Everything Can Change

The drive to the bar was easy, and we didn’t hit any traffic. When we got there, it was already very crowded, and who I assumed to be Tyler’s group of friends was being very… Loud.
“Hey,” Tyler said, standing up. “It’s Cecily!”
“Okay, nope,” I said, turning on my heel and walking back towards the door.
“No, no, no,” Lexie scolded, grabbing my arm and spinning me back around.
“Hi Tyler,” I said unenthusiastically. He raised an eyebrow, saying,
“You don’t sound very excited.”
“Lex is excited enough for the two of us,” I said, looking at Lexie. She nudged me, and I reluctantly smiled.
“You must be Lexie, then,” he said, nodding at her.
“And you must be Tyler,” she returned. I recognized the look on her face, and instantly acknowledged that this was going to be a long night.
“Glad you could make it, Cecily,” Tyler said, turning to smile at me.
“That makes one of us,” I said, wishing more than anything that I could drink. However, I had distinct moral standards that didn’t allow for me to get drunk. In public, that is. Lexie, however, had different standards than I did, and had already befriended one of Tyler’s friends and convinced him to buy her a drink. Contrary to popular belief, Lexie wasn’t a flirt. She was just friendly. And whenever guys misconstrued her intentions, she made it clear that friendly was all she was being. So, I guess, she did have some kind of moral code. Kind of.
“So I seriously can’t convince you to drink?” Tyler asked, sidling up to where I sat at the bar. I gave him a tight-lipped smile, and shook my head.
“I’m good. I don’t trust myself when I get drunk,” I told him.
“Then as your friend, I guess I’ll just have to not get drunk too,” he told me, waving down the bartender to order a beer for him and water for me.
“Why?” I asked, smiling shyly.
“To keep you company. By the looks of it, they won’t be sober for much longer,” he said, casting a glance over at the group of his friends and Lexie. They all counted down from three, before taking the shots that were in front of them.
“You better warn them that Lexie’s not interested,” I told him. “She’s just nice. She loves people,” I explained.
“She seems interested,” he mused.
“She’s not. They’re not her type,” I told him.
“What is?” he asked.
“She’s got a thing for nerds. You know, glasses, intelligent, the whole deal. She kind of has a history with guys similar to your friends who were complete assholes to her,” I told him. “So she stays away from anyone she deems ‘dangerous’.”
“And you?” he asked, taking a sip of his beer.
“Me? I’m not dangerous,” I said, furrowing my eyebrows. He laughed, and shook his head.
“No, I mean what’s your ‘type’,” he asked. The connotation he put on the word ‘type’ indicated that he didn’t entirely believe in the concept of having one.
“Um… I don’t know,” I said, shrugging. “I haven’t really gotten asked out by a whole variety of guys.” I saw the look he was giving me, and rolled my eyes.
“Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not some innocent little virgin,” I started. Tyler laughed at that, eyes crinkling up as he took another sip of beer. “I’m in college, not a nunnery. But guys who are super athletic, or super smart, or just well liked in any regard haven’t asked me out. They know they can have any kind of girl, and I’m not the top tier, so… I dunno,” I said, feeling like my long-winded speech kind of sputtered out at the end.
“They don’t know what they’re missing,” he said, looking sideways at me. I bit my lip and blushed slightly, looking down at the bar.
“Do you have a type?” I asked after a long stretch of silence. When I looked back up, he was still watching me intently. “You seem like a top tier kind of guy.”
“Which one am I, athletic, smart, or well liked?” he teased. I laughed softly, and replied,
“You have one guess.”
“You think I’m well liked?” he asked, a mischievous look in his eyes. I grinned, and said,
“Even if that may be true, not what I was thinking of.”
“Smart?”
“Eh, wrong.”
“Athletic,” he concluded, nodding slowly. “I’m not exactly sure what led you to that conclusion, but I’ll take it.”
“So? Do you have a type?” I questioned. He shrugged, and said,
“I don’t really know. If I like a girl, I like a girl.”
“So, there’s nothing that sticks out to you? Boobs, butt, face?” I asked.
“Eyes,” he mused, once again giving me one of those infuriatingly unreadable sideways looks. I blinked a couple times, looking anywhere but him.
“So you’re a hockey fan?” he asked.
“What in the world led you to think that?” I demanded, smiling playfully. Any awkwardness from his previous comment dissolved.
“It could’ve been the fact that your younger brother plays, or that you’re a season ticket holder,” he told me.
“Yeah. I have been since I was little,” I replied.
“Did you play?”
“Nah, I played field hockey,” I replied. I giggled when he gave me an affronted look, and said,
“I know, I know. But it’s fun, and besides, I was never nearly as good a skater as my brother or sister.”
“You have a sister?” he asked me. I took a sip of my water, immediately regretting bringing Jill up.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“How old is she?” he asked.
“17,” I replied, frowning. I hated that I couldn’t even think of her without wanting to go hide out in my room where no one could talk about her to me. I wanted to remember the happy girl, not the gaunt, frail girl who tried her best to stay positive despite the shitty hand she’d been dealt.
“Are you okay?” he asked, frowning.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” I replied, plastering on a smile.
