by Sparling,Amy
I slide open the mirror that doubles as a closet door and stare at the array of clothing options available for my date. “So why did you lie?”
“He’s taking you to the Draft Cinema,” she says, as if that’s all the explanation she needs. When I stare blankly at her for a few minutes, she sighs and adds, “That’s the theater that’s famous for selling alcohol to minors. None of the servers check I.D.s. How do you not know this?”
I shrug. “I’m not an underage drinker?”
If something is illegal, you can bet I don’t do it. I won’t even listen to pirated music because I’m afraid I’d get caught and thrown in jail.
Dana walks over to me, putting a hand on the top of my head even though I’m slightly taller than she is. “Oh, my sweet little cousin,” she murmurs, patting me like a child. “You are so innocent and trustworthy.”
I throw her hand off me. “I really doubt Mom knows that place is an underage drinking utopia. Besides, even if it is, she knows I don’t drink so there’s nothing to worry about.”
“But what if Alex does? He’s a total jock so he’s probably borderline alcoholic by now. You call me if he gets drunk, okay? I’ll come pick you up so you don’t let his drunk ass get in a wreck.”
I flip through some shirts on hangers. “Do you really think that would happen?”
Dana shrugs. “I don’t know the guy. It could. Hopefully not. I want your first date to be uber romantic and sweet, okay? But if it’s not, you call me. I’m just looking out for you.”
“Okay,” I say with a sigh. If I wasn’t nervous about this date before, I am now. Alex says he’ll pick me up at seven, which is still two hours away, so I have plenty of time to freak out about the potential date downfalls in the meantime.
I take a deep breath and turn back to my closet. “Now help me pick out something to wear.”
***
Two hours later, my doorbell rings. It is exactly seven, which means Alex is starting this date out promptly. That means it’ll be good, right?
I take one last look at myself in my vanity mirror and then grab my purse and phone, and rush out to greet him at the door. Dana had helped me pick out my very first First Date outfit. Distressed skinny jeans, brown heels, and a purple long-sleeved shirt because apparently it gets cold in that theater. I paired it with a long necklace with a little hourglass charm, and some sparkly earrings. My hair, black and shoulder length, has been given a little makeover with my curling iron. Now instead of being flat and pulled into its normal messy bun, it’s loose and wavy.
I’m feeling pretty okay about this date. I look nice, my body feels okay. No hurting stomach or headache coming on or anything. This will be fun.
I open the door and Alex is standing there wearing a smirky grin and a plaid shirt with jeans. “Hey,” I say.
“Hey there.”
His car is parked in our driveway, a silver sporty looking thing. “You ready to go?” he asks.
“My mom wants to meet you first,” I say, giving him this apologetic look.
My heart seizes up as I wait for him to laugh in my face and high tail it out of here because teenagers meeting parents is such a lame thing. But instead he just says, “Cool. I’d love to meet her.”
I exhale and let him inside, calling for my mom to come join us. So far, this first date is going really well. I think I’ll totally survive it.
Chapter 3
“Well, that went better than expected.”
Alex peers at me under his slightly-too-long dark hair that’s in his eyes. “Does it usually go badly when your mom meets a guy?”
I can’t possibly tell him that this is the first time she’s met a guy, so I just shrug. “Maybe I worry too much for nothing,” I say.
“Maybe,” Alex says. We reach his car, and he clicks the unlock button on his key fob. He does not walk around to my door and open it for me, but I guess I’m not really expecting it. I mean, everyone always says that chivalry is dead, and feminism is alive, and I mean really, am I so helpless that I can’t open my own door?
It dawns on me now that I have no idea what to expect on this date. I don’t know how to date. I am Zoey Caplan, seventeen-year-old virgin and dating newbie.
Oh God.
“I love Draft Cinema,” I say as soon as Alex cranks the engine. Only, he doesn’t hear it because his radio turns on at the same time, blasting the small interior of this car with heavy metal rock music.
“Sorry,” he says, turning down the volume. “What’d you say?”
I buckle my seatbelt, admiring how the inside of his car is pretty clean. That’s a good thing, right? I’d be turned off if his car was an expensive pigsty. “I said I love the Draft Cinema.”
I’ve only been once, with Mom and her friend Maria, but we ordered nachos and cheese fries to share and it was pretty good. There’s servers dressed in all black who sneak into the aisles and bring you food to eat while you watch the movie.
“Yeah, it’s great,” he says, putting his hand on my seat as he turns around to back out of my driveway. “I’m really glad you decided to come with me.” He flashes me a smile, and I’ll admit, it makes my toes go all tingly.
