Page 34 of Kissing is the Easy Part
“No! How appalling. My family doesn’t do returns.” I cross my arms with a dramatic huff. “If you don’t want it, I’ll give it to Jeremy.”
Relief spreads across his face. “Great, do that. He’ll love it.”
“And you shall receivehispresent, which is a mug with mug mittens.”
“Please give me the mug with mittens!” His voice shifts into playful pleading as he grabs my left hand with both of his. “Ever since I was a little boy, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for Christmas.”
When Sean’s this cute, I can’t stay annoyed for one second. I chuckle despite myself. “Fine, you get the mug.”
“How about I take some photos with my ex–Louis Vuitton?” he suggests to humor me. He holds the bag in his best model poses and pouts at the camera. I giggle with girlish delight, snapping photo after photo at my gorgeous boyfriend holding expensive leather.
* * *
As January begins and the date of Sean’s USAPhO looms like a comet hurtling toward Earth, I see less and less of him.Physics Olympiadis a phrase I never expected to feature in my life before, but it’s now making a frequent guest appearance. Sean abandons me half the time for studying sessions and the other half for basketball practices, but I try to stay positive, reminding myself that he’s a rare blend of brains and athleticism. I should be proud.
It still frustrates me to no end, however.
After school one day, we chat for about eight seconds before he announces he’s heading to the library,again.Since Wikipedia exists, why would anyone need the library?
“I want to spend more time with you.” It’s been over four months since our first kiss, three months since we went exclusive. Thanksgiving and Christmas have come and gone, and my infatuation isstillgoing strong. “Can I come with you?”
“No, I can’t concentrate with you there.” He leans against the brick wall, navy Herschel bag slung over one shoulder.
“I won’t say a single word. I’ll sit near you and do my own stuff.”
Such as continuing my research on cloud chambers (it’s a real thing, apparently). Sometimes Sean talks to me about his science projects, and I change the topic—not because I don’t care, but because he’ll realize how ignorant I am. There’s only so many times I can ask him to explain it like I’m five before it starts feeling pathetic. And every time I sit there, nodding along, I wonder if he can tell I’m pretending to keep up.
“But I’ll keep looking at you.”
“It’s just an English essay.” I’m on the verge of tearing out my hair. “I don’t get why it’s taking you a week.”
“School’s important to me.” His tone isn’t patronizing, but somehow it lands that way. For my most recent paper, I wrote about fashion in Victorian literature and focused on ornate hats, velvet accents, fur trims, and lace details, and threw in a couple of OscarWilde quotes to round it out. I got an A minus with the comment “insightful,” and I achieved that in two hours. Time management at its best.
“I want to get into a good university. I’ll need a scholarship if I end up somewhere other than MIT,” Sean says, like there’s any real chance he won’t get in. “Not everyone has the kind of money your family does.”
“I can’t control my family or circumstances.”
“I’m saying you’re very lucky, but sometimes I have more important things to do than go to the mall with you.”
Kind of a low blow, isn’t it? I never mentioned shopping—at least, not today. Rational me starts to crumble, and defensive me steps up fast. “You’re suggesting I can’t get into a good college, but I won’t starve because my parents won’t let me die on the street.”
“No. I think you can do anything you want in life if you put your heart into it.”
“I already put all my heart into getting theonething I want in life,” I say.“You.”
He laughs. “Right. That’s the easiest thing you could’ve done. I’m defenseless when it comes to you.”
It doesn’t quite soothe the knot in my chest. I feel like a dumb cheerleader whose only purpose is to entertain. I’m also mildly jealous that he’s so driven. It’d be kind of cool if I could also associate myself with words likeacademicorintellect, but I have the attention span of a three-year-old who watches too muchSpongeBob SquarePants.
Sean pulls me into his arms. When he strokes my hair, I catch the shadows under his eyes.
“Have you been getting enough sleep?” I ask.
“Not really. I’ve been staying up to finish homework after we hang up. And with the Olympiad coming up, there just isn’t enough time.”
My heart softens.Poor kid.“Sorry. I won’t keep you, then. I’ll find someone else to bother.”
Don’t be clingy—that’s not sexy.
