Page 21
When we go home, we have to go back to being the people they expect; here we can be our own artist/writer collective of two. Here we can dream and be lost in love, and everyone is happy for us.
I turn onto Rue de St. Germain and 6th. He’s sucking down a café au lait and I’m sipping a white hot chocolate. The cobblestones and buildings are rich with history and potential. We’re surrounded by people, not students, and it helps with our illusion of being older and in control of our lives.
He pulls me to him. “This is wicked awesome.”
“I know, right?” I say back.
“It’s exactly how I picture us in a few years.” His voice is excitable. He runs his free hand through his now longer raven hair. His light eyes sparkle and my entire body feels like it’s fizzing.
“Me too!”
He spins me around and I end up in his arms. We must look like the vision of young love that we are. “I’d live here. First place I can imagine living outside of Boston.”
He kisses me lightly. I inhale his slightly woodsy, citrusy smell. He smells like everything I’ve ever wanted in a boyfriend.
I say, “Let’s live here. We can get café jobs, wander the city, and make it ours.”
He pulls me closer and his lips slide to my neck. I love it. I dig my nails into his hair. We’ve hard core fooled around but it’s time to be completely his and have him be completely mine.
“Funny you should mention running away…” He kisses me quickly, then we interlace our fingers again and stroll forward.
He clears his throat, “How certain are you about Stanford?”
I squeal because I had the same thought. My parents teach at Stanford and I had my doubts about being so close to them. As employees they only got half tuition for me and I earned the other half but I don’t want it.
I push him back a little. “Mind reader!” With a broad smile, he leans towards me and kisses me, and people curse in the melodic language as they sidestep our PDA.
I tell him what I’ve learned. “I researched—Stanford doesn’t need a quarterback.”
He laughs hard. “But I think I can get into Boston College late admission. There’s a work-study program. I’d have a pretty good shot at getting a full ride for my sophomore year based on my academics and need. Of course, I’ll have to get a good job, like an office job, to make up the rest of it, but…”
He picks me up and spins me around. “I’ll get a job, too, and help with your tuition in off-season. We can share my meal plan. You eat, like, nothing.” He swallows hard. “You would do that for me?”
“It’s for me. I’m selfish.”
He laughs, then smirks at me. God, I love that sly little smile. “You could use a little more of that attitude.”
I say, “Get used to it. It’s the new me. ‘Paris me’ goes after things she wants.”
“Then we get a place together. I have to stay in the team dorms for football season. But spring, I shack up with my super-amazing, brainiac girlfriend.”
I’m bouncing up on the balls of my feet as we make plans.
He says, “Are you sure? BC is awesome, but it might not have the specific academic things you need like Stanford.”
I did this research, too. “Don’t underestimate me. Harvard doesn’t do late admissions, but I can apply for a transfer after first semester.”
He shrugs. “Sure. Just transfer to Harvard. It’s so easy.”
I bump his hip. “Dude, I’m kind of a genius. Wow. Sorry.” I slap my hand over my mouth.
He pulls it off quickly. “No, sir. A knight like you never apologizes for any amazing part of you. Shout it loud to the world. No one else will do it for you. Be the genius.”
“I’m not used to bragging.”
“Not bragging if it’s the truth. I want you to open your mouth, firecracker. Be as proud of you as I am. I see your fire. I’m fucking great at football and drawing. And I can house, like, two to five steak grinders in a sitting. Now I have a fourth thing I’m wicked great at—loving you. And I don’t want that to end. I fucking love you.”
What I feel is so much brighter than anything that’s ever touched my world. He gives me permission to stop asking for permission. I’m withdrawing from Stanford and registering for BC today.
