This Is My Brain in Love - I. W. Gregorio Page 0,54

basically a work of art. I never really understood why someone would want to pay the price of a matinee movie ticket for what is, for most people, really just a label for a gift, but now I get it. When you package something like that, it’s basically fanfare for your words. It’s a neon sign flashing: HEY, LOOK, HERE’S AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE. Before you even open the thing, your antennae are up, you’re eager to see what’s inside.

It makes me embarrassed by my own letter, written on college rule. Does it mean that my words are worth less?

I open the front flap, with its intricate cutout of a garden superimposed on a lattice background. There are butterflies with purple plastic gemstones on their bodies, and if I framed it and put it on my wall it would be the prettiest thing in my room.

My heart’s pounding when I open it, but thank God, it’s a blank card. There’s no sentimental platitude, no trying-too-hard-to-be-funny joke. It’s just Will’s words.

DEAR JOCELYN,

I MISS YOU AND HOPE THAT YOU’RE OKAY. I DON’T WANT TO PRESUME THAT YOU EVER WANT TO SEE ME AGAIN, AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOUR PARENTS HAVE TO SAY ABOUT YOU AND ME BEING MORE THAN JUST FRIENDS. BUT I ALSO DON’T WANT ANOTHER DAY TO GO BY WITHOUT YOU KNOWING THAT I’M THINKING OF YOU, AND THAT ALL I WANT TO DO IS MAKE THINGS RIGHT.

SO, WHAT’S IN THE GIFT BAG? IT’S NOT THE MOST ROMANTIC GIFT IN THE WORLD, BUT THE OTHER DAY I WAS TALKING WITH ONE OF THE GUYS AND I CAME UP WITH THE IDEA TO MAKE SOME BUTTONS FOR THE RESTAURANT. YOU AND YOUR BROTHER COULD WEAR THEM, OR YOU COULD GIVE THEM TO YOUR FAVORITE CUSTOMERS, OR HAND THEM OUT IF YOU EVER DO ANOTHER BOOTH SOMEWHERE. I DON’T KNOW IF THEY’LL BE USEFUL, BUT IT MADE ME FEEL BETTER TO MAKE THEM.

YOURS,

WILL

I pour the contents of the bag into my hand and stare at them. It’s been days since I’ve smiled, and I can feel the strain of my face muscles as they pull into a grin so wide I could be in a toothpaste commercial.

Will misses me. And screw John Cusack and his boom box, these pins are even more of a grand gesture. Best of all? They get my wheels turning on a Big Idea.

Head buzzing with ideas, I package up the gift bag, brush my teeth, and go back to my room. I have a sales pitch to create. But before I start that, I add a postscript to my letter to Will.

PS: Got your buttons. They’re amazing. I have a plan. Come to A-Plus tomorrow afternoon at 4:30, with your game face on.

This Is My Brain on Business

JOCELYN

With how disorganized my dad’s accounting is, it takes me almost a whole day to pull all the numbers together. I spend another couple of hours following up on our old leads at MVCC and then make a call to a dear old frenemy.

When my plan—my business plan—is ready, I rummage through my closet and find some of my ninth-grade English honors projects. That year, one of my group learning partners was Brenda Litwin, who insisted that presentation meant everything. “If your work looks professional, teachers take it more seriously and they’re more likely to give you extra points for all the intangibles, especially for something as subjective as English.”

I don’t know if the five-dollar frosted polypropylene report covers really helped us get As on all our projects, but they were pretty and are really easy to repurpose.

By the time four thirty rolls around I’ve put on the outfit I used to interview Will and have three copies of my plan bound in Brenda Litwin’s supremely professional manner.

When Will comes in, he looks as if he’s ready to run the gauntlet. Nervous but determined. But the second he sees me, his vibe changes from anxious to excited. His eyes light up, and for the first time I actually understand the idiom. I always thought it was the stupidest phrase—like, it’s not like people’s eyes actually illuminate? But when I see Will, and see his reaction to seeing me, I can understand where the saying comes from. It’s like a switch flips—his spine is straighter, the muscles in his jaws tensed and ready to speak.

There’s a part of me that’s kind of smug to see what I do to him—I’m a switch flipper. And if the acceleration in my own chest