the nova turner paradox

i. wild, curly mess

01:10 

♫

There was one rule I wished I knew: never wash your mouth after kissing a boy. I won't elaborate as of the moment because then it would lead me to talk about where it all began: a horrific, one-of-the-many traumatic experiences of my high school extravaganza, which, to be honest, I'd rather not delve into. For now.

But take note that breaking that one, singular rule had led me to a moment that defined me – Cora Flair – to who I am today. After going through what I had gone through, I'd like to confidently declare that that rule is nothing but complete, utter bullshit. In fact, I'd like to change that: don't kiss boys in the first place.

But this story isn't about kissing boys: or about boys, or about kissing, for that matter – this story is a bit more than that. A million bits more than that. It is quite a bit . . . enigmatic, so to speak.

Here goes nothing.

It was November 8, 3:01 PM. It was eight hours before the night when it all began, and I remember myself standing in the locker hallways. I was in my cheerleader uniform, merely wanting water to soak my tongue and teeth and lungs because god I was so thirsty after doing herkies and toe touches for hours, but there I was standing in front of a boy – who was so unimportant I'd forgotten his name thus for the sake of this story I'd call him Kent – because I Kent stand him – talking about how his parents weren't home that night and how it'd be amazing if I were to come over.

For three years I had mastered a smile that I hoped conveyed a kind of sweetness so powerful he would think he'd tasted candy just by looking at it. With the littlest strength I had, that's what I gave Kent.

"That would be fun," I said. Cheerleaders are good liars. "But as I told you, I have a curfew."

"Come on, Cora – I can sneak you out, what do you say?"

It was unfair for me to call him unimportant because in our local high school where almost everybody knows almost everybody, he was called the coolest, the hottest, and the most popular. I couldn't see that really, but maybe I just didn't have the same standards as everyone else. In simple high school terms, he just effortlessly ticked off the 'hot guy' checklist that is: hot, rich, tall, and must be an athlete of some sort, whoever the hell set that. They probably forgot about brains, manners, and proper hygiene or something. I hate boys like him. Or to make that short, I just hate boys.

"Maybe next time," I said, still maintaining that same smile.

"Fine," he said with a disappointed sigh. "Can't I really change your mind?"

It took so much strength to not sigh and roll my eyes in front of him. I badly wanted water at that moment. I was tired and my legs were about to give up. The muscles I used to make myself smile were nearing its collapse that I was certain my face would fall apart any second, and the faint scent of his strong cologne he probably stole from his father's closet (that was making me nauseous) certainly was not helping.

"Sorry," I said, and he only shrugged with a smile as a response.

"Well then, can I take you home at least?"

I have not the slightest idea why that boy was acting as though he was my boyfriend. I'm sure he must have heard the stupid rumor going around that we were going out because according to our schoolmates, we were the 'perfect match'. The cheerleader and the varsity player. The cutest girl and the hottest boy. It is so sickeningly heterosexual and I am not into that. Besides, just because stupid rumors are going around like that didn't mean that he should act upon it too. As for me, I couldn't give a single damn about what my schoolmates thought – I simply wanted them, and especially Kent, to leave me the hell alone. What I'd rather do than to come over to his house was for me to go home and watch a sapphic film in my room while shoving plain salted potato chips in my mouth.