Page 96 of Kissing is the Easy Part
Such blind faith. “Hello, Columbia? I don’t think so.”
“It’s not impossible. Have you picked out the photos you want to send in yet?”
I smack his arm, and he laughs, grabbing my hand and holding it in his. “Hate to break it to you, but going to runway shows should help, too, especially if you blog about them after. If you ever need to see Lanvin’s new collection again, you can drag me with you.”
My heart expands. “You’re supersweet, you know that? You care about my future.”
“No, it’s not about you. I love those tiny snacks they serve at the runway shows.”
I chuckle, and he smiles. I wait for him to say more nice things, but his expression turns serious again. “You really need to concentrate now, okay?” He places a hand on each side of my face and directs me to the test. “You have eighty minutes to complete the math section.”
I groan as he sets the alarm and goes right back to tutor mode.
He pats my head and leans in to whisper, “If you score over seven hundred, you can have sex with me.”
That’s the weirdest sexual fantasy I’ve ever heard. “Wow. I knew money could buy sex, but I wasn’t aware SAT points could too.”
His lips curl up. “Yeah, what kind of guy do you take me for? I don’t sleep with just anyone.”
I laugh and dive into my mock test. Having a hot tutor has its perks too.
* * *
One beautiful weekend afternoon, I grab lunch with my friends at a café near school. The place is always packed thanks to its aesthetic (if overpriced) smoothies and its willingness to let people loiter for hours without buying much.
It’s been a few days since I got my SAT scores back, and I’m still riding the high of my academic makeover—like I emerged from a YA montage of flashcards, late-night cram sessions, number two pencils, and studying straight through Thanksgiving—while Sean practically went into cardiac arrest when he saw my score (pretty sure he was more stressed about it than I was). My math section shot up by well over a hundred points, and the reading section got a decent boost too.
It was the early-December test, the last chance of the year before college applications were due, and the relief was overwhelming. My parents gave me a nod and a quick “good job.” In my family, “biggest improvement” isn’t quite as impressive as “top performance.” Still, I’ll take it.
Madison and Raymond show up a little later, fresh from their meeting with the prom committee. I hang out with them because I miss them and refuse to be the kind of girl who forgets her friends once in a relationship—not because Sean is away at a basketball game.
“Is Sean busy today?” Josie stirs her metal straw in her iced tea.
“Let’s just be happy Flora deigns to eat with us.” Madison scans the menu before ordering an Impossible Burger.
Raymond pretends to shield his eyes. “You eat? You almost resemble a human today.”
“Does that bother you?” Madison snaps.
“No, I approve,” Raymond says. “No one likes a girl who survives solely on iced coffee and air.”
“Guys are the biggest hypocrites.” Madison stabs her fork into her food with righteous fury. “They say they like a girl who eats a hot dog and wears no makeup, but that only applies if she still looks flawless.”
Raymond shakes his head. “Beauty is subjective. But speaking of which, can we all agree Ms. Hawthorne’s new hairstyle is . . . a choice?”
Our school nurse recently got a wild perm, and somehow, it ended up lopsided. “It’s like half the seeds got blown off a dandelion,” Madison says, and Josie snickers into her drink.
“Mads.” I clear my throat. “Are we being mean by secretly making fun of people?”
“Secretly?” She raises an eyebrow. “If she asked my opinion, I’d say the exact same thing.”
“I don’t make fun of people,” Josie says. “I make observations. Can’t promise they’re always positive. And what’s with this sudden moral awakening? You literally just blogged about the ridiculous outfits at the Venice Carnival ball.”
“That’s fashion critique, completely different. And Sean says . . .” I trail off when Raymond pretends to gag. “Anyway, it’s not nice to laugh at people, even if they never hear it.”
Carmen smiles. It’s not easy finding someone who shares her opinion, but Saint Sean never disappoints. “Exactly! I’ve said it a million times—if you don’t want to be talked about, don’t do it to others.”
But does keeping mean thoughts to yourself make you a better person? Or a fake one? Ms. Hawthorne totally resembles a ruined dandelion.
