inkskinned:

“you don’t know how to use ctrl-z?” i couldn’t help my smile. her nails are short but colored pretty. she’s chewing one again, staring at microsoft word. she always wears the nicest dresses. 

“you’re a tutor,” she says, “not a judgement person.”

“currently filling both positions,” i tell her. i make a note to write her up a card of handy keyboard shortcuts. she types with one finger, pecking away. it is my favorite half-hour of every day. 

“you’re sure you’re only a year older than i am?” i ask, not for the first time. a blush spreads across her face. “you’re not ninety?” i ask, because i love watching her smile, and the way she fights the smile down.

“shut up,” she says, “help me write the essay.”

in a week from this, i will catch her in the corner of the library on a laptop, quickly typing with all of her fingers while sipping an iced starbucks idly. 

when she sees me, she freezes before smiling. “guess you did a good job teaching,” she says, standing, “i’m cured, magically.” her voice is low. 

“i made you this,” i hold up the laminated card. why is my hand shaking. “a cheatsheet for keyboard keys.” why did that sound like i just learned words for the first time. i am a public embarrassment.

she takes it. when her warm hands meet mine, she doesn’t pull away. we stand there, two people holding a useless card between us. 

“you illustrated it,” she whispers. “how long did this take you?”

i don’t say anything. i don’t want to tell her that this was my 17th draft of the thing, that i had spent hours worried that she wouldn’t like it or would be offended. i don’t know why we’re still standing there, holding it, our hands touching. 

she steps closer. she smells good, but i feel like that’s a weird thing to think about someone, so i try to put it out of my head. like it’s weird to notice her faint nude lipstick or how the pink of her dress brings out the color of her dark skin or how her eyes are so big and brown and stunning. 

“are you really failing english?” my voice cracks a little.

she grins. “i am not taking english,” she whispers, “i’m a biochem major and i finished my gen eds.” 

i don’t say anything. i look up at her. her free hand comes up to my chin. she’s so warm. so gentle. i feel my heart escaping my ribs.

“sorry,” she says, “i don’t need a tutor, but i would like a girlfriend.” 

“i can fill both positions,” i blurt, and then feel myself blush the darkest red. 

she leans in. “trust me,” she breathes, “I’m counting on it.”