“For that one I was thinking the chemical mixture from last week’s lab could be used to clean tires, or any outside surface of the car that’s been exposed to tar. I’m thinking we need at least ten ideas. I have ten here but I’m not sure they’re all good. What did you have?”
He takes out his phone and shows me, leaning so close that the sides of our bodies are touching. It makes my pulse speed up, and there’s this odd feeling in my stomach, almost like I’m nervous, which I kind of am, being this close to Briggs.
“I only have five ideas,” he says. “This one’s for a detergent specifically made for mechanics. It’s related to your idea in that it addresses the chemical’s ability to break down petroleum, but it’d also work on other substances you’d find in a garage. You could use it to make a detergent for clothes or shop rags.”
“Or it could be used to wash your hands,” I say.
“Exactly. That was one of my other ideas.” He swipes through his phone. He listed his ideas in a note-taking app. It looks like it’s attached to a calendar. When he flipped through it, I saw tomorrow’s date with things scheduled almost every hour. I didn’t know Briggs was so organized, or had such a structured schedule. I assumed he just sat around all weekend and partied.
“You’d need to mix it with a liquid,” he says, “which we should explain in the paper but I don’t think we need to explain which liquid we’d use. What do you think?”
He’s asking my opinion? This isn’t the Briggs I know. He always assumes he has all the answers and doesn’t even ask forinput. I guess I can’t really say that since I’ve never had to work with him before. I just know him as the bully who takes down anyone who doesn’t agree with him, or worship him, or beg for his attention.
“I don’t think we need to be that specific,” I say, “but I do think we need to describe how the chemical works. We should describe the properties of... what’s the word? I can’t think of it.”
“Surfactants.”
“Yeah.” I smile at him, impressed that he knew what I was talking about. He really is smart, which I find to be even more attractive than his looks. Other girls are impressed by his rugby skills, but I don’t care about that. I like a guy with brains, someone who can talk about stuff like this and actually understand it. I need to find a guy with Briggs’ intelligence and good looks that isn’t an ass.
I start jotting down notes, assuming I’ll be writing the paper. Briggs hasn’t offered to, and I don’t want to argue with him about it.
Half an hour later, I’m still scribbling down notes when one of the coffee shop employees stops at our table. “I’m sorry, but we’re closing soon. Actually, we closed at eight thirty.”
“Sorry,” Briggs says. “We didn’t know.”
“It’s fine.” She smiles at him. “We just need to get the tables cleaned, so if you could be out in a few minutes.”
She walks off, and I hurry to gather up my stuff.
“I didn’t know they closed this early,” I say, shoving my laptop in my bag.
“We’ll just go somewhere else.” Briggs gets up and takes our coffee cups to the trash.
I watch him, my eyes lingering on his muscular arms and broad shoulders. When he turns to walk back, I quickly look back at the table, picking up my pens and notebook.
“You hungry?” he asks as we leave the coffee shop.
“Maybe. What are you thinking?”
“Let’s find a restaurant and finish up there. I need to eat. I’m starving.”
“You didn’t have dinner?”
“I did, but I eat a lot. I eat five or six meals a day. I have to because I work out so much. Let’s go to that sports bar down the street.”
Briggs gets there first and waits for me in the parking lot. I would’ve thought he’d go in. He’s being really strange tonight, like an actual person instead of a jerk. I’m sure it’s all an act, but I don’t know why he’d put on a fake nice act to do our assignment. He could be his usual asshole self and still get the work done.
We find a high-top table, and he sits across from me. He orders a burger and a double order of fries so we can share. I’m not really hungry, but I can always eat fries.
We spend an hour discussing our ideas, getting sidetracked a few times by talking about random topics that come up. Briggs tells me he played football as a kid, but his parents made him switch to rugby. He didn’t say why, and he made it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, but I heard a hint of anger in his voice when he told the story. I get the feeling he doesn’t get along with his parents.
“Is your mom planning a big graduation party?” I ask as we wait for the check.
“I’m not even sure she’s coming. She hasn’t said.”
“What do you mean?” I laugh a little. “Of course she’s coming. Parents live for this stuff.”
“Not mine.” He looks around the restaurant, trying to find the waitress.
