How To Date A Christian Dork: A Helpful Handbook For The Datingly Impaired.

Tip 12: Don't Try to Kiss the Dork

Tip 12: Don't Try to Kiss the Dork

It had been a week since I last spoke to Brett. He had studiously avoided me, going as far as to tell Mr. Smart that he was no longer in need of a tutor. Any time he saw me in the hallways, he looked the other way. In class, he made sure he was always seated at the opposite end of the room. He had even sent me a text saying that he had deleted his copy of my e-diary. I wouldn't admit it to anyone else, but I actually missed the guy—just not enough to swallow my pride and apologize.

I was on my way to my English class, another class in which Brett had been conscientiously avoiding me. Taking my usual seat, I opened Romeo and Juliet and started reading Romeo's passionate declarations of love.

"Hi," said a voice, I hadn't heard in about a week.

"Brett?" I said, my eyes widening slightly.

"Yep, in the flesh," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I just—"

"Good morning, students," said Miss Arthur, as she entered the classroom, her jet black hair pulled into a severe bun, glasses perched on her nose. She was undoubtedly the strictest teacher at Emerson High. Seriously, there had been a vote.

"Bring your textbooks out, please. Today we're reading Act One Scene Five. For now, Bernard, you act as the first servant, Louisa, the second servant, Frederick, third servant, Tyler, Capulet, James, second Capulet, Francis, Tybalt, Fiona, Juliet and Eric, Romeo. Come to the front of the class with your books. I assume you've already brushed through—it's only the first act—so put your all into it!"

"Where is Potpan, that he helps not to take away?" stated Bernard. "He shift a trencher! He scrape a trencher!"

As they continued acting, Brett nudged me.

"Yo, Kayla," he hissed. I did my best to ignore him. Being caught not paying attention in one of Miss Arthur's classes was like signing your very own death warrant.

"Kayla Adams," he hissed again. I closed my eyes. Not going to listen, not going to listen, not going to—a wad of paper hit my head.

Gritting my teeth to keep from snapping at him, I discretely unfolded the paper, keeping one eye on Miss Arthur.

Kayla,

We need to talk. BTW, Aunt Lisa gave me some cookies for you.

Brett.

"Later," I whispered.

"O—"

"Miss Adams! Mr. Hollister! Is there something you would like to share with the class? Perhaps that piece of paper, Miss Adams?" Miss Arthur raised a quizzical eyebrow. Shame-faced, I slid out of my seat and handed the paper to her.

"Mhmm, I see," she said, frowning. "Kayla, you are Juliet for today. Brett, Romeo. Fiona and Eric, you may take your seats."

The class burst into laughter, and I caught a few wolf-whistles here and there.

"Erm, Miss Arthur, I really—"

"Are you arguing with me, Miss Adams? I sincerely hope not." It was a simple statement, but the threat was there—I had no choice.

"No, please," I sighed.

"Brett, take it from, your hand is like a holy place that my hand is unworthy to visit," said Miss Arthur. I had a sneaking suspicion that she had purposely chosen this part of the act as punishment for passing the note.

Brett: Your hand is like a holy place that my hand is unworthy to visit. If you're offended by the touch of my hand, my two lips are standing here like blushing pilgrims, ready to make things better with a kiss.

He took one of my hands in his. I had to admit it; the guy was a really good actor.

Me: Good pilgrim, you don't give your hand enough credit. By holding my hand you show polite devotion. After all, pilgrims touch the hands of statues of saints. Holding one palm against another is like a kiss.

Brett: Don't saints and pilgrims have lips too?

His voice was breathless. It wass if he was anxiously awaiting my answer. For a second, I was drawn into his eyes as they looked at me, seemingly endless pools of cerulean. Then I shook my head and remembered that it was Brett Hollister I was close to mooning over.

Me: Yes pilgrim—they have lips that they're supposed to pray with.

Brett: Well then, saint, let lips do what hands do. I'm praying for you to kiss me. Please grant my prayer so my faith doesn't turn to despair.

Me: Saints don't move, even when they grant prayers.

At this point, my palms were starting to sweat. We were getting closer to the kissing part of this scene, and I was waiting for Miss Arthur to say 'Cut', but she seemed as engrossed in the play as the rest of the class was.

Brett: Then don't move whilst I act out my prayer.

He paused for a second and smirked. Then he closed his eyes and leaned in.

In hindsight, maybe there was another way to handle the situation. I mean, the fact that the butterflies in my stomach were having one of the wildest parties in the history of wild parties did not mean I had to do what I did, right?

I'm proud of my self-control and my tight rein on my emotions. I always analyze an action before I carry it out, but at that moment I did something I never thought I would do.

I...

I'm back lovely people! I am so sorry that I have taken forever and a day to update. I haven't been very active on Wattpad; I'm actually in University now, so I have so much I need to do...assignments to stay on top of and all that. Because I'm rather busy nowadays, updates will be rather sporadic.

That being said, I will try my best to get back to you as soon as possible! The next chapter (which I have already started working on) is actually one major turning point in the story!

What do you think Kayla did? I'd love to get to know your views on it.