Page 38 of 72 Hours of You

If he keeps looking at me like this, I’m going to burst into flames on this supposedly interesting stoop.

“What’s it li—”

“Is this a coping mechanism of yours?” I cut in. “Focusing on everyone else instead of talking about yourself?”

Peter shifts on the edge of the step, suddenly looking uncomfortable. I’m not used to seeing him out of sorts. It makes me feel out of sorts.

“Relax, I’m just kidding. It’s not like I really believe a golden boy like you has big problems you need to avoid through the subtle art of deflection.”

“Right,” he says. He rubs the back of his neck and I wonder if maybe I’ve actually succeeded in offending him. Maybe he really does want to talk about that one time in second grade when he only got runner-up in the spelling bee or something. But then he clears his throat and smiles again. “I just like getting to know you. That’s honestly all this is.”

Oh god. There he goes again with the honesty. The earnestness. It’s so wildly over the top and yet …

And yet.

“Yeah, well, it’s okay because I’m pretty sure I already know you anyway.” My own art of deflection.

He raises his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

“Sure,” I say, brushing some dirt off the edge of my Converse. “You’re the guy who picks Os in tic-tac-toe.”

Peter’s eyes crinkle in a laugh. “What’s wrong with Os?”

“Everything.”

“Os are nice. They’re hugs!”

“See what I mean?”

“No,” Peter laughs again, “but I feel like maybe I should be insulted? Also, I thought you weren’t a mind reader.”

“Maybe I am,” I say. “Let me guess, your favorite color is …” I close my eyes and rub my temples. “Hmmm. Wait, it’s coming to me. Blue. Your favorite color is blue.”

Every boy’s favorite color is blue. It’s peak American gender indoctrination.

“Sorry,” Peter says.

“Red?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You mean green?”

I laugh. “Oh god. Right. I forgot. Okay, yellow? Can you see that?”

“Yes. But that’s not my favorite color.” He leans back on the stone step. “It’s white.”

“No way. No one’s favorite color is white.”

Peter shrugs. “Except me, I guess.”

“Your favorite color can’t be a lack of color. That’s … that’s more affected than the constant reading.”

“White isn’t a lack of color. It’s actually all the visible colors of the light spectrum reflected back at you. If we’re talking physics.”

“We’re not.”

“I just … I like things that are complicated, you know?” He pauses like he’s actually taking this kindergarten favorite-color shit seriously. “White looks like nothing, but it’s actually everything.”

Damn it. That actually is cool. And like, as much as it pains me to even think it, he’s really cool. But so what? He’s a cool person. Whatever. There are lots of cool people in this world. Okay, maybe not lots. But at least like five. That doesn’t mean it has to mean anything. I’m just … appreciating him. Abstractly. It’s not like I’m all thirsty for his stupid nerd brain and green eyes and tall tall-ness and that little mini bicep poking out his T-shirt. I’m not.