Pure Red by Danielle Joseph

two of us sitting on the couch in my condo. It’s nice.
    The only other guy I’ve ever had at my place is Zach, my ninth grade science partner and apparently another fan of my dad’s. Zach overheard Dad singing “Yellow Submarine” one night when we were on the phone. Turns out Zach was a Beatles fanatic and actually thought my dad had a decent signing voice. Lucky me, Zach called the next afternoon when I was out and Dad invited him to dinner. Talk about invasion of privacy. By the time I got home, Zach had already toured my house, including my bedroom, and was eating chips and salsa at the kitchen table with Dad. Graham’s definitely a step up. He doesn’t suck on his retainer or carry a magnifying glass in his back pocket. No offense to Zach, of course.
    “Thanks for having me over.” Graham pulls a fish-shaped coaster from the stack, slaps it down on the coffee table, and settles his glass on top of it.
    “It’s nothing.” I shrug.
    “You’re really laid back, not like most girls,” Graham says. “I like that.”
    If he only knew how I fell asleep dreaming about him, had Liz play sleuth and look him up in the yearbook, and spent thirty minutes rummaging through my closet searching for the perfect outfit.
    “Thanks.” I smile. “I try.” This is the point where Liz would say, Jump his bones, move in for the kiss . The very same point where I’d say, For one thing, my dad is in the next room, and for another thing, Graham never said anything about being even remotely attracted to me. So I do the only passive-aggressive thing I can think of and let down my ravishing light-brown hair (at least the new conditioner I used said it would look ravishing). It’s damp and wavy, so it looks extra thick. For all I know, he’s not a hair man, but I’ll give it a try. I flip it back with my hand and move slightly closer to him. “So what classes are you taking in the fall?”
    “Besides the required stuff? Graphic Design and Intensive Art.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Kind of something I designed myself and had to get approved by the department head, Mr. Rogan. It’s like being an artist’s apprentice. Learn from a master and produce a series of pieces by the end of the semester. I figure it’s best to get started this summer while I have more time.”
    I glance at his legs hoping he’ll move in closer to me, but he doesn’t budge. “Sounds interesting,” I say, a second before I realize what’s coming next.
    “Yeah, I’m really lucky they approved it. I had to write a five-page paper on my goals and what I expect to achieve from doing the study. Mr. Rogan is no joke.”
    I would have so failed that assignment. I’m having trouble finding just one personal goal.
    “Wow, I wish I was doing something cool like that.”
    Oops, I shouldn’t have said that aloud. Now I sound more boring than ever. If he ever finds out that my resume is almost blank, he’ll probably stop talking to me.
    “You could. You can.” He sits up straight. “They approv e a lot of things as long as you can show it has educat ional merit .” He makes imaginary quotation marks in the air and laughs. “A friend of mine is really into astron omy and is doing this whole project with some famous astronomer guy. Kale, I think his name is.”
    “So, you want me to ask my dad if he can be your mentor?” I say. I should add some requirements to the mentorship … You have to sleep over every weekend, date the mentor’s daughter, and carry a photo of her around in your wallet. Hee hee.
    “Well, ah …” Graham shuffles in his seat. “That would be awesome, but I don’t want to impose.”
    Something about him being all nervous turns me on even more. I wonder if Graham has any clue how cute he really is. He must. I’m sure girls are all over him. He probably travels with a posse that rushes him to and from classes.
    I get up from the couch. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” I walk over to Dad’s studio and open the door.