Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World (Aristotle and Dante #2)(13)

I watched them. I liked watching them. And then I heard Dante’s voice. “You like watching, don’t you?”

“Guess so,” I said. “Maybe I’m like my dad.”

I made my way up the steps and sat next to him. He and Legs were busy loving on each other. I wanted to lay my head on his shoulder—but I didn’t. I was too sweaty, and I smelled bad.

“You want to go somewhere today?”

“Sure,” I said. “We could take a long ride in the truck, you know, before school starts.”

“School. Ugh.”

“I thought you liked school.”

“I know all I’m ever gonna learn in high school.”

That made me laugh. “So there’s nothing left to learn?”

“Well, not a whole year’s worth. We should go straight to college and live together.”

“Is that the plan?”

“Of course that’s the plan.”

“What if we kill each other—as roommates?”

“We won’t kill each other. And we’ll be more than roommates.”

“I get that,” I said. I so didn’t want to have this conversation. “I’m going home to take a shower.”

“Take one here. I’ll shower with you.”

That made me laugh. “I’m not sure your mother would be big on that idea.”

“Yeah, well, parents sometimes get in the way of all the fun.”

On the way home, I pictured Dante and me in the shower together.

A part of me wanted to run away from all the complications of being in love with Dante. Maybe Ari plus Dante equaled love, but it also equaled complicated. It also equaled playing hide-and-seek with the world. But there was a difference between the art of running and the art of running away.





Twenty-Two


DANTE AND I WENT SWIMMING later that day. We got into a splashing war, and I thought that the only reason we did that was because we got to accidentally touch each other. On the short walk back to his house, Dante made a face.

“What was that?” I said.

“I was thinking about school. And that bullshit of looking up at your teachers as if you really believe they’re smarter than you are is a little bit annoying.”

“Annoying?” I laughed. “Annoying” was definitely a Dante word.

“Is that funny?”

“No. You like to say the word ‘annoying.’?”

“What? It’s not a word you know?”

“It’s not that—it’s just that it’s not a word I use.”

“Well, what do you say when something annoys you?”

“I say it pisses me off.”

All of a sudden Dante got this great look on his face. “That’s awesome,” he said. “That’s fucking awesome.” He leaned into me and nudged me with his shoulder.

“You’re interesting, Dante. You love words like ‘interminable,’ as in ‘I’m interminably bored,’ and words like ‘liminal’—”

“Did you look the word up?”

“I did. I can even use it in a sentence: Aristotle and Dante reside in a liminal space.”

“Fucking awesome.”

“See, that’s why you’re interesting. You’re a walking dictionary and you love to cuss.”

“That’s what makes me interesting?”

“Yes.”

“Is it better to be interesting or it to be handsome?”

“Are you fishing for a compliment, Dante?”

He smiled.

“Being interesting and being handsome aren’t mutually exclusive.” I looked at him, looked straight into his big, clear brown eyes and grinned. “Mutually exclusive. God, I’m starting to talk like you.”

“Talking like you have a brain isn’t such a bad thing.”

“No, it isn’t. But using your vocabulary as a tool to remind everybody that you’re a superior being is—”

“You’re starting to piss me off.”

“And now you’re talking like me.” I laughed. He didn’t. “You are a superior being,” I said. “And you’re interesting and you’re handsome, and…” I rolled my eyes. “And you’re charming.” And then we both cracked up laughing, because “charming” was his mother’s word. Every time he got into trouble, his mother would say, “Dante Quintana, you’re not nearly as charming as you think you are.” But he was that word “charming.” I was thinking that Dante could charm the pants right off of me. And my underwear, too.

God, I had a dirty mind. I was going straight to hell.





Twenty-Three


Dear Dante,

When I was helping you clean your room, I got to wondering why you like to be so messy when everything in your mind seems to be so organized. The sketch of the vinyl records you did and of the record player is amazing. When you took it out from under your bed and showed it to me, I couldn’t even talk. I saw that you had tons of sketches under your bed. Someday I’d like to sneak into your room and take them all out and run my hand over every sketch. It would be like touching you.