I can’t help it. She’s beautiful. I have to stare.
My love is like to ice and I to fire.
The words from that Renaissance guy’s poem spool around in my head in a repeating loop. Mr. Schmidt would be proud that I remembered something from his class last year.
Poems don’t usually make a lot of sense to me. But this one did. It was so true. The harder this poor guy loved the girl, the colder she got. He can’t figure out why he can’t melt her one little bit when he burns for her.
I totally get that. Looking at her stony perfection, I don’t think I could melt Kamryn Holt’s heart in a million years.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.
Maybe I’ll ask her to go to the dance with me.
Huh. Right.
Maybe when pigs fly.
When the bell rings, my daydream ends and another screamingly dull social studies class is over. People fling their books into their bags and charge out the door.
It’s lunch, and finally it’s nice enough to sit outside.
By the time I make it through the crowded doorway, Kamryn is sitting at her usual place on the concrete wall. She is surrounded by other girls.
Even if I wanted to ask her to the dance, there’s no way I could do it in front of that crowd. How do guys ever get anywhere with girls when all girls do is huddle together like a bunch of ducks?
The wall is a popular spot for the eights and nines. The sevens sit at the picnic tables. The sixes run around on the playground, screaming and pushing each other like demented toddlers. The senior students usually go to McDonald’s or Starbucks for lunch.
I stroll toward the wall. I take a seat a few feet down from the girl gaggle. I pull my iPod from my backpack. Mason spots me and heads across the grass in my direction.
I unwind my headphones and take a package of cookies from my lunch.
Scratch that. The cookies are my lunch. I’ve been raised on Oreos and Chips Ahoy ever since my mom declared she was done making lunches. That was two years ago.
Mason drops his pack and plops down. “I hate Prost’s class,” he says. “He’s so picky.”
“Got your essay back?” I ask, glancing at him. Kamryn is exactly in my line of sight. I should thank Mason for sitting in the perfect spot.
Mason nods. “He killed it,” he says. “I mean, who cares if I spell dumb without the b? It’s silent. Who remembers to add silent letters anyway?”
I shrug. “People who passed grade two?” I pop an Oreo into my mouth.
“Weren’t you the one who failed grade two?” he retorts.
“I taught it, bro.”
Mason laughs. “Hey, you coming over tonight? I finally got Naruto Shippuden for my Xbox. You can let my ninja kick your ninja’s butt.”
“I have to stick around to help Ms. Hamilton with math tutorial after school,” I say. “But I’ll come after dinner if I don’t have too much homework.”
“Math help? Seriously?” Mason says. He unwraps a tasty-looking sandwich. “You’re such a keener, O-man.”
“She totally cornered me,” I protest. “What am I going to say? No?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what you should say.” Mason takes a big bite of his sandwich. My attention drifts to where Kamryn sits with Becca farther down the wall.
Giggling, the two girls stand. I chew faster once I see them moving my way. I don’t want to have sticky brown teeth if Kamryn stops to talk.
Like she ever would. She knows I exist, but that’s about as deep as our relationship goes.
I swallow and take a slug of water, swishing. Why didn’t I pick the vanilla Oreos this morning?
Kamryn and Becca move toward the stairs, talking. My heart speeds up when Becca stops in front of us. For one agonizing second I think she’s going to talk to me. Which might be good, because it would open a conversation with Kamryn. It also might not be good, because I might end up looking like a freak with gooey black teeth.
Turns out I don’t have to worry. Neither of them notice my existence.
Becca drops her bag and leans over to retie her sandal. It’s one of those complicated ones with the ties that crisscross up the leg. It looks like it might take her awhile.
I keep my eyes down and listen.
“God, you should so not borrow these sandals for the spring dance, Kam,” Becca says. “This is the third time today I’ve had to retie them.”
“Yeah, but they look hot,” Kamryn says. “Isn’t that what matters?”
“True, it is,” says Becca. “So? Are you going to talk to him at the dance?”
“Yes, and I’m so freaked out about it!”
“Why?”
“I’m still trying to figure out what to say,” Kamryn says.
“Think he’s noticed you?”
“Totally!” Kamryn exclaims. “You were right there when he was staring at me at the game last Friday. He, like, couldn’t take his eyes off me.”
“But he’s in high school, Kam.” Becca finishes her knot with an extra tug and straightens.
Kamryn’s after someone older?
“So? He’s not that much older, Bex. Grade ten? Hello? That’s only two years. Actually, less,” she adds. “His birthday is in October and mine’s in March, so we’re really only, like, sixteen months apart.”
At the mention of grade ten and October, my stomach gives a little twist.
The next thing she says sends it into full seizure mode.
“It’s meant to be, Bex. Think about it. Kyle and Kamryn? How perfect is that? How do we not belong together?”
Kyle?
I try to swallow. Beside me, Mason crumples up his wax paper. He reaches for his Coke.
Kyle?
“Okay, so maybe you belong together,” says Becca. “But how are you going to get together?”
“That’s where I need a plan. And a superhot outfit,” Kamryn says as they move off.
My stomach gives another sickening turn as it all sinks in. This is so wrong. So totally wrong.
That grade-ten guy she’s talking about? The one named Kyle?
He’s my brother.