Don't Kiss Your Lab Partner

by Lucy McConnell

The more she talked, the more I relaxed. Sydney was head over heels for Anthony and could talk about him all day. I didn’t want to talk about John; therefore, I wasn’t crushing on him.

  I wanted to keep those few times our eyes met and held—and a current like electricity flowed through me—all to myself.

  No crush happening here. Definitely not.

  So why, as Sydney talked, couldn’t I get his green eyes out of my head?

  Chapter Nine

  The week passed quickly. I was able to get the basic outline done for our project, using Dr. Pepper as a boost to stay up late a couple nights. Man, that stuff is so good.

  Since our school is on an A day, B day schedule, I only saw John once more in class. We said hello and set our laptops up, and then we were handed an assignment that took the rest of the period and then some to finish. He left stressed, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

  I may have also stalked his mom’s blog Friday and Saturday. I couldn’t help it. I missed his conversation. He challenged me to think differently, to look at things in a new light, and it was thrilling.

  His mom posted about a quiet evening at home, making s’mores around their fire pit in the backyard Friday night. I couldn’t help but wonder how big this backyard was. Over the years, they’d had blow-up slides, bouncy houses, a temporary outdoor bowling alley, two swimming pools, and a hot tub. And I clicked through all that on my 15-minute study break.

  Okay, maybe it was 20 minutes.

  John was in every post. He was always smiling. Caleb was there a lot. So was Nicole. I hadn’t noticed how much time they spent together outside of school, but the evidence was right there in pixel form. By the time I’d clicked through the last three months, I was sick to my stomach. They were adorable together on screen. Pure clickbait. Ugh!

  On that happy note, I trundled off to brunch with my parents. I hoped to cut today’s visit short. Syd and I had plans to hike a new trail in Interlaken Park. The reviews said it offered a steep grade and serenity. Exactly what I needed after staring at a screen for days.

  Anthony was bringing a friend from the swim team. It sounded suspiciously like a setup, but I went with it because my dad had the dumb goal of dating this semester and I hadn’t made any progress.

  I felt like I was still in the research stage—observing others and learning the lay of the land. As soon as I had a grasp on a concept, someone threw in a totally new rule.

  I thanked our driver and headed inside. I didn’t yell into the speaker system this week. Truth be told, I wasn’t as upset with my dad for making us work in partners as I had been the week before. Don’t get me wrong, I was sure my shot at the TACS award was gone, but I was coming to terms with the loss. Mostly because I didn’t have time to mope about it.

  I had bigger things to worry about. Like if I was a test tube baby. I know, there are lots of people who were conceived in glass, and they have great lives. It was just that I’d thought one thing my whole life, and now I wasn’t so sure.

  I took the last stretch of floor on quiet feet, hoping to get a glimpse of my parents together without them knowing I watched.

  The table was laid out in a variety of green foods. Sliced avocados. Omelets made with broccoli. A steaming teapot no doubt loaded with green tea. I’d bet a week of doughnuts that the jug of green liquid was a spinach smoothie.

  Dad was in his seat, his head bent over a screen. I squinted and could just make out the Washington Post logo at the top.

  Mom was working on a mental game—sudoku on steroids, she’d called it once. She had her hair pulled up in a messy bun and chewed on the eraser as she considered her next play.

  I thought back to the summer where we ate together almost daily. We didn’t have these kinds of brunches. Instead, we ate pancakes and muffins and sausage and eggs. It was glorious.

  Unlike my peers who couldn’t seem to get enough of one another, Mom and Dad acted like they’d had their fill. They weren’t even talking. My heart dropped low. This was not a good sign. Before I could drop into a teenage depression, I walked in.

  “Why are we eating so weird?” I asked as I hugged Dad before he got out of his seat.

  Mom set her game book aside. “Because I can’t feed you during the week, so I’m packing all my motherly instincts into this one meal.”

  I grinned. “And that means I have to have spinach for breakfast?”

