We sit on a bench by the human body exhibit. Mechanical displays demonstrate how the intestine digests food and the heart pumps blood. It’s a little grotesque and probably not the best thing to watch while eating, but there aren’t many places to sit. I squint, trying to read the placards next to the displays. Ezra reaches into a white paper bag that’s spotted with grease and pulls out a shrimp Caesar salad (for me) and a cheeseburger and fries (for him).
When I snap the lid off my salad, Ezra shares a few of his fries, setting them on top of my lettuce. It makes me grin. I eat one of the fries immediately but decide to save the other two for last. He bites into his cheeseburger, then licks mustard off his finger. Oh, to be that mustard. Maybe if I “accidentally” get some salad dressing on the side of my mouth, he’d lick it off.
I nearly groan at the thought. I shouldn’t be thinking such things. I should be protecting my heart, but Ezra’s intoxicating, spicy smell has me under a spell. He’s wearing dark jeans and a gray Iron Man T-shirt he’s had for years that looks soft and comfortable from being washed so many times.
“What’d you do after school today?” he asks between bites. “Soccer practice?”
“No, this coach doesn’t make us practice on Fridays.”
Ezra’s eyebrows scrunch together. “How’s he expect you to win?”
“I asked the same thing.” I pop a crouton in my mouth and chew. “After school, I worked on my college essays. I’m having a tough time with the prompts. I keep trashing what I’ve written and starting over.”
Ezra starts to bite into his burger but then he stops and pauses. “Yeah, they’re hard.”
“I’m so worried,” I say quietly. “What if I don’t get into Yale? I got kicked out of St. Andrew’s. What if they question my character? What if—”
“Tease.” He sets a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You’re one of the smartest people I know.”
I smile sadly. “I just don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t get into Yale.”
“Why do you want to go there?”
“It’s what I’ve been working toward forever.”
“So?”
“So?” I snap. “It’s important to me.”
“But why?”
“It’s a great school where I’ll learn a lot so I can help at my family’s firm. Plus, my dad expects it.”
Ezra removes his hand from my shoulder and rips into his burger. We chew in silence.
“Why’re you having trouble with your essays?” he asks through a mouthful.
“I’m supposed to write about a time I took a big risk and what I learned from it. Other than getting kicked out of St. Andrew’s, I haven’t really done anything bad.”
Ezra is thoughtful. “Risk doesn’t always have to be a negative, you know. Sometimes, it’s good to take risks—calculated risks—and hope you get a payoff. Life is a lot like poker.”
I see what he’s getting at. “You took a risk leaving school. Was it worth it?”
“Ultimately, I think so. I mean, I’m happier overall, but my parents are really pissed at me. Dad took away my trust fund, and he’s talking about writing me out of his will.”
“What?” I screech, dropping my plastic fork on the floor. I lean over to pick it up. How could a father separate himself from his son like that?
“I don’t care about the money. It just sucks how Dad is treating me.”
I squeeze Ezra’s knee. “I understand what it’s like to disappoint your parents.”
He stares at my hand and clears his throat. “It’s the risk I took. I knew my dad would be pissed, but I couldn’t stay at Cornell. I hated the classes.”
“So you want to keep doing demolition and get promoted to construction?”
He focuses on the mechanical human heart urgently pumping blood—whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. “I would love to design houses. Like architecture.”
“That sounds really cool,” I say eagerly. “Have you told your dad that?”
With a shake of his head, Ezra eats the last bite of his burger. “To Dad, I either major in business and take over his company, or I’m not part of his life. He can be such a dick sometimes.”
“Maybe you could go back to school and study architecture. Pick the school you want and pay for it yourself. Take out student loans.”
His face flames red. “I’m not sure I want to go back to school, even to study architecture.”
I steal a few more of his fries. “I don’t see how you can give up college.”
“Like I said, I took a risk. There are other options out there. I wish you’d consider them yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t even know why you want to go Yale, other than it’s where everyone in your family has gone to college. You don’t even know what you want to study.”
I set my fork down in my plastic bowl. I’m not hungry anymore. “I already have my parents judging me. I don’t need you doing that too. I need a friend.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that—I just want you to be happy.”
“That’s what I want for you too.”
Ezra takes my hand. Gazes into my eyes. The low museum lights emphasize his handsome face. He’s a great work of art.
Then he says softly, “Let’s walk around.”
? ? ?
Our next stop is the beekeeping exhibit.
Hundreds of thousands of bees zoom around behind the glass, serving their queen by feeding young bees, collecting pollen and nectar, and making honey. The dripping honeycomb looks delicious. The little placard says the queen lays three thousand eggs per day! My stomach hurts just thinking about that.
“Bees scare me,” I tell Ezra.
His lips curl into a smile. “Oh yeah? I love them.”
“Of course you would, you weirdo. Next, you’re gonna tell me you love rattlesnakes and black widow spiders.” I tremble, recalling a time in my grandparents’ backyard. “Once, at Nana and Grandpa’s, I lifted this clay pot, and I found a black widow inside it.”
Ezra shudders. “What happened?”
“The spider was so pretty and plastic looking, I nearly picked it up, ’cause I thought it was a toy! Mom and Dad were always on my case to share my toys, so I wanted to give it to Oliver.”
Ezra laughs. “You tried to give Oliver a black widow? Why have I never heard about this?”
“Probably because when I handed him the pot, he screeched like a girl and peed his pants.”
At that, Ezra barks out a laugh and gives me a hug. It starts as a friendly pat on the back, but then he wraps his arms around me, and I do the same to him. His warm hands slide across my shoulders and glide up and down my spine. I’ve been waiting years for this moment. Since the first time I met him when I was ten. The hug makes me feel like I’m lying in a field, enveloped by the sun. But bees are swarming nearby.
I gently pull out of his arms and avoid Ezra’s gaze, trying to hide the fact that he steals my breath away.
“Why do you love bees?” I ask, so he’ll talk while I get back in control of my faculties. And by faculties, I mean lady parts.
“I like that every bee has a job and knows what he’s supposed to do.”
“Wouldn’t you rather have choices though?”
“Wouldn’t you?” he asks bluntly.
I cross my arms. I should call him an ass, but he’s not wrong.
“Bees don’t know any better,” he goes on. “It’s all instinct for them. I wish all we had to do is follow our instincts.”