How to Keep a Boy from Kissing You: Chapter 15

As soon as I got home, I began brainstorming about Beatrice’s Potential Prince. It was really difficult. As I’d said to Hayden, unless I had a time machine and could interrogate the Bard about his characters, it was all assumption, including Beatrice’s taste in men.

Wait a minute. I’d spent the last two days remarking how similar Beatrice and I seemed. We both fully realised the abundance of toads instead of princes on the dating scene. We both wielded our weapons of intelligence and good humour masterfully. And we both had to deal with interfering, egocentric males. So if we had similarities, who was to say our Potential Princes didn’t too? If I wrote my own list of characteristics of the perfect man, then it would probably resemble Beatrice’s!

My ideal man … this was going to take a while. I’d recently read a book that suggested identifying favourable characteristics in your friends and applying them to what you wanted in a man. That could work. I mean, you wouldn’t have those people as friends unless you admired them, would you? And, like your friends, your soul mate had to be someone you enjoyed hanging out with.

So … Cassie. What qualities did she have that a Potential Prince needed? Well, sensitivity and compassion towards others. Those were a must. Cassie was also honest, trustworthy and, above all else, kind.

Jelena’s best points were her ambition, independence and innovative thinking. My Potential Prince had to want to become something, or have a goal he was working towards. Just like my goal to become a relationship guru. He’d also have to be independent and give me time alone. Look at how much I had going on in my life already! A boyfriend could only be one of my many concerns.

Sara’s best quality was her passion for a cause — whether it was feminism, or getting better choices for the school canteen. She wouldn’t give up till she got results. My Potential Prince had to want to make the world a better place.

And Lindsay had one of the most vital characteristics required for my dream guy. She was a romantic. Or at least she had been until the decimation of TylerandLindsay. She had believed wholeheartedly in true love and all that came with it — thoughtful gestures, faith, trust and commitment.

My heart warmed as I looked at the list in front of me. But there were still lots of things that I considered vital missing from it.

Hey, I counted as a friend, didn’t I? So … what were my best qualities?

I had wit and intelligence, so I needed an equal with whom I could discuss anything. And a positive attitude was all important. I was an upbeat woman who totally believed that the glass was half full. Other characteristics? I wanted a funny, monogamous gentleman with a to-die-for smile and a tall, broad-shouldered physique.

I got out my calligraphy equipment and wrote down my Potential Prince List.

How long would it take before my wishes were fulfilled? Where was my Potential Prince now? Had he even started out on his quest? Was love’s first kiss in the immediate future? Or would I still be unkissed at thirty-five?

Oh my god! Here was my poem for Mrs Kent’s English class! I started scribbling.

‘What a wonderful day to be exploring the passion of poetry!’ Mrs Kent gestured at the hearts strung up around the room. I just loved teachers who got into the spirit of Valentine’s Day.

‘I’d like to collect the assigned pieces,’ Mrs Kent said as she walked down the classroom aisle. ‘And don’t worry. All poems will be kept anonymous.’

I looked over my poem one more time. I’d agonised over it since Tuesday afternoon.

Okay, so it wasn’t perfect — there were some clichés and the rhyming scheme lacked discipline — but it was truthful. That was what I considered important.

Hayden turned around and smiled at me. ‘Hey, do I get to read your poem?’

I yanked it away. ‘Paris, haven’t you heard of privacy?’

There was no way he was going to get a peek at a poem that had me calling out for a Prince.

‘Privacy. That usually means you won’t find your next-door neighbour and her friends cavorting in your pool, doesn’t it?’

I ignored him.

‘Well, seeing as poems express our heart’s deepest wishes, I won’t insist on seeing your piece,’ he continued.

I smiled at him. Hayden saying he wouldn’t interfere? How surprising.

‘After all, only a brave heart could cope with the object of her poem reading it right in front of her.’

‘What?’ I shrilled. ‘The poem’s not about you!’

Hayden propped his elbows on my desk. ‘Aurora, if there’s something you want to admit on this day of love, I promise I won’t laugh at you.’

‘The only thing I want to tell you is that you’re the most pompous person on earth!’ I replied in outrage. If only I still had that big metal ruler.

