See Me After Class(94)
Arlo: How so?
Greer: Uh . . . isn’t this like a secret or something?
Arlo: Do you like want it to be like a secret?
Greer: Don’t be an ass. And I don’t know. Everyone is so close that maybe it would be nice to just keep it between us for now.
Arlo: You know, I never asked you something.
Greer: What’s that?
Arlo: Are you seeing Walker still?
Greer: Are you asking to be exclusive?
Arlo: Are you saying you don’t want to be?
Greer: You tell me what you want.
Arlo: You. Only you. I want no one else to have you.
Greer: Okay.
Arlo: Okay?
Greer: Yes . . . okay.
Arlo: . . . okay. So, uh . . . hell, I want to kiss you.
Greer: Then come here and kiss me.
Arlo: No. Keeping my distance. Back to this text conversation I’m trying to have with you.
Greer: Yes, can’t forget that.
Arlo: What’s your favorite emoji?
Greer: What . . . that’s what you’ve been wanting to ask me? What my favorite emoji is? Turner, you have to be able to do better than that.
Arlo: The little things count just as much as the big things. Work with me here.
Greer: Fine. Uh, I think the obvious answer would be eggplant, but I’m not obvious. My favorite emoji is [thumbs up emoji]. It can be used to express joy and it can be passive aggressive at the same time. Multifunctional.
Arlo: Are you one of those people who gets cut off, and instead of flipping them the bird, you give them a thumbs up?
Greer: Naturally. It’s more dickish. Like, “Good job, asshole, you don’t know how to drive.”
Arlo: Pretty sure I’ve gotten a few thumbs up in my lifetime.
Greer: Are you a bad driver, Mr. Turns Me On?
Arlo: Mr. Turns Me On?
Greer: Please, as if you don’t know you have that nickname. It floats around the teachers’ lounge. Along with Mr. Klein is Fine for Gunner, and Romeo . . . well, his is Mr. Roam Your Hands All Over Me.
Arlo: You’re objectifying us.
Greer: Do you need my breasts to cry into?
Arlo: Nah, I prefer a bigger tit to dry my tears.
Greer: Oh.
Greer: My.
Greer: God.
Greer: I can’t believe you just said that.
Arlo: LMAO.
Greer: Um, care to rectify that statement?
Arlo: I think about your tits all the time. What I wouldn’t give right now to have them in my mouth.
Greer: Better.
Arlo: Coraline wants to get some ice cream.
Greer: Uh-oh, another shot to the six-pack. You going to make it?
Arlo: No. But she’s in a good mood and finding joy, so I’ll suffer for her.
Greer: You brave soul.
Arlo: I’ll see you tomorrow, beautiful.
Greer: Okay, you made my stomach flutter.
Arlo: Good.
“Were you really not going to say good morning?” I ask, walking into Arlo’s classroom, where he’s sitting at his desk, typing away at his computer. He continues to type for a few more seconds before he turns toward me.
His eyes slowly give me a once-over. He’s incredibly smooth about it, especially since he does it while standing from his chair and moving to lean against the side of his desk, folding his arms across his chest.
God, he’s so handsome. From the scruff on his face, to the brilliant color of his eyes, to the mess in his hair. He’s gorgeous, and I somehow caught his attention.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice still carrying a little early morning rumble. “I was finishing up my notes on the community service I laid out for the heathens, and then I was going to stop by quick and hand you this.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper.
“Is that a note?”
“It is.” He holds it between his index finger and middle finger, twisting it around.
“You wrote me a note?” I ask, still slightly perplexed.
“Yeah, you have a problem with that?”
“No, it’s really cute. So, is that your angle? Trying to make me fall for the grandpa who has resorted to old-fashioned notes now because text messaging failed him?
He chuckles. “Texting didn’t fail me. I just thought this was more your style. Hell, more my style.”
I walk up to him and take the folded triangle from his fingers. Yes, folded.
“Don’t you know passing notes isn’t allowed?”
“I’ll bend the rules.”
I examine it. “Did you use gel pens? Sparkly ones? Is there a box in there that asks me to check yes or no? Did you draw yourself naked and proportionally?”
His brow furrows. “Did you used to get naked pictures when you were younger?”
“Not me, but my friend did from her boyfriend. She said the pictures didn’t match up at all.”
“Teenage boys are such morons.”
“Tell me about it,” Gunner says, coming into the room, Romeo following closely behind him. “They need a detailed roadmap to navigate through high school in order to not come out a nitwit.”
“And then they need help folding the map,” Romeo says.
Slowly, I distance from Arlo and say, “How was the game, Romeo?”
“It was good.” He nods, and that’s all he says.