I was madly kissing someone, probably a boy. His hand was tangled in my hair and my hand was tangled in his. My eyes were closed. I opened them and saw... Oliver. My heart stopped. How the heck did I end up kissing him? I tried to remember, but my mind was blank. I was concentrating on the kiss. My first kiss.
"Rose! Rose!" yelled a distant voice.
Who dared to disturb our long and passionate first kiss?
Suddenly, I was being shaken up. And right there, before my eyes, Oliver disappeared. Weirdly, he was replaced by my mom's face.
"What. Just. Happened." I asked, extremely confused and disappointed that Oliver was gone.
"We have to go to the synagogue," mom said.
"But, why?" I questioned.
"Because it's Saturday and we promised your dad that we would go," answered my mother matter-of-factly.
That's when I understood that I had been sleeping and that the whole kiss was my imagination. I was so stupid. How could I think that we would kiss? But I was also smart enough to realise what the fact that I actually dreamt of this kiss meant. It meant that I definitely and irreversibly liked Oliver.
YOU ARE READING
The jock and the nerd. Or not
RomanceShe was a nerd, he was a jock. Typical beginning, unusual end.