‘The most pompous person on earth …’ Hayden looked thoughtful. ‘Great line, Aurora. I think I’ll add that to my poem.’ He started scribbling on his piece of paper. ‘Ah, ma chérie, my muse, the passionate poems we could write together! Open your heart —’

‘Open your mouth again, Paris, and that’s it!’

Hayden fell silent. I breathed a sigh of relief. It didn’t last long.

‘Much as I hate to disobey a lady’s request, I have to ask — is it an ode to my looks?’

‘There’s nothing in the poem!’

Mrs Kent stopped by my desk. ‘I hope there’s something in the poem. It will be very disappointing if there’s not.’

Everyone looked expectantly at me. Hayden grinned. He had me trapped. I couldn’t admit that there was nothing of merit in my poem. It would be a lie.

‘Of course there’s something in the poem,’ I said, before scowling at Hayden.

‘To be with a creative genius who writes you odes, you have to put up with her occasional bad moods,’ Hayden instructed the class.

Any moment now, I was going to turn purple with rage. There was no ‘with’! Why did he keep giving strength to the rumours?

‘I’m not even going to deign to reply.’ I lifted up my desk and Hayden’s elbows slid off it.

‘Sometimes there’s even physical abuse,’ he said.

Mrs Kent gave a big smile and turned to Jeffrey. ‘Where’s your poem?’

‘Well, Mrs Kent, it’s a tragic story.’ Jeffrey wiped away an imaginary tear. ‘You see, I suffer from metrophobia —’

‘You’re scared of the city?’ Travis asked. ‘What are you even doing here, man? You’re suffering more and more every moment.’

‘Metrophobia is not a fear of the metropolis,’ Jeffrey continued in a pained voice. ‘It’s a morbid dread of poetry. So I’m sorry, Mrs Kent, but your assignment was an impossibility.’

‘Can I ask why you didn’t inform me of this condition, Jeffrey?’ Mrs Kent said. ‘I could have set you an essay instead.’

Jeffrey buried his head in his hands. ‘I couldn’t bear to speak of it. I am a man without poetry, without passion, without a soul.’

Hayden was the man without a soul. Only someone soulless could relentlessly embarrass me without regret.

‘Well, Jeffrey, I have to say that if you don’t cure your condition in the next ten minutes, your grades are going to suffer.’ Mrs Kent had a twinkle in her eye.

‘Doomed to walk the earth without Byron, Keats, Shelley,’ Jeffrey went on.

‘Ten minutes, Jeffrey,’ Mrs Kent repeated. ‘Now, would anyone like to share their poem with the class?’

‘Will you admit your passion to the public, Aurora?’ Hayden whispered.

‘What do you think?’

I studied my poem again, checking it for spelling mistakes.

‘Mrs Kent! You’ve got a willing reader!’ Hayden called, waving his hand in the air.

‘I’m going to kill you!’ I yanked his hand down.

Mrs Kent peered at us. ‘Is this a physical piece?’

‘No, Mrs Kent.’ Hayden grinned at me. ‘Aurora, I was volunteering my own poem.’

‘Great. I can hardly wait to suffer,’ I muttered as he strode up to the front of the class.

‘This is a poem inspired by my good friend Aurora,’ he said.

‘Aurora’s been inspiring a lot lately, huh, Hayden?’ Jeffrey called out. ‘Your presentation on knights, poetry —’

Hayden sighed. ‘We bring out the best in each other. What can I say?’

Whistles came from around the room. My cheeks blazed. I sank lower in my chair.

‘This poem is very relevant to today, being Valentine’s Day,’ Hayden explained, ‘as it’s about one of the most important forms of love — self-love.’

He launched into a piece that echoed the beginning of Walt Whitman’s ‘Song of Myself’, with its celebration and ‘singing of the self’. He finished to wild applause. Only Hayden Paris could make egocentricity seem an admirable quality.

‘What did you think, Princess?’ Hayden settled back into his seat and looked at me with an expectant gaze.

‘Your focus on yourself was commendable,’ I replied.

He grinned. ‘I couldn’t have done it without your suggestions.’

Great, I was responsible for a poem about self-obsession. Being a muse is far from all it’s cracked up to be.

‘Whoever started Valentine’s Day was a genius,’ Jelena said, before biting into a heart-shaped cookie.

