tooth,” she continues.
“You make me sound defective, or something.”
“Oh, you’re not defective. You’re handsome.” Emily blushes watermelon pink again.
That’s when I kiss her. Her lips are so soft and sweet—it’s like kissing marshmallows. I’m taking it all in: her smooth cheeks, her satiny hair, a scent that makes me want to put my face into her neck and keep it there for about a century.
Her arms wind around me, and she kisses me back. Hot emotion rushes through me. I am powerful, sexy, masculine. She is all woman, responding to my slightest touch.
Emily pulls away. “You’re a good kisser, too.”
My cue to do it again. And in spite of everything, just for a moment, I’m happy.
This, I think, is what chemistry will do for you. Because Emily and I have mad chemistry. When I’m with her, I am no longer Ryan Mills, a nice, but ordinary guy who will always live in his father’s shadow. With Emily, I am the great lover, Don Juan de Marco. I am Superman. I am Sir Lancelot, Knight of the Round Table.
Chapter 22
I ’ve been working with Calvin and Jonathan in physics lab, and with each lab, I feel like more and more of a dummy. Arriving at class today, I round the corner suddenly and catch the tail end of Jonathan saying “… didn’t have anyone else,” and Calvin replying, “Well, he needs to start doing something!”
“Reporting for duty,” I say in a loud voice, and they both shut up.
For today’s lab, they have found just the right role for me. I am standing at the top of a small ramp. My job is to place a ball bearing at the top, then let go of it at the right time. The ball rolls down a track, while my partners take measurements and snap out comments about velocity and constant acceleration.
I stare out the window. If Michael were here, we’d have a lab table in the far back, and I—by default—would be in charge. “Wake me up when it’s over,” Michael might say, and I would say “You wish” and assign him some slacker job.
It’s not that I can’t study hard and get good grades. It’s just that I’ve never seen the point of it before. And I always felt like a super star, anyway, compared to Michael.
But compared to Emily and Jonathan, it’s a different story.
“Okay, that’s it,” Calvin says, standing up. “You want to get together this weekend? Start making our study guides for finals?”
I start to answer him, then realize he’s looking at Jonathan. But I’m a member of this group, too. “What are you talking about?” I ask. “Finals don’t start for three weeks.”
“Yeah,” Jonathan says. “That’s why we gotta get on this.” At the moment, he’s not my buddy, the Surfer Dude. He’s in his alter ego, the Straight-A Science Geek.
“Count me in,” I say. We divide up the work of outlining all the class material, and I demand my third of it.
“You sure?” Calvin asks me, probably envisioning his high GPA swirling down a black hole, never to be seen again.
“You bet,” I say, stubborn. “I’ll have it ready for our next meeting.”
I’ll show them, I think, as I walk out of the classroom. I’m sick of being the group slacker.
My outline’s going to kick ass.
I gulp a little. It had better.
• • •
When Chrissie still hasn’t returned my phone call after a day’s wait, I start to worry. I call the tennis club and ask for her. I pace back and forth next to my car in the school parking lot, my cell pressed to my ear. A Corvette peels out of the parking lot with a screech of tires, drowning out the person on the other end of the line.
“Would you repeat that?” I ask, plugging my phoneless ear with a finger.
“She no longer works here.”
I stop pacing. “She was working there last week!” I hadn’t realized she was going to leave so fast.
“Well, she’s gone now.”
My stomach somersaulting, I ask “Do you have a forwarding number?”
They give me the same cell phone number I already have.
Don’t
“You make me sound defective, or something.”
“Oh, you’re not defective. You’re handsome.” Emily blushes watermelon pink again.
That’s when I kiss her. Her lips are so soft and sweet—it’s like kissing marshmallows. I’m taking it all in: her smooth cheeks, her satiny hair, a scent that makes me want to put my face into her neck and keep it there for about a century.
Her arms wind around me, and she kisses me back. Hot emotion rushes through me. I am powerful, sexy, masculine. She is all woman, responding to my slightest touch.
Emily pulls away. “You’re a good kisser, too.”
My cue to do it again. And in spite of everything, just for a moment, I’m happy.
This, I think, is what chemistry will do for you. Because Emily and I have mad chemistry. When I’m with her, I am no longer Ryan Mills, a nice, but ordinary guy who will always live in his father’s shadow. With Emily, I am the great lover, Don Juan de Marco. I am Superman. I am Sir Lancelot, Knight of the Round Table.
Chapter 22
I ’ve been working with Calvin and Jonathan in physics lab, and with each lab, I feel like more and more of a dummy. Arriving at class today, I round the corner suddenly and catch the tail end of Jonathan saying “… didn’t have anyone else,” and Calvin replying, “Well, he needs to start doing something!”
“Reporting for duty,” I say in a loud voice, and they both shut up.
For today’s lab, they have found just the right role for me. I am standing at the top of a small ramp. My job is to place a ball bearing at the top, then let go of it at the right time. The ball rolls down a track, while my partners take measurements and snap out comments about velocity and constant acceleration.
I stare out the window. If Michael were here, we’d have a lab table in the far back, and I—by default—would be in charge. “Wake me up when it’s over,” Michael might say, and I would say “You wish” and assign him some slacker job.
It’s not that I can’t study hard and get good grades. It’s just that I’ve never seen the point of it before. And I always felt like a super star, anyway, compared to Michael.
But compared to Emily and Jonathan, it’s a different story.
“Okay, that’s it,” Calvin says, standing up. “You want to get together this weekend? Start making our study guides for finals?”
I start to answer him, then realize he’s looking at Jonathan. But I’m a member of this group, too. “What are you talking about?” I ask. “Finals don’t start for three weeks.”
“Yeah,” Jonathan says. “That’s why we gotta get on this.” At the moment, he’s not my buddy, the Surfer Dude. He’s in his alter ego, the Straight-A Science Geek.
“Count me in,” I say. We divide up the work of outlining all the class material, and I demand my third of it.
“You sure?” Calvin asks me, probably envisioning his high GPA swirling down a black hole, never to be seen again.
“You bet,” I say, stubborn. “I’ll have it ready for our next meeting.”
I’ll show them, I think, as I walk out of the classroom. I’m sick of being the group slacker.
My outline’s going to kick ass.
I gulp a little. It had better.
• • •
When Chrissie still hasn’t returned my phone call after a day’s wait, I start to worry. I call the tennis club and ask for her. I pace back and forth next to my car in the school parking lot, my cell pressed to my ear. A Corvette peels out of the parking lot with a screech of tires, drowning out the person on the other end of the line.
“Would you repeat that?” I ask, plugging my phoneless ear with a finger.
“She no longer works here.”
I stop pacing. “She was working there last week!” I hadn’t realized she was going to leave so fast.
“Well, she’s gone now.”
My stomach somersaulting, I ask “Do you have a forwarding number?”
They give me the same cell phone number I already have.
Don’t
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