Never Been Kissed in Michigan: Part 2
thenameselodie kicks some major NBK butt this week; she doesn't get any lip action, but we were still SUPER impressed!—Sparkitors
There’s a boy in my class who I will refer to only as The Uber Hottie. He’s not only unfairly and torturously beautiful, he’s also the undisputed Smartest Kid in the Class. He somehow managed to get all the qualities of a nerd without the social awkwardness, along with all the qualities of a male model without the Holier Than Thou attitude. I wouldn’t say I have a crush on him, exactly. But jeez.
The thing is, he has this voice that just makes you want to believe him. You just want to nod vigorously and agree with whatever he says. He could say, “You know, sometimes I wonder if shards of glass would make a good side dish,” and you would smile stupidly and say, “Sometimes I wonder the EXACT. SAME. THING.” It doesn’t help that whatever he says is usually right. Whenever he raises his hand in class, all other hands go down, and everyone looks around expectantly with looks of reverence for whatever earth-shattering revelation he is going to grace us with.
Teachers love him. I’m sure our English teacher in particular goes home every night and gushes about him. And then her husband has to say gently, “Hey, honey? Um… you know you’re married to me, right? And this kid is seventeen?” To which she says, “Did I tell you he correctly interpreted The Elegy in a Spider’s Web? And that he never dangles his prepositions? And… oh! I passed out a ridiculously hard exam, and he finished about forty-five minutes before everyone else! Forty-five minutes!” Her husband finally just sighs and says, “That’s nice, dear,” and the teacher goes, “FORTY-FIVE MINUTES!”
Last week, he and I had to partner up for a presentation. I wasn’t exactly going to unleash my inner kissing persona (who has clearly been lying dormant for seventeen years), but I decided this would be a splendid opportunity to enhance my speaking-with-the-opposite-sex skills.
“Hi,” I said, moving my chair closer to his with this God-awful screech that made half the class whip around and stare.
“Hi,” he said, smiling.
And then… silence. Great. We’d already exhausted all topics of conversation. We both knew it was a little awkward, so I offered, “We could talk about the weather. We seem to be getting some snow.” As a matter of fact, there was a blizzard in progress. He laughed. (!!)
“Or we could work on this project,” he said.
“We could do that,” I agreed.
We were supposed to be analyzing a passage that I hadn’t even understood. And so when he asked, “What did you think about it?”, I knew I should have lobbed the question back at him—as in, “Well, what did you think about it?” Instead, I began employing a strategy that adheres to the adage “If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with BS.”
“Well, um,” I said. I saw the point of no return and got myself into a runner’s stance. “It was—weird. Really weird. And there was… colloquialism in there somewhere, I’m pretty sure…”
The Uber Hottie nodded politely while I trailed off, then said conversationally in that lovely voice of his, “And, well, I think he’s also connoting through his word choice that humans are to blame for the downfall of society, and he’s juxtaposing that idea with the notion that we put forth so much effort to save a lost cause.”
Guess what isn’t attractive? Slack-jawed staring. Which I’m pretty sure I was doing. Why couldn’t he be just a pretty face? I think I said something like, “Oh,” and began writing it all down. Of course, my handwriting, compared to his, looked like an illegible scrawl that only served to dirty the papers he blessed with his penmanship.
Okay, it wasn’t horrible. Over the next few days, I learned that our birthdays were on the same day; that he’d been forced to take his little sister to see Eclipse and had contemplated suffocation; that his favorite show was The Office. I was realistic though—he wasn’t going to turn to me and say, “You are the love of my life. Let’s defy all societal boundaries and commence sweaty handholding.” We were going to finish this project and go back to our respective circles of friends and probably barely acknowledge each other from there on out.
But, hey, I held my own in several conversations with The Uber Hottie. I used to be so intimidated by him I could barely squeak out a word in his presence, so I’d say that’s progress. He laughed. We talked. It’s a step in the right direction. There may be hope for me yet. (And if you’re wondering how the presentation went—he did most of the talking. I held up the poster. But let’s disregard that.)
Hey, poster-holding is hard. And we think you did an AWESOME job conversatin' with the Hottie!
Related post: NBK Michigan Part 1