4.00PM, Saturday, Nov. 30th
Central Park, New York
I bit my nail, and stared at the paper until the letters and words turned into mush in my brain.
My Senior Project, it said in big, black letters. The student picks a broad subject area that interests them. Examples are: Forestry, the History of Paper, Hydraulic Water Pumps…
The list went on. I looked down the list. None of it looked appealing to me. I mean, the history of paper? What kind of boring bastard was interested in paper?
Snow fell on my head when I plonked myself down under a tree, on a park bench. It probably looked like I had nasty dandruff right now, but whatever. I have way more important things to deal with. Like deciding on my Senior Project. I mean, I said to the senior advisor guy, I chosen Psychology, but I had no idea what to do –
“Incoming!”
I looked up, and a hard lump of squishy whiteness hit me right between my eyes, and I dropped my piece of paper into the snow.
“Oscar!” I screamed, wiping away the snow from my eyes. “You bastard!”
When I’d finally blinked away all the snow flakes from my eyelashes, a guy’s laughing face appeared. I hate him so much.
I ran up to Oscar, pushing him over into the snow
“You are so mean!” I yelled, emphasising every word with a punch to his chest. But it didn’t stop him from laughing.
“Your face!” he choked out, his eyes streaming. “It’s so funny!”
“I hate you!” I yelled, punching him harder.
“Slow down,” Oscar said, suddenly serious. “You can’t beat me up today. I got dumped.”
That definitely slowed me down.
“Again?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know!” he yelled, looking up at me. My heart thumped, like it always did, and I sat on down cross-legged in the snow. Oscar was just so…pretty. Not girly-pretty, but cute. His fringe fell over his eyes, which were a delicate hazel. And, okay, because he was my friend, I so shouldn’t be saying this, but he was yum. “She said something about how I was too distant, or something. What the hell does that mean?!”
I nibbled my lip, wondering how to phrase this. For someone so hot, Oscar seemed to have about a billion girl problems.
“Did you spend her birthday with her?” I said, deciding to go with the whole ‘rip-the-band-aid-off-quickly’ thing.
“No, but –”
“Did you go see her play?”
“No, I didn’t, but –”
“Did you see her, at all, in the last three weeks?”
“No, but I…oh. I get your point.”
“You do?” I said, smiling.
“Yeah. Still hurts, though.”
I gave him a hug, enjoying it immensely.
“You’ll get over it. There’s always another girl.”
He pulled me closer, giving me a quick kiss on my lips. “Is there?”
“Oscar!” I yelled, wiping my lip with my sleeve. Okay, I did kind of like it, but I will never, EVER let him know that. “What the hell?”
“You’re really red,” he said, laughing.
“You got over her quickly,” I fumed, fake-slapping him a little. “I knew it! It never takes you longer than a shower to get over a girl.”
“Hey!” he said, pretending to be hurt. “It takes longer than a shower! It takes about an hour.”
“Ha ha,” I pretended to laugh at his bad joke, turning away. “You’re so funny.”
“Aw, come on, Summy! Don’t be mad!”
“I’m not mad! And don’t call me Summy!”
“How about if I compliment you? Will you forgive me, then? Um…” He pretended to think for a couple of seconds.
“Don’t I have any good points?” I yelled, shoving him back into the snow, wrapping my hands around his neck, and pretending to throttle him.
“I’m thinking! Um…you have nice hair?”
I let go of his neck, and smiled sweetly. I liked doing this with Oscar. Even though it sounds totally weird, I like arguing with him. “Carry on.”
He sat up, putting his head very close to mine, grinning. “You have…nice eyes.”
I cupped my face with my hands. “I do have nice eyes.”
“And you’re also good at relationships.”
“Well, of course I’m good at relationships. I want to be a psychiatrist. That’s what I’m interested…”
I stopped. I jumped up and ran to the park bench.
“If you really want gum, I’ve got a pack with me. You don’t have to scrape some from the bottom of the bench.”
I ignored him, and carried on looking.
I picked up the slip of wet paper, caught against a leg of the park bench.
The student picks a broad subject area that interests them.
I smiled. I’ve just chosen my senior project.
***
My Plan of Attack was simple.
For my senior project, I will write a book that will teach every single boy and girl in the world how to date. If that wasn’t brilliant, then I don’t know what is.
But it all depended on how I did it.
“Oscaaar,” I said, as he gave money the drink stand guy (hot chocolate for me, coffee for him. I have an incredible, inhumanly low tolerance for caffeine). “What did you do for you senior project?”
