Carly

I'm always surprised when I go to a coursemate's house and discover it to be actually quite luxurious. Student homes have a reputation for being lowly huts, unevenly decorated with mould, dust and empty bottles, and this reputation has often rung true throughout my experience. When I moved into my second year house, there was a mouldy pizza in the fridge and three inches of dust glued to the floor under the tumble-dryer.

This wasn't the case for Nick's house, however. A pleasant cul-de-sac was the setting of his birthday party, which threatened to reel in complaints from the neighbours. It had been a long walk to the party, with houses gradually getting nicer along the way, like the university had exploded and scattered horrible houses within a mile radius.

As we timidly walked through the front door and into the darkened hallway, a barrage of voices seeped out to us. The hall opened up into a flourescent white kitchen with a sort of half-conservatory-half-livingroom attached. I would have guessed that there were thirty or so people gathered here, all but one of whom were unfamiliar. The one familiar face was Nick, and he hobbled over stretched out legs to come and greet us. Most of the other faces glanced at us, and I saw one girl ask her friend, 'Who are these people in my house?'

I'd never had huge amounts to do with Nick. He was in a few of my classes, one for Victorian Literature, one for short stories. He was friendly enough, but we moved in different circles and had never had a conversation beyond the basic questions.

'Cheers for coming, you guys!' Nick spoke quietly, but could be quite the party animal at times. He had a goatee which I was jealous of, being unable to grow my own.

My friends, Martin, Jen and Mel, gave small waves. My lips curled into my mouth and puffed up to create an awkward half grin. I find it difficult to interact with new people, and I hoped that Nick would recognise this facial expression and connect me into some conversations.

He didn't. Instead, he handed myself and Martin a beer each and waved the girls towards some cups and cocktail paraphernalia. Nick engaged us in coursemate small-talk.

'How were your marks for your essay?'

Mel said that she had been expecting higher marks than she got, since this was the first assignment that she'd actually read the book for. Jen was amazed that she got a sixty-five after she thought she'd answered the question wrong. Martin and I both shrugged and bobbed our heads with a bottom lip poking out, a universal sign for 'yeah, alright'.

I hate conversations between people who know each other, but only just. They're always the same, about their mutual ground, and reek of politeness rather than genuine interest. I always want to start conversations with some kind of crazy question that throws the other person off guard and then maybe they'll reveal something about themselves in how they respond. An old friend of mine once started a conversation with a girl by asking, 'What is your favourite direction?' She had no idea how to respond and was immediately interested in him.

Nick asked something about our upcoming exams, but I'd become distracted. Over his right shoulder I spotted a girl, as is normal for me in a social situation. Her long wavy hair was held back by a silver, plaited headband, and her shocking white teeth almost looked out of place against her tanned skin and dark eye make up. Sat in a circle of friends on the floor, her skirt covered her legs to make her look like she was part bean-bag.
I snapped back into the conversation when I heard Nick say, 'How about you, Ed?'

I thought over my options here. I could do another 'yeah, alright' face, or try an actual answer about my feelings about the exams, but I wasn't sure if that was definitely what he had asked.

'Sorry, what was that?' I asked.

'The exams-' he replied, 'how are you feeling about them?'

Damn, I thought, I could have got away with it. I spouted off my usual spiel about how I can't be bothered to revise, but I'll get through. I think I pulled the 'yeah, alright' face once or twice. That got Nick off my case for a moment, and he turned to Mel. I looked back over his shoulder and caught the girl as she suddenly looked away from me and back to her friend.

Unfortunately, I have never been the epitome of ladies' man. If I see a girl who I like and appears to take an interest in me, I still wait for her to make the first move, and the night usually ends with me walking home alone, deciding whether I'm too sleepy to masturbate or not.

I stepped out of our circle, towards the stack of beer bottles. I pulled open my second and was immediately unsure whether I'm actually welcome to them. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but nobody was looking in my direction, except the girl. This time, she was sat on a sofa, with an empty seat next to her. She didn't seem to be engaged in any conversations, and gave me a little smile. I took a big gulp of beer that stung my throat on the way down, and approached her.

'Hi,' I said.

She smiled again and said the same.

I decided to throw caution to the wind.

'What's your favourite direction?' I asked.

Her eyes went blank. The rest of her body stayed in exactly the same, upright position on the sofa, but her face seemed to be trying to shift towards the floor.

'Do you mean, like, out of left and right?' she asked. Her voice was a little husky and slow.

I hadn't planned this far. 'Yeah, why not,' I say.
There was no change in her face. Her eyes crept up, as if she was meticulously thinking about her answer.

'Right, I think,' she said, 'because I'm right handed.'

My intention with the off-road question was to reveal something about my conversational partner. I felt like she'd just revealed her lack in imagination. She still looked very confused, so I tried to start again, the conventional way.

'My name's Ed,' I said, offering my right hand.

'I'm Carly,' she said, shifting her dark brown drink into her left hand. From first impressions, I guessed Malibu and Coke.

Once again, hadn't planned this far.

'So how do you know Nick?' I stumbled.

'Oh, I live here,' she nodded.

I wasn't sure if that answered my question or not, but I nodded anyway. We stared at each other. I'm certainly a better listener than a talker, I thought, so if she doesn't speak much this isn't off to a good start.

