01:10 

♫

There was one rule I wished I knew: never wash your mouth after kissing a boy. I won't elaborate as of the moment because then it would lead me to talk about where it all began: a horrific, one-of-the-many traumatic experiences of my high school extravaganza, which, to be honest, I'd rather not delve into. For now.

But take note that breaking that one, singular rule had led me to a moment that defined me – Cora Flair – to who I am today. After going through what I had gone through, I'd like to confidently declare that that rule is nothing but complete, utter bullshit. In fact, I'd like to change that: don't kiss boys in the first place.

But this story isn't about kissing boys: or about boys, or about kissing, for that matter – this story is a bit more than that. A million bits more than that. It is quite a bit . . . enigmatic, so to speak.

Here goes nothing.

It was November 8, 3:01 PM. It was eight hours before the night when it all began, and I remember myself standing in the locker hallways. I was in my cheerleader uniform, merely wanting water to soak my tongue and teeth and lungs because god I was so thirsty after doing herkies and toe touches for hours, but there I was standing in front of a boy – who was so unimportant I'd forgotten his name thus for the sake of this story I'd call him Kent – because I Kent stand him – talking about how his parents weren't home that night and how it'd be amazing if I were to come over.

For three years I had mastered a smile that I hoped conveyed a kind of sweetness so powerful he would think he'd tasted candy just by looking at it. With the littlest strength I had, that's what I gave Kent.

"That would be fun," I said. Cheerleaders are good liars. "But as I told you, I have a curfew."

"Come on, Cora – I can sneak you out, what do you say?"

It was unfair for me to call him unimportant because in our local high school where almost everybody knows almost everybody, he was called the coolest, the hottest, and the most popular. I couldn't see that really, but maybe I just didn't have the same standards as everyone else. In simple high school terms, he just effortlessly ticked off the 'hot guy' checklist that is: hot, rich, tall, and must be an athlete of some sort, whoever the hell set that. They probably forgot about brains, manners, and proper hygiene or something. I hate boys like him. Or to make that short, I just hate boys.

"Maybe next time," I said, still maintaining that same smile.

"Fine," he said with a disappointed sigh. "Can't I really change your mind?"

It took so much strength to not sigh and roll my eyes in front of him. I badly wanted water at that moment. I was tired and my legs were about to give up. The muscles I used to make myself smile were nearing its collapse that I was certain my face would fall apart any second, and the faint scent of his strong cologne he probably stole from his father's closet (that was making me nauseous) certainly was not helping.

"Sorry," I said, and he only shrugged with a smile as a response.

"Well then, can I take you home at least?"

I have not the slightest idea why that boy was acting as though he was my boyfriend. I'm sure he must have heard the stupid rumor going around that we were going out because according to our schoolmates, we were the 'perfect match'. The cheerleader and the varsity player. The cutest girl and the hottest boy. It is so sickeningly heterosexual and I am not into that. Besides, just because stupid rumors are going around like that didn't mean that he should act upon it too. As for me, I couldn't give a single damn about what my schoolmates thought – I simply wanted them, and especially Kent, to leave me the hell alone. What I'd rather do than to come over to his house was for me to go home and watch a sapphic film in my room while shoving plain salted potato chips in my mouth.

I was about to answer Kent, but my brain was drawing a blank.

Then suddenly I knew why.

Just as I was about to make up an excuse, the scent I had been familiar with for two years hit my nose like a freight train. Coconut. Spearmint gum. Musk.

Her. Oh, my god. She was there.

A couple of steps from her that took like two seconds felt like a length of a whole love song in my head. Then the steps stopped in front of me, and the scent was even stronger.

Nova Turner. Suddenly, all I was made of was melting cotton candy.

"Hey!" she said to me. Her voice sliced through the air like a hot knife through butter, jolting me out of my tiny hell with Kent.

"H-Hey," I said, stumbling over my words like the stupid girl I was. Suddenly I wasn't so thirsty anymore, and I was fine with talking to her until the wee hours. Who cares about dry mouth and dehydration nowadays? Not me!

"Our band is going to have a gig tonight, it's free," she announced in the raspy voice I was so familiar with.

"Your stupid band's still going?" Kent remarked and looked at me, as though expecting me to go along with his jokes like his idiotic friends do.

"Yeah?" Nova replied with a raised brow. "We've actually been doing pretty great for the past couple of years or so," she said, who didn't seem to mind Kent's mocking.

"Shocking, to be honest." Kent looked at me again with an expectant smile. He totally thought I'd ride his train.

"I think that's cool," I said, so that Kent's words wouldn't hang alone in the air. Then I looked at Nova. "You're cool. Uh . . . your band."

Her face lit up. "You mean that?"

I tried not to smile, seeing her reaction. I wish I could always light up Nova's face like that. I wondered about how nice it could be if I were to be close to her every day, enough to be able to drown in the warmth of her musky perfume, with the faintest hints of cigarettes and gum on her breath.

Jesus, she always had me blushing over the most random things just because she was her.

