The Dating Game

by Kiley Roache

  “Here.” Braden tucks her in. “I’m Postmating food for you, and Sara and I will wake you up when it comes. Just sleep for now.”

  Colleen nods.

  “And drink water.” He picks up a S’well bottle from her desk and lays it beside her on the bed. “You’d be surprised how dehydrated crying will make you.”

  Colleen laughs and pulls the water bottle toward her, cuddling it as she closes her eyes to sleep.

  I shut Colleen’s door behind us quietly. “Thank you,” I say. “That was really kind.”

  “No problem,” Braden says. “I saw you guys, and figured I would help.”

  I nod. We head down the hall to my room.

  “It’s strange though. Girls crying on the ground is usually a drunk thing.” He laughs. “Sober at noon is a new one.”

  “I think she was pretty out of it,” I say. “Maybe not drunk, but she said she hadn’t really slept in days.”

  “That’ll do it.”

  We step into my room. The common room is empty, but someone left an empty yogurt container on the table. I cringe as I pick it up and throw it away.

  “It was so freaky,” I say. I pull a Vitaminwater from the fridge and unscrew the cap. “She kept talking about Perfect10. Like it was...ruling her life or something. I’ve never seen anything... I didn’t think people would get that upset because of something we made.” My voice is thick and my eyes burn. Oh great, I’m gonna cry now too.

  Braden seems to notice. He steps closer. “Hey, hey,” he says. “It’s okay.” He brushes his hand against my cheek. “That was not our fault, okay?”

  I don’t say anything, afraid that if I speak my voice will crack.

  “I’m sure the guy was a dick, but it sounded like he was just as much of a dick in person as he was online, okay?”

  I nod.

  He leans in and brushes his lips against mine. A sigh escapes me and I kiss him back, letting my body melt into his. He trails a hand from the small of my back into my hair. I put my arms around him. I slip my hand under the hem of his shirt and feel the warm, bare skin of his back.

  His lips press on mine, and this kiss turns from comforting to exhilarating. My body starts to overtake my mind, and thoughts of anything besides his lips and his skin and the bulge pressing against my hip disappear.

  He leads me by my wrist into the bedroom, where thankfully, Tiffany is nowhere to be found.

  We fall onto my twin extra long together, and there is no room for us to not be touching. Not that we would want that.

  We do the same thing, but horizontal. When he reaches around to my bra clasp and looks at me, a question in his eyes, I nod.

  And so I make it to second base. And not just over the bra.

  His hands are kind of cold, but it feels nice.

  When he moves his hand to the button of my jeans and I shake my head, he groans, but doesn’t push me further. Instead, we stop and watch Netflix, and I start to get cramps like I’m on my period, even though I’m not. I guess my body is frustrated we had to stop too.

  I try not to feel dumb for taking it so slow. True, it’s not like any of this is new to him, but everything is new to me. I mean, he was my first kiss.

  And I know, I know, that some people have that in middle school. And that many people do a lot more before they get to college. But I don’t want to rush it. I want to enjoy each small step and new first, even though I’m starting later in the game.

  Eventually Colleen’s food arrives, and it turns out that Braden ordered some for us too. We eat takeout and talk about new classes we’re in and how happy we are to be back in the sun after a break in the snow. We watch more Netflix and cuddle, and every once in a while he kisses the top of my head.

  Overall, it’s a really nice afternoon.

  But I am distracted the whole time. I lie there and run Colleen’s words through my head. Because Braden is right, that guy was an a-hole both online and off. But I can’t stop thinking: Colleen barely talked about the guy.

  Mostly, she talked about our app.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sara

  Never before have I been in the curious position where the boy I like, likes me back.

  Sure, there were boys who liked me. But they we all either super creepy or okay, but not the guy I would’ve picked if I had my choice. And I spent hours wondering if maybe I should give them a chance.

