Love-struck Genius
He had no feelings for her - none what-so-ever. She was, as he phrased it - distracting. But not, because she was particularly attractive, or amusing, or more intelligent than he – though, she was a respected colleague.
Betty Quinlan could easily best her at any beauty contest – his life had plenty enough amusements - and as far as smarts, well, he was a genius – she was little competition.
He took a sigh of relief at these thoughts – nay, facts – and concluded for about the thousand time in a week, that he had no gushy emotions, toward Cindy Vortex.
Their brief kiss in the alley after the news-show fiasco meant nothing. That, was merely – perhaps – an effect of that little pouch of "love-potion" he'd kept hidden in his lab, or maybe it was just ... hormones. After all, adolescence would be upon him soon enough – maybe the chemical reactions had started early.
Yes, that was it, just a tiny – easily rectified – chemical trigger in his brain. There was nothing special about his blonde classmate/rival/pain-in-the-dariare -/ annoying/obnoxious/bare-ankle-pant-wearing/ distracting/shiny-haired/limpid-eyed/button-nosed/dimpled-cheeked/amazing, beautiful, angel that fell from ... huh?
What in the name of Edison was wrong with him – pointless games of footsie in the library, kisses?, running the tips of his forefinger and middle, up the soft ... supple ... smooth ... sweet-smel–skin of her arm, and up her shoulder in some stupid walking motion, while she bit back giggles – cute, light, bubbly giggles.
Puckin' Pluto!