“I have to admit. I'm a little surprised you showed.” He not only looked at me, but he also seemed to look through me with the warmest pair of brown eyes I'd ever seen. They reminded me of cookies fresh from the oven on Christmas Eve night as a little girl. Warm, soft, gooey, and delicious. And much like Christmas cookies, I wasn't allowed to taste. Not yet, anyway.
“I had to. I mean, Shakespeare is kind of one of my weaknesses.” But I dared not mention that boys who were big fans of Shakespeare were an even bigger weakness of mine. This had to be some sort of test, and I failed miserably at it.
“Mine too.” Dylan’s hand accidentally brushed up against mine, and I froze for a moment. The next several minutes seemed to drag on as the conversation died, even though we’d find ourselves randomly looking into each other’s eyes periodically, then nervously looking away and pretending to look at something more interesting on the wall or the gum-coated floor of the bus.
Desperately wanting to break the awkward silence, I laughed nervously. “I'm starting to think you don't really need help with your paper, do you?” I shoved my makeshift fan back into my backpack and wiped the gallons of sweat off my face. Turning in my seat to face him, I leaned my head against the back of the tiny seat and focused on his face.
“It's the first day of school, Erica. What paper are you talking about?” He laughed and winked at me. Of course, I probably already knew that, but wishful thinking sometimes gets the best of us.
“Close your eyes.” I’d been staring at a loose, dangling eyelash trying to break free, and I lightly wiped my finger across his eyelid to rescue it. He opened his eyes and looked right at me. “Eyelash.” He blew his warm breath against my finger, and the lone eyelash floated through the air.
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