Maybe. (under editing)

Chapter three- How did Romeo Survive That? Oh yeah . . .

As we walked into the church’s cafeteria warmth and the smell of old people and plastic immediately greeted our cold noses. Aunt Eileen rushed over, grabbing our coats, and throwing them behind the display tables. “Wecanalwaysuseextrahands,”She said over the bustling noise, “Oh! Who is this handsome man?” My aunt openly winked at me and then looked Skandar up and down; I didn’t even have time to be any more embarrassed than blushing because she thrusted note pads, pens, and cash into our hands. “Go take care of purchases.” We began to squeeze our way through the crowd but a few grandmas nudged themselves between Skandar and I. He called “I have no clue where we are going.”

“The right corner,” I said.

“What?” He bent down. Instead, I acted before I could think and grabbed his sparkling hand. I dragged him around the room, going around groups of people instead of through them, so I could hold his hand longer. Once we got there; nannies and fishermen came up to us with their flower arrangements and coo-coo clocks.

I was laughing the whole time. When each woman came up and heard Skandar’s accent say, “That would be ten dollars,” They showered him with compliments:

“A good looking man like you with a voice like that must get a lot of looks from the girls”

“I have a granddaughter that . . .”

“I can give you ten dollars. Actually, I will give you anything”

“here’s a tip”

“A man such as you must have things better to do than be here on a saturday night.”

It was like Grannies Gone Wild: Winter Break Edition. Even the woman playing the piano in the center of the room gave him tips . . .and she was playing the piano for tips. Each compliment came with the cutest throat clearings, sideways glances at me, and awkward smiles from Skandar.

It got so hot in the room that I rolled my long sleeves up and saw a bead of sweat on Skandar’s forehead. I yearned to close the three foot abyss between us and wipe off the sweat, but I couldn’t. There were flowers to be bagged and clocks to be wrapped.

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“Bloody!” Skandar gasped in amazement at the large vicious crowd. Once the crowd dispersed to a few lingerers, we retreated to behind the church with leftover watermelon-flavored juice. Our hot skin relaxed in the below 30F temperatures.

“Yeah,” I laughed, “It makes me wonder why I volunteered.”

“Me too,” Skandar laughed.

“Then again,” I joked, “i never really got time to think.”

“I know. I never knew old folks could be so rowdy.” I stared at the stars above the country fields.

“I think a more appropriate word would be boisterous.”

“They are synonyms!” Skandar stared at me from the side.

“Nuh-Uh.” I said

“Yeah-huh,” Skandar teased.

“Nnnoooooooo,” I said like a little kid. He made a crooked smile and brushed his hand against mine slowly. I looked down from the stars and journeyed slowly but surely into his eyes. His eyes explored through mine for only a minute but felt like an hour; the most comforting and beautiful hour I ever felt. I licked my lips and tasted the cherry chapstick I put on them.

“I bet,” Skander slowly and methodically pronounced each word, “that my iPhone says differently,” Skandar leaned in slightly.

“Oh yeah?” I cocked my head slightly forward and to the side.