* * *
It's only Wednesday, and I'm already missing Bryson like crazy. I was definitely missing him yesterday and the day before that, but it's much worse today. And I have a feeling it'll continue to get harder as the days go by.
The doctor suggested I stay home from school for a week, and my mom insisted on following his advice, even though I repeatedly told her how great I feel. But that didn't faze her one bit. So I've been doing a ton of relaxing, just chilling in my bed reading, watching the Kardashians, snacking--since my mom has basically been waiting on me hand and foot, continuously replenishing my supply of Oreo cookies, Cheez-its, pita chips, and anything else I want--and texting and talking with Becca, Bryson, and Holly.
Bryson is also at home, because his mom wanted him to take a few days off school to relax. When he told me that late Sunday night, I quickly changed my tune about staying home myself. The only reason I tried to convince my mom to let me go to school was to see him. Other than that, I have no desire to be there.
So things aren't all that bad. I miss him like crazy, but at least I get to hear his voice over the phone.
The only other thing left to deal with is the slight boredom which creeps up on me every once in a while. Like now, for instance. I look over at the clock on my dresser and it says 10:49 a.m., telling me I've been watching this cat-fight for exactly six minutes now. As I sit here on my bed, leaning back against my pillow which is propped up on the headboard, I repeatedly slam my toes together, making these two large cat heads on my Hello Kitty slippers go at it. And just as it starts to get super intense and the left one is about to pin the right one, my mom suddenly sticks her head in the doorway.
"Hey, there," she says softly.
I jump and immediately stop the cat-fight as I look her way, hoping she didn't see any of that. But as soon as I look at her, she just smiles and says, "Someone's here to see you."
Right away I start thinking of anyone and everyone I know who would possibly visit me on a whim. The most obvious choices would be Becca or Holly, but they're both at school right now. Not only that, my mom wouldn't make such a spectacle of either of them visiting.
And before I can think any further, Bryson steps in the doorway.
Butterflies instantly swarm my stomach; Bryson was the last person I expected to see. I immediately grab my covers and throw them over me as I look at him, grinning. Then he smiles at me, absolutely melting my heart, and says, "I already know all about the slippers. You sent me a picture, remember?"
"Yeah, but do you know about the pants?" I ask, ripping the covers back off.
He takes one look at my pink Hello Kitty pajama pants and begins to laugh. "No, I did not," he finally responds, my mom laughing next to him.
"I didn't know about the shirt, either." He points to my white tank top.
I look down and see Hello Kitty written across my chest, reminding me of the shirt. I cover my face with my hands, embarrassed, as Bryson and my mom laugh even louder.
"Okay, I'm going downstairs. Door stays open," my mom says firmly, and then walks away.
I'm absolutely stunned by this. Carson has had a few girls over to the house before--shocking, I know--but they were never allowed upstairs to his room. I guess maybe she's making an exception because of the accident, but I'm still extremely surprised.
Then my focus quickly shifts to Bryson as he starts walking toward me and just like before, I start to feel weak all over. He's wearing a faded gray Grizzlies t-shirt, which his arms and chest are bulging out of, as usual; a light colored pair of loose-fitting jeans with a slight rip just above the right knee, and another one on the left thigh; and a pair of gray and black Nike tennis shoes.
I smile as I pull my eyes back up to his face.
"Hey," he says, returning my smile with his eyes locked on mine as he approaches.
"Hey," I reply. He sits down on the edge of the bed and leans over to hug me.
His scent drives me crazy as I wrap my arms around his neck, and the feel of his shoulders under my arms again gives me chills. I squeeze tightly to let him know how much I've missed him, and he does the same.
"You feeling okay?" he asks while we're clinging together.
"Yeah, I'm feeling great."
Then we slowly break apart, but he keeps his face close to mine as he leans across my thighs onto his elbow.
"How about you?" I ask him, flustered.
"Never better," he smiles.
I smile back nervously. His face is only a few inches from mine, and he's focusing on me as if he wants to kiss me. I'm desperately hoping he does.
"So, I would ask you if this is something your mom's usually okay with, but I know you've never had a boyfriend until now." He chuckles, looking surprised that he's been allowed up here.
I laugh, shaking my head. And just as I'm about to respond, telling him I have absolutely no idea what's going through that crazy-ass woman's mind, it suddenly hits me what he just said. "You've never had a boyfriend- until now."
I freeze and look at him silently.
"What?" he asks, one side of his mouth raising up into a sexy half-grin. I'm pretty sure he knows exactly what he's doing.