  “Yep.” Dad poured me a cup of smoothie. I’d had Pierre’s smoothies before and prayed the chef wouldn’t let me down this time. I sipped, looking for the apple flavoring that indicated he’d stuffed as much fruit into the green monster as he could. The sugars hit my tongue with a satisfying zing.

  We worked to dish food and transfer platters across the table. Unlike the school, which packed the place with round-equalizing tables, we had a square table. Dad sat across from Mom, and I was between them. I suddenly didn’t like the arrangement. They could have sat together.

  “I checked your grades. They’re looking great.” Mom smiled at me. “Are you glad you took a heavier schedule?”

  I thought about the hours and hours I’d had to put in because I’d opted to continue with Latin and add Spanish on top of it. I’d taken German in junior high and spent a summer in Berlin while Mom worked with a company there. Mom and I had gone back and forth for a week over the pros and cons of taking an additional heavy-homework class before I’d clicked the squares on my online registration packet. “I am. I think the payoff will be worth it in the end. Knowing three languages will open up the world for me.”

  Dad chuckled. “What’s next? French?”

  I tipped my head, considering. “Maybe. Chinese would be more helpful, though.”

  He nodded. “I’ve been thinking of signing up for a class or two myself.”

  “That would be cool.” A silence descended on the table, but my head was full of chatter. Memories from that summer in Germany came back full force. Dad hadn’t come with us. We were two carefree girls traipsing around the country on the weekends. At the time, I’d thought it was totally sick to hang with my mom. But now I wondered if they’d been separated and I didn’t know it.

  I turned my attention to what was going on in front of me—or rather, what wasn’t going on in front of me. There were no touches. There were no lingering looks.

  “How are you coming on your social goals?” asked Dad.

  I scowled at the whiteboard. I still wasn’t happy that he’d set a goal for me that I hadn’t agreed to. That was outside our family script. Dad was big on making sure I understood the purpose of a goal. If I did, then I worked all the harder for it. “Fine. I’m going on a double date this afternoon.”

  “Really?” Mom’s voice was high. She cleared her throat. “Whom are you dating?” The forced formality was more concerning than her voice cracking.

  “I’m not sure. Sydney is setting me up with someone from the swim team.” I shrugged, hoping to show that it wasn’t a big deal. Because it really wasn’t.

  Dad grabbed his tablet and had the swim team pictures up in no time. “Who?”

  “What is this, a police lineup?” They were acting so strange—overprotective all of a sudden. “I don’t know. It’s like a blind date.” Or like a group of friends going for a hike. Whatever.

  Two lines appeared between Mom’s eyes. “We just want to know who you’re spending time with.”

  “Well, if I decide to spend any more time with him after this afternoon, I’ll let you know.” I winked at her and grabbed for my glass. If I acted annoyed at their questions, they’d just push all the harder.

  Mom stared down at her plate, and Dad flipped through the pictures as if memorizing them. He probably was, so that the moment I texted a name, he’d know exactly who’d talked me into walking into the woods with them.

  I set my cup down without taking a sip. “You were the ones who wanted me to date. Now you act like I’m doing something wrong.”

  Dad reached for my hand. “We can only be so prepared f
or you to grow up. Sometimes it hits us harder than we expected.”

  A way to work this situation sparked to life. “Maybe you guys could help me out.”

  “How?” Mom clutched her fork like it was a lifeline.

  “Well, some dating advice would be good. Like, what did you talk about when you were dating?”

  They exchanged a look. Finally! The lines between Mom’s eyebrows deepened, and Dad’s forehead wrinkled.

  “I mean,” I hurried to add, “did you have anything in common? Do you now?” I’d thrown out the last bit before considering whether I should or not.

  Mom grinned. “Honey, we have you. That’s the most important thing—you’re the most important thing to us.”

  “That’s right. We can talk about you for hours,” Dad added.

