Disclaimer: I'm actually Libba Bray's fictional character Gemma Doyle. That's why I always write myself getting together with Kartik. Because I'd really like to jump his adorable, yet forbidden, bones. I would sooo jump his bones in a heartbeat. If it was socially acceptable, of course. Screw that. I'm hot and bothered. Let me at him. Rawr.

"Ugh, some people are disgusting!"

"So sue me if I like cheese on my fries!" Kartik says, not looking up from the nacho cheese dispenser.

"No, not you, although that stuff will kill you. I'm talking about them," I whisper, pointing discreetly to a couple making out in front of the soda machine.

"Huh?" He looks up. "Oh yeah, that's classy. Oh shit!" He pulls his cheese-covered hand away from his plate of fries. "That cheese is hot!"

I hand him a napkin. "Here."

He stares at me while licking the cheese off his hand. "What do I need a napkin for?"

I roll my eyes. "Who's classy now?"

"I am."

"Let's just sit down."

We find a table next to a window overlooking the courtyard. I mix dressing into my salad and watch in bemusement as Kartik decides what to eat first – pizza or Philly cheese steak. He shrugs and reaches for the pizza.

"I'm surprised you haven't gained 50 pounds by now, the way you eat," I remark.

"It's because I'm so fit," he responds with his mouth full.

"Oh yes, playing Guitar Hero and Halo II is really a workout."

He cocks his head at me. "Why so bitter today, Gem?"

I stab my salad with my fork. "No particular reason. Just one of those days where you wake up on the wrong side of the bed."

He smiles. "Hey, I told you I'd let you sleep on my other side, but you said you didn't want to fall off the bed in the middle of the night."

I sigh. "That's not what I mean, Kartik."

He reaches over and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. "I'm just trying to make you smile."

I take his hand and kiss his knuckles. "Do you remember our first kiss?" I ask, averting the conversation from my mood.

"Of course I remember. We were in sixth grade and played spin-the-bottle at Felicity's birthday party. You were my first kiss," he smiles sweetly.

"You told everyone I gave you cooties, and you started calling me 'Germa'."

He laughs. "I was only teasing! I thought I was pretty clever."

"You got our whole class to call me it! I went home crying after school!"

"You did?" Kartik's face is a mixture of bemusement and sympathy. "I did it for attention; I always had a crush on you."

"Even when you dated Sarah Thompson in eighth grade?"

"That was hardly dating. We went to the movies once and I wouldn't even let her hold my hand. I wanted to ask you, but everyone knew you liked what's-his-face." Kartik rips open a packet of ketchup and spreads it over his cheese steak.

"You've really always liked me?" I ask, leaning forward to rest on my elbows. My salad sits next to my purse, forgotten.

He nods, his eyes wide and his mouth full. He swallows and takes a gulp of my pink lemonade. "Why do you think I kept dating your friends all through high school? I wanted to find out more about you. That's why I kept getting dumped. Girls don't like it when all you do is ask about their friend," he says. "That, and because I didn't want to sleep with them. Or compliment them much. Am I a bad person for that?"

I laugh. "Bad for them, good for me! If you wanted to get to know me, why didn't you just ask?"

"Because I thought you never forgave me for the whole 'Germa' thing. But hey, I finally got the guts to ask you out junior year."

"And the rest is history," I finish.

"Yeah. You're my girl," he murmurs, holding a fry to my lips. I open my mouth and accept it. He watches me for a moment, then his expression turns devious.

"Gemma," he whispers, so that I must lean forward to hear him. His eyes flicker down to where my v-necked shirt reveals my cleavage. "Do you remember the first time we had sex?"

A giggle escapes my lips. "Last year over Christmas break. Your parents were on a business trip and mine thought I was sleeping over at Ann's. We were lying in your bed watching TV, and –"

"I wanted to watch "A Christmas Story" but you wanted to watch "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer". So I let you. And then you told me that you used to be afraid of the yeti thing when you were a little girl. And I thought you were so cute for telling me that." He smiles at the memory.

"It was snowing outside and your bed was so warm," I muse. "We were both virgins and had no idea what we were doing."

"But it was fun learning!" Kartik interjects.

"That it was… And it's gotten a lot better since then."

Kartik grins at me. "Now I get horny every time I see Rudolph. That's a hard thing to explain."

I blush. "I can't believe we are having this conversation in public!"

He shrugs. "Change of subject needed?"

"Yeah. Let's continue it later though, okay?" I glance at him coyly. He takes the bait.

