Never Been Kissed in Michigan: Part 4!
thenameselodie might have found the perfect crush—but there's one small problem.—Sparkitors
The general consensus on last week’s post seemed to be:
A. “THAT IS SO FRUSTRATING! WHAT THE #$%& IS WRONG WITH YOUR BROTHER?” We can only guess.
B. “Your family is so cool!” Well, they could certainly be worse. (But don’t get me started on the Christmas Eve Fist Fight of 2005. My mom doesn’t like to talk about it.)
C. “ROAD TRIP!” Absolutely! There will be snacks and singing and Chinese fire drills galore.
Aaand we're moving right along. For the past few weeks, I’ve been on the prowl. All the boys in my high school, though they’re not sure why, just felt a thrill of fear.
I looked at all the guys I interact with through new eyes: suddenly, every eligible male became a potential kissing prospect. My lab partner in anatomy? Nah…we’ve had too many discussions about urinary tract infections for that relationship to take off. The cute football player in my history class? I asked my brother about him and was promptly told, “He’s a pervert. Don’t even.” Gotcha. My new library guy-pal? Cute, nice, funny… Bingo. All right, unfortunate cute-nice-funny guy… you have been caught in the crosshairs of my first kiss pursuit. Prepare to be Facebook-stalked.
Here’s how it started. I finally snagged a free period this year. During this time, I usually make a beeline for the table towards the back of the school library. After a few days, I settled into a routine with the regulars. There’s a girl with green hair (troll appearance notwithstanding, she’s actually quite nice) who sits in one of the armchairs and reads. There’s the guy who spends the entire period trying to eat smuggled snacks without invoking the ire of the ill-tempered librarians. There’s one of my best friends, Liam, who sits next with me while we do homework. And then there is… let’s call him Spencer. (He reminds me of Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds.) He’s kind of nerd chic—complete with big glasses, argyle sweaters, and a messenger bag that he takes with him everywhere.
He and Liam were friends, and I vaguely recognized him, so Spencer joined our library powwow. In between “studying” (read: flipping listlessly through our textbooks) and slyly exchanging food with the dude in the corner (who operates with such secrecy that I feel as if we’re arranging an illegal arms drop), I made casual chitchat with Spencer. I discovered he was adorably nerdy with just a dash of social awkwardness, which is perfect for me. He seems to find me amusing, at any rate, which is reassuring, since I’ve voiced some pretty strange opinions in his presence. Once, I stubbornly maintained that people could see me from my webcam even when it was off, which is why I kept it covered with a Donkey Kong sticker. Even when I informed him that I regularly sing along to “The Lizzie McGuire Movie Soundtrack” in my car, he only chuckled. Was this too good to be true? So I decided to crank it up a notch, and find out how weird was too weird.
“Done!" I said one day, slapping my math book shut with finality and earning a glare from the librarian. "Look at this!"
Liam, too used to my antics to care what cockamamie scheme I was working up, rolled his eyes and continued working. Spencer, interest piqued, leaned forward to look at my graph. “Is that a normal distribution?”
"Yes, it is.”
“You’ve made it into a turtle.”
“I have indeed.”
I studied his reaction. He took math very seriously; how would he respond to the frivolity of turtle-graphs? But he only laughed, added eyes to it, and named it Caesar. Ah! Had I done it? Had I found someone just as weird and eccentric and silly as me? I decided I needed to do something drastic to confirm, and my immediate response was to lunge across the table and begin stroking Spencer’s extremely fuzzy jacket. (Not one of my better ideas, but it was too late to take it back.)
“Why are you caressing my forearm?” he asked without looking up.
“Your jacket is so soft!” I said. “Does it feel like being wrapped in a cloud?”
“It feels like wearing it shouldn’t even be legal,” he said. “It’s that cozy.”
“Shouldn’t you be studying for… I don’t know, something?” Liam cut in, glaring at me and tapping his pencil in rapid annoyance. Our chitchat was ruining his concentration.
“You’re not nagging him,” I said, gesturing at Spencer.
“He's already taken most of the classes you’re taking now,” said Liam. “He could practice cartwheels between the bookshelves and I wouldn’t care.”
I was amazed. “How old are you, Spencer?”
“I’m a sophomore,” he replied.
Whoa. Sparklers, I am a senior. He is a sophomore, albeit a really smart, cute sophomore. Before I color your opinions with my own, I’d like to hear your thoughts. It’s the Age Dilemma. Some people have really strong opinions on the subject; some simply don't care. Is dating a sophomore crossing some sort of line? Is the issue totally irrelevant? Where do you stand?
We stand smack dab in the middle of the GO FOR IT, HE'S PERFECT court. How 'bout you guys?
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