"So?I have a boyfriend now?"
He shrugs, still grinning. "If you want me, I'm yours, princess."
A huge smile slowly spreads across my face. Bryson Turner wants to be my boyfriend. I'm so overwhelmed with shock and excitement right now, that I really have no idea how I'm going to pull myself together and actually speak. But somehow, I manage to do just that.
"You know I want you," I say.
His smile widens as he begins leaning in to kiss me. But then he suddenly stops. "Hang on," he says in a low voice. He jumps up and jogs to the door, taking careful, quiet steps as if he's walking on an old, creaky wooden floor covered with broken glass rather than plush, comfy carpet. He sticks his head out and looks both ways, then carefully prances back to the bed with a goofy expression on his face.
I laugh as he sits back down.
"Okay, we're good now," he smiles, and then he leans in to kiss me.
Just like before, I can feel my heart racing and my head spinning when our lips touch. I feel his thumb on my jawline while his fingers grip the back of my neck, holding my face securely to his. I reach around and slowly run my hand up the back of his head, feeling his soft, brown hair between my fingers just before I tightly clench a handful. I can feel myself growing weaker with every passing second.
When we finally release each other, I slowly open my eyes and look at him, breathless. As perfect as that kiss was, it frightened me a little. Being emotionally dependent on someone is risky. But when I notice his expression reflecting mine, I suddenly become more at ease with everything. He has the same look of surrender, as if nothing else in the world matters at this moment.
He quickly glances at the door and then looks back at me with a grin, leaning back a little to add some space between us.
"The last thing we need is for your mom to catch us doing that," he says, his eyes widening.
I shoot a quick glance at the door. "Agreed," I say. He grabs my ponytail and begins running his fingers through it as I gaze into his gorgeous brown eyes. I feel like now is as good a time as any to tell him about my genius.
My heart starts racing all over again, but not in a good way this time. In fact, I'm even starting to feel a little sick to my stomach. I'm quite possibly about to set the record for the shortest relationship in the history of humanity. But I simply have no choice.
He starts to notice something is off, and I swallow hard as I look into his now-puzzled eyes.
"There's something I need to tell you about myself," I say in a serious tone. And after staring at me uneasily for a few seconds, he cocks his head to the side, squints his eyes and says, "You're not wanted by the police or anything, are you?"
I immediately laugh, appreciating the comic relief.
"Only in Europe and Australia," I tease. Then I stiffen as quickly as I began la
ughing, causing him to do the same.
"What is it?" he frowns.
I figure the quickest and easiest way to do this is to just blurt it out, no beating around the bush. So with my pulse now pounding, that's exactly what I do.
"I'm a genius," I say, trying not to panic as I stare at him.
He smiles at me suspiciously. "What?"
"I'm a genius," I repeat. "I've kept it a secret my entire life. Only my family and Becca have ever known."
He pauses for a moment as a look of shock washes over his face. "Are you serious?"
I nod nervously, hoping this information hasn't presented a problem.
"Wow," he says, turning his head and looking down to the floor. His eyes are suddenly a hundred miles away, lost in thought. I just wish I knew what those thoughts were. And as much as I hate to break his concentration, I feel like I need to say something.
"I know I should have told you sooner?"
"No, it's okay." He shakes his head and looks back up at me. "But, why have you kept it a secret from everyone?"
Now I'm the one staring at the floor in thought, shrugging and contemplating. Perhaps it was the wrong move to keep it a secret all these years. Maybe Becca and I were silly to think it would come between us on some level. And if I had let it be known from the start, I surely wouldn't be dealing with this awkward unveiling to everyone after sixteen years of keeping it under wraps. I think I've succeeded at attracting the most amount of immediate attention to myself as I possibly could. But whether hiding it was the right decision or not, I felt like that's what needed to be done at the time.
I look back up at him, now with little confidence in the choices I've made, and shrug once again. "I just felt like it was the best way to live a normal life, you know? And I felt like it would separate me from Becca, which wasn't an option." I pause as he nods. "It was probably a stupid thing to do, but--"
"No, not at all," he interrupts. "If I had a friend I was that close to, I would have done the exact same thing."
I smile. I'm glad he at least understands why I did it. He smiles back at me briefly, then his expression turns serious again.
"So, are you a math whiz, or science, or--" he pauses, waiting for me to fill in the blanks.
So, feeling like a conceited idiot, I look at him and say, "I kind of know?everything."
