Page 46 of Icing Hearts

“I am.”

“You are.”

I sit back in the chair, balancing on the back two legs. There are tennis balls on the bottom. Usually, such inventions are for chairs on tile floors but this one is gray, berber carpet so the green orbs are matted with hair and lint. It’s disgusting. “Yes, Clara, my eloquence primarily emerges when I find myself particularly enraged. My focus narrows to the jugular and the sharpest words available spring forth on my tongue like quicksilver.” My casual posture starkly contradicts my words.

“An accurate summation if there ever was one,” she agrees.

I lean forward, bringing my chair back down and my lips close enough to brush the tendrils of hair by her ear. More goosebumps. This time along her neck and not because of the temperature.

Some of the guys walk by, laughing and engaging in some sort of horseplay. No one in the world knows that we’re having a monumental shift in our paradigm in this room. “But it’s not just that. There are many other reasons we can’t be together,” she says.

I nod, slowly again, and sigh deeply. “I don’t know your reasons, but I have my own. They aren’t my reasons but they’re on my end. It sounds like there are reasons on your end, too…” I trail off.

“On my end and also my reasons,” she says.

“Such as?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says quickly, waving a hand between us and shattering the tension. “That’s neither here nor there. The point is, it can’t happen. If we open that door, it’ll ruin everything and create a lot of problems.”

“Fine. Friends.” I say it in the next heartbeat. I had a feeling this would turn into a negotiation, and I already expected to counter. Clara changing her mind is like turning a very large, very determined ship. It happens slowly.

She wrinkles her nose. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

“You’re being serious?”

“Why do you always think I’m insincere? It’s highly unflattering.”

“You are confusing.”

“I’m sorry.” I’m not terribly sorry, and I get the distinct sense that she doesn’t believe me, but I say it anyway.

“How good of friends? Because Jack already got me to agree to being his friend this week and—”

I slide in close and whisper, “Best friends.”

She blushes ear to ear and looks over at me shyly. Her hands have been pinned under her thighs, but now they’re twisting in her lap. “I’m not really good at the whole friends thing.”

I give her a devious smile. “Neither am I.”

So, Clara and I are friends. Just friends. For now. She doesn’t want to admit that, but it’s fine with me. I actually feel a sense of relief. We’re something. Even if it’s not the label I desire, it’s a label I can live with. For now.

For now, I’ll do the tutoring sessions. But I’ve got a plan for all of it. Can’t do much tutoring if I do my work at home the night before. Usually, my free time is spent on girls and my bike. Well, riding season is nearly over and women? No interest. When it comes to Vince, he serves an important role in my plan. A false flag if you will. While everyone focuses on their relationship, I’ll be working in the background to win her over. Our chemistry is undeniable. There’s no risk of being in the friend-zone permanently.

Tutoring will end early when my work is done and then we’ll talk. Exist in proximity. Grow closer in a more meaningful way. More time for me to enjoy the way her hair reflects light and the smell of her skin. I didn’t think a human could genuinely smell nice, but she does. Maybe it’s pheromones or those compatibility genes that Swiss zoologist studied in the nineties. If Clara and I were in that experiment, I have no doubt we would have picked each other’s t-shirts.

“So…buddy ole pal, what do you have to work on?” she asks me.

“Lab report,” I tell her, pulling out my laptop. Half of it was finished last night, and the work I have left will be quick and easy to talk around. “Can you read off my notes while I type them up?”

“Sure.” She gives me a relieved smile, and I can tell she’s nervous to come up with things for me to do during these study sessions.

Through the rustle of my spiral-bound notebook, I hear her stomach growl. Did she eat lunch? I think back, trying to picture what she had. Was it a bagel with peanut butter? Those are only a dollar…

“Earth to Tory.” Clara waves a hand in front of my face. I shake my head and smile. Before she has a chance to start reading off my notes, I dig into my backpack and hand her a couple grass-fed beef sticks.

She attempts to wave me off. “Oh, that’s okay. I don’t want to take your food all the time.”

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