"Of course," he replies suggestively. He points a cheese-covered fry at my salad. "Eat!" he barks.

I oblige and take a bite. We chew in silence for a moment. "I miss my horse," I say, resting my chin in my hand.

Kartik smirks. "So we go from riding me to riding your horse. Nice."

I slap him playfully. "Don't you miss him too?"

"I miss watching you ride him. It's a turn-on."

I gape at him. "Does everything turn you on? He's a horse!"

Several people turn to look at us. "Thanks, Gem, now everyone thinks I rape animals," he says sourly.

"He doesn't rape animals," I say to the people watching us. "Interspecies erotica is not his bag."

"Gee, thanks."

"So how does that turn you on?"

He leans back and places his hands behind his head. "I don't know. It's something about the way you're so dominant, and you look so damn elegant! And that posting trot you do is pretty hot. And when you stick your bum out – geez! Is it hot in here, or is it just you?"

I stick my tongue out at him. "Well, the barn manager called me and said that Gatsby misses me and has been acting up. He threw the girl I'd asked to exercise him."

Kartik shakes his head. "Gatsby. What a stupid name for a horse."

"The Great Gatsby is a great name for a great horse, thank you very much!"

"The book sucked. If they made a movie, it would suck."

I glare at him. "So I suppose you have a better name for him then?"

Kartik taps his chin thoughtfully. "Butt Plug."

I roll my eyes. "Because that is so much better."

"Better than me visualizing you having sex with some prick in a top hat every time they announce your name in the show ring. 'Now entering the ring - Number 355, Gemma Doyle riding The Great Gatsby'. No. You should in fact rename your horse after me. Then there will be no confusion." He grins, obviously proud of himself.

"You're absolutely ridiculous."

"Yes, but Gemma, picture it. 'Oh, you're looking for Gemma? She's just riding Kartik. Haha, the horse, you sick pervert!'"

I stare at him, at a loss for words.

"Here's another instance then. Say you're in a bad mood because you had a bad ride. You say…"

I sigh. "I really sucked on Kartik today."

"Great, and then you say…"

"He tasted terrible."

"Yes! No, what? No! You're supposed to say 'the horse, you pervert!'" He frowns at the smile growing on my face. "Gemma, you're mean!"

"You insulted my horse, therefore you deserve it."

"Germa."

"Sticks and stones, my dear."

Kartik laughs, then stands up and picks up our trays. "I'm going to get ice cream before we leave. Do you want any?"

"Strawberry with whipped cream, thanks," I say, catching his messenger bag before it slides off the chair next to him.

"Be right back."

I lean back with a contented sigh. Such banter between us always lightens my mood. Others see our relationship as something silly and trivial, but they couldn't be farther from the truth. I can see myself being with Kartik for the rest of my life.

I absently finger the amulet around my neck and stare out the window. What would it be like to marry him? Our kids would be cute, I'm sure.

"Hey there, gorgeous, pondering the meaning of life?" Kartik sets my ice cream before me.

"Thank you," I murmur, taking the spoon he offers me. "I was just thinking of what our kids would look like."

"They'd look like us. Only they'd be perfect."

"Of course. They're ours, after all." I spoon some ice cream into my mouth. "Do you think…?" I trail off, unsure if my question will freak him out.

"Think what?"

"Never mind, it's not important."

"Think what?"

"Nothing!"

"I really want to know what I may or may not think, Gemma."

"I was just wondering if you ever think we'll get married," I say, my face flushing.

He looks at me surprised. "I always wonder that."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you'd be the perfect wife! You let me play video games and rub my back when I have to write long papers. And I figure you were my first kiss and my first romp, you might as well be my first wife too."

"I should hope I'd be your only wife."

Kartik grins sheepishly. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," I say slowly. "I do."

"So," Kartik says, standing up. "Do you want to go ride Kartik?"

I stand up as well. "We've been through this already. I'm not renaming Gatsby after you."

Kartik slings his arm around my shoulder. "I wasn't referring to the horse."

Goodness gracious. Great balls of fire. Do you all hate me for making Gemma an equestrienne? A lot of people here seem to like horses, so consider it a gift to you all. Unless you all hate the idea, which would make me sad. And to answer a question - some of this is based on personal experience, some is based on a friend's experience, and some is completely made up. It's up to you to figure out what's real, and what's not. But since apparently I am Libba Bray's fictional character Gemma Doyle, it may all be real. If I lived in this time. Which I don't. Which makes it pretty hard to write this, doesn't it. I've always been told that I'm clever...

Home for the summer,
LunaEquus