What Love Means Read online

  I went to private school for a few years before my parents divorced, so I wasn’t expecting anything too fancy at The Milton Academy for Excellence aside from a pretentious name. It was nothing like my old school; this institution lived up to its name. April thought it was elegant. I thought it was over the top. All the students had blazers and ties. The building practically gleamed due to being both squeaky clean and filthy rich.

  The teachers here looked like they didn’t have to deal with the salary woes others in their profession faced. A man in a tailored brown suit walked over as soon we entered. I half expected him to pull out a monocle while he viewed me with a dubious expression. “I think you’re in the wrong place,” he said, though it sounded more like ‘get out.’ He was a short, stout man with a bit of a paunch that didn’t stop him from having a spring in his step. He had round glasses and brown hair on the sides of his head while the top was bald.

  April explained why we were there. He led us to what seemed like a parlor room where people in Victorian romance novels had high tea and whispered about sordid details. A freaking parlor.

  “You hate it here,” April noted, grinning at me.

  I didn’t deny it. “Next time we’ll have to bring ties.” April wasn’t impressed with my snarky comment.

  The only rule to secure my participation was that none of my friends could find out about my past. The people I associated with were other slackers in school and older people who classified as a ‘bad crowd’ to parents who provided proper supervision. In other words, people who were never academically motivated enough to participate in a spelling bee.

  The teacher clapped for everyone’s attention and began a pretentious speech well suited to this pretentious place. “Salutations everyone, I’m Professor Vincent. Or should I say ‘salaam?’ An Arabic greeting of peace that is one of the more than 400,000 words you might encounter in Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, our fair bee’s ‘bible’ as it’s referred to.” He continued but I stopped listening.

  I whispered to April, “Sure you haven’t had enough of spelling?”

  She pinched me and whispered back, “No! I have a taste for victory.”

  “Parents are invited to stay for our inaugural meeting,” he continued, “as we thought a practice bee would be a fun way to kick off the season.”

  “Interesting use of the word fun,” I muttered. April hit me.

  “We’ll see what our new members can do while seeing how studious our reigning spellebrities were over the summer,” the professor concluded. He even used the cheesy lingo: spelling + celebrity = spellebrity. The only kind of ‘celebrity’ no one would want an autograph from.

  There were a few other kids from different schools wearing simpler uniforms along with some home schoolers. We seemed like the only ones from a lower socioeconomic background. Go poor kids. Professor Vincent walked over to us when he was done with the introduction and spoke to April. “Perhaps you’d be more comfortable watching this round,” he told her. “It will be a tad more… challenging than what you’re used to in public school.”

  “How did you know I went to public school?” she asked.

  “He’s being condescending,” I told her. I sneered at the kids in blazers and fancy uniforms and announced loudly, “A public school kid is about to kick everyone’s ass.”

  The professor gave me a look that said he wished he could put me in detention. Or maybe wipe me off the face of the earth. “I just want to make sure you’ll have a good time here,” he told April. “Do you mind if I give you a few practice words?”

  Oh hell no. “She a legacy,” I told him tightly. He looked me over very doubtfully. “Max Keller,” I explained, pointing at myself. “I went to Nationals three times and—“

  “Ranked 13th in 2013,” he finished for me. “Yes, I’m familiar.” I couldn’t read how he looked at me until his expression settled on faintly horrified. That emotion he telegraphed, clearly trying to figure out how a spelling nerd could turn into a miscreant.

  My last competition was five years ago, which wasn’t that long, but still. “I was 13 then,” I said. “It’s kind of creepy you know that.”

  He sent me another withering look. Trading increasingly hostile looks, that was going to be our thing. “We take academics very seriously here at Milton Academy.” I was pretty sure this was where the pain in the ass I used to compete with went, but I didn’t bring it up and neither did the professor. Thankfully, he left us alone after that.

  I probably still wore a scowl after our encounter. “It’s not that bad here,” April said.

