Date Me, Bryson Keller(20)

“Hahaha. I’ll keep that in mind.” He pauses, then continues to type. “Is this your first relationship—real or fake?”

“I mean, I dated a girl before.”

“Really! Who? For how long?”

“Louise Keaton,” I say. “It was freshman year and it lasted less than two weeks.”

Bryson sends a series of laughing emojis. “So you have experience with short relationships?”

“Some would call me a master at them.”

“You’re funny.”

“Those of us who don’t look like models have to develop our personalities.”

    “What are you talking about?” Bryson says. “You’re good-looking, Kai.”

“You say as an impartial third party?” I add a teasing-face emoji.

“Sure. That’s why you can trust my words. Besides, I’m a really bad liar. In part because I just suck at it but also because I hate lies. They can ruin things that were once perfect.”

“That was deep,” I say.

“I am a man of much depth. You should see my philosophy bookshelf.” He adds a nerdy-face emoji.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours….”

A stream of laughing-with-tears emojis follows. “Nice one. High five!”

I send him a smiley-face emoji and switch to the group chat with my friends.

Bryson’s giving me a ride to school tomorrow.

Priya: Why?

Donny: What she said.

Me: We need to finalize our assignment, and with his busy schedule, this works out better.

Makes sense, Donny texts. If he flakes, let me know. I’ll swing by.

See you at school, then, Priya adds.

I exit our chat and head back to Bryson’s message.

“I’ll take you up on that ride to school,” I say. “What time?”

“How does seven sound?”

“Great.”

It’s well past midnight by the time we both say good night. As I plug in my nearly dead phone to charge, I realize that I can’t fight the smile from my face.

    I climb into bed and find that I can’t sleep.

Maybe it’s because for the first time in my life I’m actually fully awake.





8


I open my eyes with a groan. I stare up at my ceiling for a few unseeing minutes before rolling over for my phone. Scrolling through social media before I do anything else is part of my morning routine.

The first thing that greets me is a text message from Bryson—my boyfriend.

Morning. I’ll be there by 7.

So it wasn’t all a dream. The realization both scares and excites me. I check the time and notice that it’s just past six-thirty. School starts at eight sharp, so I have thirty minutes until Bryson arrives at my house. Only thirty minutes.

I scamper from my bed, race across the hall to the bathroom, and find it empty and waiting for me. Today I am the victor. While I’m in the shower, I hear Yazz knock at the door. The sound brings a smile to my face, and ten minutes later I saunter from the room, leaving a cloud of steam in my wake.

I pull on my school uniform and look for my blazer, before remembering that Bryson has it. All students are required to wear their blazers as they enter and leave the academy buildings. It’s part of the school rules. Mine being at the dry cleaner’s means certain punishment. I curse Louise Keaton once more, but this time I don’t curse Bryson Keller.

    I collect my school bag and phone before heading downstairs. There are just five minutes before my boyfriend is set to arrive. Will I get tired of referring to him that way? Probably not. Until Friday afternoon I plan to relish it. Because last night while chatting with him, I finally got why Bryson Keller’s dare has become so popular.

“Morning,” I say as I whiz into the kitchen. Mom and Dad are seated at the island, finishing off their breakfast before work. Dad works in IT and Mom is an accountant. How they ended up with two children who dream of being a writer and an artist is a mystery.

“What’s the hurry?” Mom asks as she sips her coffee—black with no sugar. I often wonder who hurt her so much that she needs to torture herself by drinking such bitter sludge.

“I’m going to be late.”

Dad checks his watch. It took me working part-time cutting lawns all summer to be able to buy it for him for his fortieth birthday.

“Hayibo! School starts at eight. Why’s Donny so early?”

I check my own watch. The screen is scratched, but it does its job. There are only three minutes left.

“Actually, I have a different ride to school.”

“Really?” Dad asks.

    “Yes, Sherlock and Watson,” I say. “We already established that I have other friends.”

“Are you sure you’re not dating?” Mom asks as she gets up from the island and takes her dishes to the sink. “Getting rides to school is the fun part about dating in high school.”

“You sound well versed in high-school dating,” Dad says.

“Of course.” Mom flips her unbrushed hair from her shoulders. “I was very popular in high school.”

Dad looks me up and down. “So are you saying Kai got his awkwardness from me?”