Nameless

A/N: in the summary, it had to be at least 90 characters, so I had to use shorthand, but my stories are written with correct grammar and spelling

Chapter One: Meeting

Ok, so we were at Sarah’s bat mitzvah. She’d been talking about having one for a long time and it was actually a year and a half after we all turned 12 that she had hers. It was in the September before eighth grade and we were all excited to see all our classmates after the two months of summer. Of course, our clique all sat together: Me, Tiffany, Abigail, Yifat, Rachel, Ariella, and Sarah, the bat mitzvah girl. It was during the dancing that I first saw him. I wasn’t really feeling in the mood to dance so me, Tiffany, Yifat, and Abigail kinda hung back at the side. I was chatting with them about usual girl stuff, shopping, Tiffany complaining another girl had the same shoes as her in camp (she gets very upset about things like that), when I happened to glance around the room. I saw him through the corner of my eye, and it was like the cheesy slo-mo in movies. He glanced up and caught my eye, a faint smile dancing on his lips. I flushed and lowered my gaze, returning my attention to our conversation. But I couldn’t concentrate just when I’d seen a vision of perfection. He was tall, maybe 5'7 (I know, but that’s still tall to my petite 5'1 ½) with gorgeous wavy dark red/auburn hair, hazel eyes (like mine!) and tan, muscular arms. Perfection (sigh). Yifat caught where I was looking and grinned, “that dude’s hot.” I rolled my eyes not wanting to voice my disdain. He wasn’t hot, he was beautiful, I thought.

I slipped over beside Sarah. “Who’s the guy over there, talking to the lady with the boa?”

Sarah shrugged. “Probably one of my parents’ friends’ kids, I don’t know.” She grinned mischievously. “Why, think he’s cute?”

Now it was my turn to shrug.


My first encounter with him was at the buffet table. I was standing in line for the food, Yifat in front of me. I heard a movement behind me and I looked behind me in the corner of my eye. I stifled a gasp. I tapped Yifat on the shoulder, “It’s him.” Yifat casually looked back and snickered. “Oh, your hottie.” I felt anger rise up. He wasn’t hot, he was . . . I couldn’t find am adequate word to describe him.

All of the sudden, I felt something drip down my black skirt. I gasped. It was ketchup! Something all girls know to be hazardous when wearing fancy clothes.

“I’m so sorry!” It was him! All my horror at the ketchup vanished and all that mattered was that a gorgeous guy was apologizing to me.

“I’m so sorry, really, I am.” A gorgeous guy, and a sexy English accent to boot!

“It’s fine,” I replied.

“No, it’s not. Send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’ll pay for it. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how it happened.” He’d knocked the ketchup off the buffet table.

“It’s not a problem,” I protested. “Look.” I wipe the excess off my skirt with a napkin. “It’s not so bad”

He sighed, finally realizing apologizing was useless and held out a hand. “I’m Michael Molloy.”

“Julia Marcus.” I said shyly and grasped his hand.

“Julia,” he echoed and I knew I loved hearing my name on his lips. “You’re very pretty, Julia,” he murmured.

A gorgeous guy with an English accent who thought I was pretty and made me extremely comfortable in his presence (the last was not a usual thing for me to be around people.)

“Not like you,” I grinned, inwardly gasping at my uncharacteristic audacity.

“Are you flirting with me?” He said, a smile creeping onto his face.

“No!” I said, horrified at how I must’ve sounded.

“But are flirting with me?” I flirted, gasping inside again at my atypical temerity and also how easy it was to be myself around him.

He laughed, a full, head tilted, boyish laugh. “No comment,” he said playfully.

I giggled shyly.

The line progressed and we moved forward until we could see the food. There was bowl of circular, orange ball-things of which I had no idea the name.

“Ew,” he whispered. “I wonder who’d eat that caviar?”

I giggled and nodded, grateful he’d spoken before I had. I was going to ask what he thought those were but now I was glad I hadn’t spoken up first and looked like an idiot.

Then an old man hobbled over to fill up his plate, (and I mean fill up, not just a medium-sized portion, but completely cover his entire plate) with that orange marble-looking caviar.

The man looked our way as Michael and I burst out laughing.

We moved up the line and took, our food, careful to stay far away from the caviar.

We caught up with each other at the other end of the food table and for some unapparent reason, Michael started to crack up once again. I started to feel self-conscious and asked, “What are you laughing at?”

“Look at our plates,” was his laughing reply.

I did and realized we had both taken the same exact foods. I joined in his laughter. When all our tears and doubling over subsided, Michael said to me, “Well, I gotta go, see ya around?”

I was completely taken aback at his words - he wanted to see me around!- “S-sure.”

“ K, bye.”

“Bye,” I said shyly.

I walked as if in a daze to the table where my “clique” was sitting.

“OMG, Jule, the hottie, he was talking to you!” Yifat exclaimed excitedly.

I decided not to fix her terms (hottie) but for the first time really looked down at my skirt and groaned. “Oh gosh, I have to clean myself up.”

“I’ll come,” Abigail said.

We hurried to the girls’ room where I preceded to try to get all the ketchup out of my skirt.

“So what was it like!?” Abigail gushed.

I smiled at her enthusiasm – she wasn’t usually so crazy about boys. “Well...” I told her it all and when I was done, she was nodding her head a huge smile across her face. “He totally likes you.”

“What?” I protested. “He was just being nice, he’s like 3 years older than me and a god of perfection.”

“He totally likes you,” she repeated.

I sighed knowing I wouldn’t be able to sway her thinking.

We walked back to the table, my black skirt still having a reddish blob on the bottom but I’d decided it would be a nice memento of the one time a (gorgeous) guy talked to me of his own will.

I sat down at my seat to eat but my mind kept straying to Michael.

“He left, y’know ,” Tiffany commented.

“Huh?”

“Your guy, when you were in the bathroom, he left with a lady in a boa.”

“Oh.” I’d already figured I would never see him again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~(/center)

The Bat Mitzvah was on a Saturday night so after I was dropped off at home by my car pool, it was already really late, 11:43 to be exact, and my whole family was asleep. Even so, I booted up my computer, and went onto Google.com

I was Googling Michael Molloy.

I was Googling Michael Molloy and nothing came up – I mean nothing. I typed his name in, careful to spell it correctly, and zero results – zero! Usually there are a ton that pop up, even if it’s about Michael Jordan or some Dr. Michael Mollstein, but this time – nothing.

I was a bit perturbed by that, but I was tired so I shut down the computer, resolving to find out more about Michael if it killed me. (Then, I didn’t know how close to the truth I was getting.)