  I distorted my face even more – appearing unhinged and drawing a few concerned looks – until April shoved me.

  I grinned at her. “Gotta psych out the competition. Attitude is everything.”

  “Oh, right.” She adopted her most insane game face while I struggled not to laugh.

  “You let me handle the menacing. Go make friends.” She looked skeptical, so I continued with, “You know, keep your enemies closer and all that.”

  She nodded sagely and joined the other kids who were lining up for the match. That wasn’t really why I wanted her to make friends. Despite the negatives, the spelling bee was a place for weirdo brainiacs to meet others like them and form lasting friendships with people who understood them. At least it was supposed to be.

  I thought I’d made lifelong friends too. Until my best friend and I dueled against each other for the last spot in the final round of Nationals. I lost. We lived close enough that we got to see each other more than just at the national competition in D.C. but fell into separate regions, so we didn’t compete directly during Regionals. Maybe that’s why it was so jarring when it was just him and me with one spot left. We’d never been so distinctly opposed before, yet I ranked better than him overall every year. Until that last year when he won instead of me.

  13-year-old me was crushed and heartbroken; it seemed like the end of the freaking world. But it would have been okay. If I’d gone back another year. If we hadn’t gotten into a huge fight and never spoken to each other again.

  I sighed and took a deep breath. It didn’t mean it would turn out that way for April. She would make friends. I’d watch out for her.

  ***

  Cal

  Brendan almost looked like a clone of me at age 11 with fine blonde hair and clear blue eyes, but our similarities were only surface deep. Plus, I had been pale and runty while he was strong and athletic. He wasn’t shy but wasn’t very close with many people at Milton Academy. He’d probably meet more people like him in high school, but the kids here were more like me: all academics, all the time. As a boisterous kid who loved sports, he was almost an outcast here. At any other school, he’d be the cool one. I would have been beaten up all the time.

  “If you don’t want to do this,” I told him before the meeting started, “we can find another way.” Our parents were putting pressure on him to ‘get serious’ academically. I privately thought it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he was a carefree kid for a while longer.

  “Do you think I can’t do it?” he asked, furrowing his brow. And we’d been getting along so well today. Or at least he hadn’t sent me the petulant look that was his default expression with me until now.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He narrowed his eyes like he didn’t believe me. “I remember being dragged to spelling bees when you were a kid.” He had more mass than I did at his age and seemingly got taller every day, but his face was so delicate that taking him seriously proved difficult. Adults always laughed and called it adorable when I got mad at that age. I tried not to do that with him because I remembered how much I hated it.

  “Why would you want to be part of them then?” I asked.

  “You think I didn’t pick anything up?” He huffed like I was a moron. Which I was not. I was a member of the National Honor Society. Not that it impressed Brendan.

  “I believe in you,” I told him instead of pressing the issue.

&
nbsp; He looked skeptical. “You do?”

  “Of course.” I smiled. “And with my help, there’s no stopping you.”

  Brendan smiled at me. I mentally did a fist pump. I used to be able to make him smile with ease but that was rare now. “I’ve been practicing some. You’ll really help?”

  “You can count on it.”

  He smiled again and went off to join the others. We didn’t always get each other, but it would be great to spend more time with him… and to get another Regionals win for our family. We could be one of the spelling families that everyone in the bee knew. They were called Spellebrities but that was a bit lame.

  This was the perfect chance to spend quality time with my brother while getting my mind off the breakup. And the guy from the party. I had to get him out of my mind. I thought about him more than I wanted to admit.

  Did it seem so intense because of the alcohol? Needing someone so badly and feeling such pleasure at his skin on mine couldn’t possibly be real. I didn’t even know his name! Still, it had been heady. Maybe because it was new? Feeling coarse skin scrape against my jaw. Meeting muscles instead of soft flesh. How he backed me up against a wall with easy strength. His demanding mouth and hands…

  Freaking hell. I was thinking about it again!