“Does she play hockey too?” he asked, clearly sensing that he was treading on thin ice. I paused, before deciding to reply with,
“Yeah.”
“Well, hopefully she has my jersey at least,” he said teasingly. I smiled genuinely, and said,
“She loves you. Thinks you’re the shit.” I paused, and scrutinized him. “I don’t see it, but obviously she thinks you’re cute, so…”
“You don’t see it?” he demanded, a mock-affronted look crossing his face. “How dare you.”
“Well, here in America we have this thing called freedom of speech. Not sure how it works in Canada, but I can call you the ugliest man alive and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it,” I giggled.
“That was low. Totally below the belt,” he said, shaking his head at me. “You pulled the America card? And the ugliest man alive card? God, you’re out to destroy my ego, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Not destroy, just deflate it. As of right now it’s bigger than my house,” I teased. He smirked, and waved the bartender over, ordering another beer.
“You’re doing a damn good job,” he laughed. “Are you coming to any games soon?”
“Um, your next one is tomorrow?” I asked. He nodded, and I questioned,
“Is it home or away?”
“Away,” he replied.
“I’ll probably try and make it to your next home game then, but I’ve got a thing for school tomorrow night,” I told him.
“Well we’ve got to get rid of that shit number you were wearing the other day. 33 sucks,” he said, grinning.
“Yeah, I do need a new one. Maybe Bergy, or even Marchand,” I mused.
“If you show up in Marchy’s jersey I’m not stepping foot on ice,” he said in a serious tone. I laughed loudly at that, and he smiled widely.
“Wow, drama queen, Bergy it is,” I laughed.
“Why don’t you let me handle getting you a new jersey?” he asked. I shrugged, and he asked,
“You said you have something for school?”
“Um, yeah. I get to go to a fashion show that’s happening in town,” I told him. He looked surprised, and asked,
“For school?”
“Yeah. It’s Hermés, it’s one of the first shows ever they’ve decided to do in Boston,” I told him.
“What school do you go to?” he asked.
“I’m a photography major at Mass College of Art and Design,” I told him. “But I’m just a plus one of my friend’s at this event, ‘cause she majors in fashion design.”
“You’re a photographer?” he asked.
“Yeah. I actually did an internship for the guys who did your photoshoot last year,” I told him.
“No shit?” he asked.
“Yeah shit,” I laughed. “I’ve always kinda been into sports photography, so it was cool. But now I have to focus on school, and my art history classes, so I had to stop working there. Hopefully once the semester is over, I can pick it back up,” I said. I made a face, and said, “Sorry, I’m rambling.”
“That’s awesome. I’ve never met any legit photography students, just chicks who think they’re photographers ‘cause they can aim a camera,” he told me. I laughed, and said,
“Those are my least favorite kind of photographers.” He grinned, and looked like he wanted to say something, but my phone ringing cut him off. I pulled my phone from my pocket, and saw Connor calling me.
“Uh, it’s my brother. If you don’t mind, I should probably take this. I’ll be right back though,” I told him, sliding off the barstool and heading to get out of the noisy bar.
“Hey, bro, ‘sup?” I asked.
“Where are you?” he asked. I frowned, and said,
“Just a bar downtown. Why, what’s up?”
“Jill is in the hospital,” he told me. Everything around me froze, and my heart stopped.
“What? Why?” I croaked.
“Mom says it’s not that serious, just that some of her meds made her dizzy and she fell and hit her head. She’s gonna be in the hospital for the next couple of days, though, and I thought you’d want to know,” he told me.
“Are you there?”
“I’m on my way there now,” he replied. “They’re just at the children’s hospital.”
“Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m leaving the bar now,” I told him.
“’Kay. See ya, Candi,” he said.
“Bye Connor,” I replied, hanging up my phone as the world around me resumed. Not serious. I sucked in a breath, trying to clear my head and reassure myself that she was okay. She’d just hit her head. She was fine. Not serious.
“Hey, are you okay? You look really pale,” Tyler asked me as I walked back into the bar.
“Um, yeah, I’m fine. But something came up and I’ve got to run,” I told him. “I had fun though. More than I thought I would. Thanks,” I said, smiling and fidgeting awkwardly in front of him for a couple seconds. He just stared at me silently, so I took that as a cue to leave. Yeah, cool, that was just me. Screwing whatever friendship I could’ve had with the Tyler Seguin up in a sentence. That summed up a big chunk of my life. I walked over to where Lexie was straddling the line of tipsy and wasted, and told her,
“I’ve got to go.”
“What? Cecy, we just got here!” she protested.
“It’s Jill,” I told her. Her eyes widened, and she became a bit more sober.
“What? What happened?” she demanded.
“It’s nothing serious,” I said, repeating the words Connor had told me. “But I want to make sure everything’s okay.” She nodded rapidly, and told me,
“Yeah, totally, I get it. I’ll see you at home, ‘kay?” I nodded, and said,
“Make sure you call a cab, ‘kay? No walking or getting a ride with one of them home.” She nodded, and I searched her face for genuine signs of understanding, before heading for the exit.

Notes

HAPPY NEW YEARRRRR! HOORAH! vote, subscribe, and comment! i hope everyone had lovely holidays and their new year is off to a positively faboo beginning! Thanks for reading :) ~Candi