And that's when he met her, the little girl next to the stereo. She looked so innocent then, swaying her hips gently back and forth to the music as she spoke with a friend of hers. He caught a glimpse of her face, twice in fact, but he couldn't get past her hair. The bright red mass seemed to draw him closer and closer from across the house. She was dressed so conservative, a knee-length pale blue skirt with a white little T-shirt, tall shoes and little jewelry. Nobody else was dressed like that, not even her friend. She drank a bottle of water that she played with while she spoke, while everyone else was in a drunken stupor with alcohol from the keg in the other room, not including him, of course.
He put down his cup�if she wasn't drinking, he could do without it for a while�and headed over to her. Her friend saw him coming and warned her about it. He saw her fix her hair a bit and glance over her shoulder at him. He smiled. She had a pretty face. He stopped in front of her and she turned to him. The first thing he noticed was the writing on her shirt; "Objects beneath are larger than they appear."
"Hi," she said first. He was impressed.
"Hi." He paused. "What's a conservative little girl like yourself doing at a party like this?" She burst out laughing, putting her hand in front of her mouth.
"Conservative?" she asked. "Honey, you have no idea. Heh, Kris, he thinks I'm conservative!" She elbowed her friend next to her. "And what makes you think that?"
"Well, basically, from what you're wearing," he said. "You're probably the most covered person here, myself included." She smiled a wide smile that showed off her excellent teeth. "And you're not drinking."
"You can blame my friend for my dress, and as for not drinking, well, I don't appreciate getting shit-faced at a party where I don't even remotely know the people," she explained. He nodded. "You're not drinking."
"I was about to�but then I saw you weren't so I decided not to make an ass of myself."
"Good call."
"So do you have a name or should I make one up?"
"What do I look like?" she asked, posing. "A Molly, Penelope, maybe a Rosemary?"
"You look like a Ginger to me." She raised an eyebrow, dropping her pose.
"All right. I'm Ginger. Should I make up a name for you?" He nodded. "Well you look much rather like a Zac to me." He sighed.
"So you've heard of me, huh?" he asked.
"Honey, it's all the people are talking about. I could call you Danny if you'd like," she suggested. He shook his head. "All right. It's Zac then. Zac and Ginger. That sounds rather classic, doesn't it?"
"It will."
"Don't wait up," Ginger said to her friend and walked off with Zac. He found a room for the two of them and she sat down on the couch immediately, leaning against the armrest and both of her legs up on the seat. "So, Mr. Hot Shot, what brings you to a high school party halfway across the nation?" He stood by the door.
"We were passing through and I wanted to stop; I found out about it and hey, might as well crash it."
"Certainly picked a good party to crash, most of the kids here are freshman. I don't know why I'm here."
"What are you?"
"I'm a senior." She paused. "What are you?"
"I'm a junior. What brings you to a party like this?"
"Kris," she said, gesturing to the door where he was standing, but obviously meaning well past it. "It's one of her school friend's party and she brought me along. I was surprised at how many kids showed up. I'm surprised a big man like yourself showed up."
"Stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Talking to me like I'm somebody important. I'm not."
"But you are, Mr. Hanson. You're the dream of little girls everywhere."
"Yeah�five years ago." He looked away from her.
"You're still mine."
"So do you think you're dreaming?" he asked, looking back at her. She shook her head. She ruffled her hair with hand and her sleeve rode up a bit on her arm. "What's that?"
"My conservativeness showing through." She lifted up her sleeve, showing off her flowery band around her arm. He'd never expected her to have a tattoo. "I was twelve when a friend of mine, much older friend of mine, took me to get it done. We look so much alike they thought she was my mother."
"So maybe you're not so conservative."
"Maybe I'm not." She paused. "So are you going to stand over there all night or are you going to come over here at all?"
"I don't know, if you're not such the traditional little girl I thought you would be, I might not be the one to make the first move."
"I think it was already clear that I made the first move."
He casually walked over to the couch, sitting next to her legs. She shifted, folded carefully next to him, looking up at his caramel colored eyes. She'd adored those eyes for five years now, since she first saw him on the television screen, on some music video on MTV she wasn't supposed to watch but watched anyway because his long hair and catchy beats were just so cool. Being barely twelve at the time (and surprisingly freshly tattooed) she was sucked right in.
"Are you afraid of me?" she whispered.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you don't seem to care in the least that I am who I am."
"The only reason behind that is because I've played this out a million times in my head." She moved her eyes to his lips. "You just don't seem to notice I'm making it how I want it."
"How do you want it?"
"Like this." She put her lips against his, making the first move that he said she might and she said she already had. As soon as he put his tongue in her mouth he back away from her.
"What the hell is that?" he asked. She grinned, a bit surprised by his reaction, and stuck out her tongue, revealing a small golden heart that lay flat against the surface. "You have your tongue pierced?"
"Go figure, eh?"
"You're too much. I might have to be careful."
"It's too late for that, Mr. Hot Shot." She pulled him back over and kissed him again.