The Romantics(60)
Cara scooted closer to Gael on the blanket, and he hesitated, but then he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned closer, the empty cup still in her hands, then she began to pick apart the cup in pieces, while Gael’s hand gently stroked her shoulder. He was unsure of where to go from there.
Finally, when the cup was disintegrated, Cara looked up at him, and he looked down at her, and they both leaned in, and their lips touched for the second time.
one-track mind
Frankly, I was just a teensy bit worried about the kiss. But when I took a little glance into Gael’s mind to see if I still even had a shot at making this work, here, readers, is what I saw: SAMMY SAMMY SAMMY SAMMY SAMMY SAMMY SAMMY . . .
And before you start feeling sorry for our dear Serial Monogamist friend, here’s what Cara was thinking: I’m sure I’ll like the next kiss better.
I’m sure we’ll grow to be really excited about each other.
I’m sure, at least, that I’ll have someone to hang out with these next few weeks . . .
Bingo! It looked like my plan wasn’t that far off track after all.
the kiss: part two
Gael was kissing Cara when he heard pounding feet coming at them.
He didn’t even have time to figure out what was going on before a giant Frisbee player backed right into him, tripping over him and wrenching him and Cara apart.
“Holy shit!” Gael yelled. “What the hell?”
The guy quickly rolled back up, grabbed his Frisbee. “Sorry dude. Didn’t see you there.”
(All I had to do was send the Frisbee that much farther than it was supposed to go. Sometimes, I swear, my job is almost easier than it should be.) “Ass!” Gael called as the guy ran off.
He turned to Cara. “Are you okay?”
She nodded slowly, looking more shocked than anything. And then, suddenly, she looked like she’d figured something out, solved a problem, realized something big.
(Me again! I’d bought both of them just enough time to reflect, to step out of the kiss, to see it for what it really was.) “I need to get back to my dorm and study,” Cara said. She stood up and began to pack everything into her bag.
Gael didn’t even try and stop her. Instead, he stood up, helping her gather her stuff together. He understood her meaning exactly.
“Go,” he said kindly. “I’ve got stuff to do, too.”
And with that, my friends, Gael’s untimely Rebound officially came to an end.
to catch a thief
Once Cara had all her stuff packed and they’d exchanged an awkward good-bye, Gael rushed out of the lower quad, past Student Stores, and toward South Campus as fast as his legs would take him. With any luck, Sammy hadn’t left for the airport yet. Maybe he still had a chance with her, he thought hopefully—maybe he could make the timing be right!
He ran fast, dodging students carrying books, a big guy with a trombone, and a tiny girl with a ridiculous amount of photography equipment strapped to her back.
But he stopped once he got to the bell tower. There was one huge problem. He had no idea where Sammy lived. Sure, he was heading toward a lot of dorms, but she could live practically anywhere.
He tried calling her, but the call went straight to voice mail.
He looked down at his watch. It was almost 5:00. Had she told him when her flight was? He couldn’t remember that, either, but he didn’t think so.
He paced back and forth in front of the bell tower, trying to rack his brain for the name of her dorm. He vaguely remembered her saying it once when they were walking to the horror movie lecture.
Hines something? It started with an H and had two words, he was almost totally positive. She’d made some joke about it being like the Howard Johnson motel.
Even if he could remember the name of it, he had no idea where it was.
He needed a map.
Filled with resolve, Gael turned around and sprinted to Student Stores, which he could only hope would have a good map.
His foot caught on a “brick monster,” as Sammy called them, one of the uneven bricks in the sidewalk, but he caught himself before he fell and kept on running.
He took the steps two at a time to get to Student Stores. Once inside, he pushed through the rows of UNC sweatshirts and other paraphernalia to the book area. Laminated fold-up maps were sitting in a bin, right next to the blue books students used to take exams. He flipped one over: $3.99.
Gael glanced over to the register. A mom, likely in town for a football game, was arguing with the cashier about the discount level on a sweatshirt.
Screw it, he thought.
He did a quick perimeter check and shoved the map into his pocket, then walked, as casually as he could manage, toward the back door.
“Hey,” a voice said behind him.
The hair on his neck stood up.
“Hey, I saw that.”
Gael looked back quickly to see a short, compact dude staring back at him. The guy looked like he could run.
Without thinking about the consequences, without considering the fact that it would almost certainly be easier to just call it a misunderstanding and pay for the damn map, without thinking—well—at all, Gael grabbed a tower of XL UNC sweatshirts and flung it to the ground. People burst into yells all around him as a blanket of school spirit covered the ground.