Nothing. My brain is giving me no material to work with, word-wise.
“You’re gonna make me say it?”
Blank. It’s like I’ve been lobotomized.
“I like you, Renley.”
“You do?” I finally manage, because I had to say something.
“It’s not why we broke up, though, I swear. Taylor and I have been over forever. So don’t like, feel bad, or anything. And I don’t want you to be under pressure, like you owe me a date or something. We would have broken up that night whether or not you and I had started hanging out.”
My mind is a crazy place to be right now. Lots of information that I have no clue how to deal with. At all.
“I’m not asking you out right now, either. If that makes a difference. I’m just hungry, and I thought you might want to come with me.”
Add slight embarrassment to the growing list of conflicting emotions.
“I, uh, sure. Let’s eat something.”
He leaves his stuff on my floor and we both head out. My dad catches my eye when we leave, and I see nothing but bright, shiny glee all over his face. He’s thrilled, no doubt, that I’ve made an attractive male friend who is not Drew. This irritates me more than it should, but I brush it off and head across the lawn with Seth.
I climb into his car and notice right away that the candy smell is gone, replaced by something citrusy.
“I’m beginning to think you secretly do shop at Bath and Body Works,” I say, inhaling the tropical scent.
He chuckles. “That’s me. I have a secret stash of vanilla-scented body lotion hidden away in my room.”
“Ew.”
“Really though, I just didn’t want the smell of Taylor all in my car. Gumdrop was too much.” He looks over at me, then back to the road. “I did make a one-time trip to Bath and Body Works for it, though. I’m not gonna lie.”
I shake my head. We pull in to one of those old-fashioned burger places, the ones where you pull up to a parking spot and people come out on roller skates to give you your food.
We sit there for a little bit, contemplating, and I eventually settle on a double cheeseburger, onion rings, and a chocolate malt. I’m too young to worry about calories and heart attacks.
It’s not long till the food gets here; that’s the nice thing about these in-between fast food/real food places. Moderately quick food restaurants. When the skater rolls up to Seth’s window, he holds out enough cash for both of us, so I just sit there, a wad of cash in my hand, held out in front of his face.
“I got it. Don’t worry about it.”
The waiter takes it and hands him his change, then trades it for our food. After she leaves, but before I take a bite, I shove the cash into one of his palms.
“This is not a date. You don’t need to pay.”
He hands the money back. “Seriously, it’s not a big thing.”
I roll my eyes. “Seth. Take it. You ask me out on an actual date, I will happily let you pay. But not today.”
He sighs and takes the money, but not before he encloses my fingers in his hand. He lets go quickly, so I don’t even know if it was on purpose, but my fingers feel like it was.
“This car is kind of cramped,” he says, opening the door. I follow his lead. He sits on the hood and holds out his hand, expecting me to join him. I take it, then stop. It just feels weird, the thought of sitting on the hood of his car, eating, talking about life or whatever. Like, this is Drew’s and my thing. I don’t know if sitting on a car can really be someone’s thing, but it feels like it is.
“I think I’ll just stay down here,” I say, not sure why I feel guilty.
“Suit yourself.” He takes a bite of his fries, and then says, “So. Hypothetically, if I did ask you out on an actual date, what would you say?”
I lean back against the car and take a sip from my malt, considering. But in that fatal drink, I get a piece of hardened malt, the kind that tastes awesome, but does not do good things if you suck it down your windpipe. I choke and my eyes water, coughing and sputtering and gagging.
“Whoa, never mind.”
“No,” I rasp. “Wrong … pipe …”
“Oh I hate that. You okay?”
I cough a couple more extremely attractive times and straighten again, setting the killer malt aside. “I’m fine.”
I take a moment to catch my breath, then look over at him. “I’d say yes.”
A smile spreads across his face. “You would?”
“I would. Hypothetically.”
“Maybe I will then.”
“Maybe you should.”
