Aiden is sitting behind me, burning holes into the back of my head with his mad eyes. As the class is chatting about what French film we’d like to watch on Friday, Annie, the girl who sits just to the right of me, touches my arm and says, “I saw you kissing Dawson on the bench today. I was out taking pictures for my photography class, and you two looked so cute. He is so hot.” She fans herself.
She’s a cute girl, but you have to look close to notice. She has delicate bone structure, a perky nose, and a gorgeous creamy complexion. But her hair needs serious help. Someone needs to teach the girl how to use a straightener and some glossing cream. Right now her hair is frizzy and totally overwhelming her face.
I giggle. “He is really hot.”
“Does he kiss good?” she giggles back.
And I swear, I feel a laser shot to the back of my skull.
He hates this, but I don’t care. It’s not my fault he doesn’t like me enough to text me.
I lean toward Anne, grab a strand of my hair and twirl it around my finger. “That was the first time we, like, really kissed, but, yes, he is a good kisser.” I speak in a very girly version of my voice, one I rarely use. It has that dreamy quality. I laugh, lower my voice, and tell her conspiratorially, “He licked hot fudge off the edge of my lip last night.” I even point to the spot. “And then he kissed me. It was the most ah-dorable thing ever.”
I gush. And I realize that I’m not gushing just to piss Aiden off. I did like it, and it was pretty damn adorable.
I liked kissing him today too.
Very surprising.
Considering that a few days ago I considered him the Worst Kisser Ever.
“You’re so lucky. He is the cutest senior, for sure. Probably the best-looking guy in the whole school. Um, I hope this doesn’t sound stalkerish, but you were so cute that I photographed you.”
I try not to let my face go white when she says it. I try not to think about the photos Vincent took of me when I wasn’t looking. But I can see each one of them flashing across my mind.
I steady my voice and try to say something normal. “I’d like to see the pictures.” I make my voice sound giddy at the prospect.
She gets all excited. “I’ll bring my laptop tomorrow and show you them.”
I hear Aiden mutter from behind me, “Can’t wait.”
Just as class is about to end I ask her, “Hey, are you going to the freshman football game tonight?”
“Probably not,” she says. “My friends never want to go.”
“You should come with me. You can meet my roommate, Katie. And we’re meeting Dawson and Riley and some other people.”
Aiden growls, “You have a threesome date? You, Dawson, and Riley. I mean, you’ve kissed them both. Isn’t that kind of weird for them?”
“I’ve never kissed Riley, but if I had, it wouldn’t have meant anything.” I turn around and look straight at him. “Kinda like our kisses.”
Annie’s eyes get big as saucers.
Aiden storms ahead of me out the door, while Annie grabs my arm. “So, wait, you’ve kissed Dawson and Aiden? You’ve only been at school for a few days!”
I nod my head.
“Oh my gosh,” she giggles. “I want your life. Or at least a boyfriend.”
“Come with me tonight. We’ll find you someone cute to kiss.”
“What happened with you and Aiden? I swear, he is so hot. When he first sat down behind us yesterday, I held my breath until I almost passed out.”
“He is hot. Honestly, I’m, like, in love with him, but he’s either been wildly romantic and amazing or a total jerk, so I gave up. I don’t need my heart stomped on. Not when there are so many other cute boys around.”
“That’s why I take French. I want to go to Paris, meet a sexy French guy, and live happily ever after.”
“You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you? The photos, French.”
She laughs nervously. “Kinda.”
"L'amour est la poésie des sens."
“Oh my gosh, that sounds so pretty when you say it. You speak French good. What does it mean?”
“You don’t know?”
“Well, I know that l’amour is love, but no, I don’t know the rest.”
“It means, “Love is the poetry of the senses.” Some French poet said it. I can’t remember his name. So, meet me at the bench at seven, and we’ll walk down to the game together. Actually, on second thought, come to my dorm room. Pennington 6B. At, like, 6:30.”
“Cool,” she says, and then breezes off.
Evil inner zen.
Soccer.
Coach makes the actual announcements of who is on what team. I did make Varsity, but she also tells us that since the actual season isn’t until spring things could change. Which means I’ll be working out with Peyton twice every day. At least Whitney isn’t in dance or soccer.
We’re doing some running drills on the track that surrounds the football field, where the football team is also practicing.
Aiden runs alongside me for a few seconds, going out for a pass, and it reminds me of how cute he was on Saturday with the points for dances thing.
But then I think about what a jerk he can be. I know it was kinda bitchy when I talked about Dawson in front of him, but he brings it out in me.
He infuriates me.
I swear, no one has ever made my blood boil like he does.