backpack and walked ahead of him up the sidewalk, crunching the leaves under my feet. I never would have thought I could get my mind off my failure with the chalk. I smiled again to myself. Apparently, the memory of Jake’s kisses could wipe my mind blank. Maybe my dad was right. Maybe I was taking too much on. If so, Jake’s effect on me was probably a positive thing.
I’d heard that love could make you stupid. Stop you from thinking. I’d never wanted to stop thinking, but maybe I needed to. If the rush from Jake’s kisses chased any rational thoughts from my mind, maybe more kisses were what I needed.
Jake opened the door as I reached it. I didn’t jump into his arms and smash my lips against his, but if my father hadn’t been there, I probably would have tried it.
His lazy grin told me he could read something of my train of thought.
My dad cleared his throat. His impatience told me that we needed to get out of the way and get inside because Jake and I weren’t fooling anybody.
I managed to fight embarrassment by remembering the PDA-fest my father and Sheree had subjected us to. Public displays of affection magnified. Parental displays of affection. Barf!
“What’s your mother up to?” Dad asked Jake.
Jake shrugged. “You’ll have to go see for yourself. She’s in the kitchen. Something about planning the menu for Thanksgiving.”
Dad went off to find Sheree, and Jake shut the door.
“I wonder if eating Thanksgiving dinner twice will cause me to explode.”
“Probably not,” Jake said.
“Probably not? Just probably?”
“Well,” he said. “There aren’t any guarantees of course, but I have personally eaten Thanksgiving dinner three times in one day without blowing up.”
“Yeah, but you’re a guy. Guys have superpowers when it comes to eating. You’re like cows or something with four stomachs you can use.”
“If I can eat three, you can eat at least two.”
“What if I explode?”
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I’ll work hard to find every single piece and put you back together.”
“Really?”
“I won’t rest until you’re totally reassembled.”
“You’re so sweet,” I said, leaning forward to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“Let’s go up to my room,” he said, then blushed. “I mean to play video games.”
“I think Dad wanted to spend time with me. I don’t know if we should disappear.”
“We aren’t going far. The man’s a nuclear physicist. He can find you if he wants to.”
“You do have a point,” I agreed.
“Shall we?” he asked, motioning toward the stairs.
“First one up picks the game,” I said, hitting the stairs at a dead run.
I beat him of course. I may have used an elbow at the last minute, but I jumped and hit the couch in his room first. He had to pull up before crashing into the cushions because a book lay open, face down on the other half.
“What’s this?” I asked. I grabbed for the book. “ Eragon ? I never read it. Didn’t everybody read this in seventh grade?”
“Yeah,” he said, reaching to take it from me, and then carefully closing it and putting it on his bed before sitting next to me. “I read it in fifth.”
“Ooh,” I said with a laugh. “Overachiever.”
“I loved these books.”
“You’re reading it again?”
“Yeah. I might have read it a couple of times.” He reached for my hand.
I hadn’t thought about Jake sitting in his room reading. Somehow, I always pictured him playing video games, but now I was enchanted by the image of him curled up with a book.
He held my gaze as if confiding his deepest secret. “I almost got to meet Christopher Paolini.”
“The author?”
“Yes. He was coming to Nashville to sign books. Mom and Larry were going to take me. Then I got strep and Larry got it too. Mom was running around with Popsicles and throat lozenges, and we didn’t get to go.”
“So you didn’t get your book signed?”
“No.” He broke eye contact.
“How
I’d heard that love could make you stupid. Stop you from thinking. I’d never wanted to stop thinking, but maybe I needed to. If the rush from Jake’s kisses chased any rational thoughts from my mind, maybe more kisses were what I needed.
Jake opened the door as I reached it. I didn’t jump into his arms and smash my lips against his, but if my father hadn’t been there, I probably would have tried it.
His lazy grin told me he could read something of my train of thought.
My dad cleared his throat. His impatience told me that we needed to get out of the way and get inside because Jake and I weren’t fooling anybody.
I managed to fight embarrassment by remembering the PDA-fest my father and Sheree had subjected us to. Public displays of affection magnified. Parental displays of affection. Barf!
“What’s your mother up to?” Dad asked Jake.
Jake shrugged. “You’ll have to go see for yourself. She’s in the kitchen. Something about planning the menu for Thanksgiving.”
Dad went off to find Sheree, and Jake shut the door.
“I wonder if eating Thanksgiving dinner twice will cause me to explode.”
“Probably not,” Jake said.
“Probably not? Just probably?”
“Well,” he said. “There aren’t any guarantees of course, but I have personally eaten Thanksgiving dinner three times in one day without blowing up.”
“Yeah, but you’re a guy. Guys have superpowers when it comes to eating. You’re like cows or something with four stomachs you can use.”
“If I can eat three, you can eat at least two.”
“What if I explode?”
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I’ll work hard to find every single piece and put you back together.”
“Really?”
“I won’t rest until you’re totally reassembled.”
“You’re so sweet,” I said, leaning forward to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“Let’s go up to my room,” he said, then blushed. “I mean to play video games.”
“I think Dad wanted to spend time with me. I don’t know if we should disappear.”
“We aren’t going far. The man’s a nuclear physicist. He can find you if he wants to.”
“You do have a point,” I agreed.
“Shall we?” he asked, motioning toward the stairs.
“First one up picks the game,” I said, hitting the stairs at a dead run.
I beat him of course. I may have used an elbow at the last minute, but I jumped and hit the couch in his room first. He had to pull up before crashing into the cushions because a book lay open, face down on the other half.
“What’s this?” I asked. I grabbed for the book. “ Eragon ? I never read it. Didn’t everybody read this in seventh grade?”
“Yeah,” he said, reaching to take it from me, and then carefully closing it and putting it on his bed before sitting next to me. “I read it in fifth.”
“Ooh,” I said with a laugh. “Overachiever.”
“I loved these books.”
“You’re reading it again?”
“Yeah. I might have read it a couple of times.” He reached for my hand.
I hadn’t thought about Jake sitting in his room reading. Somehow, I always pictured him playing video games, but now I was enchanted by the image of him curled up with a book.
He held my gaze as if confiding his deepest secret. “I almost got to meet Christopher Paolini.”
“The author?”
“Yes. He was coming to Nashville to sign books. Mom and Larry were going to take me. Then I got strep and Larry got it too. Mom was running around with Popsicles and throat lozenges, and we didn’t get to go.”
“So you didn’t get your book signed?”
“No.” He broke eye contact.
“How
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