All About You

Six

I n movies and tv shows, meet-cutes are often followed by a rise in the background strings, accompanied by some sort of dramatic camera pan, all of which nod to audiences that this is the moment.

The turning point, the thunderstrike.

The beginning of a love story.

In reality, however, meet-cutes can be a little bit of a guessing game. Dad told me he knew it from the start, but Mum was fuming at the fact that Dad got her dress dirty. Same as Tita Bea and Jonathan. Look at them now.

There’s nothing you have to guess about this moment though.

Standing face-to-face with this beautiful boy, with beautiful golden-hour hair and beautiful ocean eyes, right next to the Hottest Romances Right Now book table (that I accidentally dumped on his head), I don’t have to guess any truth of what’s unravelling.

This right here is my destined meet-cute. It’s all too formulaic to not be true.

But now I’ve got to say something back. To continue the scene, the script. God, what were we learning in class today?

Something about character. I could be a mysterious character, make him wonder about me. I could be cold and calculated, or soft and heartfelt.

After running through a million lines in my head within the second, I settle with, “Haha, that’s me!”

I wonder if there’s a rewind button on me. Better yet, a ctrl-alt-delete.

The boy doesn’t cringe away, however. Instead, his smile deepens, clearly amused.

“Well, be careful around these tables,” he says, tapping his hand against the wood, “We’ve designed them around the store like an obstacle course. Wouldn’t want you tripping on anymore.”

He winks. Winks . My stomach does a somersault and I realise he’s teasing me. Joking with me.

Falling in love with me …Oh my gosh Jaslene, let’s not be silly.

I almost giggle at my delusional thoughts but instead of making a fool of myself, I return his smile, baffled.

“I’ll try not to,” I stammer out.

“Well, I’ve got to get back to work, but you give me a call if you knock anymore of these over, okay? Just make sure my head is up here.”

He points at his temple, a small smirk gracing his lips. Then, he bends down, gathering a box of books into his arms (he’s strong, nice to know, very nice) and saunters away.

My eyes follow his figure, until I’m broken from my daze as Diane and Kiara press themselves on either side of my hip, their fingers clutching my arm.

“That’s your boy!” Diane hisses into my ear, her excitement pouring onto me.

Kiara slaps my arm, raising her voice into a small squeal.

“You guys were totally flirting just then.”

“Next time, get a room,” Diane adds, and they both giggle.

I swat their hands away, trying to compose myself, to settle the sheepish grin on my face. It’s too hard though, and I soon feel myself getting carried away by their equally delusional thoughts over the meet-cute.

“This is the one that’s going to make your family forget all about the Martin guy,” Kiara says.

“Marlon,” I correct, to which Diane says, “Who cares about him!”

And she’s right, who cares about Marlon and whether Kiara got his name right. The important thing is, I finally have a reason for my family to forget all about Marlon.

Even more importantly, I finally had my meet-cute, at 18 years old, the one I’d been searching for all my life.

Once the orange sky begins to fold over into a dark hue, it’s my sign to head home. I’ve still got that one-hour glorious train ride ahead of me. At the station, I say my goodbyes to Kiara and Diane, who both luckily live just twenty minutes away.

To no surprise, the platform is scattered with an array of corporate businessmen, women, university students and high school students. Most of them tiptoe the line that is meant to separate us from the tracks.

“Excuse me, excuse me.”

I’m a broken record as I push past clusters of people, before settling against a pole at the end of the platform. At least here it was densely populated.

The train still has a couple more minutes to arrive, so I pull out To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before and flick through the last few pages, when Lara Jean and Peter finally get their real love story underway. Even though I’ve read this book too many times to count, it always brings butterflies to my stomach.

The face of the boy from the bookstore suddenly appears as I read, and I can’t help but imagine it’s us both in the novel.

The distant sound of the train approaching snaps me from my thoughts, and I secure my foothold on the platform.

The train comes to a stop, and the doors open, just a metre from where I’m standing. That’s when the crowd around me surges forward.

A high school student nudges my body shamelessly, while another business woman swiftly side steps forward, in front of me. I huff in frustration, shouldering past a sweaty businessman, and finally manage to get myself onto the carriage.

It's too late, the inside is already crowded, meaning all the good seats are probably taken now. I debate just staying where I’m standing, but my calves protest at the thought. I make my way toward the stairs, deciding to go to the upper floor of the train carriage. At first glance, my worst fears are confirmed. There are hardly any seats. I give the carriage a scan once more, searching for just that one free spot.

Yes! There’s one!

