Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“You don’t look like you’re having very much fun,” Roman says after a few moments studying the picture.
“Really? You don’t think so? Most people think I look like I’m having a blast.”
“No, I can see it in your eyes, and you’re clenching your teeth.”
“That’s my toothy grin, see?” I flash him my best toothy grin.
“Nah, that’s a fake smile. Anyone with half a brain can see that.”
He’s not wrong—it was a fake smile, the same smile I’ve been perfecting ever since. Maybe someday I’ll feel joy in my soul, but for now I’m just playing along.
“Do your parents ever push you into anything?” I wonder out loud.
“Not really,” he says. “I’ve always known I wanted to be some kind of scientist.” Roman picks at the knee of his jeans, at the rip perfectly placed there. “My dad came home with a bottle rocket once after being in Florida, and I’ve been hooked ever since. I’ve spent every moment trying to figure out how particles and atoms create…stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“I’m just trying to simplify it so you don’t get bored.”
“I don’t think scientists or science is boring at all—you don’t have to dumb it down for me.” I wonder if I sound defensive at the same time I wonder if he thinks I’m just an airheaded blonde with nothing going on inside my head but fluff.
He wouldn’t be the first, and he certainly won’t be the last.
“What kinds of things are your friends from high school into besides partying without you, ha ha.” It’s time to change the subject before I get all defensive. I take my phone, close out the photo gallery, and slide it back into my bag.
Roman shrugs. “I don’t know. In all honesty, we don’t actually hang out that much. Just so happens I’m the only one who doesn’t live in the dorms, and my parents basically forced me to come tonight because they don’t want me to become a hermit.”
“How did your parents even know?”
“My mom is friends with Jeremy’s mom, and Jeremy must have told her what they were doing tonight, so his mom told my mom and asked if I wanted to come, and my mom automatically said yes.”
“Kind of like how my mom used to say yes to babysitting jobs without asking me,” I tell him. “I wasn’t available often, but when I was, it used to drive me nuts. The last thing I wanted to do in my free time was babysit, especially without committing to it myself.”
“I mean I guess it’s better than sitting at home with Alex and Aunt Myrtle.”
Aunt Myrtle.
The name makes me giggle.
“Do you know what your situation reminds me of right now? There is a movie my mom used to love, and in one scene, this kid is dragged to the high school by his parents and they’re trying to force him to go to the dance but he doesn’t want to. They shove him through the gymnasium doors and hold them closed while he bangs on the other side shouting, ‘I want to stay home with you, I want to stay home with you.’”
Sort of makes Roman laugh. “That hits a little too close to home to be all that funny,” he says, but I can tell he’s saying it with good humor. “No, the truth is I don’t actually get out much, so it’s probably a good thing that everybody forced me to come tonight, even though Jeremy and his buddies couldn’t have given a shit.
“Maybe someday I’ll have a secret mad scientist lab I can lock myself in,” he continues. “But for now, I have to get out into the real world and show my face every once in a while.”
“I think I show my face too often.” I chuckle. “Every weekend during football season I’m jumping up and down on the side of the field, shaking my pom-poms for thousands of people, and let me tell you right now—it gets old.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Probably because it’s the only thing I know? And I’m good at it even though I don’t absolutely love it.” I shrug, looking down at my feet even though they’re shrouded in the light. “I just keep waiting for something to jump out at me and change all that.” I sigh. “I wish I could craft and glue things all day long. That would make me a very happy girl.”
“Why didn’t you just major in art?” Roman wants to know.
“My mother would have a heart attack.”
“Your mom doesn’t even have to know,” he tells me, as if that’s not something I’ve already thought of. Eventually she would find out, and she would have a stroke. “Are your parents paying for school?”
I nod solemnly. “Most of it. It’s not like I can go and get a job with how much practice I have during the week—I would make a horrible employee, having to take days off all the time.”