Jim is a scoundrel, and for some reason, we tend to looooove those bad boys in literature, don't we? I'm not really sure what he's up to yet, but he's fun to write.

Congrats on your win!

Boys are confusing. It's the theme of this whole next update. Glad you enjoyed it

Welcome! I'm glad you're here to read, and I hope you enjoy the update.


As always, thanks for your patience, my readers

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Day 2, Part 4

Boys are confusing. I consider myself to be a pretty smart person – I take honors level math, I can use multisyllabic words that make Brad’s forehead go all perplexed crinkly, and I get good grades in school. I’m not exactly a Ravenclaw, but I get by. So when I say that boys are confusing, it’s not like I confuse easily.

But they are. There are all these unspoken things that you’re supposed to know when you interact with a guy, and it’s stupid that I’m somehow supposed to know that completely ignoring me and then giving me a sneaky sideways glance means something, or that prolonged eye contact is a good thing when it actually seems sort of creeptastic.

Like this is confusing… Kat says that if a guy looks at your mouth when you’re talking to him that he’s thinking about kissing you. So I remember this the one time I ever have a conversation with Super Hottie Darren at school, because he is totally staring a hole through my face. Only when I tell Kat about it, she tells me I had lettuce in my teeth the whole time. He was staring at the lettuce.

I sort of just figured it was because there is a huge discrepancy between how comfortable a guy is versus how comfortable I am. While I get all awkward about even talking to some cute guy, it’s just this really complex game to him. A game that I really don’t understand the rules of, but I get that I’m not winning. Confusing.

So it always seemed to me that if I could just manage to get into serious Like with a guy that was just as awkward as me, then it would get easier. We’d be on equal footing and playing by the same rules, right?

Not so. I’m chasing a guy who is just as socially inept as I am, and I’m still confused. Half the time he acts like I’m bugging him, occasionally he looks at me like he wants to eat my face off, and he still MIGHT be related to Harry Potter. But I keep chasing him, and I can’t really say which of those reasons is keeping me moving. Probably the Harry thing. Probably.

We round the curve of the lake and get well away from Jim and the cottages before Al stops and spins on me. I nearly run him down, I have to stop so fast. Part of me expects him to yell at me, but we’re just standing there panting at each other. Another conversation without words that I’m supposed to understand, right?

“You run pretty fast for a girl.” Ew. One of those insults-wrapped-in-a-compliment things.

“I run pretty fast.” Correction. I run fast for anyone, and I would clarify the point if I could only catch my breath. “Me. Fast.”

Al isn’t openly scoffing at me, but he also doesn’t seem to realize that I’m totally on to his compliment/insult game. “You just weren’t very fast yesterday.”

“Hello? Wet flip-flops on cobblestones?” And why exactly did I think we were going to have some sort of dramatic romantic moment, instead of this weirdness? He ran off in a jealous snit, I followed, and now we were supposed to have that scene where we share how we feel. Right?

Why isn’t life more like a movie? I should feel some relief it isn't, considering I don’t even know how I feel so that I could share it. I’ve only known this Harry Potter clone for one day, remember? But I still feel let down, because there should be more times in real life where someone grabs you in the middle of the common room and snogs your face off in the heat of the moment. There should be more heat of the moments in my life.

Merlin. I’m tearing these pages out of my journal as soon as I get back to the cottage. I do NOT need this little angst parade to end up in our permanent trip journal. Brad will probably try to read them at my wedding someday, and then I’ll be celebrating my wedding and my arrest for murdering my brother on the same day.

Al collapses on the sand, and I let myself puddle beside him. The sun is up now, and it has burnt off that low lying fog while I wasn’t paying attention. As to be expected, there is a growing ruckus from down the beach, where the cottages and the dock are located. Our little corner of the world seems quiet by comparison.

Too quiet. Al hasn’t spoken a word in a while, and I have no pressing desire to explain why I was letting his brother paw me. Not when he’d just finished calling me slow.

This would be a really good time for me to make a lasting impression. I could say something really clever and impress him with my nearly-Ravenclaw-sharp wit. I could tap into my inner Slytherin and say something sarcastic and cutting about his social skills (or lack thereof). I could even be Gryffindor brave and ask him if his father is Harry Potter.

“Boys are confusing.” Today, apparently, I am a Hufflepuff.

“Girls are really confusing.” Al rolls up on one elbow, but with the sun reflecting off the lake at that angle, I can’t see the expression on his face.

“Boys are really really confusing.” I did say nearly Ravenclaw.

“I guess you win, then.” And I can hear the smile in his voice. The knot of tension between us unravels, and I close my eyes against the sun with a little smile of my own.

He goes silent again, but this time it doesn’t feel so oppressive. There are birds in the trees above the path, and the water is licking the shore just a yard from our muddy flip-flops. “Your brother is kind of pushy. No personal space bubble either, which is super annoying.”

“Your brother likes to take off his shirt a lot.”

“We have a couple of winners, don’t we?”