My stomach flutters pleasantly when he stops for a minute, then says, “Hey, Renley, do you have plans on Saturday?”
“I don’t. Why ever would you want to know?” I bat my eyelashes, teasing.
“I know this great little place I’d love to take you.”
“It’s a date.”
17. How to Get a Guy to Give You His Pin
Seth shows up at about seven, hair lightly gelled, hanging around his face in perfect ringlets it would take me five hours to achieve. Gelled hair, a henley tee, and a short-sleeve blue shirt over it. Letterman’s jacket over that. He looks good. When does he not?
“You look nice,” he says.
I blush. It took me forever to get looking this way, picking the perfect jeans, the shirt that makes me look the hottest. It’s nice and really strange to have him compliment me.
I hear my dad walking up behind me. “Seth,” he says.
“Mr. Eisler.”
I can tell my dad is still completely in love with him from the way his eyes light up and his face is halfway covered by a giant smile. I don’t blame him.
“Have her home before midnight.”
I have a hard time not scoffing audibly. Dad wouldn’t do a thing if I wasn’t back until 5 a.m. But Seth doesn’t know that. He just smiles and shakes my dad’s hand.
“Of course,” he says. “Ready to go?”
“Yup.”
I go out the door with him, practically bouncing with every step.
“So, where are we going?”
He starts his car and we roll down the street. “I thought we could go to the Fall Fest downtown.”
“Awesome.”
We get closer and closer to downtown, and I’m so excited I can’t believe it. Romantic date at the Fall Fest with Seth. This has the potential to be the best Saturday night I’ve had in maybe ever.
He parks in the first spot we see and opens my door for me, something Drew never thinks of doing, but that I find really attractive. Drew. Who cares if Drew would think of doing that? I’m here with Seth.
The sounds of polka music are drifting down Main Street, faint now, but I’m sure they’ll get deafening when we get closer to them. Seth slips his hand around mine and a little thrill courses through my arm.
“Is this your kind of music?” I ask.
“What?”
“You obviously don’t approve of my sugary pop rock, so I wonder if this is more your style.”
He laughs loudly and starts toward one of the vendors. “Not exactly.” He bumps me with his elbow. “And your sugary pop rock is fine.”
I grin and we make our way to someone selling something that smells amazing.
“Ooh, glazed walnuts,” Seth says, a look on his face that borders on lustful. “My favorite thing ever. Have you had them?”
“Nope,” I say, but judging by the smell, I wish I had.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? Never? And here I thought we could be friends.”
“Don’t give up on me just yet. I’m willing to give them a shot.”
He hands the vendor a couple bucks and pours some of the warm walnuts in my hands. I pop one in my mouth and wow. He was right. These and cider would be my most perfect meal. Screw the diabetes that would inevitably follow.
“Toss me one,” he says, and we make our way to the middle of the street.
“Like, to your mouth?”
> “Yeah.” His eyes are twinkling and he takes a step or two back, still holding my hand.
I toss one in the air, and he stops with his mouth right where it’s falling, then catches it on his tongue. I giggle, and throw another one, which he catches expertly.
“Impressive.”
He smiles.
“Okay,” I say, “you gotta go for three.”
He drops my hand, and backs up, rubbing his hands together, expression extremely serious, like he’s pumping himself up to pitch a no-hitter.
“Let’s do this,” I say. “The moment of truth.”
I throw the nut and he opens his mouth, trying to get under it. But my trajectory was way off and it whacks him right in the eye. He jumps back and rubs his eye hard.
“Oh no!” I head over to him, stifling a laugh.
“That was on purpose. Any guy can catch food with his mouth. How many do you know who could catch it with their corneas?”
“Very remarkable.”
“Thank you, thank you,” he says, laughing, and mock bowing. There’s still a trace of sugar around his eye and he keeps twitching it, which makes me feel kind of bad. But mostly it’s funny.
