Date Me, Bryson Keller

by Kevin van Whye

For most of the period I try my hardest to ignore Bryson. But then I lose the war against myself. I turn to secretly look at him, and end up looking directly into his eyes. For the second time this hour, I stop breathing.

I take another long sip from my drink. Bryson stares at me. “What?” I wipe my lips. “Do I have something on my face again?” “I’m just curious about something.” “What is it?” “Why do you assume that everyone you like is straight?”

Between these four walls is the only place in my world where I can let my truth fly free. Are you there, Loneliness? It’s me, Kai.

On my screen is a selfie of Bryson Keller. His face is pulled into an overdramatic shocked expression. And he captioned it: Are you flirting with me?

With a start, I realize that it’s the first time I’ve seen it. He’s looking everywhere but at me. And I can’t help but wonder why …. Bryson’s straight, right? He shouldn’t be as bothered by me as I am by him.

“Is this a part of your dare?” I ask. Bryson’s silent for a heartbeat. He studies our hands. I’m not sure what he’s thinking and before I can ask, he nods. “It’s okay if you don’t want to—” Bryson starts to remove his hand from mine. “No,” I say. If his previous dates got to experience this, then I want to as well. Bryson smiles, and that’s how we walk to the Jeep. He opens my door and helps me get in, then races across the front of the car. Bryson settles into the driver’s seat and makes a show of taking my hand in his once more. This time he even interlocks our fingers. Bryson Keller and I hold hands the rest of the way home. And I take my first step into quicksand.

“Bryson sticks to his rules. Nothing physical, not even holding hands, between him and his dare dates.”

“To answer your question,” Bryson says. “Yes, I think I might be.” And with that, he pulls off, leaving me breathless and full of even more questions.

I startle at the question. “April fifteenth. Why?” “That’s soon. I better get book shopping.” “Do you plan to still be dating me by then?” I mean it as a joke, but Bryson fixes me with a look, and when he answers, he’s dead serious. “Yes.”

It’s tangible proof that Bryson Keller likes me. My eyes are wide in surprise, and there’s no denying the flush in my cheeks. Bryson’s eyes are closed as he pecks me. “Perfect,” he says.

Bryson pulls back and his eyes open. He looks at me, then smiles. It’s not tight-lipped and nervous. It’s big and genuine. It’s the smile you want to get after kissing someone. “I just broke all my rules.” He sighs.

“Sorry.” My voice is breathless and not even a little apologetic. My heart hammers in my chest. I’m barely keeping myself standing upright. “Don’t. Don’t apologize,” Bryson says. “Not for that kiss, never for that kiss.”

I sigh. I’m too emotionally drained to deal with this—any of it. I want nothing more than to jump into bed and dream about Bryson. But in life, we simply don’t always get what we want.