  “Thanks.” My smile was as stiff as the sterling silver fork on my plate.

  “Tell us about the English essay on the assignments page on the website,” Dad folded his arms and leaned forward. “That sounded interesting.” His change of subject was smooth, but I recognized it for what it was—a way to stop talking about them.

  I left for the hike not having any more answers than I did when I’d shown up. I had a lot more questions and a sinking feeling in my gut. Thanks, Mom and Dad.

  I climbed into the car to go back to the dorms to change into hiking pants. Needing a distraction, I pulled out my phone. John’s mom’s blog popped right up. I looked through the images of his mom and dad. They had that connection that I’d hoped to see over brunch. It was there in high-def. He was so lucky.

  I sighed as I traced his face. I missed him.

  Chapter Ten

  I clasped my hands under my chin and watched John’s eyes move back and forth as he scanned the basic algorithm I’d patched together after the hike.

  The possible double date turned out to be half the swim team, Sydney, and me. In other words, it flopped. I sent my dad a group photo and left the details vague. I didn’t need him on my back about appropriate socialization for my age, and I was starting to feel bad that everyone in the whole school had dating figured out but me.

  We were given the last ten minutes of programming class to collaborate. John scrubbed at the back of his head and blew out a minty breath. “This is … this is incredible.”

  I flushed from head to toe. “It’s just a rough draft.”

  “No, really. You’ve got so many variables in here. I’m blown away.”

  I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. His praise meant more to me than Mr. Hubert’s—and I’d lived for a compliment from him on my assignments for the last two years. “It’s a good place to start.” I pulled my laptop closer.

  John got up and came around the blob, bringing his chair with him. He flipped it around and sat on it backward. “Do you want to run a few people through it and see what comes up?”

  I considered it. “I haven’t made it look pretty yet.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I can do that this afternoon and get a few of my friends to fill it out.”

  I ducked my head, hoping he didn’t ask me to get some of my friends to fill it out. I had no idea who I would ask. My BFF had a boyfriend. Then again, Sarah, Jamie, and Trendy had been pretty cool on the hike. They’d probably do it. I really should make an effort to talk to them before the week was up—fan the flames of friendship a little. I shook my head. “I’ll leave that up to you.”

  I fiddled with my pencil. All around us, partners worked over their keyboards or designed flow charts. The atmosphere was full of creativity, but I was struggling to keep my head in class. I kept thinking about my parents and how they didn’t exhibit any signs of attraction. Was that just how married people were or what?

  “What’s going on in that great big brain of yours?” John tapped my temple lightly.

  “You’ve convinced me that a good date will include chemistry. So what if we put these people together and they just don’t have it?”

  “Then they have a great time at the dance, right? That’s the point. To take the pressure off of perfection.” He tugged his tie loose.

  “Yeah, but …” A hundred thoughts ran through my head. What if no one had a good time? What then? I clamped my big ol’ brain shut and kept my worries to myself. “Never mind. Did you come up with any other compatibility parameters?”

  He flipped through his notebook. Now that I looked at it, it was more of a journal than a notebook. The cover was leather, and there was a ribbon placeholder. I liked that he had a quality pad for jotting down ideas. It said something about him—that he was careful and particular and just a little high maintenance.

  “Just the usual,” he said, his head down. “I think, since we’re doing this for a specific experience … A dance is more than just a date; there are expectations. We should add in a few questions for those. Like, do they want a limo or prefer to drive their own car? Do they want to party after or go for a day date before? What kind of food do they like? That sort of thing.”

  I scribbled furiously in my cheap, spiral-bound notebook with easy-tear pages. “That’s fantastic. Where did you come up with this?”

  “Life, I guess. I looked back and saw what went wrong on some of my dates and what seemed to go right. What about you? What have you been through?”

  I cleared my throat. “I, uh … don’t have any experience in that area.” Unless you counted the hike yesterday, and I was not counting it. We stopped for slushies like sixth graders. It was fun, but it wasn’t date-like. I mostly talked to the other girls.