He takes my hand again, warming my palm, and we walk down the street together, taking in the bad music and the smells of baking nuts and spices and funnel cakes and beer. He’s running his thumb along my wrist, which is so hot.
“So, your dad seems nice,” he says.
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure he’s got a man-crush on you.”
“Not quite sure how I feel about that.”
“He’s just glad I’m going out with a nice guy.”
Seth raises an eyebrow. “Oh no, a nice guy. That’s the kiss of death.”
“No, no. It’s good.”
“And your dad’s so thrilled because you usually go for the bad boy type? I can totally get a tattoo. Maybe even a piercing.” He smirks.
I roll my eyes, trying not to think about the reason my dad thinks I’m into not-nice guys, which is not true at all. “Bad boys aren’t my type. I’d rather hang out with guys who aren’t gonna cut me open with a lip ring when they kiss me, or try to take my drink and spike it when I’m not looking.”
He scowls. “So Gary Harding wouldn’t be your type then.”
“Ha. No.”
“Sorry about that guy, by the way. I still feel kind of bad about that, since I invited you to the bonfire and all.”
“It’s fine. He’s just a moron. Moron bad boys are definitely not my type. I like nice guys.”
“And am I a nice guy?”
I smile and toss another walnut in my mouth, then walk ahead of him down the street. He laughs.
“Ooh!” I shout, pointing way ahead of us. “Ferris wheel. You want to ride?”
“Absolutely.”
I walk more quickly, eager to make it to the ride, partially because I’ve always wanted to ride a Ferris wheel with a guy, and possibly just to get stuck for a while at the top.
When we get there, he hands the guy a couple dollars and we get in. The seats are open air, leaving us exposed, but it’s worth it. It’s dark outside and the lights of the city and the Fall Fest are twinkling everywhere. It would have been a crime to obscure that view.
After stopping a few times to let other people on, the ride slowly spins. We get higher and higher and everything looks more beautiful the longer the ride goes.
“It’s amazing up here,” I breathe, surveying the landscape below, the light glinting off the water nearby.
“Yeah. Some view.”
I look at him when he says that and see that he’s not looking at the city; he’s looking at me.
“Shut up,” I say, smiling, and hit him in the chest.
He turns up a corner of his mouth and looks out over the water. “I was talking about the lights.”
“Mmhmm.”
The wheel spins slowly and he inches closer to me, arm around my shoulders. It’s pretty impressive; I don’t even remember him putting it there.
And on the fourth go-round, it slows until it stops at the top, seat rocking gently back and forth. We are quiet for a second, and I can feel his gaze on the side of my face. I turn toward him, not realizing just how close together we were until now.
His fingers move gently on my shoulder, and my eyes are locked on his. Then he says quietly, “Can I kiss you?”
My palms instantly break into a sweat, and I’m glad he’s not holding one. I nod, and he moves closer to me, eyes closing just before mine do. And then he kisses me, soft and sweet and slow, fingers still tracing circles on my arm. Chills spread from my lips to everywhere else, and he pulls back.
The ride is nearly over, and though the air is getting chilly, I’m completely warm.
We get off the Ferris wheel and he’s holding my hand again, swinging it just slightly as we walk.
The night is getting darker, which is so romantic, but it brings with it a bite in the air. I shiver, the warmth of his kiss wearing off. I wish, like I always do, that I’d brought a heavier jacket. He looks over at me, noticing the shudder, and shrugs off his own coat, throwing it over my shoulders.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
We spend the next couple hours just talking and eating and kissing occasionally, until he checks his phone and we notice the time.
“I’ve gotta get you home.”
“Yeah. I mean, my dad’s not going to care either way, but …”
“Still. I’d rather be on his good side.”
I don’t tell him that my dad’s bad side is nothing to fear; I just go with him to his car. When he drops me off, it’s 11:55, and I’m not ready to leave. He walks me to the front door, still holding my hand, and I break from it to take off his jacket.
“No, you keep it.”
