"You keep saying that, but isn't it just words?"
Xander puts his finger over his mouth, asking me to hush, and closes his eyes.
"Okay, what little moment are you capturing now?" I've made a game of guessing notebook-worthy moments. "Is it Dex's laughter?"
Xander shakes his head.
"Rustling leaves?" No. "The weight of my enormous head in your lap?" A smile. "My hair wrapped around your finger." Slight head tilt. "My sky blue eyes staring up at the sky—ugh. I sound like Sawyer."
Xander laughs. "It's the way the skin on your forehead crinkles just a little bit when you're thinking of something that scares you."
"Well, that's just great." I push myself up so that I'm sitting at an angle to Xander. "I'm going to need Botox injections by the time I'm nineteen. I've got as many worries as the periodic table has elements."
"Let me be your oxygen." He bumps against me.
"That's the problem with being poetic all the time," I say. "Sometimes you just don't make sense. See, you need more than just oxygen, which happens to be highly combustible—"
He stops me with a kiss. "There. A little carbon monoxide or is it dioxide?" He squiggles a finger across my knee. "My bio notes aren't so great."
I take his hand off my knee. "We're so different. How is this going to work? Shouldn't we have more in common? I bet you're not even signed up for a science class, are you?"
Xander shakes his head, but he's still smiling.
"And, yeah, I'm in AP English because I'm in AP everything, but I don't like it. I'm just good at knowing what the teachers want to hear, and I know how to use proper grammar."
"And don't forget all your big vocabulary words."
"You're teasing me."
He flashes his eyebrows.
"I'm serious! What if you decide, you know, after dating me for a few more weeks that we don't have enough in common?"
"We have enough in common."
"Like what?"
"I like you. You like me. Isn't that enough?"
"But it's not based on anything. It's just all that mushy feelings stuff. What if we hate each other's music? What if we never read the same books? What if—" A butterfly lands a few feet away, resting on a dandelion. "Take that butterfly. I see it as an amazing insect that's transformed from an egg to a caterpillar to a chrysalis and finally a colorful butterfly."
"I see a metaphor."
I roll my eyes.
"I'm going to ignore that," he says.
"See? It is a problem!"
He shakes his head. "Let's say we wanted to catch that butterfly. So we get up and run around this field, falling, tripping, never quite reaching the butterfly, the way some people go chasing after love. I won't mention any names."
I whack his arm. "Hey!"
He puts his arm around me to protect himself. He says. I lean my head on his shoulder, and we watch the butterfly flit from flower to flower, landing just briefly.
"Or we can wait, quietly, thinking our own thoughts, being our own selves." The butterfly floats in the air right before us, yellow wings almost transparent.
I sit completely still, watching the butterfly floating. And then it lands. On my shoulder! Out of the corner of my eye I watch the insect resting on my sleeve.
Xander whispers, "And the butterfly will land on your shoulder."
"How did you know?" I whisper back.
"We don't know. We just have to wait and see what happens. We can't capture it, control it. We can only enjoy it."
The butterfly opens and closes its wings, exposing an intricate, almost magical pattern of gray and yellow. A few moments later it flies away from me, but the feeling stays.
I will just wait and see what happens. A butterfly did just land on my shoulder.
Dear Polly:
Help! I think this might be the real thing! I've never felt like this before. Not with four husbands and who knows how many dishwasher repairmen. Why didn't you tell me?
—Miss Swooning
Dear Grandma:
He's a dog. He's a cute dog, but he's a dog. However, I will love him even more if he eats a few more of Grace's stuffed animals. Glad you've found true companionship at last. Now go write your book and let me work on my scholarship applications in peace!
—Polly
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Acknowledgments
Dear Miss Swoon:
I just wrote a book and want to thank all the people who helped me along the way. My clever and insightful editor, Julie Tibbott, my ever-supportive agent, Ted Malawer, my mom, Rondi, and daughter Emma, who read early drafts, my daughter Sophie, who gave me "no talking" coupons, and my wonderful husband, Mike, who cleans the kitchen better than I do. Oh, and so many other friends and family members who simply listened, offered advice, and cheered me on. How do I say a big huge "THANK YOU"?
—Grateful Author
Dear Grateful Author:
I think you just did.
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Swoon at Your Own Risk Page 22