  And then there were the boys I liked. Some—hell, most—never even noticed me, never saw me. And the ones who I thought might, like Chris, were always so close but not quite there. For every sweet moment there were hours of reading through texts, talking with friends and analyzing “how things were going.”

  They never told me they liked me back, just sprinkled bread crumbs of affection. Enough to keep me hungry for more, but never enough to fill me up. It kept me from moving on, but also from ever feeling secure.

  It was “that dress looks cool on you” instead of “you look beautiful tonight” and “are you going to the bonfire tonight?” instead of “I hope to see you there.”

  I was always sort of dragging both of us along, trying to turn a boy who just wanted to hook up into a boyfriend, or one who was unavailable into a future possibility. Convincing myself I was somehow building it into something swoonworthy, something I didn’t have to try so hard to keep together.

  But to have someone texting me back before I even have time to stress about whether they’ve read the message? To have someone who shows me off in pictures rather than telling everyone we’re just good friends? To have someone planning dates instead of texting me at 2:00 a.m.?

  To have the stars align and luck fall on my side and the universe smile and somehow the guy I like like is actually the same one who like likes me—it’s remarkable.

  It makes me wonder how I was so confused about situations in the past. Of course those “relationships” weren’t going anywhere. Those guys clearly were not into me. When someone is into you, you can tell. It’s not like that. It’s like this.

  * * *

  A few days ago, Braden announced that he wanted to have me meet his friends. I kind of thought it was one of those vague, nice things you say in a relationship that never really happens, but sure enough, this morning he texted me about dinner tonight with a group.

  He picks me up at my dorm in an Uber Black. I’m wearing dark jeans, a black blouse and the short, fat kind of heels that dress up an outfit while remaining wearable.

  “Do you like sushi?” he asks as we speed off campus toward town.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’ve missed it a ton since I came to school.” Raw fish isn’t usually served in a dining hall, and I’ve been daydreaming about the California rolls at my family’s favorite takeout place.

  The driver pulls to the curb in front of a low-slung building made of light wood and sleek black marble.

  “This is some of the best stuff I’ve had on this side of the Pacific,” Braden says as he opens the door of the restaurant for me.

  A hostess in a black cocktail dress greets us and asks for the name on our reservation. The wall behind her is a waterfall, cascading over marble.

  “Hart,” Braden answers and she smiles as she types with red lacquered fingernails.

  I peek around the waterfall at the interior of the restaurant. The dining room is dimly lit by fixtures made of tiny lanterns that look like they’re floating above each table.

  Men in hoodies and women in bodycon dresses sit in black leather chairs, drinking from tiny ceramic glasses and picking up food so tiny that I can barely see it across the room. Robbie would think it was hilarious. We always joke about how strange the dress code is in Silicon Valley.

  “Your party is already here,” the hostess says.

  She tosses a curtain of sleek black hair over her shoulder and turns on her not-so-sensible heels.


  We make our way to the other side of the dining room, where she pulls back a bamboo divider to reveal another room with a table that seats ten. Seven are taken by a group of laughing and talking people who are apparently my age but seem much older. They are like a scene straight off my Instagram “Discover Page.” You know the kind, the strangers with mind-blowing lives and four thousand likes per selfie. They’re somehow all ridiculously beautiful, with polished outfits, blown-out hair and dazzling smiles.

  We step into the room, and half the table turns to look at us.

  “Sara, this is Heather, Ava, Brian, Myra, Jason, Christine and Bennet,” Braden says, gesturing toward the table. “Everyone, this is Sara.”

  They all greet us at once, rendering individual words indistinguishable.

  I half raise a hand and smile as Braden and I take the two remaining seats.

  The napkin on my plate is folded so intricately that I almost feel bad undoing it. I am gently pulling on the corner of mine when Braden yanks his open. I blush and quickly undo mine and place it on my lap.

  I open my menu and scan for a word I recognize or a price under forty dollars, to no avail.

