seat, he turns the full wattage of his killer smile on me. âGet your business taken care of?â he whispers.
I nod, incapable of muttering anything intelligible.
He crams his too-tall body into the old desk and leans back with a sigh.
I do my best to focus on Freelâs lecture about elements of a headline news story (like I donât already knowâI could practically teach this class), but for the life of me, I canât focus on anything but the tiny little leaf wedged into Rockâs still-damp hair.
When Kristen reaches up to grab the leaf from his hair, she turns to me with a victorious smile.
The bagel Iâd slammed for breakfast lands with a solid thud in the bottom of my stomach. Looks like they found something to do besides talk after all.
âOmigod, Sarah. It was amazing.â Kristen drops into the seat across from me in the library during our study hall.
âIâm sure it was,â I say, wishing I could escape the blow-by-blow sheâs about to deliver. I donât bother looking up from The Scarlet Letter , not really reading but desperate to block her out.
âHe started teasing me about being so small, and I told him I could totally take him.â Kristen continues rambling while I stare at the book in front of me, willing myself to read the words on the page instead of listening to her recount every millisecond of their morning tryst.
âThen he tripped me and we wound up on the lawn.â
âWow,â I mumble, dying a little with each word.
âGeez, could you show a little excitement?â she complains. âI mean, this is what weâre trying to accomplish, remember?â
How could she know that, for me, watching them together is the equivalent of watching someone torture a defenseless animal? I had my chance to tell her how I feel and blew it.
âSo anyway, Iâve written the first letter,â she says with an exasperated roll of her eyes, unzipping her binder in one smooth motion. I canât help but notice sheâs already managed to destroy the organization Iâd put in place for her. Itâs taken her less than a week to obliterate my efforts.
âHonestly, Kristen.â Taking her binder, I make quick work of filing the papers back in their rightful spots before sliding it back across the desk to her. âWhatâs it take?â
She ignores me as she grabs a sheet of paper from the back of her binder. âI know where everything is. Thatâs all that matters.â
When she moves the paper in front of me, the first thing I notice is a lot of scribbling and drawing. Hearts, flowers, that kind of preteen thing. Nestled in the middle of the artwork is a tiny paragraph in Kristenâs familiar bubbly handwriting. Most people outgrow their junior high cursive script, but not Kristen. Sheâs still putting hearts above her i âs and ending all dangling letters like g and j in curlicues. A hopeless romantic.
I read the words scrawled on the paper. It doesnât take long.
Rock,
I am so glad you have come to Houston.
I hope we get to know each other better.
Much better.
Call me ⦠555-0250
Love, Kristen
I look up from the note.
âI know itâs awful. Can you fix it? Make it ⦠I donât know ⦠unforgettable?â She looks at me, hope shining in her eyes.
Can I? Sure.
Should I? No.
Will I? Probably.
âBefore I even attempt to rewrite this, you need to have a clear purpose. Are you writing to prove youâre intelligent? You are , you know.â I push the letter closer to her.
Kristen rolls her eyes again. âNot about the right things. Thatâs why I need you.â
âWell, itâs not exactly like you can send a letter with a list of the things you know, Kristen. You have to slip it into conversation.â
She looks at me like Iâve told her she has to solve a quadratic equation in the next ten seconds. âI have no idea how to do
I nod, incapable of muttering anything intelligible.
He crams his too-tall body into the old desk and leans back with a sigh.
I do my best to focus on Freelâs lecture about elements of a headline news story (like I donât already knowâI could practically teach this class), but for the life of me, I canât focus on anything but the tiny little leaf wedged into Rockâs still-damp hair.
When Kristen reaches up to grab the leaf from his hair, she turns to me with a victorious smile.
The bagel Iâd slammed for breakfast lands with a solid thud in the bottom of my stomach. Looks like they found something to do besides talk after all.
âOmigod, Sarah. It was amazing.â Kristen drops into the seat across from me in the library during our study hall.
âIâm sure it was,â I say, wishing I could escape the blow-by-blow sheâs about to deliver. I donât bother looking up from The Scarlet Letter , not really reading but desperate to block her out.
âHe started teasing me about being so small, and I told him I could totally take him.â Kristen continues rambling while I stare at the book in front of me, willing myself to read the words on the page instead of listening to her recount every millisecond of their morning tryst.
âThen he tripped me and we wound up on the lawn.â
âWow,â I mumble, dying a little with each word.
âGeez, could you show a little excitement?â she complains. âI mean, this is what weâre trying to accomplish, remember?â
How could she know that, for me, watching them together is the equivalent of watching someone torture a defenseless animal? I had my chance to tell her how I feel and blew it.
âSo anyway, Iâve written the first letter,â she says with an exasperated roll of her eyes, unzipping her binder in one smooth motion. I canât help but notice sheâs already managed to destroy the organization Iâd put in place for her. Itâs taken her less than a week to obliterate my efforts.
âHonestly, Kristen.â Taking her binder, I make quick work of filing the papers back in their rightful spots before sliding it back across the desk to her. âWhatâs it take?â
She ignores me as she grabs a sheet of paper from the back of her binder. âI know where everything is. Thatâs all that matters.â
When she moves the paper in front of me, the first thing I notice is a lot of scribbling and drawing. Hearts, flowers, that kind of preteen thing. Nestled in the middle of the artwork is a tiny paragraph in Kristenâs familiar bubbly handwriting. Most people outgrow their junior high cursive script, but not Kristen. Sheâs still putting hearts above her i âs and ending all dangling letters like g and j in curlicues. A hopeless romantic.
I read the words scrawled on the paper. It doesnât take long.
Rock,
I am so glad you have come to Houston.
I hope we get to know each other better.
Much better.
Call me ⦠555-0250
Love, Kristen
I look up from the note.
âI know itâs awful. Can you fix it? Make it ⦠I donât know ⦠unforgettable?â She looks at me, hope shining in her eyes.
Can I? Sure.
Should I? No.
Will I? Probably.
âBefore I even attempt to rewrite this, you need to have a clear purpose. Are you writing to prove youâre intelligent? You are , you know.â I push the letter closer to her.
Kristen rolls her eyes again. âNot about the right things. Thatâs why I need you.â
âWell, itâs not exactly like you can send a letter with a list of the things you know, Kristen. You have to slip it into conversation.â
She looks at me like Iâve told her she has to solve a quadratic equation in the next ten seconds. âI have no idea how to do
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