  I’d think of it in class, when studying, when jogging. My mind couldn’t keep my stupid libido in check even when I stood in the most unsexy place in the world: my former prep school. I was even imagining him here. He stood in the back while the informal bee began, looking out of place but still comfortable in his skin. This was an institution of learning, yet he looked like sex on legs.

  While it didn’t seem like he was dressed to impress, he made tattered jeans look good and filled out his leather jacket. If he were my fantasy, he’d probably be wearing less clothes. That meant… I should have figured it out sooner, but my mind was too clouded by lust. He was here. He was really here.

  I was a rational, mature almost-adult; my 18th birthday was in February. I could handle this. Probably. There was nothing in the decorum handbook about proper conventions when meeting your one night stands again. Not that we… went all the way. Went all the way? Yeah, I’m super mature. I wanted to meet him head on for a single second. I turned and exited the room instead.

  I made my way down the hall. The footsteps following mine told me I was being pursued but it was still a surprise somehow to feel his hand on my shoulder. God, he had a strong grip. “I’m sure there are plenty of secluded alcoves here where nobody will bother us,” he drawled. A lazy smile formed on his face as I turned to him. “But don’t go without me.”

  “Hey, hi,” I said awkwardly. I shuffled back and forth on my feet while he looked like a hungry wolf ready to eat me up. My eyes would land on him for a few seconds before skittering away like I was staring at the sun and had to avert my gaze before the glare burned my eyes. Not that he was hot like the sun… but maybe he was pretty close.

  I’d never appraised male features before, so I kept trying to apply words that didn’t fit like beautiful and pretty. But his lips were pretty. And soft, which I knew from experience. The rest of his face was more masculine. He had a strong jaw and sharp, dark eyes. He wasn’t conventionally beautiful maybe but that word still fit too. Something about him was just strong, captivating, beautiful.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I’m a spelling and grammar enthusiast,” he replied.

  My brow furrowed. “Uh, really?”

  His voiced carried a hint of humor as he said, “No, my kid sister wants to compete.”

  Oh, that made more sense. “You didn’t go to school here, did you?” I asked.

  He laughed. “God, no.” He tilted his head at me. “What about you? Did you strut around here in an adorable little tie and blazer?”

  “Yes, but our colors were different then.” No one looked good in orange, especially someone as pale as me. The lower school and high school had the same colors now, red and white, as evidenced by the deep red tie that loosely adorned my neck. “The previous color palate didn’t go well with my complexion.” I only added that because his face changed when I told him I went to school here. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with him hitting on me here in the light of day while I was stone sober and at my old prep school, until he closed off for a second and left me bereft. I apparently didn’t like him not flirting with me either.

  He shook off whatever trouble plagued him momentarily, and his eyes danced with mirth and invitation again. “Poor baby,” he teased, reaching a hand up to idly tug and play with my tie.

  It took tremendous effort on my part to stop his hand and then let go of it. “Look, we should talk about what happened—” I managed. Whatever was between us, my old prep school wasn’t the place to figure it out.

  “We really don’t have to,” he interrupted.

  Thank god. “You agree it was a mistake and we should put it behind us?”

  “No,” he smirked. “But I like a challenge.” Jump on him was my first thought. What? God no, maybe I should run away instead.

  “I’m serious,” I said. I stopped talking when he pressed closer, crowding me into the wall. My gaze went to his lips immediately before quickly meeting his eyes. He’d seen where my stare went anyway according to the amusement in his eyes. As he had drawn nearer, the light hit him differently and made his eyes a bright amber color. Up close now, the orbs were a mix of the dark color I’d seen before and the amber of a moment ago. I wanted to categorize the way his eyes changed, perhaps write a novel about it. I suddenly understood what it meant to get lost in someone’s eyes. Oh no, this wasn’t a safer place to look.

