept walking. I really wanted to turn around and let him make his case...and prove to him that I’m not the raging bitch that I was acting like. But how can he erase from his mind my flirting with him, even though I have a boyfriend? No, I just needed to go back to our friends, and focus on Preston’s game.

Tori and I walked back to the bleachers and found our way back to our friends through the roaring crowd. After we sat down and got comfortable, I finished off the tea that Miko had spiked. I was pleasantly surprised; it was actually really good. I don’t know if it was meeting him or if the tea mixture worked, but I was all warm and fuzzy inside.

As I took the last sip, I smiled to myself. Maybe if I had a bit more grace, I would have handled that situation a little better. But no, I freaked out and stomped away like a child, and now I’m just a little disappointed in myself.

My moment of potential sluttiness was over before it ever had a chance to really begin. That knowledge, uncharacteristically, bummed me out.

I was also confused. I couldn’t stop searching the bleachers for Miko (after confirming that he was no longer by the snack bar). I couldn’t stop wishing I had a few more minutes with him...he was so sure of himself, so confident and attractive, and so obviously flirting with me.

At the same time, I couldn’t shake off the guilt and embarrassment. I’m sure that Miko thinks I’m an immature floozy. I tried to ignore my cheating feelings and just jumped back into cheering for the game. It was pointless to think about him anyway; my chance was shot and I’m sure I’ll never see him again.

Just as I made that decision, St. Albans scored another touchdown with a pass thrown by Preston. I felt smug as Preston’s name was being praised on the loud speaker. That was my boyfriend they’re talking about...and I hoped Miko heard it.

OUR SCHOOL GAVE US the entire week of Thanksgiving off, so I was in high spirits on my way home from school on the Friday before. Tori was driving, and there was a ton of traffic on 495, so we put on some music in her brand new—yet responsible—electric BMW, and talked about everything we had planned for the week.

Aside from the usual Thanksgiving celebrations, a large group of our friends were driving to Richmond tomorrow night to attend Preston’s first jiu jitsu competition. He started training a few years ago and was now a blue belt; although he’s never competed before, he was confident that he was going to win and he wanted us all there to see it. I’m pretty sure all the competitors feel the same.

We’re also all going out together the night before Thanksgiving. Us girls and Preston and his friends, plus Asli’s boyfriend and his friends, are all going to a nightclub. The night before Thanksgiving is going to be annoyingly packed in the city, of course, but we have a table in the VIP reserved so we’ll have some space to ourselves.

And finally, us girls have a brunch planned at my house on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. This has been a tradition for us since we first met; we’ve all gotten together every Saturday after Thanksgiving, the only changes have been in the food served. It started with chocolate chip pancakes, it’s now Belgian waffles and fruit. And mimosas—that became part of the tradition last year, when my mom allowed us a couple of bottles of sparkling cava.

So this was going to be a great week. Then we’ll have to return to school for three weeks, and then we’ll be off for another two weeks. I absolutely love the holiday season—so much time to have fun with my friends and family, and take a break from school.

The jiu jitsu competition on Saturday was incredibly boring and, frankly, pretty gross. It was in a large room with fluorescent lighting and multiple fights occurring at the same time, sweat making the entire room humid and musty. We sat in the audience area and Preston’s friends spent their time watching the fights and hanging out with Preston between matches. Us girls used the time to sit together and catch up.

The only fights we watched were the ones with black belt fighters; those were a bit more exciting than the newbies just hugging each other on the mat. One of the black belt fighters was fantastic—both in form and beauty. When his match started, just about everyone in the place watched him.

I was quite taken with this guy. I watched him during three fights, all of which he won. He was so strong, and so fast. Not to mention that he towered over two of his competitors, and he was incredibly well built. Not too muscular, but bulkier than his opponents. He was the perfect size.

His body was the most notable part of him, but his face was gorgeous, too, and his wavy brown hair framed his face so perfectly, until he tied it back into a high and stubby ponytail for the next fight. Not a look I like.

What are you staring at? Asli asked, returning from the snack bar. Her eyes followed my gaze. Oh, I see.

"Yeah. He’s