12
Poppy
When I told my parents that I might want to major in Political Science, they stared at me, tipped their heads, and asked, “why?”
I didn’t have an answer. I still don’t, which is why I’m still undeclared and get a suspecting brow raise whenever someone asks. I keep waiting for this grand moment where life opens the proverbial curtains and magical horns blare, and I have an epiphany moment that points me in the direction of my dream career.
It hasn’t happened yet.
I walk out of my microeconomics class wondering how on earth Rose found the course interesting and want nothing more than my bed, a really good sandwich, and a nap.
Unfortunately, I don’t have time for any one of them because I’m meeting Paxton at the pizzeria he’d sent me directions to last night so we could finally declare some rules. The restaurant is close to my apartment and a solid twenty minutes from campus. I haven’t seen my fake boyfriend since Saturday when I made out with him at the bonfire in front of wondering gazes with his number painted on my cheek.
I didn’t write about the kiss in my journal that night. I haven’t written about it since, either. For some reason, I’ve struggled to write or even remember those brief moments. Instead, I’ve been playing a fun game that I like to call Avoidance 101. I’m pretty sure Paxton is, too, because I only heard from him once this week, and it was to arrange this meeting. The lack of communication had left me wondering no less than a hundred times if he had changed his mind about our situation.
“Hey,” Paxton says, standing as I pull open the door of Mario’s Pizzeria. Oregano, basil, and tomatoes demand me to take another deep breath. It smells heavenly, and my stomach growls with approval.
Pax grins. “Let’s order, and then we can talk.”
“How have I never been here?” I ask, peering at their menu on the back wall that offers pizza by the slice or the pie.
He grins. “I’ve been working here every summer for the past five years. It’s a little farther from campus, so we won’t run into people we know, plus free pizza.”
“Free pizza is definitely a perk.”
His grin widens, and he nods in the direction of the counter. “You want cheese and olives?”
I stare at him. He stares back. “You know my order?” I ask.
“I’ve known you for fifteen years, and you’ve always ordered cheese and olives on your pizza.”
This causes my cheeks to heat with embarrassment. He’s right, of course, but I didn’t realize he’d noticed.
“Hey, Pax,” a guy at the counter with sleeve tattoos, large gauges in his ears, and a full beard says.
“Hey, Dominic. You’re working again, huh?”
The guy smiles. “I’ve got to save up for ski season,” he says.
“This is Poppy,” Pax says, skipping over the label we’re both unfamiliar with.
Dominic lifts his smile to me, and I catch that he also has two eyebrow rings. “Nice to meet you.”
“You as well.”
“You guys want some pizza?”
Pax nods and recites our order, adding garlic knots and drinks like he can read my mind.
“My stomach is eating itself,” I say as we take our empty cups to the soda fountain. I fill my mine with ice and then Sprite and take a sip to settle my stomach as Pax fills his with root beer. It’s a detail I’d forgotten that sparks a dozen memories filled with root beer floats and dinners over at the Lawson house.
“What?” he asks.
“Do you remember that big snow storm we had? It was my eighth-grade year, so you would have been a sophomore, and we were in your parents’ garage looking for the sleds, and all of that root beer your grandpa had put out there to get cold for floats had exploded.”
He chuckles. “Oh, Gramps was so pissed. That made such a mess.”
“Your mom was so mad at him.”
His smile fades too soon as we make our way over to a small table to wait for our food. I wonder if I shouldn’t have brought up his family? I know he’s had a tough time with his parent’s divorce.
I need food. I am a snacker, a grazer, a bonafide food lover. When I don’t get something to eat, I am the very definition of hangry, but I forget about how hungry I am and how good it smells in here and that I need to buy granola bars or something to snack on between classes on Wednesdays as I face Paxton. He’s going to tell me this was a bad idea, that we can look back on this and laugh about the fact anyone believed that we were a couple.
“How’s your week been going?” he asks.
I swallow and slowly nod. “Good. Good.” I have no idea why I just repeated myself, but I’m going to blame it on hunger and not nerves because there’s absolutely no reason to be nervous or feel awkward about sitting across from my best friend’s older brother. “Yours?”
He runs a hand through his hair and then follows the arch of his left eyebrow with his index finger. Near the edge of it is a scar that I’d never noticed before, though it feels like I should know its history. “Long,” he says. “We have a big game this weekend. You probably already know that because of Rae.”
I nod. “Yeah. She said they’re a big-hitting team.”
“Yeah, they’re pretty aggressive.” He leans back, his shoulders so broad that he conceals the entire back of his chair.
We’re both silent for a moment, reminding me how Paxton and I have never spent much time alone. Almost always, Rae is with us as well as a couple of his friends.
“Here you guys are,” Dominic says, delivering slices of pizza with melted, gooey cheese and twisted breadsticks that have been sprinkled with salt and garlic powder.
“Thanks,” I say.
Dominic nods. “Yeah, if you guys need anything else, let me know.”
I eye the slices of pizza, working