'Are you a student?' I asked. Boring question.

'Yeah, I am,' she said. Her eyebrows jerked up and took her posture with them, as if she didn't expect anybody to know this.

The conversation stopped again. TELL ME WHAT YOU'RE STUDYING, I thought. That's how it goes!

'What are you studying?' I ask. This is starting to feel like a horrible interview rather than a flirty conversation. I am Eamonn Holmes, she is David Blaine with added Malibu.

'Forensics,' she said.

I was stunned. The bimbo must've been a party mask, with a brain underneath, and it was my intention to get my hands on that brain. Not literally, of course- although I considered making a joke about me wanting to get my hands on her brain and she'd have to track me down like in CSI, but it seemed too contrived and I could imagine the dead eyes I would get in response.

'Cool,' I said, 'I know some people who do forensics!'

'Oh cool,' she smiled.

Ask me who! Come on, give me something here! I was struggling. But then I realised, maybe I was bugging her. I decided to retreat and lick my wounds.

'Well, it was nice meeting you, Carly,' I said. Even if it had been going well, it had been the most pathetic conversation ever and I didn't think she'd been given an incentive to follow it up.

'You too,' she said. As I stood up to go back to my group, she gasped, 'Wait, are you leaving now?'

'I'm not leaving the party, if that's what you mean,' I said.

'Oh, good,' she smiled. 'Come find me later, ok? Otherwise I can't give you my number.'

She winked at me like a professional, and I returned to my friends, incredibly confused.

'Who was she?' Mel asked. Mel and I have an awkward history. We're friends now but she still seems to get jealous.

'Carly,' I replied.

'Who's Carly?'

'I don't know,' I said. 'I know that she's hot, but that's it. She seems like a bit of an airhead.'

In the corner, Nick and Jen seemed to be getting friendly. Martin had disappeared entirely. Mel and I spoke for a good fifteen minutes about Doctor Who, in which time, Nick and Jen started kissing and Martin had posted on Facebook that he was 'at home after a lame party'. I felt a tiny tap on my shoulder- it was Carly.

I introduced Carly and Mel to each other and Mel received a similar blank stare to the one I did. Nobody spoke after this; Mel even dropped a 'So...' to add to the awkwardness of the moment.

'Ed,' Carly whispered, 'could I chat to you for a moment?'

'Uh, sure,' I said. I gave Mel the 'one moment' signal and she flopped her arms in the air and looked around for anybody that she could talk to. I stepped aside with Carly and she just stared at me with a gentle smile.

'What is it?' I asked, once again having to extract conversation.

'She seems nice,' Carly said.

'Yeah,' I said. 'Mel's cool!'

'So are you two a couple?'

This seemed like a very forward question for someone who I didn't think was interested. Maybe I had made an impression after all.

'No, no, not a couple, just friends,' I said.

'Oh, ok,' she sighed, 'good.'

This also seemed very forward. It could have been quite a sexy thing to say if she'd followed it up with a flirty comment or by leading me upstairs and tearing my clothes off, but I just received the same dead eyes, making her 'good' more psychotic than sexy. I decide to try again.

'Where are you from?' I asked.

'Newcastle,' she replied. She was still smiling, but it seemed very hollow and robot like, as if there was no actual pleasure underneath, but just smile programming. However, her answer had been perfect.

'No way,' I said, 'me too!' This was bound to spark off a lengthy conversation. We could chat about our favourite drinking holes in the city; about how horribly crowded it gets in Eldon square shopping centre; about how hellish it is to drive anywhere. If I'm lucky maybe we could discuss the recent Darwin exhibition at the Baltic.

'Cool,' she said.

This is unbelievable. I looked around for help but Mel seemed to have left. I considered doing the same. This party wasn't for me and I had become stuck to the dullest hot girl there is.

My hand shot for my pocket and I took out my phone. Carly was still staring at me, not saying anything. Nothing had changed on my phone screen to warrant a quick exit, but that wasn't going to stop me.

'Oh,' I said, looking at an old text, 'hang on, I just need to-'

I stopped talking. My eyes froze over, just like Carly's. It looked like her dullness had transmitted to me, but it was actually because her hand was definitely now on my penis.

I took a deep breath. What was I to do? She seemed like the kind of girl that would never leave me alone if we slept together. Although maybe the lack of conversation was her telling me that she didn't want any strings, just raw, animalistic sex for one night, and God only knows that I am up for that. Either way, she was the kind of girl that I would have nightmares about if I didn't sleep with her.

We stood in exactly the same position for a good half minute: her empty face across from my blank shock; my phone in my hand, her hand on my penis. We were in a corner of the kitchen that nobody was paying attention to.

Suddenly her grip tightened and I creased up in pain, headbutting her in the chin on the way down. She let out a yelp and stumbled backwards, drawing attention to our secret corner. I manically scanned the room, looking for an escape before I'm surrounded by people I don't know. Carly wasn't looking, so I hopped out of the kitchen and through the front door.

Mel had texted me saying 'Have fun with your bimbo friend, I'm going home x'. I deflated at the thought of my encounter with Carly, and of the distance I had to go.

I walked home quickly, trying to decide if I was too sleepy to masturbate or not.