Heartbeat | ✔️

| 2 |

My parents were not pleased with the phone call from Principal Randall.

From the horrible experience and my parents' statement, you can't force a boy to kiss you. I keep ten feet away from boys. As years go by, I keep my distance. I watch for those small movements like hand touching back, close body proximity, and eye contact. Even while I'm attending college, I'm on high alert. Of course, boys sit next to me in class. However, if I hear another, "May I borrow a pencil?" or "What's your name sweetie?" I think I'll poke him in the eye with my drumstick.

However, I can't stay away from him.

In the past two weeks since he has joined my brother's band, Cupid's Boy Band – I don't know how they've come up with this sappy, romantic stuff - I run into him all the time. In the kitchen. When I yell at Girly for his off tempo. After using the bathroom. When he walks in the front door without knocking as I leave for an evening class. Just. Can't. Get. Away. From. Him!

I'm done running into him.

"Hey," Cameron says. His arm stretches over the black onyx kitchen counter. He opens the off-white cabinet, reaches in for a ceramic bowl. White stain towels hang on the stove's rail. I stand near the black fridge cover in family photos, Florida magnets with orange and pink sunsets, handmade marble magnets, and floral drawings. Calendar hangs on the pantry door, everyone's schedule is written in permanent marker.

Luck isn't on my side.

"Hi."

I don't know what to say.

I'm minding my own business. I want one thing. To eat. It's past dinner time, my go-to is the healthy, carb dinner: cereal. Quick and easy. But he's in the way.

My parents haven't arrived home from their honeymoon dinner. To think they've married in in the cold, snowy February's end close to March. Pass the holidays too! They are crazy. Then again, this is one of the few nights Cupid's Boy Band can practice late.

"Have you been avoiding me?"

The question stops me in my tracks.

"Avoiding you?" I repeat back his question.

"Yeah."

He grabs an enormous rubber spoon, scooping up the vegetable soup into his bowl. Mom has thrown this together in case we get hungry. Corn, green beans, tomatoes, and broccoli float in their own juice. I'll go with my cereal and lactose-free milk.

"Interesting word choice," I say. I play with my thumb nail, bending the white, long nail back and forth. "I believe you're accusing me of something I'm not doing."

He smiles.

The same one that displays his symmetrical white teeth.

"What would you call it then?" his smooth voice declares.

"I'd say, walking away."

"Walking away?"

"Yes," I cross my arms in front of my chest. "That's what one does when someone needs to be somewhere. You know – like going to school, going out to lunch."

"Even when someone tries to have a conversation with you?"

Is that what he has been wanting?

A conversation? Why with me?

"About the weather?" I ask.

I try to recall his openers.

I think he mentions the weather, "how are you?", and "what's up?" Those are small in between conversations, when people meet in the hallway to pass the time. People have these exchanges to avoid the awkwardness of closeness and then they move on in their schedule.