We Could Be Dreamers

1

"I just don't get what you see in her." 

I glance over at Tyler Mathews. He's leaning back in his chair staring at Brooke Rojas, whom I may or may not be madly in love with. 

"Alright," I say flatly. "So this is actually a lot of work that we have to do here—"

"I mean." He cuts me off, much to my annoyance. "She's kind of pretty, I guess. And she has nice tits. Is that why you're into her? Tits?"

I cough, feeling my face heat up. "Um, no," I say quickly. "I'm not into Brooke because of her tits,"  I hiss, keeping my voice low. "Could you please drop it?" 

It's not that Brooke doesn't have nice tits. If I were to really think about it—which, admittedly, I have—I'd say that she does have nice tits. It's just that her tits really aren't the reason I've had feelings for her since I first learned what love was. 

Tyler rolls his eyes. "Fine," he mutters, tapping his pencil restlessly on the desk. "How long is this gonna take?" 

I sigh, glaring at him out of the corner of my eye. "It'd go a lot faster if you were helping me with this like you're supposed to be—"

"Which isn't gonna happen."

"But it'll probably be another ten minutes." 

"You can't go any faster?" Tyler asks impatiently. "I was supposed to meet up with Ellah like ten minutes ago."

I snort at the mention of his girlfriend, copying down the formula we were supposed to have memorized earlier. "Should I tell her that you think Brooke has nice tits?"

"Don't you fucking dare," Tyler warns, leaning forward. 

Across the room, Brooke stands up and leaves, having finished the assignment. Technically teachers aren't allowed to keep us during lunch, but Mr. Lancer doesn't care about technicalities. There are only a couple students left in the classroom now. 

"And you can't go any faster?" He repeats impatiently, leaning forward to see what I'm doing. My cheeks flush as I feel his breath hot against my neck. 

"No, I can't," I reply, shoving him  away as I plug numbers into my calculator. I want to get out of this classroom as badly as he does. 

Honestly, I don't even know why I'm friends with a guy like Tyler. 

Okay, that's a lie. I know why I'm friends with him. Because we're both on the hockey team, and apparently it's this unspoken rule that all the hockey people are supposed to clump together. 

I do like hockey.

I just don't really like people who play hockey. 

"What? Don't like me so close?" Tyler teases, leaning into to me again. "No homo, bro," he laughs. 

"That's it," I mutter, standing up. The assignment's only half-done, but at this point I don't really care. 

"Thank you!" Tyler cheers, pulling out his phone and presumably texting Ellah that he's finally free. 

I set the assignment on Mr. Lancer's desk. The teacher barely acknowledges it, eyes not budging from his computer screen. 

I shoulder my bag and walk out the classroom door.