  Looking up, I open my mouth to speak to Braden, but he is deep in conversation about prep school crew team with the guy next to him. He is twisted so far that I can’t see much except the back of his suit jacket. Part of me misses Robbie. Braden can be great and all, when you are the center of his attention. But Robbie is good at making sure everyone in the room feels comfortable. I could use that right now.

  “So.” Across the table a girl with olive skin and striking green eyes sets down her drink. “Henry messaged me last night, on the PT—that’s what I’m calling Perfect10 now.” She turns to Braden. “B, if you start to use that, you owe me money, by the way.”

  He laughs. I am very aware that he does not turn to me, and that she was clearly addressing him alone. I wonder if he has mentioned that I am his cofounder, as well as his girlfriend.

  “Ava, are you kidding me? Henry?” the girl sitting across from her, Christine, I believe, says. “Boooo,” she adds.

  Ava rolls her eyes and takes another sip of her drink. “I don’t know, I was drunk and I answered, okay?” She shrugs and her friend places her head in her hands.

  A waiter in an all-black ensemble and white apron parts the bamboo divider and Ava flags him down.

  “We’ll start with four orders of these and these, and maybe two of the live octopus, just to try,” she says, looking down at her menu. “Oh, and they need drinks.” She gestures down the table toward us.

  I flip the menu over but the waiter is standing behind my chair before I locate the drinks.

  “Umm...” I feel my face grow hot. “Water is fine,” I say.

  “I was going to go with the sake...” Braden says, turning toward me for the first time since we sat down, but really he’s turned toward the waiter. “Which would you recommend?” Braden holds up the menu.

  “Either of these.” The waiter points to two items.

  “All right, let’s go with the Premium then, thanks.” He picks up his menu and then my own. “And she’ll have some too.”

  The waiter nods and takes both menus. I guess I didn’t need to attempt to decipher it after all. I wait for him to ask for the ID that I don’t have, but he walks away without a word.

  “Okay,” Ava says, sitting up taller. “Where was I?”

  “You were making a huge mistake, again,” Christine says.

  “Right.” Ava nods as she swings her purse from the back of her chair onto her lap, the metal Gucci logo catching the light. “So I go over to ‘watch a movie.’” She lowers her voice and makes it sound dopier, clearly doing her boy voice. Pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her purse, she taps the pack against her wrist. She pulls one out and puts it between her lips, then sparks a bedazzled lighter with expert technique.

  I look around to see if anyone else is shocked. Surely you can’t smoke in here?

  She takes a drag before continuing her story. “So we watch all five minutes of some dumb robot fighting movie before we’re very much not watching the movie anymore.”

  The waiter parts the bamboo and steps into the room with a tray of ceramic carafes and tiny cups. “You can’t smoke in here,” he says as he sets down the glasses.

  Ava puts out the cigarette on a ceramic plate, smearing black ash over the intricate flower design. “Anyway, so there we are, half-naked, with Transformers like, battling each other or whatever in the background, when his phone goes off.”

  The waiter sets a tiny glass in front of me, and Braden reaches to fill it with a clear liquid from the carafe.

  “And he literally takes his hand off my...” She looks around the restaurant. “Well, you know, and goes and checks his phone. And then, I kid you not, he tells me he has to go, because a girl who is Platinum just asked to meet him at Joe’s Bar. He says it like, of course I’ll understand that he has no choice.” She throws back a shot of sake.

  “Jesus,” Christine says. “Well at least now will you believe me when I say he’s not worth your time?”

  “Eh.” Ava shrugs. “Well see.”

  Christine looks defeated.

  “Do you have your Juul?” Ava asks, changing the subject.

  The second girl reaches into a small leather purse and pulls out what looks like a flash drive.

  “Can I get some tea?” Ava asks the waiter with a winning smile as he leaves the room.

  “I don’t know,” Braden says, looking at Ava. “The guy has a point—how can you pass up a 9 or above?”