Seriously, how do you say something like that without sounding conceited? But I want to be one hundred percent truthful with him.
"I know that sounds horrible," I mutter.
He just laughs. "Why do you say that?" He grabs my hand and starts rubbing the back of it with his thumb.
"I'm just amazed by this whole thing. I want you to tell me everything about it," he grins, looking at me as if he's never been more interested in something, or someone, in his entire life. That's when I realize he has absolutely no problem with this. So I begin telling him all about it.
I go into detail about how Becca single-handedly kept me on the social level of my peers since we were younger, in order to keep the secret. How she practically molded me into a regular kid and teenager, mainly just by being there all the time and being an example of how they act, talk, and think; and also by relentlessly correcting me over the years when I would say or do something people my age wouldn't say or do. "Okay, you're an eleven-year-old girl, not Albert Einstein," she would fuss. "Don't say that in front of anyone."
I tell him how growing up, I spent most of my time right here in my room, reading and writing books and coming up with new ways to solve math and science formulas and equations. And how I was constantly studying anything and everything I possibly could, because of my overwhelming thirst for knowledge of all things.
I grab his hand as I get up, pulling him to my ridiculously large walk-in closet. When I open the door and turn on the light, he stands there, stunned, when he sees there are just as many magazines and books crammed in there as there are clothes and shoes.
"You should see how much I've had to get rid of over the years," I say, pointing to the books. I show him all the books I've written, which I've printed out and put into binders. I show him my "New Solutions" binder, which contains page after page of simple solutions for math and science equations and theories. I sectioned them off into chapters, starting with the basics: Chapter 1- Algebra, Chapter 2- Geometry, Chapter 3- Chemistry, Chapter 4- Physics?all the way up to solving and slightly simplifying Fermat's Last Theorem, which is widely considered to be the most difficult math equation ever solved, since it took mathematicians over three hundred years to do so.
Bryson now sits on the comfy, green recliner with a pile of binders in his lap, shaking his head in amazement as he looks through them.
"This is?wow?unbelievable," he stammers, flipping through the New Solutions binder. "It's good to know you can help me with calculus now."
I giggle as I sit down on the edge of the bed and pull my legs up, crossing them in front of me.
"And this recliner is insanely comfortable, just like you said, by the way," he chuckles, his eyes never leaving the binder.
"Right?"
He continues shaking his head, eyes still glued to the binder. "This stuff is, like, a foreign language to me."
I immediately perk up with excitement. "Want me to teach you one?"
He laughs. "Okay, so how many different languages can you speak?"
"I am currently able to speak twelve different languages, my sexy love," I tell him, using a different language for each word.
He continues to laugh as I tell him what I said, and which language I used for each of the twelve words.
"This is blowing my mind," he says, glancing back down to the binders.
"Yeah, I know it's overwhelming." My smile fades. "That's another reason I never wanted to tell anyone. I'm really shy and I don't want to be looked at differently. I don't want the attention."
He nods as if he understands. "I don't blame you, I wouldn't want it either," he says, briefly looking back to the binders. "So, am I the only one you're telling?"
"No, I'm gonna tell everyone and just do my best to deal with the attention. The accident made me realize I could have lost it all, and I don't want it to go to waste."
He nods again in agreement. "That makes sense, too. Kind of damned if you do, damned if you don't, huh?"
"Pretty much," I shrug.
"And Becca's okay with it?" he asks.
"Yeah. I mean, she's a little worried like I am, but she'll always be on my side."
"That's good," he says. "And I am, too. No matter how the whole thing goes, I'll be here for you."
"Thank you," I smile. "My mom's going to Stargate tomorrow to tell the teachers and the principal for me, because I definitely don't want to do it." I look away from him and stare at the wall in thought. "Just thinking about it is stressing me out," I say quietly.
"Then let's stop thinking about it." He slaps the binder shut and hops up. "You wanna go see the Jeep my uncle's letting me borrow?"
"Definitely!"
He heads to the closet to bring the binders back. "I definitely want to read some of your books."
"Okay." I hop off the bed and skip to the closet, and then find my best three-part zombie series. "Here you go?zombies," I say eerily, handing him the binders.
"No way, you've written zombie books? That's awesome!"
Then I remind him that my absolute favorite kinds of movies are horrors and thrillers.
"Oh, yeah, that makes sense," he chuckles. "I can't wait to read them."
He leans in and kisses me softly on the lips again, as I grab both of his arms to secure myself.
When we finally separate, he heads downstairs so I can change out of my cat suit.
