“Alexander.” Her nose scrunches up while her tone alone chides me.
“Sorry.” I still uphold my façade. “Maybe I’m just in a quiet mood today.”
“As if.” She searches the parking lot, and the girl who can memorize anything still hasn’t managed to catalog my cars aftermonths of seeing them. She walks right past my little silver coup, which I know, for a fact, she’s seen me with at school at least a dozen times. Whirling around once she’s in the center of the lane, she begins scanning license plates, then rolls her eyes. “Really?” She glares at me. “You couldn’t just tell me I walked right past it?”
“You memorized my cars’ license plates?”
“Cars are cars. Hundreds of every model exist. Of course the license plates are the only truly defining feature.”
Her mind is beautiful. And maybe on steroids.
Marching back up to me, Calypso stares into my eyes. “Please. You’re making me sick. What’s the deal?”
Thedeal? The deal is I’ll be kissing you in a matter of days. You clearly feel some sort of way about it. And I don’t know what to do with all the contradicting thoughts in my head.
“What’s your deal?” I ask.
Her brows shoot up. “Mine?” She takes a breath, blushes—or maybe she just looks red because it’s cold tonight. “Tomorrow’s the start of the weekend. I won’t see you for two days, and I’ve barely seen you today.”
With a perfectly straight face, I state, “You’re talking like you’re going to go into withdrawals. You never had a problem over breaks.”
Her eyes widen, then her gaze darts away. Calypso deflates, finding a braid and clutching it between her fingers. “Wait. Are you mad at me? You’ve not been mad at me before. I don’t think…”
Mad at her? Am I? Can I be? Do I even have the right?
“I’m sorry I don’t contact you during breaks. If that’s the problem, though, isn’t this a bit delayed for a reaction?” She coils her braid around her finger, lets it come undone. “Is it something having to do with your dad?”
I frown at the mention of him. He asked about her a fewdays after they met, just casually, like he cares. As far as I want to believe, they still don’t know each other. Calypso is absolutely none of his concern. “No. It’s not him.”
Her attention finds me, her big eyes rippling with concern. “You are mad.”
I sigh. “Not at you.”
“Then…?”
Closing my eyes, I mutter, “Just forget my dad exists, okay? You have nothing to do with each other, and if I were mad at him, I’d never let it leak over into how I act with you.”
She whacks me with her braid. “Then why aren’t you my Lex?”
Her Lex.How can she say that so casually? Like I belong to her. Like she knows I wouldn’t at all mind. My fist clenches, and I don’t know what I’m doing before I blurt, “I don’t know. Why don’t you want to kiss me?”
Crap. My breath catches, and I look at her in the moment she freezes, eyes wide, unblinking. Am I actually angry?
Am I really angry at her for not wanting to give her first kiss away under the premise of anact?Really?I swallow hard, wincing, and force my legs to move, take me to the driver’s side, put the car between us. I unlock it, and at least there isn’t a question of hesitance from her that suggests she thinks I’m going to drive off alone.
She opens her door, and we both slip in together, now only the center console providing any distance.
“Are you serious?” she whispers.
I let a breath out past my lips, all but grumbling, “I don’t know, Calypso.” Idoknow though, don’t I? When Rebecca brought up the next scene in the play, Calpyso caved in on herself, as if rudely reminded what will happen after we’ve spent a week laughing and dancing together, perfectly in sync. Hands and arms and whole bodies touch during our dance; what’s soterrible about a mere peck?
Is it the weight of what akissmeans? After all, mere bodies touching isn’t anything new for us. Friends hug. Friends touch. Friends normally don’tkiss.
“Talk to me.” She looks my way, her eyes pleading. “Are you serious?”
I scrub my hands down my face, then throw my head back against the seat, staring at the sun roof. The moon shines through the glass. “Yes?”
“You don’t sound sure?”
