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Authors: Kevin P Gardner
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phone and starts texting.
I’ve bored her so much that she needs a distraction. At least I’m used to it. She places the phone back on her stomach and, seconds later, mine vibrates.
Kaitlyn: you’re not good at talking, are you? :)
Me: Is it that obvious?
She shrugs without looking at me.
Kaitlyn: depends. but since i know you so well, it’s pretty easy to tell
Me: Sorry about that. It’s easier when I can hit backspace a few times before sending.
“But then you lose out on all of the authentic moments,” she says. “And those are the best.” She sticks her tongue out at me and rocks herself back into a sitting position. “Sometimes, around certain people, I find it easiest to remove my filter and let whatever comes into my brain out of my mouth.”
“Good idea.” It can’t hurt to try. I take a deep breath. “The reason I wanted to meet today was because I–”
“I hope everyone likes vanilla and cherries because that’s all they had.”
Damn it, Ted.
Kaitlyn sits back against the tree. “Who can complain about cherries?”
“Well, you pop a few and they can be your favorite thing in the world.” His laugh is a bit high pitched.
“Crude,” I say, accidentally out loud. I forgot to replace my filter. Kaitlyn laughs more at mine than Ted’s joke, and it lifts my spirits a little.
Ted sits down on the other side of Kaitlyn. “I’m nothing if not basic.” In order to lean against the tree, he scoots closer to her.
A twinge of jealousy rages in my gut. But then she moves and, in turn, leans in against me. Her skin brushes against my arm hair. Every muscle tenses, extending out a fraction of an inch and touching her arm again. Goosebumps surge down both arms.
“You cold?” Ted says, eyeing the bumps.
“Ice cream,” I say, thinking fast. “Gets me every time.”
“But you haven’t–”
“So what’s your school like?” Kaitlyn says, interrupting Ted from telling me I haven’t even tasted it yet.
“Probably the same as yours. Boring classes, mundane teachers. Bullies, nerds, jocks. It’s high school.”
“What’s your rank?” Ted says.
“What?”
“Your class rank? I’m second.”
“In a class of two hundred kids, second isn’t even that impressive.”
“Coming from the girl in first,” he says.
“I have no idea,” I say. Truthfully, I don’t care, either. I always found class ranks to be a dumb idea. Their only purpose is to incite pride, jealousy, or envy.
“I’m going to get first this year, I know it,” Ted says.
Case and point.
“You said that last year.”
“Yeah, but I have one more AP than you this year.”
Kaitlyn bites off a piece of her cone. “AP art history is not going to put you over the edge.”
While they argue, I sit in the background, observing. My usual seat. I welcome the break from conversation. It’s exhausting. I exchange glances from Ted to Kaitlyn as they argue about their AP credits. I never knew advanced placement had such an effect on people. I always try as little as possible in school, and they’re asking for additional work?
I linger for a second on Kaitlyn as she laughs. That laugh, it’s been a part of my life for years over Team Speak, but it has a different feel in person. It’s easy to see why Ted can’t stop staring at her.
After her last comment, she jerks her hand to the side. The remaining scoop of vanilla ice cream breaks free from the cone and wobbles, on the verge of falling. If she drops it on herself, I can imagine Ted offering to pay for a new shirt. Maybe that’s his thing.
“Hey,” I say, but neither notices. “Watch out for…” I try to keep going, but can’t find space to get my sentence out. They talk so fast, it’s hard to tell if they’re even breathing. English papers. Biology exams. GPA and extra credits. Four different topics crammed into two and a half sentences.
“That’s not how a weighted–ah!”
The ice cream teeters for a millisecond
I’ve bored her so much that she needs a distraction. At least I’m used to it. She places the phone back on her stomach and, seconds later, mine vibrates.
Kaitlyn: you’re not good at talking, are you? :)
Me: Is it that obvious?
She shrugs without looking at me.
Kaitlyn: depends. but since i know you so well, it’s pretty easy to tell
Me: Sorry about that. It’s easier when I can hit backspace a few times before sending.
“But then you lose out on all of the authentic moments,” she says. “And those are the best.” She sticks her tongue out at me and rocks herself back into a sitting position. “Sometimes, around certain people, I find it easiest to remove my filter and let whatever comes into my brain out of my mouth.”
“Good idea.” It can’t hurt to try. I take a deep breath. “The reason I wanted to meet today was because I–”
“I hope everyone likes vanilla and cherries because that’s all they had.”
Damn it, Ted.
Kaitlyn sits back against the tree. “Who can complain about cherries?”
“Well, you pop a few and they can be your favorite thing in the world.” His laugh is a bit high pitched.
“Crude,” I say, accidentally out loud. I forgot to replace my filter. Kaitlyn laughs more at mine than Ted’s joke, and it lifts my spirits a little.
Ted sits down on the other side of Kaitlyn. “I’m nothing if not basic.” In order to lean against the tree, he scoots closer to her.
A twinge of jealousy rages in my gut. But then she moves and, in turn, leans in against me. Her skin brushes against my arm hair. Every muscle tenses, extending out a fraction of an inch and touching her arm again. Goosebumps surge down both arms.
“You cold?” Ted says, eyeing the bumps.
“Ice cream,” I say, thinking fast. “Gets me every time.”
“But you haven’t–”
“So what’s your school like?” Kaitlyn says, interrupting Ted from telling me I haven’t even tasted it yet.
“Probably the same as yours. Boring classes, mundane teachers. Bullies, nerds, jocks. It’s high school.”
“What’s your rank?” Ted says.
“What?”
“Your class rank? I’m second.”
“In a class of two hundred kids, second isn’t even that impressive.”
“Coming from the girl in first,” he says.
“I have no idea,” I say. Truthfully, I don’t care, either. I always found class ranks to be a dumb idea. Their only purpose is to incite pride, jealousy, or envy.
“I’m going to get first this year, I know it,” Ted says.
Case and point.
“You said that last year.”
“Yeah, but I have one more AP than you this year.”
Kaitlyn bites off a piece of her cone. “AP art history is not going to put you over the edge.”
While they argue, I sit in the background, observing. My usual seat. I welcome the break from conversation. It’s exhausting. I exchange glances from Ted to Kaitlyn as they argue about their AP credits. I never knew advanced placement had such an effect on people. I always try as little as possible in school, and they’re asking for additional work?
I linger for a second on Kaitlyn as she laughs. That laugh, it’s been a part of my life for years over Team Speak, but it has a different feel in person. It’s easy to see why Ted can’t stop staring at her.
After her last comment, she jerks her hand to the side. The remaining scoop of vanilla ice cream breaks free from the cone and wobbles, on the verge of falling. If she drops it on herself, I can imagine Ted offering to pay for a new shirt. Maybe that’s his thing.
“Hey,” I say, but neither notices. “Watch out for…” I try to keep going, but can’t find space to get my sentence out. They talk so fast, it’s hard to tell if they’re even breathing. English papers. Biology exams. GPA and extra credits. Four different topics crammed into two and a half sentences.
“That’s not how a weighted–ah!”
The ice cream teeters for a millisecond
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