  About half the table laughs, and the other just looks at him. It is pretty much divided according to gender.

  I elbow him in the side.

  “What, it was a joke,” he says.

  “It’s a rude joke,” I quip back.

  “Thank you, new girl,” Ava says. “Braden, I like this one.”

  The waiter sets her tea in front of her and she nods briefly. “The girls he typically brings around just kiss his ass, if they speak at all.”

  The other girl laughs. “Yeah, sometimes they just stare into space.”

  “Or at their reflection in every shiny surface,” Ava adds.

  I smile at the compliment, although I feel a bit sick to my stomach about the context.

  The waiter returns and sets down tiny plates of raw fish perfectly arranged with spices and sauces.

  I wait for a few other people to take food before I pick up my chopsticks and carefully take a small piece of bright pink fish that I’m guessing is tuna.

  “Hey.” I nudge Braden with my elbow. “Do you know what—”

  “One second,” he tells me, before turning away and yelling down the table, “Hey, will you pass the lobster?”

  I shrug and turn back to my food. The piece of fish is so tiny that I eat it in one bite. It is tuna, garnished with a sort of spicy ginger sauce. It’s really good, but I couldn’t tell you what made this this, and the sushi from the place at home cheap.

  I reach for another one, but Braden places his hand on mine. “You don’t want that,” he says. “It’s fattening.”

  “Sure I do,” I say, shoving a piece in my mouth.

  “Sara, be a lady,” he says.

  My shoulders inch up toward my ears, and heat builds in my stomach. My natural response to a rude comment by a douchey guy. Or I guess, in this case, my boyfriend.

  I sit up straighter and look right at him. “I am,” I say with food in my mouth. He glares at me, and I am debating how far I want to take this showdown when something across the table catches my eye.

  Ava puts the flash-drive-looking item to her lips. She lowers one hand and raises the other, holding her tea.

  As soon as it reaches her lips, vapor billows around the glass. She lowers the cup and sets it on the table. “It�
��s very hot tea,” she says.

  “Is that how you try to hide it?” Christine asks.

  “Is it working?” Ava says.

  I reach forward and pick up the little cup in front of me. I look around to see if the waiter is nearby, even though he didn’t ask me for ID. Still, High School Me is panicking inside my brain. I raise the cup to my lips and sip the hot liquid. It is surprisingly easy to drink, or maybe not surprising given the price tag.

  I continue to sip my drink and nibble at the food. Ava and Braden continue to flag down the waiter and order more bottles of sake, and more colorful, strange, tiny plates of food.

  The conversation grows louder and my body warmer, and although Braden barely talks to me, I start to not really mind. Because, after each sip of sake, I feel more and more like I am good friends with all of these intimidating strangers.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Christine says, as she pours herself more sake. A bit spills on the table and she dabs it with a finger and then licks it off. “My parents said we could have the ski house for spring break.”

  “Oh, fabulous,” Ava says. “I’ll cancel the hotel tomorrow.”

  “Everyone’s invited,” Christine says. “There are plenty of bedrooms.”

  “There are plenty of guest suites,” Ava says.

  Christine rolls her eyes. “There’re only two apartments in the guesthouse.”

  “Dibs!” Ava says, raising her hand and knocking over a glass of water in the process. “Oops.” She tosses her napkin over the spill, but water continues to snake down the table.

  “Sara,” Christine says, turning to me. She puts her hand on mine. “You should come too. You would love it. Have you ever been skiing in Aspen?”

  “Nope. I’ve never been skiing ever.” I tuck a loose hair behind my ear.

  “Well then you have to come,” she says. She leans closer, “And I’ll let you and Braden have the guesthouse. Ava can get over it.”

  “That’s so nice of you to invite me,” I say. In my mind I picture my calendar. I mean... I guess I could probably see if I could leave the camp early... But still, I’m not sure if I should miss any of the week.