The Romantics

Gael didn’t look away, and after a moment, Cara laughed nervously, broke his gaze, and grabbed another chip. “Me and rebellion just don’t mix,” she went on. “Even at school, everyone’s all, let’s go eye up frat boys with beer bellies every single weekend! And I’m like, I’m going to watch R-rated movies at home without having to feel awkward, and buy every kind of hot sauce ever!”

“I know,” Gael said. He took a huge chip for himself. “I try and watch all the gory movies in my room in private. But my sister and mom pop in every five seconds, and my mom’s a women’s studies professor and she hates violence in movies, and it’s so annoying. She starts shaking her head like it’s me who’s just whacked someone, not the dude onscreen.”

Gael’s tone was lighthearted, but he had wondered, lately: If he’d been more bold and exciting, more laid-back and carefree like Mason, would it have been enough for Anika? But that just wasn’t Gael. He didn’t want to get tanked every weekend and hook up with a ton of girls. Maybe rebelling for him was nothing more than praying his mom wouldn’t open the door too many times during a Tarantino movie. Did that mean he was doomed to be girlfriendless?

Almost as if responding to his thoughts, Cara held up a chip and tapped it against the one in Gael’s hand. “To rebelling in little ways,” she said. “And not asshole ones.”

They laughed. And ate some more. Gael didn’t talk about Anika, or his failed birthday dinner, or how he still didn’t know why his parents split up, or his backstabbing best friend. They talked about Cara’s current quest for the perfect pair of hiking boots, how annoying the college students on Franklin Street could be, and the bands on her helmet. For a few minutes, Gael felt kind of normal again.

When the box was empty, Cara shoved the trash into the plastic bag and stood up. “I should probably get going. I promised my friend I’d see a movie with her tonight.”

Gael felt an instant sinking of his heart. This impromptu dinner had been like a reprieve from the epic disaster his life had become of late. He didn’t want it to end.

“Okay.” Gael stood up slowly. “Err, thanks for sharing your dinner with me.” He paused. “It was nice to just randomly meet someone so cool.”

He sounded lame. He knew it.

“Anytime,” Cara said. “It was great to meet you, too. Sorry for hitting you with my bike.”

“It’s okay,” Gael said. His leg was practically throbbing, but he’d been so wrapped up in Cara, he’d forgotten about it until now. “Really.”

Cara lifted up her bike. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t even see your flower.” She pulled it out of the spokes, not a petal harmed. “I hope I didn’t make you late for a date or anything,” she said, her voice rising just a touch at the end. A quiet question mark. She handed him the flower.

Gael didn’t want it back. It seemed meant for her. But he took it anyway. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You didn’t.”

She smiled. “It was nice meeting you,” she said again. Cara put her helmet on, lifted a leg over her bike, and pedaled away.

Suddenly, Gael panicked. Was that it? Was he really never going to see her again, this magical girl who had appeared out of nowhere and given him a much-deserved bit of happiness?

“Wait,” Gael said.

(I sent a gust of wind at the flower in his hand, but it was no use, he caught it in no time.)

Cara stopped, and Gael hobbled up to her bike, holding out the flower.

“What is it?” Cara asked, balancing one foot on the pavement.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do. He hadn’t planned this far ahead.

(I wanted so badly to turn him around, to rewind this inopportune encounter, but I couldn’t—all I could do was watch it unfold.)

“You should take the flower,” Gael said, holding it out to her.

“That’s so sweet.” Cara took it and wove it into the handlebars. “There. It’s lovely.” She grabbed the handlebars with both hands. “Well, I’ll be going, then.”

Gael didn’t even know what he was doing. He just knew that he didn’t want her to go, didn’t want her to bike away and leave him to his emptiness.

And so, with a racing heart and a stomach full of nachos, Gael did the most un-Gael thing of all. He put one hand on her shoulder and another on her cheek, turned her face to his, and planted a kiss right on her lips.

And for a moment, his heart lifted as she returned his kiss.

But then Cara pulled back, and he could see that she was shocked. Gael’s face fell for a second. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No,” she said, backtracking. “I’m just surprised.”

“Me, too,” he said. “I wasn’t planning . . . Well, it just sort of happened. I mean, I don’t even know your last name.”

Cara seemed to struggle to find her voice. “It’s Thompson,” she stammered.

“Mine’s Brennan. Can I see you again?” he asked. “I would really like that.”

Cara stalled. “Again?”

“I mean without having to be hit by your bike. Like, you know, plan something? Run into each other on purpose?”

Cara laughed nervously, and for a second, I thought this whole disaster had been averted.

But then Cara’s face changed. “Okay,” she said, a cautious smile on her lips. “You’re on.”

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