Bryson, First Victim

One windy Tuesday in October, precisely three months after my fifteenth birthday, and as I pushed the hair out of my eyes, I made both a mistake and a discovery.

We've been going out for a week. A whole week. And still, she hasn't let me kiss her. What does she think she is, twelve?!

I stiffened and glanced over at my friend. I mean, I was aware he liked to grouse about things, but I never thought he'd come to me for relationship advice. I was a bit too much of a geek for him to think me useful in such situations.

"You know, a week's not very long. Besides, don't you think that's being pushy? She's a nice girl."

If a blood-running-cold surprise had a face, it would be Bryson's. "What did you say?"

"Well, I'm aware I'm not much good when it comes to giving you advice in such things, and to put it bluntly, I'm surprised you even thought to ask my opinion. But I do think you're probably taking things too fast. Girls are like that, aren't they?"

I was having a hard time dealing with the shock and fear on his face. I've never been good with social interactions, or people, and I couldn't quite understand what this particular expression meant.

"Are you alright? Did you hear me? Is there an extra-terrestrial life form standing behind me?" I offered, trying to be helpful and move things along.

I've always known this guy was weird... but mind-reading? No. That can't be it. He's just really perceptive. Of course.

"I'm glad you think I'm perceptive. Mind-reading is impossible, you know."

Bryson was backing away. Slowly. "You know... You've never had a girlfriend. Let alone kissed one. Don't meddle in my life." He turned and fled.

And get out of my head!

I was left standing there, my too-long hair poking me in the eye, wondering what the hell just happened.

The End

0 comments about this story Feed