Nova Turner towered above the crowd, her height rivaling even that of Kent's, which was probably a big gut punch on him since he was a basketball player. She also had this curly wolf cut I loved, tumbling down to her waist in a cascade of loose waves, often shining and catching the lights, sometimes shimmering like molten onyx. I love her wild, curly mess. I really do. I think it just might be my favorite part of her. I've had a crush on her from the very first moment I saw her perform and up to now I've been in this inescapable crush rush for her, unable to leave – or maybe because I didn't want to leave – because she's just . . . perfect. I know you're not supposed to describe your crushes like that because sometimes we like to romanticize people and the idea of them, but it's true.

I often like to watch her perform and most of the time it was like watching a superhero in action, but instead of a cape, she had a pair of Doc Martens.

"Y-Yeah, of course I mean it," I said, struggling to even get the words out.

Nova flashed me a pretty smile before she handed me a poster with her band's photo in it. Under that photo were bolded letters of SUPERNOVA: LIVE TONIGHT!

"Make sure you'd come," Nova said. I couldn't even look straight into her eyes. I always lose myself when it comes to her, it was stupid. Much more when she said, with her prettiest smile, "I'll search for you in the crowd."

I could have died, Nova.

"She has a curfew actu—"

I cut off Kent. "Sure, I'd come." I thought that wasn't enough. "I always have."

Nova's smile became a chuckle and she reached for my shoulder. "I know," and then she walked away.

"I thought you had curfew?" Kent asked with a frown.

I didn't give a damn about what Kent thought when Nova had just touched my shoulder. I closed my locker and walked home on my own, ignoring his useless offers of giving me a ride.

♫

When I got home, I ate raw carrots on my bed as my mud mask soaked my face, looking at the poster of SUPERNOVA. Nova's dark, pixelated face stared back at me, her signature lopsided smile on her face making my heart skip a beat. God, she is so gorgeous. I ran my finger through her cheeks against the paper. I remember seeing her three years ago, in the school court along with her bandmates, practicing in the same spot my cheerleading team should have been practicing in. My cheerleaders were all grumbling and were asking me to ask them to leave because they didn't have the papers to be there anyway, but mesmerized as I was while watching the curly bassist, I thought that maybe they could have the court for as long as they wanted.

"Sorry for that, Cora," she'd said to me. There was sweat on her forehead and the way she wiped it with the back of her palm made me feel something. "We got way into the mood. We'd leave now."

I was tempted to tell them to stay, but they were already fixing their things.

"Thanks!" she said as she walked past me, the scent of coconut on her hair staying with me for a while.

Without leaving my bed, I let my hand stretch to reach the scissors on my study table. Then I cut the poster. I cut out Nova. Satisfied with the result, I glued her poorly printed photo on my diary, scribbled her name, and drew an arrow that pointed at her photo.

Nova.

I smiled.

But Kent was right, as much as that hurt to admit. I do have a curfew, and then I felt angry that I wouldn't be able to go watch their free gig that night.

"I'll search for you in the crowd."

I screamed into my pillow. The fact that I said I always have, too! And she said – so, so, coolly she said, "I know."

What did she mean by that anyway?! Had she always seen me in the crowd, screaming their song, cheering for them, especially her? I would have a two-week long daydreams about her rooting specifically from this short interaction with Nova.

When she said she'd look for me in the crowd, was that true? Because I would not be there. I felt my heart break. I'm sorry, Nova. Well, not that I'm very close with her anyway, so there wouldn't be much to disappoint.

I've always watched their gigs so I was quite acquainted with the band, but for some reason, I just couldn't get close to Nova. Sure, we talk in the hallways sometimes, or I congratulate them backstage every time their sets end, but that was it. Nothing more than that. A part of me knew I should give it a try and ask her out to drink something but . . . I don't know. Cowardice tugs and bites on my tail, and I always retreat just whenever I get the chance to talk to her more, so sometimes when I feel sad about not being as close to Nova as I wanted to be, I knew deep down that there was nobody else to blame but myself.

I sighed and just closed my eyes, plopping myself in a mess on my bed. It was 7 in the evening and I should be having dinner, but I was so upset and sad about missing their free gig that night that I just decided to sleep it off.

When I awoke, I groggily checked my phone to see what the time was. 11:30, it said, and a wave of disappointment washed over me. Their free gig would be at 12:00. If I sneaked out from the window I might be able to make it, but I knew that was wishing for miracles because my mother wasn't an idiot.

A notification popped up. Something about a Hollywood celebrity getting married.

It was 11:32.

I stood up and checked my face in the mirror and much to my surprise, I saw that I had forgotten to wash off the mud mask I put on four hours ago, so I went to the sink and rinsed it off quickly, the cold water waking up every single sleeping cell in my bones.

It was 11:36.

I randomly sang a lyric from one of SUPERNOVA's songs.

It was 11:39.

I was scrolling through my phone.

Then, at 11:43, the weirdest thing happened. There was a knock on my window – a slow and steady knock as if the knocker was afraid to wake someone up. Tick tick, tick, tick tick, tick. For a second I was afraid it was Kent because then it would be hard for me to really refuse his requests, but then, like a strong punch in my lungs, I gasped out loud when I saw Nova Turner from behind my window.

I guess it's true what they say – when one window closes, a hot bassist might just knock on another one.

♫