It becomes a ritual. I walk Brittany to her classes every other day. I don't have the heart to tell her that my first class is across campus from hers so I have to make it to my first class in less than 5 minutes to get a seat. I have a feeling that if she knew how much I go out of the way to walk her to her morning class she'd make me stop. I just have this feeling of responsibility about Brittany. Not only are we friends, but I have to take care of her like an older sister. It's an odd relationship but it's been working for us for the first month or so.

Speaking of relationship, Brittany seems to have the wrong idea about us from the very beginning when we first met. We're studying in the main coffee shop on campus and she's shooting me flirty looks and stealing sips from my coffee despite the fact that she has her own drink, steeped tea, right next to her.

"Y'know, tea is much better for you than coffee," she says, placing my half empty cup back next to my books. She's twirling her pen in her hand and looking at me with bright eyes, daring me to counter her argument, rebuttal ready on her tongue.

I take her offer for an argument and reply, "Maybe, but tea is more bitter than coffee."

She laughs, "You put at least 3 portions of sugar and cream! Of course tea is going to be more bitter than coffee to you. Certain teas can be sweet without adding anything. You just haven't tried the right one."

She gulps down the rest of her tea and tosses it into the garbage bin behind her in triumph. Why do I always get myself into arguments I know I can't win?

Brittany returns to her seat and folds her arms across her chest. Her eyes are tracing every aspect of my face, analyzing my expression for inner thoughts to form her next argument.

"You think coffee is a more mature drink, so you drink it to feel like an adult," she finally says, tongue peeking out between her teeth in a cheeky smile. I can't help but roll my eyes at her personal attack, "Oh please, tea is for old ladies and the English. If anyone is trying to be mature by drinking tea, it's you."

I take a long drink from my cup, cringing to find that the coffee has gone cold, "In any case, I do have to compensate for my maturity. I'm a year younger than everyone else."

Brittany raises her eyebrows at this. Apparently our study session has been long forgotten and my age is much more important at this point.

"You're a year younger? Did you have a growth spurt and confuse the school staff?"

I might have imagined it but Brittany's eyes appeared to have flickered down to my chest and back. I cross my arms defensively over my chest, "No, I didn't have a growth spurt and they didn't make a mistake. They just thought it'd be in my best interest to move me ahead a grade because I was clearly bored with colouring in the lines and spelling lessons."

Brittany laughs and leans forward on the table, chin propped up in her hand, "Colouring in the lines? When did you skip ahead?"

I look down sheepishly before answering, "I was skipped ahead in Gr. 2 to Gr. 3, then they had me tested for "intellectual giftedness"." It isn't really all that impressive to be skipped ahead that early in life.

Brittany seems to think otherwise, "Really? Did you pass the test?"

I nodded and took this opportunity to toss my cup, aiming for the trash can from my seat as Brittany ducks, laughing when I completely miss the bin. People waiting in line are watching me as I get up to clean up the spill while Brittany turns in her seat to talk to me, crouched on the ground.

"I got tested too, but I think it was because my teachers could never understand my thought process so they hoped that I was just "special". So you were like a young genius then?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that, but I was definitely not challenged by anything they were teaching." I wad up the used paper towels and toss it in the bin with the now empty cup. Brittany is smiling at me with bright eyes again, like she just discovered the lost city of Atlantis.

"You're a Doogie mouse," she says with a big grin. My eyebrow scrunches in confusion before I can even process a reply, "I'm a what?"

She reaches into her backpack and pulls out her physiology book, flipping through the pages until she finds the one she wants.

Brittany points to a picture of a mouse in a lab experiment, "A Doogie mouse, they're super smart young mice that learn really fast because they have genetically engineered MDMA receptors so their brain works faster when they get new information."

Not that I know what MDMA receptors are but I can definitely understand what she's trying to say, except for one thing. "Why are they called Doogie mice?"

Brittany snaps the book shut and stuffs it back into her backpack, "They're named after Doogie Howser, y'know, boy genius doctor at the tender age of 16?"

She's lost me again.

"It's an old show from the early 90's so that's why you probably don't know about it." I ask her how she knows the show and she just shrugs like it's common knowledge.

There's a new point of confusion for me now, "Why do you think I'm a Doogie mouse and not just like Doogie Howser?" Brittany shakes her head and just chuckles, "because, you're a little mouse."

I wait for more explanation but there isn't one. She seems pretty confident that I'm similar to this Doogie mouse. "But, hey, if it makes you feel better to be compared to Doogie Howser, he was played by Neil Patrick Harris so I guess it all works out for you."

Before I have a chance to counter her remark, she's packing up her belongings. "I gotta go now, I got my physics lab." She zips up her backpack and puts in her earphones, heading out of the coffee shop, but not before kissing me on the cheek.

It might have been because my ear was that close, but the sound of her kiss seemed to echo loudly across the room. I put my hand to my cheek, the lingering, tingling feel of her lips still on my quickly flushing cheeks. Suddenly, I realize where I am and look around to see if anyone saw Brittany's public display of affection. Sure enough, the barista is looking right at me and he whispers to another worker behind the counter. Other students turn back to their friends from watching us and conversations are restarted.

I can't help but feel a little embarrassed and self-conscious about what they must be thinking. More than that, I need to tell Brittany how I feel when she gets overly expressive with her feelings before she tries to kiss me again.