Right toward the middle, there’s a free spot beside a boy leaning against the window. The others must’ve missed it. I waste no time and scurry forward before someone else takes it. When I reach the seat, there’s a tote bag on the free seat. How annoying .

I clear my throat.

“Excuse me, may I sit -”

The boy turns his head, and my stomach plummets.

Why me?

Marlon’s eyes bear into mine, his lips twitching into an amused smirk.

“Oh, it’s you.”

My brow pricks upward.

“Yes, it’s me. Now, can I sit?”

Marlon’s head tilts, feigning a mock cluelessness.

‘I don’t know Garcia, can you?’

I roll my eyes and grab at his tote bag with one hand, lifting it. I try to toss it over to him, but it’s a bit more of a struggle than I thought because whatever is in there is heavy . The bag hits his knee instead.

“Ouch!” he moans dramatically.

“Oh, suck it up,” I sneer, taking the seat and perching my bag atop my knees. For a moment, we sit stiffly side by side, unsure of what more to say. If there even is anything we need to say. It’s funny really, how our Mum’s are so close knit, joined at the hip, yet their kids can’t stand each other.

The last time Marlon and I properly ‘hung out’ outside of family gatherings and impromptu play-dates was probably during Year 11 trial exams. Marlon and I didn’t go to the same high school, thank goodness , but our Mum’s did attempt to get us to study together.

It started in eighth grade. Back then, we were meant to try and help each other with homework once or twice a month. Marlon would speed ahead with his own questions just so he could run upstairs and play on his Playstation, without helping me out. I hated it because I always wanted to play the new games on his Playstation but he never let me.

By the time I finished my homework, it was time to go home.

It continued like that until around Year 11. We’d just started HSC trial examinations, and from the first study session with Marlon I knew it was useless. I told Mum I’d rather study on my own. I was getting absolutely nothing out of Marlon and I’s study hangouts. Thankfully she listened to me then, because of course, studies and grades were way more important than my love life.

The train starts moving, and Marlon and I still haven’t said anything further. There’s genuinely no need to, really.

That’s one thing he and I can agree on, that we weren’t really friends. I’m pretty sure he likes me just about as much as I like him.

I sit back, and close my eyes. Sea green eyes fill my thoughts and my lips twitch as I remember the sound of bookstore boy’s voice. My whole body tingles with anticipation as I daydream what our love story will be like. Marlon shifts beside me, breaking me out of my delusions.

On instinct, I open my eyes. My gaze flickers slightly to the left to sneak a glance at what he’s doing.

He’s watching something on his phone. It’s an anime, one I recognise. Death Note.

Excitement rises in me, and I try to push it down but it’s a little hard when he’s watching my favourite anime.

I continue to linger on the screen, immersed in the high-tension scene playing out. I lean forward just the slightest, when Marlon’s eyes accidentally meet mine through the reflection. I turn my head away immediately, but the damage has already been done.

“Using me to scab my CrunchyRoll are you?”

His neck swivels toward me, and there’s that stupid smirk again.

“For the record, I’m not a scammer and I actually have my own account, thank you very much,” I retort, matter-of-factly. Marlon just chuckles. How annoying .

“So… have you seen Death Note before?” he asks, after a moment, “Since you’re leaning so heavily on me.”

I lurch back, my face contorting.

“I am not leaning on you,” I grunt, “And yes. It's one of my favourite animes.”

“Oh, really?”

Marlon’s tone rubs me the wrong way.

“You sound surprised,” I remark.

He shrugs.

“I just remember how obsessed you were with Sailor Moon and Dora and all that cutesy stuff back then, you know?”

He raises his pitch on cutesy and I physically recoil from him.

“And? What does that have to do with me liking Death Note?”

“I just didn’t think it’d suit your vibe.”

Marlon assuming he gets my vibe based on him remembering some childhood version of me makes me want to laugh. So what if I like rainbows and death? Can’t someone like both?

“You’re just being sexist,” I deduce, turning my head away.

I hear an audible gasp.

“ Excuse me, I am not sexist,” he defends, sounding genuinely betrayed.

“That’s what your assumptions about my taste were insinuating just then,” I point out, mainly because it’s funny to see Marlon this flustered.

“I was just pointing out that based on your likes back then, I would never have guessed you were watching something like this.”

“Sexist,” I conclude, jutting my chin high.

“You know what, you can go watch all the gritty, dark, scary movies and shows all you want, it doesn’t bother me.”

He presses play again on the screen, and I smile, satisfied. That was enough socialisation with Marlon to last me an entire week. An entire month, if I were lucky.

I fish out my book again. I’m on the last page, and I digest it all as if I haven’t read it before. My lips murmur the last few words, before pulling itself into a smile.

