There's only ten more days until the first day of school, and Gray is hanging onto the front of our shopping cart, blocking my view from the wide array of school supplies filling the shelves. I ask him to get off, afraid he'll break the shopping cart, but he just sticks out his tongue at me like a stubborn toddler. In retaliation, I take a sharp turn into the nearest aisle, forcing Gray to jump off before tumbling to the floor. He punches me in the shoulder playfully, and I roll my eyes at the goofy, adorable smile on his face. Gray seems much better than he was the other day, and I'm glad I dragged him out of the house. As we walk down the aisles, our bodies inches apart, my heart maintains a steady calm, reminding me that I'm at peace with Gray by my side.
The store is busy, full of bubbly children dragging their tired parents along. Everyone is in a rush to buy school supplies before the first day of school. I can sense the anxiety of the two doe-eyed cashiers working the checkout line, terrified to help the heated parents who are bound to complain about mark-ups and expired coupons.
Meanwhile, Gray and I fill our shopping cart with cute pens, neon highlighters, and more. When I reach up to grab something from the top shelf, my shirt lifts up over my waist and Gray wraps his fingers around the exposed skin, tickling my abdomen and making me giggle. In retaliation, I turn around and run my fingers under his shirt, trailing them up and down the skin on his back. He shivers in my arms, laughing uncontrollably in the middle of the paper aisle, alarming passerby.
After our tickle fight, I turn my attention back to shopping.
"How many binders do you need?" I ask, grabbing a different color for each of my classes. I have a pretty simple line up this year. I'm not taking any AP classes, but I did sign up for honors English. Gray thinks it'll be good for me to challenge myself, especially since I enjoy writing poems and reading novels, while still maintaining a relatively easy schedule. I'm in a good place right now, and Gray and I are at a high-point in our relationship. I'd hate to ruin that with hours of demanding homework.
As for Gray, he can score all As in every AP class without fretting. I admire his astounding intelligence. It makes him more beautiful, if that's even possible.
Answering my question, Gray grabs six different colored binders for each of his classes. Watching him put the binders in our shopping cart, I realize that this is the last time Gray will ever have to buy school supplies for high school. He's going to be a senior, and I'm going to be stuck in junior year with the same people who I've known for years. I'll spend my time counting down the minutes until lunch and after school, the moments when Gray and I can finally be together.
I try not to think of what our situation will be like a year from now, when it'll be my last time buying school supplies for high school and Gray will likely be prepping for college. Perhaps he can study at UC Santa Barbara. The campus is absolutely gorgeous and situated right on the glistening beach. Then we wouldn't have to be separated for a year while I finish up high school. Yet I know Gray's heart is stuck in New York City. I don't want to spend a year apart from Gray, but I also don't want to keep him in California against his wishes.
At least we'll have a year together before he graduates. I'll try to focus on that.
After grabbing our binders, Gray and I pick up the rest of our school supplies and make our way over to the checkout line, which is slowly growing. On our way over, Gray laces his fingers through mine and pulls me close, sending tingles up my hand and electrifying my heart with a sudden jolt. Every single touch we share still feels spectacular.
"You think we have everything?" Gray asks, biting his lip as he stares into the shopping cart, avoiding eye contact with me, too obsessed with my beautiful brown eyes to look at them and not kiss me. He's trying his best to restrain himself, and I amuse him by kissing his cheek.
YOU ARE READING
Bathe in Color
RomanceParis Wills is a dreamer. His father always said he got it from his mom, an artist who was unlike any other. Her virtue was painting, and Paris' is poetry. No matter where he is, Paris finds inspiration for his poems. In the summer after his sophom...
