Things I Noticed About Kurt Morelli After He Started Tutoring Me
• We’re just about the same height, but he couldn’t look me in the eye for the first month that he tutored me. Because I made him so nervous.
• He gave off the vibe of liking me the entire time—from the moment I got that note in my locker, which, by the way, I almost didn’t open because I thought it was going to be some rude, disgusting note complete with a gross cartoon of me. (It happened a couple of times.) But I did read the note, and I knew he liked me, but I also knew that he wouldn’t try anything. At least, I believed that initially. And anyway, I did need the help in math. Then that first night I thought maybe he assumed I was so slutty I would sleep with him in exchange for math help. After all, who else was lining up to sleep with Kurt Morelli? I still smile to myself when I think about his face when I accused him of that. He looked like he wanted to melt into a puddle under the kitchen table just hearing the words “sleep with me” come out of my mouth. And then when he told me he thought I just deserved someone to be nice to me, I knew that even if he did like me, he wasn’t going to try anything. And he never did.
• He’s ridiculously smart. Like, ridiculously. I don’t understand probably twenty percent of the words he uses. One time I told him that, and he smiled and said that it came from reading too much. “Is there such a thing as reading too much?” I asked him. “No, I guess not,” he said, and he blushed again. In addition to being ridiculously smart, he is also a ridiculous blusher.
• When he eats, he chews each bite exactly seven times. I don’t think he’s aware of this. I noticed it the night I bought us pizza and the day he had me over for grilled cheese sandwiches. It’s a little weird, I’ll grant you that. But it’s also sort of reassuring.
• He is an incredible gift giver. I felt so stupid when I didn’t know what a first edition was, but when he told me, it made the copy of The Outsiders even better than I thought it was when I first opened it. I keep it on my nightstand and when I’m having an especially crappy day, like when I think even the teachers are looking at me weird, I pull it out and I read the note Johnny wrote to Ponyboy on his death bed. The one where he tells him to stay gold.
“Do you want to sit down?” he asks, and I nod. We take a seat on the porch swing.
“Are you home alone?” I ask him.
“My grandmother is at church,” he says. “Wednesday night fellowship.”
“Of course,” I say with a grin.
“So,…” Kurt says. “I got your note.”
“The one I slipped into your locker?”
Kurt nods yes. “I was wondering where you got that clever idea.” He chuckles at his own joke. I love it when Kurt is silly. When he is, it’s like this perfect mix of doing something that seems totally out of character but is actually totally in character once you get to know him.
“So you read it?” I ask.
“Yes,” Kurt says, and I wonder if he has also memorized the words I chose so carefully the night before. Here’s what it said:
Dear Kurt. Dearest Kurt. My dear Kurt. I want you to know that none of what happened before matters. I want you to know it’s okay you didn’t tell me about Brandon sooner. I want to tell you that I’m sorry for anything I said that hurt you and that you were right. That it wasn’t fair for me to react the way I did. Because you’ve been everything to me this year, Kurt. You’ve been my friend. And I want you to know that I don’t want to be friends with anyone else but you. I think I just needed some time to come to terms with all of it. To think it all through. This isn’t nearly as poetic or adequate as if you had written it, but what I’m trying to say is that all is forgotten and all is forgiven. Not that there was ever anything, really, to forgive you for. If anything, I need to ask your forgiveness. I’ll come by tonight at 7:30 exactly and if you answer your door when I knock, I’ll know it means you feel the same way and we can be friends again. If you don’t answer the door, I’ll never bother you again. Thanks for everything. Alice.
“Alice, I want to explain—” Kurt starts, but I cut him off.
“There’s nothing to explain, Kurt,” I tell him. “Honestly.” I notice he has a scar on his knee. I’ve never noticed it before. I remind myself to ask him later where he got it. Suddenly, I have a million things I want to know about Kurt Morelli. “Kurt, I want you to know, I’m just so sorry for anything—”
“Alice, I read your note, remember?” Kurt says, and now it’s his turn to cut me off. “I’ve missed spending time with you, Alice. Tremendously.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” I say. “And I’ve missed your vocabulary.”
“Tremendously?” he says wryly.
“Oh, yes, tremendously,” I answer.
I’ve got this certain kind of feeling about Kurt Morelli. I think I first realized it existed when I sat down to write him that note. Or maybe I first realized it during those miserable few weeks when we weren’t friends. Or maybe I recognized it when Elaine O’Dea and I talked that afternoon at the Curl Up and Dye. Maybe I don’t know when exactly I started feeling it. Maybe it’s sort of like the way the Healy heat comes on so steadily you don’t realize it’s there until one morning you wake up and it’s 102 degrees at seven in the morning. It seems like it happened overnight, but when you look back, you realize it was building slowly all along.
I think that’s the way it’s been for me and Kurt.
I know Kurt won’t, so I reach over and take his hand, and I like the way his fingers lace up with mine, like we’ve held hands a million times before. I’m surprised at how sure his grip is and at how fast my heart is pumping. We sit in the silence of the Healy evening, surrounded by the comforting chorus of cicadas.
“Thank you, Kurt, for being here,” I tell him.
“Thank you, Alice, for the same thing,” he says back, his voice almost a whisper.
And then Kurt looks at me with his big, sweet eyes and he smiles at me with his nice, warm grin.
It’s the kind of grin you can trust. The kind of grin you want to keep on seeing. The kind of grin you wear on your face when you know you’re going places in this life.
Because Kurt Morelli is going places.
Someday, so will I.