Page 10 of Kissing is the Easy Part
Note to self: stop whining and use the blinker from now on.
“I hate it when I buy ice cream and the scoop isn’t a perfect sphere. Or when it starts dripping at the bottom halfway through. That irritates me to no end.”
Oh god. Can I change my answer?
“I hate that too,” Sean says, “and when it melts too fast and runs down the side of the cone. Sometimes they only give you a tiny piece of napkin, which does no good other than sticking to the cone.”
“Yes! And then you try to peel if off and it tears apart.”
He chuckles, picking up a fork as I push my unfinished baked goods his way. There’s a raw spot on the skin around his thumbnail that I didn’t notice before. He cuts into the muffin, the fork making a soft clink against the plate.
“How does it feel to be the star of the basketball team?” I ask, as if I’m interviewing him. To be honest, Sean isn’tthatgood, but I don’t mind giving him a little confidence boost. Guys like that.
“Thestar?” His eyebrows rise. “Have you paid attention to our games? You mean Jake.” Jake plays small forward, and we all expect him to be sent off to college in the loving arms of D1 scouts.
“I wasn’t watching Jake during the games.”
His fingers pause around his coffee cup for half a second. “Good to know.”
My heart thuds. I don’t care much for the rest of the team, although it’s a tried-and-true fact that hot guys travel in packs. If they were movies, then Jake Lancaster would beThe Dark Knight—everyone’s default favorite, just like how everyone agrees Jake’s one great-looking dude. Dylan Reyes, Sean’s other friend, with the buzz cut, tattoo, and habit of swearing every other sentence, is one of those cult films, likePulp Fiction—dedicated fans, but not mass appeal.
I can’t tell what kind of movie Sean is yet, but he’d be the kind I never get tired of watching. Every time I replayed it, I’d notice something I didn’t before, and I’d always be at a loss for words when I tried to describe what was so special about it.
“Do you dream of playing pro someday?” I ask.
“Never. Basketball’s good exercise, and I like hanging out with my friends. I have other interests.”
“Such as?”
“Well,” he says as he picks at his cuticle with his index finger (so that’s how he gets that raw spot). “I like physics. I’m prepping for the USAPhO.”
“The what?”
“The United States Physics Olympiad.” He utters the name slowly, his voice growing quieter. His eyes stay on the salt and pepper shakers on the table. “It’s a physics competition. There are a series of exams to select the national representatives. If I do well on the first test, I get invited to the semis, and then . . . Sorry, I’m boring you.”
“No, no. It’s fine. Physics is so useful.” I rack my brain for something intelligent to say. “Like in pool games, right? Something to do with Newton’s second law and collision and velocity?”
He nods as if he doesn’t just hear the dumbest take on physics ever. “I can predict where the balls are going, and in theory I can plan my shots, but I can’t actually make it happen.”
“Too bad.”
“I’m good at teaching people, though. Dylan has a pool table at his place. I can show you next time if you want.”
There’s a next time. He’s not tired of me yet.Like sinking into a warm bath, my body uncoils inch by inch. “I’d love that.”
“My grandad used to set up these science challenges for me when I was a kid. Stuff like building engines from scratch or launching a balloon rocket across the room. That’s what got me hooked on physics in the first place.”
“Out of all the projects you did with your grandad, what would you say was the most—”Complicated?No way, I wouldn’t understand a thing he says. “Fun?”
“Probably the Rube Goldberg machine.” He watches my reaction, then adds, “You know what it is, you just don’t realize that’s what it’s called. Ever seen one of those YouTube videos where a ball rolls down a ramp, knocks over dominoes, hits a lever, then starts a pulley that rings a doorbell?”
Idoknow what it is. “It’s doing something simple in the most roundabout, complicated way possible?”Like me flipping over backward to end up sitting across from you now, watching your lashes flutter.
“Exactly. I enjoy adjusting, fine-tuning, and eventually, the predictability of it—how everything falls into place after careful planning. My grandad taught at MIT before he retired, and I got to see some truly incredible machines there.”
“Is MIT your dream school?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. A light sparks in his eyes, and he stops picking at his cuticles. “It’s what I’ve always known I wanted. That’s why I take so many AP and honors classes, like you pointed out—eight billion of them. I started entering STEM competitions in middle school, participated in robotics camps, and I play varsity basketball. I enjoy all of it, but I won’t lie, part of it is because it makes my application look better.”
