Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
When he broke off, one of his hands was still buried in my hair while the other held me pinned to the wall. We made eye contact, and it didn’t feel as silly anymore. I could see his individual eyelashes, and every tiny fleck of blue in his eyes. There was a quiet intensity to his gaze that melted my ass right into the fucking ground.
“I love you,” I’d whispered, completely involuntarily. My voice cracked a little. “I fucking love you.”
The texture of the words had changed entirely in that moment. Usually we tossed around a casual, unthinking “love you, man,” or “love ya, bro,” whenever we left each other’s houses or said goodbye at the end of a day.
This wasn’t that.
Mitch swallowed hard, taking a deep breath and leaning back. He put a bit of distance between us.
“Yeah. Right. Love you too, dude. Shit.”
The world had shifted on its axis yet again. If I’d been floating in midair the whole time Mitch had been kissing me, I was snapped right back down to Earth just from the tone he used when he said it.
This was reality again. The illusion vanished.
“Fuck, Jess is probably wondering where I am,” Mitch said, scratching the back of his neck before turning and looking down the hallway.
Mitch had brought Jess Belmont as his official date to prom, even though he’d mostly been hanging out with me tonight while she hung out with her girlfriends. Jess was one of the cheerleaders for the football team, and Mitch had always liked her because she didn’t get involved in drama. He’d confessed to me that he was nervous that she’d want to lose her virginity tonight, and he was worried he’d be too chicken shit to have sex.
I didn’t have a prom date.
“Yeah,” I finally said, clearing my throat. “Maybe you should go find her.”
“Yes,” Mitch said. He got up quickly, dusting off his pants and running his hands through his hair. “I look okay?” he asked.
You look like a fucking dream.
“You look normal,” I said.
“K. I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said, glancing back at me with a nod before taking off down the hallway.
My lips were still the slightest bit swollen from his kisses. I sat there in that alcove for another ten minutes, occasionally running my fingers along my lower lip in disbelief. I took another few swigs from the tequila bottle before tossing it into a nearby trash can and sauntering out into the chilly evening and walking home alone.
Later that night, Mitch had indeed lost his virginity to Jess Belmont. Two months later, they’d discovered that Jess had gotten pregnant, and their lives changed in an instant. Zach was born seven months after that, and by then, Jess and Mitch were already eighteen and living in Chicago, far away from me.
Mitch and I hadn’t talked about our prom night kisses ever since.
Well, at least until now, fifteen years later, when every bit of Mitchell Price-related emotion that I’d long since put to rest came screaming back to the surface as he kissed me again.
“Come on, guys, we talked about this fifteen minutes ago,” I said, staring out at a sea of teenaged blank stares.
The sound of a pencil hitting the ground came from the back of the room, and I looked and saw that Rudy Velez had dozed off, then clambered to retrieve the pencil as it rolled away.
“One of you guys has to remember the Parallel Lines Postulate,” I said.
More zombie-like stares. I glanced at Zach, who was in the second row. I knew he usually had the answer, but was a little shy to raise his hand sometimes. Sophia Kerns, the sweet overachiever who sat in the front row, didn’t even pipe up.
“Okay,” I said, putting my hands in the air as I walked over to the computer that controlled the projector. “You guys are forcing me to do it. It’s time for some freakin’ energy in this classroom.”
Finally, I heard a few groans from the back of the class.
“Not the fucking rap,” Andy Benson said from the back row.
“I’m going to ignore that language, but now you’re definitely getting the rap,” I said, hitting play on the Youtube video that I used for situations like these. A beat started playing on the speakers, and half the classroom started to snicker as the other half groaned and buried their heads in their hands.
I picked up the bejeweled, plastic little microphone I kept in a box on my desk and held it to my mouth, looking out at all the students.
“MC MC-Squared is up in the house, I can teach math even to a mouse. Count your lucky stars that you’re in my class, and don’t you dare leave without a hall pass.”
Okay, I never said that I was a good rapper. I was a white boy from Amberfield who taught high school math. But I had learned long ago that if the students were falling asleep during class, I had to do something to catch their attention.