Every Valentine’s Day, Jelena, Cassie, Sara, Lindsay and I held a Love Picnic during lunch. We spread a huge red and white rug on the ground and brought Valentine’s-themed food.

‘The origins of Valentine’s Day are a mystery,’ I replied, selecting a chocolate-covered strawberry from the huge platter in the centre of the rug. ‘Some people believe that Saint Valentine was a priest who lived during Roman times. There was this emperor called Claudius who decided that single men made better soldiers —’

‘Relationships are distracting,’ Lindsay said, licking the icing off a pink-frosted cupcake.

‘Yeah, but this guy was really extreme,’ I continued. ‘He outlawed marriage for young men. Supposedly, Saint Valentine helped young couples to marry secretly. When Claudius found out he ordered Valentine to be put to death.’

‘Wow, that’s brutal.’ Cassie looked at me with wide eyes.

‘A leader’s got to be ruthless. Keeps the hoi polloi in line,’ Jelena said, straightening the rug slightly. We all stared at her. ‘Oh, okay, not that ruthless.’

Saint Valentine was my new hero. He’d been all about risking his life in the name of true love. Just like me. Well, okay, I hadn’t received any death threats, but hey, I had to put up with Hayden’s abuse while trying to find out the truth about Scott. That was painful. And, like Saint Valentine, I was wholeheartedly spreading the message of love. Every Valentine’s Day, including today, I ordered four roses from the school’s flower booth and sent them anonymously to the four people in our year most unlikely to receive tokens of love.

‘Can you believe Jeremy Webster got a rose during maths class?’ Jelena let out a laugh. ‘Who in their right mind would send him a flower?’

Jeremy had been one of my four this year.

‘Jelena!’ I cried. ‘That’s not very nice. Especially for someone privileged enough to have received four cards by the end of the same class.’

Half of our picnic rug was covered in Jelena’s floral tributes. The rest of us had received several tokens. I had two cards, three roses and a little white bear. Even though none of the boys were Potential Princes, I’d given them big smiles on receiving their gifts and thanked them genuinely. I’d even managed to conjure up an embarrassed smile when Jeffrey had presented me with a novelty red bell stamped with his number and the words ‘Ring when you want some red-hot lovin’’.

‘Did Alex send you a rose?’ Cassie asked Jelena.

Jelena looked slightly disappointed. ‘Nope. But three were delivered to me during the time we spent chatting by my locker, so he’s fully aware of how desirable I am.’

Anyone who saw our picnic blanket would be aware of it.

‘I wonder why he didn’t send you something,’ I said.

Jelena waved a hand dismissively. ‘Probably some typical guy attitude about how Valentine’s Day is commercial. But that’s not going to stop me. Alex is like a butterfly. I’ve just got to pin him down.’

Come to think of it, Alex was like a butterfly. He fluttered from girl to girl like a butterfly danced from flower to flower.

‘Hey, I found out something else interesting about Valentine’s Day,’ Cassie said, her lips widening into a smile. ‘It was traditionally the day for preparing eels for the purposes of magic.’

‘What?’ Everyone looked at Cassie.

‘Eating an eel’s heart was thought to enable a person to see into the future.’

‘The poor eels,’ I said. If I’d lived in the Middle Ages, I so would have been an eel saver.

‘The poor eels?’ Jelena repeated. ‘The poor people who had to eat them.’

‘The French still eat eels,’ Lindsay said. ‘They’re considered a delicacy.’

We all cracked up at her serious tone.

Suddenly Cassie’s eyes hit on a point behind me and she stopped laughing.

I turned to see Scott standing at the edge of our red and white picnic rug. He wore a dimpled smile and held a hand behind his back.

Oh my god. I was about to die of anticipation.

Scott extended the hand that wasn’t behind his back to Cassie. She took it and he pulled her gently to her feet.

Sara, Lindsay, Jelena and I were all silent, breathlessly waiting for Scott’s next move. He slowly drew his other hand from behind his back to reveal a full, golden yellow rose. Cassie’s cheeks pinkened as she reached out to take it from him. They exchanged an intense look, neither saying a word. Cass’s lips parted slightly, seemingly to say something. Before she could, Scott took his hand from hers. He gave her a wink and a grin before he dashed off to the other side of the schoolyard.