Page 75 of Kissing is the Easy Part
I pick up my books. “You’re a smart guy, figure it out.”
* * *
And then,nothing.
All through Friday, Sean does nothing. No cute notes, no texts, no walking to class together, and no snacks at lunch. I check my phone again, switch it to airplane mode, then back on just in case. When the last class ends, I search my locker for the fifth time to make sure there isn’t any love letter stuck in a corner.
“What have you been up to lately?” Sean asks.
My heart jumps. I forget if I should be mad at him or pleased that he showed up. He leans against the locker next to mine in his varsity jacket, his backpack slung over one shoulder. The ultimate high-school dream.
“You know, the usual.” I fumble with my number lock. “Staying at home, knitting, writing a symphony, that sort of thing.”
“Interesting,” he says. “Hey, I was wondering if you could help me with a relationship problem. I met someone. I’ve never felt this way before.”
“Isn’t that nice—”
“But after we shared a scandalous kiss, and there’s even a pair of ridiculous wings involved, she’s ignored me for two weeks,” he says, deadpan. “To be exact, it’s been thirteen days. Thirteenagonizingdays. The question is, do you think I should try harder? Or should I stop because I’m beginning to feel like a stalker?”
I smile even though I don’t want to.
“Or maybe she’s too busy writing a symphony?” he presses.
“Maybe you kissed lousily.”
He scratches his chin, pretending to consider, then he shakes his head. “Impossible.”
I laugh. I’m seriously too weak. “Maybe you should try harder.”
“Okay, Flora. I’ll try harder.” He stares straight into my eyes, and I just about crumble to a puddle of pink pulp around his feet. He turns, pulling open the zipper of his backpack, and takes out a large envelope. “This is for you.”
Inside is a framed photo. It’s the one Daniel took of us in the cafeteria, with me laughing and Sean gazing at me. It made me emotional the first time, and the second time isn’t any easier either, especially since it’s from Sean. He understands what’s captured in that picture too.
“I look hideous,” I say, trying to act nonchalant.
“You’re beautiful.”
“And look at you.” I tilt the picture. “It’s clear. Admit you’re into me.”
“I already told you I like you,” he says. “You’re all I think about.”
And there it is. All the questions I tormented myself with, all the doubts I fed into my own head—they vanish. Why did I waste time anguishing over winning and losing? Why did I bother making him prove he wants me? I could spend a lifetime figuring out how to keep my heart safe, but I just want to be with him. I want those late-night conversations and text messages filled with corny lines. I want to hear him laugh, even if I’m always the one who cares more.
Fine, he broke my heart before. Maybe it’ll happen again. I’m probably still not good enough for perfect Sean. But this.Him. He’s right here, and I’m done pretending I don’t want him. I’m down for whatever lies ahead if I get to have him, for as long as I can, even if it’s only until he gets tired of me. His smile, his touch, and his kiss will always be stuck in my head like one of those annoyingly catchy songs.
“Hey, I know what I want for my second wish,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
He swallows. “Okay?”
“Go out with me tomorrow. You can’t leave until I say so.”
“Am I a date or a subscription service with no cancellation policy?” He smiles, then it falters. “Wait. This seems overly easy. You help me throw a party, and I get a kiss and a date? What’s the catch?”
I shrug.
He nudges me with his elbow. “Come on, admit you like me a little too,” he says, glancing down.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m smitten. “Fine, I like you. I like you a lot. I thought it was pretty obvious. I just thought that, maybe, you should make an effort. I feel like I’m always the one to initiate things, and . . .” It sounds so stupid when I explain it out loud. “You know what? Never mind.”
