“Only because you wanted to tell me your answer.”
“Hey,” she says, “most people find it interesting that Emma Stone is my number one choice.”
“I’m sure they do.” I pluck a blade of grass from the ground and tie it in a knot. “Plus, I already know the answer is yellow, so, what about book?”
“The–”
“Great Gatsby.” I reach for another blade.
She laughs. “I’m searching for someone to write a biography about me. You might be qualified.”
“What can I say? I paid attention the last six years.”
“Hey, I have, too. Red, Ender’s Game only because you refuse to read Fitzgerald, and you will always play a rogue-like character despite how bad they are in every game.”
“For the record, I don’t refuse to read Fitzgerald. I refuse to read anything my sophomore year English teacher described as ‘like, life changing.’”
She grimaces. “Poor Sam. It must be hard living the life of a high school rebel.”
“What’s that about a rebel force?”
I look up at the new voice. At first, I don’t even care who it is. Some stranger. The president. George Lucas. I’d prefer the world leave everything happening beneath this tree alone. At least for an hour or two.
“Hey, Ted,” Kaitlyn says.
“Just coming to check how you’re treating my new friend here.”
“You two know each other?” she says.
“We’ve met,” I say.
“That is a killer shirt, man,” he says, two thumbs up.
“Thanks,” I say, uncomfortable again.
“Lunch?” Kaitlyn says.
“Yep. Mark decided my hard work warranted a much needed break.”
“You eat lunch before eleven?” I say.
“Check your watch, bro,” he says, laughing.
I pull my phone out and hate what time it is. Twelve. We already spent two hours talking. It felt like minutes.
“I’ll grab a cone for everyone,” Ted says. “What’s your favorite color?”
Was he asking me?
“Red,” Kaitlyn says, answering for me.
Ted grins and backs away six steps before turning around. He jogs back to the Orange Cone.
“Sorry about him,” she says. “He’s always a bit…intrusive.”
“It’s okay,” I say, only because I can’t admit that I’m frustrated with myself for letting someone in on our–what exactly is this, anyway? It’s a meeting between two internet friends. There aren’t many rules for that.
Kaitlyn leans back, laying down in the high grass and resting her head on a tree root that’s popping up from the dirt. She kicks her feet out and rests them on my shins.
I try to look away, but I forget for a split second and run my eyes along her legs. They go on for miles. I check if she noticed. Lucky for me, she’s staring up at the clouds. My heart stops threatening to break my ribs.
“So,” she says. “Plan to tell me why you wanted to meet up after so long?”
“Well it wouldn’t have been appropriate a few years ago,” I say.
“Our parents would have had to set up a play date or something.” She plucks a weed from the ground and twirls it around in her fingers.
I smile, wider than in recent memory.
“I get the sense that you don’t smile much,” she says.
The words cut the grin away. “Why’s that?”
“A lot of your smiles look forced, but every now and then a genuine one breaks through. Just an observation.”
“What else have you observed?” I say, not sure if I want to know the answer.
“Nope, you answer mine first.”
I squeeze my knuckles until three of them pop. “It’s complicated.”
She bends her neck to look at me. The sun shines in her eyes and a small crease wrinkles on her forehead. “Then don’t think. Just do it.”
“You mean say it?”
Shrugging, she drops her head back onto the tree. “I don’t know what it is.”
That’s my imagination, getting me in trouble again. She didn’t mean anything by it. It’s a general word, and I tried to make it mean something else. “No, it’s, I, uhh.” And now I can’t seem to make words. Great.
She pulls out her
“Hey,” she says, “most people find it interesting that Emma Stone is my number one choice.”
“I’m sure they do.” I pluck a blade of grass from the ground and tie it in a knot. “Plus, I already know the answer is yellow, so, what about book?”
“The–”
“Great Gatsby.” I reach for another blade.
She laughs. “I’m searching for someone to write a biography about me. You might be qualified.”
“What can I say? I paid attention the last six years.”
“Hey, I have, too. Red, Ender’s Game only because you refuse to read Fitzgerald, and you will always play a rogue-like character despite how bad they are in every game.”
“For the record, I don’t refuse to read Fitzgerald. I refuse to read anything my sophomore year English teacher described as ‘like, life changing.’”
She grimaces. “Poor Sam. It must be hard living the life of a high school rebel.”
“What’s that about a rebel force?”
I look up at the new voice. At first, I don’t even care who it is. Some stranger. The president. George Lucas. I’d prefer the world leave everything happening beneath this tree alone. At least for an hour or two.
“Hey, Ted,” Kaitlyn says.
“Just coming to check how you’re treating my new friend here.”
“You two know each other?” she says.
“We’ve met,” I say.
“That is a killer shirt, man,” he says, two thumbs up.
“Thanks,” I say, uncomfortable again.
“Lunch?” Kaitlyn says.
“Yep. Mark decided my hard work warranted a much needed break.”
“You eat lunch before eleven?” I say.
“Check your watch, bro,” he says, laughing.
I pull my phone out and hate what time it is. Twelve. We already spent two hours talking. It felt like minutes.
“I’ll grab a cone for everyone,” Ted says. “What’s your favorite color?”
Was he asking me?
“Red,” Kaitlyn says, answering for me.
Ted grins and backs away six steps before turning around. He jogs back to the Orange Cone.
“Sorry about him,” she says. “He’s always a bit…intrusive.”
“It’s okay,” I say, only because I can’t admit that I’m frustrated with myself for letting someone in on our–what exactly is this, anyway? It’s a meeting between two internet friends. There aren’t many rules for that.
Kaitlyn leans back, laying down in the high grass and resting her head on a tree root that’s popping up from the dirt. She kicks her feet out and rests them on my shins.
I try to look away, but I forget for a split second and run my eyes along her legs. They go on for miles. I check if she noticed. Lucky for me, she’s staring up at the clouds. My heart stops threatening to break my ribs.
“So,” she says. “Plan to tell me why you wanted to meet up after so long?”
“Well it wouldn’t have been appropriate a few years ago,” I say.
“Our parents would have had to set up a play date or something.” She plucks a weed from the ground and twirls it around in her fingers.
I smile, wider than in recent memory.
“I get the sense that you don’t smile much,” she says.
The words cut the grin away. “Why’s that?”
“A lot of your smiles look forced, but every now and then a genuine one breaks through. Just an observation.”
“What else have you observed?” I say, not sure if I want to know the answer.
“Nope, you answer mine first.”
I squeeze my knuckles until three of them pop. “It’s complicated.”
She bends her neck to look at me. The sun shines in her eyes and a small crease wrinkles on her forehead. “Then don’t think. Just do it.”
“You mean say it?”
Shrugging, she drops her head back onto the tree. “I don’t know what it is.”
That’s my imagination, getting me in trouble again. She didn’t mean anything by it. It’s a general word, and I tried to make it mean something else. “No, it’s, I, uhh.” And now I can’t seem to make words. Great.
She pulls out her
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