Normally when I scan my closet for something to wear, I'm looking for something cute, and with plenty of coverage. I'm extremely modest and shy, so I like to show the least amount of skin as possible. But not today. I know the exact pair of shorts I want to wear, if I can find them.
Last Decemb
er, when my Uncle Luke and Aunt Shirley visited for Christmas with their new, adorable Labrador Retriever puppy, "Freeway," he proceeded to jump on me the entire night, which normally I love. But this time, I was wearing my absolute favorite pair of jeans from Express. One of his claws eventually found the only microscopic hole just below my right knee, and ripped it wide open down to my shin.
I sat up in my room that night, trying not to cry as I stared at the jeans. "Don't worry about it, Dor. I'll take care of this." Hailey said, grinning at me as she held a pair of scissors next to her face.
I couldn't tell you to this day why I let her do it. First of all, she was only six years old. And second, as soon as she started to cut, she became engaged in an intense screaming match with Carson--well, she was screaming at him, anyway--which thwarted her concentration as she hacked away. But I just sat there and watched, appreciative, because I knew she meant well. So I wasn't upset with her at all when she completely goofed and cut them way too short. Like, crazy short. If you're eye-level with my waist, you can definitely see things hanging out. So needless to say, I never wore them.
But right now, I want to give her a big kiss on the cheek and a super tight hug, because those shorts are exactly what I need at the moment.
After finally spotting them in my closet, I snatch them up along with a blue tank top and then quickly change. I do several turns in the mirror to inspect my butt, and I end up tugging the shorts down just a hair. Then I re-do my ponytail, slip on my favorite pair of black Nike flip-flops, and head downstairs.
I know none of my neighbors will be around to see me in these ridiculous booty shorts, because it's a weekday. But getting past my mom is another story.
I peek around the wall when I get halfway down the stairs, and luckily there's no sign of her in the living room, so I scurry out the door.
As soon as I step outside, Bryson starts walking toward me from the Jeep. I take a few steps in his direction, and then quickly turn around and head back to the door, 'to make sure it's closed all the way.' And as I'm 'making sure,' I whip my head around to look at him and he's totally staring at my butt and legs. His expression is frozen as he continues walking my way. Mission accomplished.
"Hey, pretty girl." He smiles as I turn back around to face him. Then he rushes up to me, grabs me under my arms and shoots me up to the sky, spinning me around as I giggle uncontrollably.
I stare him down with flirty eyes as he slowly lowers me until we're eye-level. Then he wraps his arms around me, tightly securing me to his body as my feet dangle. Then he kisses me again.
I have no recollection of wrapping my arms so tightly around his neck. I was in another world the entire time our lips were joined. But when the kiss is over, I quickly loosen my grip, hoping I wasn't actually choking him.
He continues to kiss me on my cheek, then along my jawline until he reaches my chin.
"Let's go look at the Jeep," he says between kisses.
"Okay," I barely reply, still trying to catch my breath as I tilt my head back with my eyes closed, allowing access to wherever his lips want to go.
My entire body is shaking as he finally lowers me to the ground gently. Luckily, my legs hold up as we make our way to the Jeep.
"Hop in," he says, opening the driver's side door.
I climb behind the wheel of his gray 2009 Jeep Wrangler X as he leans against the doorframe, hovering over me.
"So, what do you think?" he asks.
"This is awesome," I say, scanning the entire inside.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Definitely."
He smiles wide with satisfaction. "I might end up buying it from my uncle."
I look at him, shocked. "What about your Camaro?"
"We haven't decided yet whether it's worth fixing or not," he shrugs, looking at me with a disappointed grin.
My heart breaks for him, because I know how much he loves that car. Heck, I've already grown to love that car. It was everything to him. He put his heart and soul into fixing it up in the beginning, spending countless hours rebuilding the whole thing from bumper to bumper, including the engine. He's told me several times he doesn't know what he would do if something happened to that car, so to hear that he and his uncle may not fix it back up absolutely crushes me.
I try not to show emotion. Despite my best efforts, however, I feel my eyes starting to water.
"I'm really sorry about everything. I know how important that car was to you."
He puts his arm around my shoulder and leans closer. "Hey, don't get upset. It's not a big deal at all, really," he says sweetly. "I did care about that car, but?I found something I care about more." He squeezes my hand, looking deep into my eyes. "I'm just glad you're okay."
I gaze back at him and smile. I'm starting to realize just how much I truly mean to him. And I have to admit, it's a fantastic feeling.