Misadventures of a College Girl (Misadventures #9)(43)
“Then what’s that clear liquid coming out of those pretty blue things in your face?”
I wipe my cheeks. Try to smile. Oh, God, I want to tell him the truth. That I’m crying because I just realized I feel closer to him than I’ve felt to anyone in my life. And that I can’t bear the idea of us being nothing more than friends mere weeks from now. But I’m quite certain a reply like that would break every rule of our arrangement and possibly spur him into breaking things off with me prematurely. And so, I take a deep breath and say, “Sometimes, when a girl’s body feels really, really good, liquid spontaneously squirts out her peep holes.”
Tyler laughs and pushes a lock of hair out of my eyes. “Promise me something, Zooey Cartwright.”
I hold my breath.
“Promise me you’ll never give up on chasing your big dreams.”
Oh, well that’s an easy one. “I promise.”
“And promise you’ll start dreaming even bigger than being Alfalfa on Broadway.”
“Elphaba.”
“Whatever. You’re filled with greatness, baby. That means you need to start dreaming way bigger than being Elphaba, sweetheart. Bigger than you think you have a right to dream. Don’t tamp down your greatness to fit in or make people around you feel better about their own absence of greatness. Greatness like yours is rare in this world. A precious gift.” His eyes are on fire. “It’s not arrogance to think you can change the world, Zooey. When you have greatness inside you, it’s your duty to believe that.”
He’s rendered me speechless. I nod, but only because I don’t know what else to do.
Tyler strokes my cheek for a moment, apparently deep in thought. And then he smiles at me, gently pulls on a lock of my curly hair, and watches it bounce and re-coil when he releases it. “Promise me you won’t rest until the entire world has heard that incredible voice of yours, Zooey. Anything short of that, God’s going to be pissed he picked you of all his children to gift the voice of an angel.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
It’s a Tuesday night at Tyler’s house. As I walked through the front door several hours ago, I immediately insisted Tyler and I rehearse our scene from Romeo and Juliet right away, before we let ourselves get hopelessly distracted the way we always do.
“Absolutely,” Tyler agreed. “Just let me take a quick shower. I just got home. I’m all sweaty.”
“Sure. But right after that, okay?”
“You bet.”
So, of course, I joined Tyler in the shower. That was a no-brainer. And we wound up having some yummy sex that took way longer than either of us had planned. But who could blame us? The hot water was raining down on us, making our skin all hot and pink and slippery and delicious. So who could possibly rush anything under circumstances like that? And then, immediately after our shower, Tyler and I didn’t get to rehearsing our scene right away, either, but that was only because we were both feeling extremely relaxed and happy from our sexy shower, and Tyler was feeling exhausted from his long day of practice and workouts and classes. Under the circumstances, it only seemed fair to let the poor guy unwind for a bit by watching an episode of The Office.
“Just one episode, Tyler,” I warned sternly. “And then it’s time for Romeo and Juliet, whether you like it or not.”
“Absolutely.”
With our one-episode pact firmly agreed upon, we snuggled up together in Tyler’s bed and turned on Netflix and happily joined our virtual best friends at the fictional paper company, Dunder Mifflin, for some hijinks. Five episodes later, when Hanalei shouted up the stairs to ask if we wanted to join the rest of the guys for fish tacos in the Village, we called back “Si, se?or!” But that was a no-brainer, too. I mean, come on, it’s Taco Tuesday.
Finally, when Tyler and I returned to the house after tacos with the guys—during which we played yet another round of Make Zooey Cartwright Laugh, this time with no money at stake, thank God—we marched straight up to Tyler’s room, vowing to practice our Shakespeare scene immediately. But we didn’t manage it quite yet. It wasn’t our fault, though. What sane person wouldn’t get a little distracted after putting on those sparkling masks? They’re sexy as hell. So, yeah, we wound up having enthusiastic sex, yet again, this time against Tyler’s bedroom wall. Right against the poster of that football player I don’t recognize in the Broncos uniform. Note to self: Ask Tyler who that Bronco is.
After that, I made Tyler watch Cartoon Network for a bit, but only because I’d made yet another cartoon-related joke that Tyler didn’t get—this time referencing Steven Universe. I mean, come on! He’d never even heard of it! So, of course, we watched an episode, and Tyler laughed uproariously several times.
And now, finally, Tyler and I are sitting on the edge of his bed, rehearsing our scene from Romeo and Juliet while wearing nothing but our underwear and masquerade masks. All in all, a damned fine Tuesday night, I must say, even if we’re not going to win any awards for academic productivity.
“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do,” Tyler says, his palm pressed against mine. He scowls. “Shoot. What’s my line?” He snaps his fingers like a thespian summoning a lowly stagehand. “Line!”
I giggle. “They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”