Page 94 of I Kissed Shara Wheeler
By the time she feels Shara’s eyes on her, she’s posed serenely over her notes with her face angled to catch the overhead fluorescents from the most flattering possible direction.
She hears Shara’s sneakers pause on the carpet, then the soft pat-pat-pat of her approach, and Shara says from beside the table, “You know, if you wanted me to meet you here, you could have asked.”
“Oh, hi, Shara,” Chloe says, blinking up at her in fake surprise.
“You didn’t have to drag Brooklyn into it,” Shara says. “That girl is one Scantron bubble away from a nervous breakdown.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chloe says, “but if you’re in the mood to confront some stuff, there are a couple of other places you could start.”
Shara bites her lip. “What’s your last exam?”
“Don’t you know?” Chloe asks.
Shara’s lip turns creamy white under her teeth, then strawberry red when she releases it. She sits in the empty chair and begins unzipping her backpack, close enough that Chloe can smell lilacs for the first time since the sailboat. She tries not to get too lost in the memory of Shara screaming and splashing around in a wet cloud of pink tulle. Seriously, top five Chloe moment.
“European history,” Shara finally concedes.
“And yours is Chem II,” Chloe says. Shara blinks, like she really thought Chloe was stupid enough not to have learned her schedule too. “Have you gotten any better at limiting reactant problems since sophomore year, or do you want some help?”
Shara sets her binder down on the table. “Have you figured out the difference between Prussia and Germany yet, or should I call your flashcards out for you?”
“Actually,” Chloe says, smiling. If this is how it feels to have a plan go perfectly, she sees why Shara likes them so much. “That would be really helpful.”
And so, because refusing would mean accepting the alternative—a deliberate and meaningful conversation about her feelings—Shara opens her hand and accepts Chloe’s stack of notecards.
Chloe, of course, already has them memorized. She props her chin on her hand and gazes into Shara’s flushed face as she recites the answers effortlessly.
“The Institutes of Christian Religion,” Shara asks.
“Written by John Calvin, 1536. Says the Bible is the only source of Christian doctrine and that there are only two sacraments: baptism and communion.”
“Defenestration of Prague.”
“1618,” Chloe says. “Protestants threw a bunch of Catholic officials out of a castle window in Bohemia. Started the Thirty Years War.”
Shara glances up from the card.
“Do you know the officials’ names?”
An obvious maneuver.
“Count Jaroslav Borita of Martinice, Count Vilem Slavata of Chlum, Adam II von Sternberg, and Matthew Leopold Popel Lobkowitz,” Chloe rattles off.
Shara, looking deeply put out, moves on to the next one. “Regicide.”
“The killing of a king,” Chloe says. “Or queen.”
“Lucrezia Borgia.”
“1480 to 1519. One of the most famous women of the Renaissance. Super hot. Blonde. Amazing hair. Smart, educated, accomplished, lots of politically strategic marriages, rumored to enjoy poisoning people. Often used in power plays by her father, Pope Alexander VI.”
Over the top of the card, Shara searches Chloe’s face for something. Chloe offers her another innocent smile.
“Keep going,” she says. “You’re doing great.”
Shara clenches her jaw and flips to the next card.
“Botticelli.”
