Page 78 of Fortunate Misfortune
Kenneth yells back his appreciation before lacing his fingers with mine as we race down the hill and toward his truck.
Shivering, I realize this is how it feels to be alive.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kenneth’s golden ticket ismocking me.
I spent so much time on that piece of paper, and now it’s calling me a hypocrite because all three punches have been made, but I find myself still sitting across from him at Claude’s Cafe. I tried to convince myself that this could be extra credit since we’re meeting more than the required amount, but even I know that’s a bunch of bull.
The truth is, being with Kenneth in our booth has become my new normal. Studying doesn’t feel the same if he isn’t sitting across from me, talking himself through some complex math problem that I understand about ten percent of.
The look of concentration on his face paired with his tongue pushing past his lips tells me he’s in the zone. In this state, he’s so unaware of his surroundings. A mug shattered moments ago, but his gaze never left his notebook and calculator.
Just as the timer on his phone goes off, I saddle up for my first joke.
“Why do omelets enjoy April Fools’ Day?” I ask, leaning on my elbows.
Kenneth closes his spiral notebook. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me no matter what. Why?”
“Because they enjoy practical yolks.”
When his face doesn’t change, I nudge him with my foot. “That one was so good, Kenneth! Come on. It deserved a laugh.”
His lips quirk, but not at the joke. He loves that I alternate between his first name and last name now. It’s small, but it almost feels as if we’re letting go of our old routines and habits, creating a new path.
“I know you’ve got better. Try again.”
The perfect joke comes to mind, and I grin. “Why do squirrels swim on their backs?”
His forehead wrinkles. “Because it’s fun?”
“Nope. So they don’t get their nuts wet.”
Holy shit. If you had told me that making Kenneth laugh would give me the same feeling as acing a test or stopping a goal, I would’ve made it my life’s mission years ago. It starts off quiet, with a jump of his shoulders, and when it really gets going, it’s a thing of beauty. Crinkled eyes and rosy cheeks.
He wipes his eyes and leans back. “I think the purpose of the holiday is to prank each other, but I prefer your jokes, Eddie.”
After making me promise to have more jokes ready later, he reopens his notebook and sets another timer. I like this little routine we have. It helps him be productive and forces me to take breaks.
I’ve been on edge since my harsh phone call with my advisor yesterday. For thirty minutes, she constantly reminded me that I still don’t have an internship lined up for the summer.
As if I had somehow forgotten.
I haven’t liked my advisor, Ms. Silva, since she called me childish for rejecting an internship opportunity last semester, but it’s not my fault the interviewer described the position to me as someone to take notes and look pretty.
Discussing my motivations for my degree and career choices with Kenneth the other night reminded me of the reason I work hard day after day. As much as I want to win the Brain Bowl, being able to truly help people like my dad is what I’m chasing after. I won’t settle for an internship that won’t help me get there.
Which is why I have to secure the internship.
My screen is split between Kenneth’s personal statement and a donation letter I’m working on for Dr. Martin, but I keep rereading his personal statement. It’s perfect in every sense of the word. Every sentence does nothing but solidify what I’ve known for years, even though I fought to ignore it.
Kenneth is a great competitor and an even better person. The way he speaks about his passion for MS research and his grandmother makes my heart swell.
I’ve come to terms about my feelings for him. I like Kenneth Gray.
Even then, I can’t let it go any further than this. I’m not even sure what it is that he wants. Sure, he admitted some things, but there was never an outright confession. And if he had confessed, I still don’t know what I’d do. I have no clue how to tell him what I would need from him as a partner. Someone who won’t smother me like my mom or treat me like a burden like Jordan.
The tiny part of me that wants to be an optimist is curious. What if I tell him exactly what I need and he exceeds my expectations? Kenneth could become a Guardian of the Blood Sugar. He could sit at my games and use the app to follow my blood sugar from the stands. We could sneak turkey roll-ups and cheese sticks into the movie theater so I can enjoy popcorn without worrying about a spike in my blood sugar. He could be the person that I turn to on the good and bad days.
