138
" Wallace stares at the field for a long second, then turns back and, before I can react, leans down to kiss me. He tastes like sweat and lemonade. It’s quick. Easy. He pulls away, eyes down, voice soft. “Surprise,” he says. The relief registers. I wrinkle my nose and laugh. “Like hell.” “Please, you know you love this.” He flaps his sweaty shirt in my direction before turning and jogging back. “I love you,” I say, but he’s too far away to hear it. That’s okay. He knows. "
― Francesca Zappia , Eliza and Her Monsters
139
" Do you have a piece of paper I could write on?”
I jump up too fast. “Sure. Just one? Do you—of course you need something to write with. Sorry. Here.” I grab him a paper from my deskdrawer and one of my myriad pencils, and he uses the first Children of Hypnos book as a flat surface to write on. When I’m sure he’s writing something for me to read right now, I say, “I thought you only needed to do that when other people were around?”
He etches one careful line after the next. He frowns, shakes his head. “Sometimes it’s . . . tough to say things. Certain things.” His voice is hardly a whisper. I sit down beside him again, but his big hand blocks my view of the words. He stops writing, leaves the paper there, and stares.
Then he hands it to me and looks the other direction.
Can I kiss you?
“Um,” is a delightfully complex word. “Um” means “I want to say something but don’t know what it is,” and also “You have caught me off guard,” and also “Am I dreaming right now? Someone please slap me.”
I say “um,” then. Wallace’s entire head-neck region is already flushed with color, but the “um” darkens it a few shades, and goddammit, he was nervous about asking me and I made it worse. What good is “um” when I should say “YES PLEASE NOW”? Except there’s no way I’m going to say “YES PLEASE NOW” because I feel like my body is one big wired time bomb of organs and if Wallace so much as brushes my hand, I’m going to jump out of my own skin and run screaming from the house.
I’ll like it too much. Out of control. No good.
I say, “Can I borrow that pencil?”
He hands me the pencil, again without looking.
Yes, but not right now.
I know it sounds weird. Sorry. I don’t think it’ll go well if I know it’s coming. I will definitely freak out and punch you in the face or scream bloody murder or something like that.
Surprising me with it would probably work better. I am giving you permission to surprise me with a kiss. This is a formal invitation for surprise kisses.
I don’t like writing the word “kiss.” It makes my skin crawl.
Sorry. It’s weird. I’m weird. Sorry.
I hope that doesn’t make you regret asking.
I hand the paper and pencil back. He reads it over, then writes:
No regret. I can do surprises.
That’s it. That’s it?
Shit.
Now he’s going to try to surprise me with a kiss. At some point. Later today? Tomorrow? A week from now? What if he never does it and I spend the rest of the time we hang out wondering if he will? What have I done? This was a terrible idea.
I’m going to vomit.
“Be right back,” I say, and run to the bathroom to curl up on the floor. Just for like five minutes. Then I go back to my room and sit down beside Wallace. As I’m moving myself into position, his hand falls over mine, and I don’t actually jump out of my skin. My control shakes for a moment, but I turn in to it, and everything smooths out. I flip my hand over. He flexes his fingers so I can fit mine in the spaces between. And we sit there, shoulder to shoulder, with our hands resting on the bed between us.
It’s not so bad "
― Francesca Zappia , Eliza and Her Monsters
140
" How is she already asleep?” Sully whispers. “At home she stays up until like two a.m.”
“She probably was tired,” Church whispers back.
“What, from climbing a hill?”
Church doesn’t respond. They get into their sleeping bags and whisper for half an hour about the outdoor soccer season about to start. I hadn’t even realized the indoor season was over—Mom and Dad just told me when I needed to take them to practice or pick them up. I didn’t know how they’d done. Were there any tournaments? Trophies?
After a long stretch of silence, Sully says, “So did you really try out for the spring musical?”
Church doesn’t respond for a second. “Yes. Why?”
“Just wondering. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you would have made it about Macy Garrison.”
“It—it’s not?”
“No.”
“Oh. But you’re not going to try out forchoir?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?” Just the smallest bit of mocking enters Sully’s tone.
“Because I like it,” Church snaps back. “We don’t have to do all the same things. Try out for mathletes or something. You like math. You’d be good at it.”
“Mathletes is for nerds.”
“Sull, there’s something you should know.”
“Don’t say it.”
“You are a nerd.”
“I’m not a nerd. Eliza’s a nerd.”
“Actually, I think Eliza’s a geek. I’ve seen her grades. Compared to us, she’s horrible at school.”
“You’re a nerd for knowing the difference.”
“That’s fine.”
Sully makes no sound, but I can feel him fuming in the darkness. I didn’t know Church could get under Sully’s skin so easily. I didn’t know Sully liked math. I didn’t know either of them were that good at school. I didn’t know Church already knew he was good at singing . . . or that he was interested in musical theater.
I’ve been living with them their whole lives, but until right now, they’ve felt like strangers "
― Francesca Zappia , Eliza and Her Monsters