Closing it, I sigh, overcome with that wave of romantic yearning once more. And you wonder why I’m such a hopeless romantic, as I continue to fill my bookshelf with romance books.

Marlon’s arm nudges against mine again as he shifts, and I sneak one more glance. He’s reached a climatic scene.

“Oh, this is a good episode,” I mutter.

Marlon sighs, “Okay, spoilers much.”

I huff in exasperation.

“I didn’t even say anything.”

Abruptly, he takes his right earphone out, and hands it toward me. I grimace, glancing at it like he was handing me something vulgar.

“If you want to watch the rest of the episode just take it, but you better not spoil me, and you better stay quiet.”

I narrow my eyes at him, ready to say no, but the episode is one of the best ones from the show. Begrudgingly, I take the earphone, and press it hesitantly against my ear.

“Okay, go.”

“Geez, bossy. No talking now,” he says, and I’m about to open my mouth to retort that he should be following his own advice, when I get swept immediately in the scene as he presses play.

The ride ends up being one of the quickest I’d taken in a long time.

Marlon and I both get off at the same train station since we live only two suburbs away from each other.

The night has already claimed the sky entirely, and as Marlon and I step out of the station, the only lights are from the platform.

We saunter up the stairs of the station, toward the exit. Only once we reach the top is when I linger backwards a little, placing some distance between Marlon and I. Sensing this, he glances back, confused.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“My parents are picking me up today,” I explain.

His expression twists in that infuriating mock-confusion. I know that he knows exactly why I don’t want to walk side-by-side with him out of the station, where my parents are most likely already parked.

“Just, keep walking ahead.”

Amused, Marlon doesn’t say another word and continues forward. Once there’s reasonable distance between us, I follow after and get a text.

I head on over to the drop-off side of the station. I locate them immediately - even in the dark, it’s hard not to spot a bright yellow beetle. My pace quickens, my lips widening, and I’m waving in their direction, until I notice a figure beside the car. My smile rapidly fades.

It’s Marlon.

I lock my jaw, surging forward.

Once Mum spots me from the passenger side, she waves enthusiastically.

“Jas darling!” she exclaims.

“Marlon was just telling us that you both caught the train home together,” Dad says, leaning forward from the driver’s seat. I wince.

I can’t believe Marlon would tell them that when he knows they’re already crazy. I just hum in response, side eyeing Marlon, who doesn’t spare me a glance. I walk to my side of the car and hop in, trying my best to ignore him and end this conversation with my parents.

“Marlon, how are you getting home?” Mum asks and I pray to God that he has his own ride home so she doesn’t offer.

“Oh, I’m driving, I parked over at the train station car park,” Marlon says, pointing at the large multi-storey car park looming beside the station.

My first thought is wow, Marlon can drive and I’m still on my Ls, I’ve got to step it up.

“Wow, Marlon has his own car and licence! Did you hear that Lene?” Mum turns her body to look at me and I train my face to appear expressionless. “You know what Marlon, on days you and Lene go to uni, you should take her home!”

Panic rises in me, because when my Mum thinks she has a good idea she will make sure it happens. At that, Marlon’s eyes flicker toward me, and I glower through the car window.

“Maybe,” Marlon settles, “I’ll chat with Jas and figure out if our timetables even align. We were only on the same train because her class finished late and I was hanging out with some mates.”

Mum takes the bait, thank goodness, and we all say our goodbyes to Marlon as he heads over toward the car park.

“So, how was your first day of film school?” Mum asks.

I perk up, happy she doesn’t ask any further about the train ride home.

“It was really good,” I marvel, leaning in between the driver and passenger seat. “I have two good friends already, Kiara and Diane. And there’s a bookstore right across from film school that I can visit.”

I don’t tell them about bookstore boy obviously. It’s not that I haven’t told my parents about the crushes I’d had in high school or anything, but I could tell that the enthusiasm wasn’t entirely there, because it wasn’t Marlon. I practically stopped telling Mum about my crushes right about Year 10.

“I’m glad to hear you’re settling in well darling!” Dad chimes in, catching me through the sun visor.

I lean back, smiling, my mind lingering on the bookstore boy. Just remembering our meet-cute sends shivers through me once more.

I sigh, wondering what bookstore boy is like. I didn’t even get his name. I wonder if it would suit my ‘ and’. Jaslene and…

I’m sure he will. Anyone with a face like that would have a beautiful name to match. I close my eyes, pressing the side of my head against the car window.

What would our second meeting be like?

Would it be like the poets always write about, where I become his person, and he becomes mine?