Date Me, Bryson Keller(26)

I sigh. “Not everyone updates their Instagram.”

“Everyone who dates Bryson Keller does it. Check the hashtag.”

It seems that I am not everyone.

“I seriously don’t know who it is.”

“Liar,” Shannon says.

“Why are you so sure I know something?”

“Because you’ve spent the most time with him this week.” Shannon cocks a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “You know I have a sixth sense about these things,” she says. “I smell something fishy.”

    “Ask Bryson if you’re so curious. I don’t get what this has to do with me.” I try to deflect and almost sigh in relief when another student comes to stand behind her. I smile at Eric Ferguson before turning back to Shannon. “Would you excuse me? I need to do my job, please.”

Shannon steps aside but makes no move to leave. It seems that the aspiring reporter in her has awakened.

Eric walks up to return a book. “How was it?” I ask as I scan the spine.

“It’s a good read. If you like fantasy, you should check it out,” Eric says.

“I do, actually.” I smile at Eric and set the book off to the side so that I can read it later. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to hang out with other gay teens like Eric. I haven’t been brave enough to take that step yet. Eric offers me a parting smile. And as soon as he leaves, Shannon pounces.

“I know you know.”

“You know nothing, Jon Snow,” I mumble under my breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, you said something.”

I stare her dead in the face. “I think you’re imagining things, Shannon.”

Shannon groans. “You’re just as annoying as Priya.”

The fact that she insists on calling Priya by her shortened name, regardless of the many times sh’es been asked not to, irks me further.

    “Proud of it,” I say with a smile so sweet it could attract bees.

Shannon studies me. “I think you’re hiding something. You have me intrigued.” Before I can respond, Shannon leaves the library.

I sigh. The last thing I need is the aspiring journalist looking into me. I’ll need to be careful. But I’ve been lying for years—I’ve become pretty good at it.

I’m finally able to work in peace. My shift passes in no time, and with five minutes left, I venture into the stacks.

I’m busy reshelving books when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Donny has linked the trailer of a movie that he wants us to all go see.

My phone buzzes with another text and I open the message from Kelly: Where are you?

“Oh! There you are.” His voice surprises me. I turn to find Bryson standing at the entrance of the aisle. Bryson Keller with his cap backward should be illegal. It should be impossible for anyone to look this good, especially after they spent an hour and a half running on a soccer field.

“Kelly?” Bryson asks. He’s staring at his message open on my phone. “Am I ‘Kelly’?”

“I shortened Keller to Kelly,” I explain. “I figured a girl’s name would be easier to explain to prying eyes.”

“That’s really smart,” Bryson says. “But also really shitty that you even needed to do that.”

    I turn to look at him and realize we’re standing so close—maybe too close. God, it’s unfair for someone to be this handsome. I step back and end up pushing the book cart by accident. Bryson reaches for it. I move to take it, but he stops me.

“I’ll help you,” he says. “I’ll steer, you shelve. Deal?”

“Works for me.” I take a moment to study Bryson. His hair is damp from the shower, and he’s wearing gym clothes instead of his school uniform. Looking at him now, I realize that my fantasy of him last night wasn’t that far off.

“What made you want to work in the library?” Bryson asks as he steers the cart.

“I’ve always loved books,” I say. I decide to tell Bryson another of my secrets: my dream. More people know about it than they know about me being gay, but not many, too few to count on both hands. “I want to be a writer. And you really can’t be a writer without being a reader first.” I stop the cart and place another book back where it belongs. I turn to him. “Do you have a dream? Is it soccer?”

Bryson pauses and looks at me before answering. “It used to be,” he admits. “Soccer was something I loved to do with my dad. But now I play it more out of habit than love.” Bryson shrugs. “I’m hoping to find out my dream in college. Something that’s only for me.”

“Have you decided where you’re going yet?”

“I got accepted to UCLA, but they want me to play soccer and I’m not sure if I want to yet.”

“Oh, I got accepted there, too. Though not to play soccer.” Bryson laughs at my lame joke and I’m thankful. I signal for him to steer the cart and he does. “I’m waiting to hear back from my dream school.”

    “Which is?”

“Tisch.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.” He smiles. “Let me know if you get in. Even if it’s after this week.”