  “What?” he said too loudly for our classroom.

  I glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention. “Shh.” I motioned for him to keep quiet.

  He didn’t. “You’ve never been on a—”

  I clamped one hand over his mouth and hooked the other behind his head. “Stop!” I hissed. “This is not something I brag about.” I mean, I would have at the beginning of the year, but now I got how uncool I was.

  John said something against my palm, and I was acutely aware of how warm his lips were—which only made me more aware of how silky his hair was against my other hand. I pulled my hands away, but in the process, I curled my fingers and let his hair slide through them.

  I couldn’t believe I had done that! I dared to glance at him and found him staring at me like I was a sudoku puzzle on steroids he couldn’t figure out.

  Join the club—I hardly recognized myself these days.

  “Stop looking at me like that.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and focused on my notes.

  “It’s just … you’re really smart and funny and cute, and I’m trying to figure out how you’ve flown under the radar for three years.”

  I glanced up at him and saw the truth of his words in his eyes. They were intense, like the green had cranked up and was three times brighter. “Thanks.” I dropped my gaze.

  He started, as if realizing what all he’d just blurted out.

  I’d already processed it all and stored it in the cloud for backup. He thought I was cute. “When was your first date?” I asked. Not that I wanted to hear about his love life, but I did wonder. How far behind was I, really?

  “My parent set me up when I was 12. With Nicole, of all people. We double-dated with my mom and dad. My mom took pictures the whole time and was posting on social media. It was … awful.” He sagged under the weight of the memory.

  I laughed. “They did not.”

  He cracked a smile. “Yeah. They still try to set me up. Mom wants me to go out with some of the other mommy bloggers’ kids; the cross promotion is supposed to be out of this world.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  “Yeah, I’ll probably go.” He mumbled the words and looked everywhere but me.

  A light clicked on, like I’d added the right electrical fuse to the box. His mom controlled his social life—like, a lot. And maybe other things too. He’d mentioned sneaking off to take programming classes over the summer.

  I wondered if sh
e knew he’d enrolled in this class. Did she check his grades? She’d have to have seen his schedule—didn’t she? If she was like my mom, she dove in daily. Even though I didn’t hear about it all the time, I knew Mom was checking up on me. I didn’t mind. It gave us things to talk about at brunch.

  John tapped his fingers on the back of my chair. “I guess you have some research to do.”

  “Me?” I reread what I’d written. “No, I think I can just code in what we have.”

  He frowned and pushed my book down, ducking to get me to meet his eye. “You need to go on a date.”

  My heart stopped and then took off running like this was the Olympics. “Uh—no.” I barely held back from telling him he sounded like my dad. It was bad enough that John knew I’d lived date-less for two years of high school. I didn’t need him knowing my dad set social goals for me too. That was just embarrassing.

  “Uh—yeah.” He took my notebook out of my hands and closed it. “It’s for the good of the project. How can you expect to connect with our target audience if you don’t understand them?”

  “Okay.” I looked around again. “Please stop talking so loud.”

  He swiveled his gaze across the room and then brought it back to me, leaning closer and talking quieter. “I’ll set you up with someone, taking into account all the information we’ve already discussed. I just need to know your expectations for dinner and transportation.”

  My galloping heart put on the brakes, and I realized I’d been hoping he was going to ask me out. Maybe even take me back to the fire pit at his house and roast a few marshmallows. Why did that sound so romantic?

  “Adelle?” He waved his hand in front of my face, washing away the images in my head as if they were made of smoke.

  “I’ll meet him there.” I’d gathered enough information in my earlier research to know that you didn’t let a blind date pick you up. What if they were a psychopath? Or boring? Or egotistical? Or whatever. A girl needed to have a way out.

  “Fair enough. I’ll text you the address. What kind of food do you like?” He had his phone out, scrolling through his Insta followers.