“It’ll be fine,” Rebecca offers. “It’s going to be tame and stuff. Just pretend you’re in Europe.”
“I don’t have a problem with it,” I lie. Or half lie. Idon’thave a problem with kissing Lex.
I’ve already thought about it far too much, actually.
The very idea of it makes lyrics spring to life in my mind, and I’m on the verge of writing another song about the man. It isn’t the kissing that makes me flinch. It’s the audience. The presentation. The idea that my first kiss with the first guy I’ve ever wanted to kiss will end with me scripted to run away.
Already, I can hear Agatha jeering at me once I make it backstage. She knows I didn’t date in high school. No doubt she’ll have something cruel to say about how I need a script to force a man to kiss me.
What makes my stomach swirl with dread is everythingexceptthat brief touch.
Lips against lips, the barest caress.
I shoo the melody building in my head away.
“If you did have a problem with it, I wouldn’t be offended,” Lex breaks through the lines of notes dancing across my vision, and I look up at him. He’s being serious.
I blink.
Has he been serious like this from the moment Rebecca started talking about kissing?
It doesn’t seem right for him to be using this opportunity for anything other than relentlessly teasing me. Suggesting wepractice. Or something. Maybe even noting how a mere kiss will be nothing compared to a certain night, not so long ago.
My cheeks flare, and I hate how the very idea of Lex acting likeLexis enough to make me lose my mind.
I shake my head, repeating, “I don’t have a problem with it.”
“Okay.” He returns to eating.
I watch him for too long, then my eyes widen. The man is knee-deep in a character. Not one I know, sure, but not Lex. That much I do know.
There’s something too polished in how he’s eating his fast food, something too quiet in the way he’s interacting with us. It doesn’t matter that Rebecca normally doesn’t join us for lunch. When it’s Lex, Jason, and me, I’m the quiet one, not him. He takes over the conversations he finds interesting or guides them toward his interests, and acting is one of his favorite topics.
Suddenly annoyed, I reach across the table for Lex’s food, his little box of chicken nuggets, and steal one out of the remains of his ten-pack.
He doesn’t flinch, going so far as to set a perfectly curly little fry on the plastic bag I brought my sandwich in and nudge the little dipping sauce container between us.
The last thing I register before a swarm of kids leave the cafeteria, signifying the ending lunch break, is Rebecca leaning full across the table and hissing at Jason, “Do you see how they torture me with their cuteness? They’re too dang comfortable with each other. It’s just not fair.”
Lex
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You can drop the act now.” Calypso’s voice drips with distaste, and I look over to find the most perturbed little frown painted across her lips.
Tonight, after rehearsal, she didn’t even start toward our “I’m waiting for the bus” spot. She headed right toward the parking lot where I normally leave my car. The night’s onsetting chill makes her breath visible with her every exhale.
I play dumb. “I don’t know—”
She huffs, glaring at me. “Really?” she asks. “When it’s just us? Either I’m failing to see the joke, or the punchline is way too long in coming.”
Right. Because I only act privately around her when I’mjoking. It has been a trend, from sob stories to business deals to cheap coercion.
I rock my jaw, keeping the quiet contemplation around me like a cloak. No smiles. No flirts. Serious. Calm. I am a scientist or a librarian, someone who wears glasses and is constantly reading. Or it’s very likely I’m just mimicking some amalgamation of both Ophelia and Mr. D’plume. Those two radiate calm detachment. And that’s what I’m going for.
Detachment.
Not “I’m kissing Calypso on Monday, but she doesn’t want to kiss me” emotions.