  “Relax,” he said, cutting into my panic about his freaking eyes. “I’m not going to tell the dean. Or anyone. We could have some fun.” Our lips were inches apart, almost brushing. If we were kissing, I wouldn’t be thinking. Sure, I’d be kissing another guy, but it momentarily seemed safer than waxing poetic about another guy. I opened my mouth and leaned in and that was when he pulled back. “Think about it,” he told me and winked before walking away.

  My neat, organized life had no time in it to contemplate him. I had responsibilities: college applications, homework, extracurriculars, and a girlfriend I needed to win back. My eyes were focused firmly on his ass as he walked away. I suddenly understood the phrase ‘you could bounce a quarter off that ass.’ Damn. At least I was learning things?

  I’m not the most tough or masculine guy, but I felt particularly pathetic when cowering in the face of a proposition from a sexy rebel. I stayed in the hallway to catch my breath while convincing myself I wasn’t hiding. I hoped I looked composed and normal when I went back to the parlor.

  Uptight book nerds like me didn’t just ‘have fun.’ I had a full plate and getting into an Ivy League school wasn’t easy. I took four AP classes and was on the debate, chess, and water polo teams. Those weren’t even all my extracurriculars, just my favorites. Plus, applying to college was inherently stressful. My parents and I had an- well, could it be an argument if we didn’t raise our voices or really even talk about it? There had just been veiled yet pointed comments and heavy glares about where to apply for early acceptance: Stanford or Princeton. I hadn’t caved; they’d just made some good points.

  I didn’t have time for fun, not the regular kind. My usual idea of fun consisted of chess matches and reading Russian literature. The latter started after my last bee when I missed the word ‘lavrovite,’ a word that used to haunt my dreams. It was a mineral made of igneous rocks, so my two passions had ganged up on me in the cruelest way possible. The only root word was lavrovit, which was taken from the name of a Russian scientist from the 19th century. The kind of word spellers either knew or didn’t. I didn’t. Even though I’d been done competing, I needed to learn about the language that had been my undoing.

  My brother was one of three kids left when I went back to watch the bee. I hoped he wouldn’t ask me about the words he spelled. I pushed d
own a wave of guilt by promising myself that I would commit to helping him prepare. We could practice in the evenings when we were both finished with activities. I’d make it work. I’d just do my homework later at night. Who needed sleep anyway? Totally overrated.

  I got to see him spell ‘prosciutto.’ I laughed quietly when the professor read the definition about a type of Italian ham and Brendan glanced around the room before asking, “Did you happen to bring any prosciutto with you today?” Brendan looked crestfallen when the professor replied in the negative. Still, he dutifully spelled the word, and the next participant was another kid from his school.

  I didn’t recognize him but recalled the name when Professor Vincent said, “Very good, Jeffrey.” after the boy’s turn. His name was used frequently at home. As in, ‘Brendan, why can’t you be more like Jeffrey Stewart?’ or ‘What good is a football league? Jefferey’s parents said he’s—” and then I’d tuned out. Of course he was related to my own nemesis. Wait, I never said anything to those comments my parents made. I belatedly realized that I could, that I should, defend Brendan.

  I’m the worst big brother ever.

  No, I had helped. Brendan was allowed to do the football league in exchange for applying himself to the spelling bee. He was the one who thought of the compromise, not me, but I offered to drive him to both when my mother had a conflict. Only I worried later that he didn’t really want to participate in this… and I’d realized that perhaps I was spreading myself too thin by offering to be his ride. Still, he clearly had a knack for this. I’d figure chauffeuring him out.

  Knack. It was hard to believe that when the bee started nearly 100 years ago, words like ‘knack’ and ‘therapy’ were enough to win. Now words like ‘autochthonous,’ ‘guetapens,’ and ‘antediluvian’ made people National champions. Words that if you heard them, the spelling was a puzzle. If you saw them, the pronunciation was a mystery instead.