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: : : AFTER SPENDING AN HOUR COOPED up in detention, Tim finds Megan waiting for him, sitting on a bench in front of the bank of glass doors. She's reading the paper. Outside, the late buses gather and simmer.
He takes the peripheral route up to her. Sneaking. You are the ninja-man, he thinks. She has her headphones on so she can't hear the giveaway squeak of his sneakers. When he's right next to her he makes claws of his hands and thrusts them in front of her face. She jumps.
She yanks her headphones off. —Fuck you, she says, trying to look bored instead of startled. He makes his best malcontent face at her and flumps down on the bench. —Move over, he says.
She rolls up the paper and sticks the grimy bouquet of it up against his nostrils. He roots into it in mock delight, snorting and snuffling.
—Disgusting, she says. He pulls back but she shoves the rolled paper forwards so that his nose is still buried in its ragged end. He pushes it aside with the back of his hand and gives her a grin.
—You're smudged, she says. She raises two fingers towards his face.
—Leave it, he says.
—Whatever, she says.
They push out through the doors and get on the bus. Megan looks out the window. Tim watches her, tries to figure out what she's seeing out there, what she's thinking.
—My parents say they might get me a car next month, she says. —For my birthday.
—That's cool, Tim says.
—It'd be cool to not have to ride this bus anymore, she says. —I could come, like, pick you up in the mornings and stuff. And we could, you know, like go places.
He thinks about the night she drove him home, the night they studied for the Physics test. The night she asked him if he wanted to kiss her. That was two weeks ago, and aside from the little conversation they had the next day they haven't talked about it since. But something feels different between them. He can feel the difference right now, just from the way he's sitting here on the bus with her. Like—his leg is kind of touching hers and it's no big deal. They haven't kissed or anything, but here they are, sitting here, his leg touching hers. It's like they've made an agreement, an agreement that their legs can touch and that that's cool.
They haven't kissed or anything. But he wants to kiss her. He's been sure of that ever since that night. He wonders if the agreement that they have extends to that yet, if he could just like lean over and start kissing her. He doesn't feel certain that he can do that just yet. And he doesn't know how to get to that point from where they are now. He starts thinking about how he's going to try to do it and he starts to think that maybe he's going to fuck it up. I fuck things up, he said to her, that day in the hall. That's me. Maybe he should like asking her out on a date or something? Doesn't he have to do some thing where he like shows up and brings her flowers and shit? Isn' t that what girls want?
—Hey, um, he says. —This weekend. Do you want to like, go to a movie or something?
—Sure, she says. —Is there anything that you want to go see?
—Uh, he says. —I don't know. I haven't really been paying attention to what's out lately.
—Passion of the Christ, Megan suggests, starting to gather up her bag. Tim opens his mouth to protest before he realizes that she's not serious.
The bus comes squealingly to a halt and she gets up. —Just give me a call or we'll talk about it tomorrow, okay? she says.
—Okay, he says.
—See ya, she says. Then she licks her thumb, leans in, and wipes the newsprint mark from his face.
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