Chapter Four October 2 #2
He leans in and raises his brows. “Like smut?”
“Yeah. Smut,” I say. “Anyway, thanks for your help, but I’m fine now.”
“Are you? Because you still look a bit not fine to me.”
“That’s just my status quo,” I say. “I have RSF: resting sad face.”
John laughs so loud it echoes down the mostly empty hall.
It’s like, I want John to keep talking to me, but I also want the conversation to end so I can dissect it in my brain, line by line, look by look, touch by touch.
“Sing any good songs lately?” he asks with a smile so wide it shows off his perfectly white teeth.
There’s a tiny gap between his two front teeth that I didn’t notice on the bus.
It’s incredibly endearing. Why are the most annoying guys the best-looking ones?
Not that he’s annoying. He’s just annoyingly out of reach.
“No. I reserve my public concerts for school buses,” I say, a response so witty that even I’m impressed.
He grins as he runs his fingers through his hair. This time the motion brings my eyes to his arm.
“So, the reason I’m glad to run into you is because I want to apologize,” he says, seemingly out of nowhere.
“For what?”
“For cutting in front of you in the bus line. And then for bothering you on the bus.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “You didn’t bother me that much.”
Don’t get obsessed. Don’t get obsessed. He’s just being polite.
“Good. I’m glad.”
We remain in the hallway, alone, my backpack strap on its way to leaving a permanent indentation on my shoulder. Every time I think John’s going to end the conversation and walk away, he keeps going. He must really feel bad.
“So, you probably—” I begin, taking a step back, but John cuts in.
“What’s your favorite Beatles song?”
Despite the weight of my backpack, a lightness comes over me at his question. After getting off the bus the day we met, I did a little investigative work. More specifically, I cyberstalked him. He’s an Aries. He’s in a band. He likes old-school rock and indie music.
“You get three guesses,” I say, sucking in my cheeks to prevent John from witnessing any more unbridled vulnerability.
“Okay.” He nods and rubs his hands together. I hear my father’s voice warning me that boys never approach a girl without an ulterior motive. But John said he wanted to apologize. Which he did.
“ ‘Let It Be.’ ”
“Nope. Down to two.”
He runs a hand down his face before blowing out a dramatic puff of air. “Based on the little I know about you, I’m fairly certain it’s not one of their more popular songs. And it’s got to be something romantic, because you’re a girl and you like to read.”
“You’re saying a lot of words. Some of them gender stereotypes. None of which are song titles.”
“Okay, okay,” he says. He looks up and our eyes lock with sudden intensity. “ ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand.’ ”
“Sorry?” I ask, swallowing, my eyes frozen to his gaze.
“It’s my second guess. ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand.’ ”
“Oh.” I shake my head with a bit too much vigor. “No.”
“Shit. I’m down to one,” he says before biting on his lower lip.
Ulterior motive. But what could it be?
“Kurt Cobain,” I say.
“Kurt Cobain?” he repeats.
“It’s a clue,” I say around a swallow while focusing my gaze on the floor tiles.
This is the part where I’m supposed to tell him to come find me if he ever figures it out and walk away like the cool girl I’m not. But if I did that, I could be walking away from the last conversation we ever have.
Why do I care? He has a girlfriend. Not to mention he’s completely out of my league.
“ ‘And I Love Her,’ right?”
I lift my head to meet his gaze. There’s a proud smile on his face, but I’m not quite buying that he figured it out that quickly.
“You’re right,” I confirm. “So do you know the song, or did you just find the answer via Google?”
“I don’t. And I did Google.” He blushes and holds his phone up to show me his screen.
“I’m in a band,” he says, extending the conversation even further.
Every time I try to come up with a valid and not-rude reason to walk away, the slack on his rope extends.
Softening the newness of our relationship.
Friendship? Acquaintanceship? “Maybe I could learn this song,” he goes on.
“If you’d like,” I say.
He grins, unfazed by my apparent lack of enthusiasm. But inside, I’m enthused. Deeply.
“Let’s shake on it,” he says, stretching his hand out.
I place my hand in his and the wall I build to keep people out transforms into a fence. An old, rickety one that looks like it could collapse with a strong—or not even all that strong—gust of wind.
“What are we shaking on?” I ask, hearing the tremble in my voice.
He laughs. “That I’m going to learn the song and then I’ll perform it for you. I know, if I’d like. And yes, I would like.”
“Okay,” I say, removing my hand from his.
John clears his throat. “So, you heading downstairs?”
“Yeah. To the library.”
“Right. Books. Non-smutty ones.” The curve of his smile brings my eyes to his mouth. He’s got a tiny scar above his lip that’s shaped like a tidal wave. I wonder if you can feel it when you kiss him.
“I like reading love stories,” I blurt out.
“It’s fun being on the outside, looking in, witnessing two people fall in love.
And the thing about romances is that you’re always promised a happy ending.
With the world on the verge of collapse every day it’s kind of nice having a sure thing you can escape into. ”
John’s mouth is slightly open, his eyes studying me. I said too much. I was creepy. He probably thinks I’m the sort of girl that stalks guys on the internet after one small interaction.
“I get that, but I’d argue that there’s one thing better than witnessing a love story,” he says, his eyes on mine again. “Experiencing your own.”
A buzzing comes from the phone in John’s hand, and it saves me from trying to come up with a smart response, because how do you respond to something like that?
John looks at his phone and sighs. “I’ve got to run. You sure you’re feeling okay?”
“Yeah. I am.”
“Good.” He nods. “I’ll see you around.”
I watch as John walks away. He turns back to smile at me before rounding the corner.
A breath goes in easily, despite my accelerated heart rate.
I pull my earbuds out of the front pocket of my backpack and quickly put them on.
I search through my phone before hitting play on “And I Love Her” and allow myself to smile as I enjoy the remaining bits of dopamine.