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I suck in oxygen, concentrate
on a mental picture of Bryce so
Micah’s cool steel eyes don’t
pierce so hard. I can do this.
Okay, everyone, says the pastor.
Let’s get this over with. I’m hungry.
A half hour later, we’re all pretty
sure of our roles for tomorrow.
Through the entire instruction,
Micah managed to either be
very close to me or to let
me know most definitely that
he was watching me. If I didn’t
know better, I’d say he was hitting
on me. Impossible. No makeup.
BUT, MAKEUP OR NO
Micah finds a way to sit next to me
at dinner. His leg rests against mine,
and despite willing myself to think Bryce,
Bryce, Bryce, I don’t push it away.
I like how it feels. Warm. Protective.
Still, just to be fair, when the conversation
around us is loud enough to cover it,
I say, “I have a boyfriend, you know.”
Micah keeps chewing his chicken
Marsala. Finally he swallows. I would
have been surprised if you didn’t.
God, he is just so smooth.
Bryce would never say something
like that. My face flushes. At least
