Theoretically Speaking

Chapter One

The world consisted of three kinds of people: the pessimists, the optimists, and the generally confused. Or so a homeless man had told me one morning after I’d caught him getting high in a woman’s public bathroom. My guess is that he’d been part of the generally confused.

“I swear, Aeryn, it’s like you live in this…dream world where everything is supposed to go according to plan,” my best friend said without bothering to look up from her word search. Brooke was very much of a pessimist who preferred the title of a realist, as she sat on her high horse and accused the optimists of being dreamers. Her long, black hair suddenly fell out of its ponytail, some strands dipping in her coffee mug. The broken hair elastic tumbled down and into the drink. “Crap.” She took her dripping hair from the coffee and dried it with the napkins at our table as I took my hair out of its bun and handed her my elastic.

“I’m an optimist who likes to plan things. Sue me.” I broke the top off my carrot muffin and took a bite out of it.

After cleaning up her mess, Brooke pulled her hair in a tight, high bun, then pushed her coffee away from her to the center of the table. “You’re not an optimist. You’re a dreamer. You live in the clouds.”

I rolled my eyes. I didn’t live in the clouds. I simply had a bit of an obsession, which had developed when my mother first read me Cinderella. From there, my obsession over finding my own Prince Charming had begun, and nothing could stand in my way. If I had to jump over a fence to ensure that my new neighbor wasn’t my Prince Charming and in the process sprained my wrist, then so be it. If I had to face my fear of psychics to find a clue about the identity of said Prince Charming, so be it. If I had to ridicule myself in front of every guy who asked me out…again, so be it.

But I had to admit that two second dates in eighteen years – in contrast to my ten or so first dates – didn’t look too promising. In fact, it seemed as if Claire’s clue had only given me a massive setback in the dating department.

“I don’t live in the clouds.” I took another bite from my muffin top and put it down.

“Oh, really?” She hid her smile. “You think you’re dating a guy named Jake. If that’s not living in the clouds, I don’t know what is.”

“Blake.” I waved a hand to dismiss Blake, a product of a lie that impulsively came out to keep my mom from pestering about my love life. “I made him up so my mom could leave me alone. You know how much she bugs me about wanting a stupid son-in-law. I’m eighteen for heaven’s sake, and we don’t live in the eighteenth century.” Brooke chuckled. “I just wish Claire had actually been useful.” I blew on my hot chocolate before taking a sip from it. I could feel the hot liquid warming my entire body and took another sip, ignoring the light burn on my tongue. “’He has a strong aversion to tampons.’” Even after three years, the words were still clear in my mind. “Every guy has an aversion to tampons!” My exasperated cry earned a few stares from those sitting around us and a glare from Brooke, who despised unnecessary attention. “What kind of guy doesn’t have an aversion to tampons?” I hissed, bringing my voice down.

Brooke tucked a strand of her black hair behind her ear. Placing the tip of her pen in her mouth, she leaned forward on the table, thinking about the situation. “Well, it all depends on how you’re looking at it. An ‘aversion’ could refer to a simple dislike, extreme loathing, disgust—”

“We have a dictionary at home, Brooke,” I grumbled, staring at the steam rising from my cup. My phone buzzed, and an NBA update appeared on the screen. The Boston Celtics had acquired a new player after a trade that I had been rooting for, for nearly three months. But even this couldn’t temper my gloomy mood.