They do it in the movies, don’t they? The every-girl leaves the party, steps out into a garden or onto a Romeo-and-Juliet balcony, sighs, looks thoughtful, and then when she turns around…
There you are, he says. I thought you’d left. Are you okay?
Tall, dark, handsome, yes? Of course. He wants her, inexplicably, his you’re-not-like-the-other-girls girl.
I step out onto the Romeo-and-Juliet balcony. A dark leafy tree tickles the edge, whispering what I already know but don’t want to hear. I look back towards the pulsing lights and laughter. Follow me out, I plead, silently.
Michael is still talking to that girl Rosie, the one who knows what to do, the one who loses him to me in the movie, but I doubt he knows my name. I wait, just in case, until the cold night disappointment tingles through my body.
