03

"You shouldn't be so close to the fire, it's dangerous" He speaks, his tone of voice is deep and slightly hoarse. "Look" He says, pointing his forefinger behind me. I turn my gaze back and then visualize a scene that is somewhat amusing, dangerous, and also somewhat unpleasant.

A boy, somewhat overweight and also very drunk, takes off his shirt and starts running like crazy, shouting things I didn't manage to understand and passing by right where I was. He gets to the lake in front of the house and then he dumps it. Everyone here is shouting his name and some other things like, "That's how it's done, motherfucker!" "I'm your fan!" "Make me a son!" "I love you, fat man!" And worst of all, all that was said only by men. It was really funny.

I turn my eyes to the boy who saved me from burning to death in a campfire and, until then, I pay attention to his physique. His hair is completely black and her hairstyle is carefree, without crossing the border of the sloppy. His lips are slightly pink, his eyes are a combination of greyish and greenish hues, with a skin so white that it looks as if he had spent his whole life inside a bunker and the sun's rays had never touched him. I can tell, through his tight shirt, that he has marked muscles, but he doesn't have an extremist physique, he's rather, a bit chubby.

I notice how he turns his eyes to mine, and I quickly raise my gaze so that he doesn't realize I'm inspecting his body. He keeps looking at me and I can't do anything but watch him like an idiot and expect him to do or say something.

"He is the soul of all parties" He begins to say, keeping his white smile adorning his face. "But if I hadn't gotten you out of there, you'd be on fire right now" he gives his glass one last drink and then he gets rid of it. "And not in a good way" he adds seconds later, arcing his eyebrows. "You're welcome, girl" He says, with a bit of self-centeredness that floods his tone, giving me a wink. I swallow hard.

He just saved my life, I would have died burned like the so-called "witches" in the Middle Ages, or if I hadn't been completely disfigured from the burns. Oh, my God, I could have died there. I never go near the fire again.

"Remove that face that nothing happened" He mocks, and I let out a sigh to try to calm down, relaxing my shoulders. "What were you doing near the fire? Did you want to kill yourself?" He asks, with irony and amusement in his tone.

I give a shy laugh and answer: "I just. . . " I shudder to finish explaining myself "I was cold"

"Well, just ask someone for a coat. Never go near a giant bonfire, it's dangerous" He says, in a fake scolding from Mom.

"And if it's dangerous then why did they make one?"

"I don't know," he shrubs his shoulders. "It wasn't my idea" I smile and just nod. "What's a pretty girl like you doing here alone with no one to take care of her not to get burned?"

Do I look pretty to you?

I swallow my intentions to contradict his praise, and instead answer his question—: "It's just that, my friend went to get a soft drink for me, but he hasn't come yet" I frown at my mouth.

"He won't be here for a while. . ."

"What? Why?" I ask, more alarmed than I intended.

"Because it's a party, and there's a strict zero-drink policy here" He speaks, with false formality, as if he was an officer. I breathe a sigh of relief listening to him, I thought something had happened to Brent and this guy knew it. Yes, my mind invents movies in a matter of seconds. "You want something to drink?"

"No thanks" I put on a smile. "I don't drink"

"What? Are you 10 years old?" He speaks, with clear irony in his tone of voice.

I was about to say no, I'm actually 17, but then I remembered what Delilah said to me when we planned all this. She told me that if anyone asked me my age, I'd lie and say that I'm three years older than I really am. Honestly, I didn't understand why at first and I just nodded without much thought, but now I understand why. He wants me to lie about my age because a 17-year-old girl shouldn't be in these places. Surely many, many of they here are minors pretending to be older just for fun.

"No, I have five" I'm kidding, to calm the atmosphere a little.

"Okay" He laughs. "I don't give alcohol to children under six" It joins the joke, making me laugh. It's really funny. . . and very handsome too. "But come on, seriously. . . How old are you?" Ask, already a little more interested and serious.

"I just turned 18 recently" I lie as best I can, and he seems to believe me.

"Oh, that's good" I nod with my head while giving him a shy smile at not knowing what else to do. "It's still illegal for you to drink, but it doesn't matter, you're here for a reason"

"But I don't. . ."

"My friend makes the best sweet drinks, you won't even taste the alcohol" He interrupts me, taking his cell phone out of his pants pocket and marking something on it. "He'll be here with the drinks in a moment."

"No, I don't. . ."

"Trust me, you'll like it" He assures me, giving me a wink.

I don't know why his words make me recall a memory in my head.

+

"Shhh. . . " He raised his hand to my face and covered my mouth with his index finger to silence me. All expression of annoyance vanished only to be replaced by a faint smile. "Don't worry, you'll like it. . . " he promised in a murmur, "trust me. . . " 

+

Why the hell am I thinking about that now? It's not right for me to remember those things, it's not right for me to remember him with any phrase or action that someone around me does.

I don't know why my mind evoked that moment, his words. I remember those days and I can't help wanting to smile and hit myself hard at the same time. Everything was so different, everything was so new and strange to me at the time. I never imagined it would end up here.

"We've been talking for a while and I still don't know your name, sweetie" His voice pulls me out of my ponderings, and I blink a couple of times to wake up and get back to the real world.

I don't like other people calling me a sweetie or any other nickname; I just like it when he does it, when he did it.

Damn, why do I miss him? Why do I miss his voice, the way he looked at me, his gestures, his hugs, his kisses, all his cute caresses and nicknames he told me? I don't want to miss him, I don't want to feel I don't want anything with him, I don't want to remember

"Are you all right?" He asks, somewhat confused and also upset at my expression.

"Eh, yes, yes. I just. . . " I try to explain, but I end up shutting up. I let out the air trapped in my lungs and smiled, forcing me to nod. He imitates my gesture in response, giving me a smile. "My name is Marylise, by the way" I answer his previous question.

"Oh, nice name" Praise, and I don't contradict it even though it makes me want to. "I'm Jason"

"Nice name" I imitate it, arching both eyebrows.

I turn on my heels and see Jason walking in long strides until he comes across a boy, who hands him a couple of red glasses full of liquid. I guess those are the drinks he ordered on the phone for both of us.

He says goodbye to his friend and turns his direction towards me, coming to my side seconds later.

Once he's in front of me, he hands me one of the glasses and I take it in my hands. It's a liquid like a pink and red color. It has some ice floating over it to keep the liquid inside the glass cool, and I can also notice something that looks like little slices of orange, but I'm not sure it's that fruit.

I don't know if I should drink this, I don't really trust him. I've never had alcohol before. Well, only once, but it was by mistake; I thought it was apple soda but it was actually beer. I spit it out quickly because it didn't taste right. Jason said this was a sweet drink, that he would hardly taste the alcohol. I don't know if I believe him, I didn't like the beer and maybe I don't like this.