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“I am,” I affirm and lick my lips, thinking about it for a second. Insecurity claws its way to my system, making me shift in my seat. “I guess.”
A curious frown forms on his forehead.
“You guess? How does that work? Are you or are you not good at it?”
There’s a rougher edge to his interrogations. I can’t quite put my finger on why but I do not feel as attacked as I thought I’d be. Oddly enough, I don’t want to be defensive about this. There isn’t a right way to discuss what you want to do with your life because not everyone gets it, and that’s perfectly fine.
“Are you good at lacrosse?” I inquire.
Stanley leans back in his seat, hesitating.
I need to make him understand by putting him in my shoes.
I don’t know if he’s any good at the sport. I’ve heard that he is, or least he must be to have people kissing his feet. He has to enjoy some part of the game, whether he considers it a way to release stress, a moment where he can breathe, or if he’s passionate about it.
“I think so,” Stanley mutters.
“You think? How does that work?”
A smile appears on his lips, seeing that I’m turning it the other way around. However, his reaction is different than mine. I notice because his eyes sparkle, conceding me the win.
“People say I’m good. I think that after a while, I started believing what they said about me and stopped wondering about how I feel about my own game.”
There’s something in his voice—a trace of vulnerability that makes me see him differently. For a split second, a part of the image that I had about him shatters. I don’t see the golden boy, nor the arrogant guy who asked if he could copy from my test, but someone who has insecurities like any other.
Someone that has self-doubts just like me.
I admire that he’s able to say it out loud. I can’t allow myself to be that vulnerable in front of people, let alone someone that has only caused me trouble. Not even with my friends.
I clear my throat, recovering.
“That’s why I said that I guessed. The appreciations of ourselves are usually built by what people think about us,” I speak in a low murmur, almost if I was using an inner voice that doesn’t want to meet the daylight. I shake my head. “Anyway, what’s your major? I know that is not chemistry.”
He smirks and chuckles. I can swear that his smile lightens up the whole place and the cashier at the other side of the counter melts a little.
“Guess.”
I tilt my head at his dare.
“Do you think I won’t guess?” He keeps smiling. “Okay. I accept the challenge. I rule out any science and also psychology.”
“Keep going.” Stanley encourages me.
I purse my lips together, analyzing him. There’s something about how he’s smirking that tells me that he’s confident that I won’t make the right assumption.
“I don’t see you in politics or communications,” I go on as my mind tries to rule out the majors that Moss offers. “Do I get more than one chance?”
He shakes his head as he says, “Just one.”
I groan.
“Shit. Can I make an approximation by department?” Stanley nods. “Okay, then I’ll say… Business administration.”
Stanley laughs. A burst of raspy laughter that grabs the attention of the cashier and a couple of people that surround us. That lets me know that my attempt at guessing was a complete failure that he saw coming. It’s like he was expecting me to be wrong the whole time. I admit it, I’m intrigued now.
“Do you want to know what I study?” Stanley asks, putting his elbows on the table, leaning forward.
“Now, you’re not going to leave me hanging,” I reply, imitating his actions.