Oscar was in University already – Harvard. The University of my dreams.
“Senior Project? Wasn’t you first draft due about a month ago?”
“It was due yesterday, but we missed school because of the snow.”
“Have you done anything?”
“Not yet…I’ve been really, um, busy.”
“Sure.”
“Shut up. I just have a brainwave, but I need you to help me…figure it out.”
“Was that why you were all hyper and happy when you saw that dirty piece of paper?”
“I hate you.”
“Sorry, sorry, carry on.”
“Okay,” I said, nervous. I didn’t really want to tell Oscar. He would obviously disapprove. He was kind of like a brother to me. I should just…outline it, though. “I’m thinking of…doing it on psychology.”
“Good, good,” he said, nodding, sipping his coffee. I drank a little of my hot chocolate, but to tell you the truth, I like my hot chocolate cold.
“I want to do it on relationships.”
“Uh huh?”
“As in…dating.”
“Sure.”
“I want to write a book on dating.”
“Okay.”
“So do you think I should – Are you even listening?”
Oscar turned back, dragging his eyes away from some girl who was obviously crazy because she was wearing a miniskirt in snow. But crazy was obviously not the word Oscar would have used to describe her.
“Forget it,” I shouted, stalking away. He was so inconsiderate. Didn’t I talk to him about his stupid problems? He was totally a bad friend.
“I’m sorry!” Oscar said, running after me, trying to catch my hand. “I was listening, I swear!”
I glared at his stupid puppy-dog face. He is beyond annoying.
“Forgive me?”
“NO!”
“It’s just because you’re jealous.”
“I AM NOT JEAL –” Damn, he was pulling me into his little web. “As I was saying,” I hissed, “I want to do my Senior Project on –”
“Books?”
“No! You so weren’t listening! I said I wanted to WRITE a book on dating! Not do my project on books!”
“You want to write a book on dating?” Oscar asked, trying not to laugh. When I death-glared at him, and he managed to put on a straight face. “That’s, um, great. It’s going to be great.”
“What?!”
“Nothing…”
“Tell me!”
“Well, it’s just that…you’ve never dated, right? So…how are you meant to write a book on dating, without experience?”
I chewed my lip. He was right. “I’ll just find a guy to date.”
Oscar’s whole expression changed.
“No,” he said, firmly.
I frowned, confused at his reaction.
“Why?”
“Just, no,” he repeated. “It won’t help. Dating one guy won’t give you enough experience to write a book. You need to experience at least a couple good and bad relationships before you know enough. There isn’t enough time to do that and complete your project. I think you should forget about this, and do the…History of Paper!”
“Who the hell would do the History of Paper?!”
“I did the History of Paper.”
“NO!” I yelled. “I want to do it my way, and even if I have to date a hundred guys, I will. Don’t try and stop me!”
“Summer,” he said, in his annoying, condescending ‘calm down Summer’ voice. “Think this through. Come on, you’re amazing at Art – you go to classes. You could just paint.”
“No, Oscar,” I sighed. “My idea is original, and good. Besides, I hate painting. You know how my parents force me to go to those classes.”
“Listen to me, Summer. You don’t want to do this. Harvard won’t accept you, if your Senior Project is on dating. They won’t take you seriously. Besides, do you really want to date guys just to write this book? Isn’t that kind of like…lying?”
“What do you know about relationships? Your relationships don’t last longer than a mento!”
“I know enough to know that dating a guy, just to do your senior project, is not good. Anyway, your second draft is due in two weeks, right? Even if they push it back an extra week for you or something, you won’t be able to date even two guys properly!”
He was right, again. Damn it.
“What would you say counts as a proper relationship?” I asked, quietly.
“At least a three weeks. You only have time to date about one guy. You might as well not bother.”
I bit my lip, thinking hard. I had to date a couple guys in three weeks…but I wasn’t letting this idea go. This was what I was interested in – Psychology. I wanted to become a psychiatrist. I loved solved other people’s problems. This is what I wanted to do, and time couldn’t stop me.
“I have it!” I yelled, making Oscar jump, when I pulled him into a hug. “Thanks so much!”
It was so obvious – date two guys at the same time!
***
Author's Story: New story!!! Hope this blocks the hole "Kidnapper" left XxX
Next part it's gonna get interesting ;P I will introduce the two guys she' s dating
Please don't hate her for two-timing just yet XxX
P.S. As always, VOMMENT (for all you new readers, vomment means vote and comment. I'm not telling you to be extravagantly sick. Even though, you know, it's your choice if you want to. But please don't.)