I turn it over, taking a real look at it. It’s his letter jacket. I feel like I should be wearing a poodle skirt all of a sudden and laugh, donning a Southern Belle’s accent. “Oh gracious. A boy givin’ me his letter jacket. I wonder if he’ll give me his pin.”
He rubs the back of his head, flushing and smiling. “Only if you wanna go steady,” he fires back, suddenly a Southern gentleman from the 1950s.
I laugh, then realize he’s serious. “Really?”
“Really.”
I pause, considering. But what is there to consider? Of course I want to go out with him. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Then keep the jacket,” he says, and I hug it closer.
I lean back against the door and he puts his palm on it, just over my shoulder. Now, he’s fully aware he’s doing the lean. And then he moves in to kiss me. He uses just the slightest hint of tongue this time, and I’m glad I’m not totally surprised by it. We stand there for a couple minutes, slowly saying good night, until the clock turns twelve. Then he heads off to his car.
When I go inside, I run up the stairs and lie there in my bed for a while, not able to fall asleep for the next two hours.
18. How to Make Tiramisu (And Not Eat It)
The next week is pretty much bliss. With Seth, at least. He walks me from class to class and holds my hand and corners me by the lockers and kisses me. Sometimes, I feel a little guilty when I see Taylor and her friends walk past. She notices. She still has that post-break-up glaze over her eyes, where everything about her is just a little sad. And it’s not like it’s been long at all since they broke up.
Her little posse shoots me wicked looks whenever they see me, which is kind of irritating, but also a little frightening. Taylor is nice enough, but I heard Ash once put bleach in a girl’s mascara and sent her to the hospital. So I’m somewhat scared of the possible retribution they’ll levy against me as soon as Taylor gets past the sad and into the anger.
But it’s high school, and that kind of stuff happens, so I don’t let the guilt overcome this walking-on-air feeling that follows me around everywhere. I keep instinctively pulling out my phone to text April about it, because I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t tell someon
e. But every time, I put it away. It’s been too long since we’ve talked at this point, and I don’t know if inching my way back in by bringing up Seth is the best idea ever. So, I hold it in. It’s okay, because the giddiness overwhelms the almost-exploding-ness.
I practically skip into calculus, where April and I have been expertly avoiding each other for several days. She’s sitting with Cash, fiddling with her lip ring. I feel a pang of longing at the familiar gesture, and my eyes start to sting. I miss her.
“Hey,” I offer.
She rolls her eyes over to look at me and I shrink back in my seat. Then she raises her eyebrows and brings her palm to her chest. “Me?” she says, fluttering her eyelashes.
“Yeah. Hey.”
“Ah, the prodigal daughter has returned,” she says dramatically, so much bite in her voice I’m suddenly super glad she’s sitting with Cash and not me.
“I just, uh.”
She raises her eyebrows. “It’s okay, sweetie. Sometimes it’s hard to remember how to speak with the peasants once you’ve ascended.”
She shoots me an icy smile and I get this horrible hollow feeling in my stomach—one that slowly starts to take over everything, making all my limbs go hot, my face almost painfully so. “April, I’m, like … I’m sorry I’ve been blowing you off—”
She holds up a hand to cut me off. Cash just sits there uncomfortably.
“I don’t care,” she says.
I sink lower in my chair.
“I just need to know if you’re going to debase yourself enough to come to math club tonight. Keith needs to know if he has to give you a ride.”
“Well. I’m just, I’m not totally sure if—”
“Ugh, I hope he’s incredible in bed,” she says disgustedly.
I narrow my eyes. “Hey. That’s not—”
But just then the bell rings and Mr. Sanchez looks pointedly at both of us and so we shut up. When class is over, she smiles brightly and waves that irritating, spirit fingers wave. I swear I’m not imagining when she leaves her middle finger up a little longer than the rest.
Everything else sucks for the whole day. I’m being totally antisocial, unable to focus on anything but April and how desperately I do not want to bump into her.
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