Kiss And Blog by ALSON NOËL Page A

his coffee, tosses me an extra set of keys, and heads out the door.
     
    The second I step outside I’m glad I at least had the good sense to wear my Rock & Republic jeans. I mean, everyone around me looks so amazing and hip, and it just feels better to be wearing something that’s considered universally cool.
    I wander around the cobblestoned streets, looking in trendy shopwindows, and wondering if anyone other than my mom, my sister, and a few of my teachers will even notice my absence. But then I shake my head and evict that thought from my mind, remembering that phrase my mom’s always going on about, “Be Here Now.”
    Well, I’m Here Now—in New York City. And even though I have no idea how long it’ll last, I’m determined to make the most of each and every second.
    By the time I make it to my dad’s gallery, he’s busy talking to a potential buyer. And I can tell it’s a potential buyer from the way my dad is acting—displaying straight-up posture instead of his usual hipster slouch, and the way he’s ditched the street slang for more proper, businesslike vernacular. Not wanting to interrupt a possible money transaction, I stroll right past him and head into the back room, looking forward to seeing his assistant, Sarah, who’s been working for him for the last two years.
    Only instead of Sarah, there’s this drop-dead cute guy with dark curly hair, and eyes so blue I can’t help but stare. Then finally I stammer, “Oh, um, I thought you were Sar— well anyway, I’ll just go, and-”
Omigod!
I think, still gawking at him.
    But he just smiles. “Winter, right?” He motions for me to take the seat across from his, as though it’s actually his office and not my dad’s.
    “But, how’d you-” I start, but apparently unable to finish my sentences now, I just follow directions and take a seat in a chair that’s long on style, yet painfully short on comfort.
    “Your dad told me you were stopping by. I’m Easton,” he says, placing his feet on the desk, and leaving me to wonder if he’s just trying to get comfortable, or if I’m supposed to comment on his new, custom Converses.
    “Um, who are you?” I ask.
    He folds his hands behind his head and smiles. “I’m the intern. I get school credit for working here a couple hours a week.”
    “Serious?” I say, thinking how I’d love to enroll in a cool school like that.
    “I go to one of those art schools, you know, for actors and musicians and stuff.”
    “Like the
Fame
school?” I ask, not that I’ve actually seen
Fame,
but I know that’s what everyone calls those kinds of schools.
    He smiles, which gets me feeling so nervous again my eyes dart around the office in order to avoid his.
    And just as I’m racking my brain, trying to think of something to say that won’t sound totally stupid and out me as the consummate geek that I truly am, my dad pokes his head in and goes, “Ready?”
    So I reach for my purse and head for the door, and just as I turn back toward Easton, he smiles and winks.
    And that gets me so off-balance I walk smack into the doorjamb. The toe of my boot crashing into it so hard it makes this awful loud
thud,
as the rest of my body moves forward, stopping only when the tip of my nose is all out of give and smashed down to the bone. Like an anxious pug, straining against a car window. Only not near as cute.
    But even though I’m totally and completely humiliated, not to mention how my nose really does kind of hurt, I still force myself to laugh and say, “I’m okay, I’m okay.” Long before anyone can ask.
    Then I follow my dad out of the gallery and onto the street, tenderly touching the bridge of my nose, checking for swelling and hoping it’s not broken.
     
    Somewhere between the french fries and the French onion soup, my dad looks at me and goes, “So, what exactly are we doing here?”
    And I think,
here it is, the moment of truth.
I mean, I knew it would come sooner or later, but excuse me for hoping for