“I know we don’t know each other, but what better way to get to know each other, huh?” He smiles, and I smile too, although I’m thinking that a dark movie theater isn’t exactly the best way to get to know someone. It’s not like we can talk the whole time. But we can talk now, so I make the most of it.
“So how’d your mom like the fancy sauce pan?”
“Yeah, she decided she didn’t feel like going through the effort of making alfredo sauce from scratch, so she ordered Italian take out instead.” He grins while focusing on the road.
“What a wasted trip to such a boring store,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Nah. I met you.”
Heat rises up from somewhere within me, making me grin like a fool. So this is what dating is like? I could get used to it.
A warm breeze whips through the parking lot, sending my hair into a frenzy. I try to hold it down, but it’s really no use. Alex parks near the back of the lot because there’s so many people here already, so the walk will be long enough to ruin my hair totally. I pray it’ll look okay after I run my fingers through it a few times.
As we walk, he takes my hand. Takes it like it’s nothing. No big deal at all. His palm just slides into mine, fingers lacing between mine, not even missing a step in his walk.
My breath hitches but I hold on, trying not to squeeze too tight or eagerly or anything, and I do the best I can at keeping the grin off my face. I figured you’d have to go on a few dates before holding hands, but what do I know?
Alex doesn’t talk too much, but it’s not like I can think of anything good to say either, so it’s not a big deal. As we approach the front of the line for the ticket counter, I reach into my purse and take out my wallet.
“No way,” Alex says, shaking his head. “No date of mine is paying for her ticket.”
Maybe chivalry isn’t dead.
“Thanks,” I say, sliding my wallet back into my purse. “That’s very sweet of you.”
He winks.
When we get to our seats, Alex hands me one of the laminated menus on the table. “Order anything you want. On me,” he says with another one of his killer grins.
I’m a little too nervous to eat, so I just order some fried pickles from our waitress.
“You don’t want a burger or anything?” Alex asks me.
I shake my head. “I’m good with just the pickles.”
He reaches over and takes my hand, giving it a little squeeze. To the waitress, he says, “I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries, and uh, go ahead and get us a bucket of Bud Light.”
“Coming up,” the waitress says, jotting it down on her order pad before moving to the next customers sitting a few seats down.
I can’t believe what I just witnessed. Dana was right, they don’t card you for alcohol here. She was also right on a diff
erent front . . . Alex ordered beer. I ordered a Diet Coke. This is weird. I’m suddenly so nervous I can’t think straight.
The previews begin and I’m barely paying attention to them, because Alex is holding my hand in his, his thumb drawing circles on my palm. It feels good, but also a little weird. I’m just not sure we should be doing this—this kind of romantic stuff—so early on. We don’t even know each other. Still, he’s cute, and I’m on a date, so I try to enjoy it.
When our food arrives, the waitress sets down a bucket full of ice and six bottles of beer and she doesn’t so much as look twice to see how old we appear. Alex pops open a bottle and hands it to me.
“Oh, um,” I say, holding the cold glass in my hands. “I don’t drink.”
He chuckles. On the movie screen, previews are still playing so people are talking and eating their food, not worrying about being quiet just yet. When I hand the beer back to him, his brow furrows. “Are you serious?”
I nod.
“Wait, do you have like an alcoholic parent or something?”
“No,” I say slowly.
He nods, and hands me back the beer. “Good, then tonight we’ll toast to letting me get you drunk for the first time.” He grins, and I find myself smiling too, although I’m not sure why.
I take the beer and he taps his glass to mine, before taking a huge sip. Before long, he’s drained his first bottle and is reaching for a second,
The movie begins and I’m sitting here, snacking on fried pickles and holding a full beer bottle that I absolutely don’t want to drink. What if the cops show up? What if someone rats us out?
I can’t get in trouble with this, I can’t. Heart pounding, I lean over and set the bottle on the floor near my feet. Alex is eating his burger and watching the movie so he doesn’t see.
We settle into the movie, and things are going okay. Alex drinks four of the beers but he doesn’t ask me to drink any more, luckily.
Halfway through the movie, my anxiety over being caught with alcohol finally subsides. I stop picturing a big police officer lumbering down the aisle, flashlight pointed at my face, asking for my I.D. This will be okay.
Although I might need to call Dana to come pick me up.
Alex reaches over and takes my hand, pulling it into his lap. I lean over, letting my head rest against his arm.
“Wait,” he whispers, giving me this sly smile. He grabs the armrest that separates us and lifts it up, turning our two separate seats into one big one. He winks at me again, and then pulls me closer to him. Heart pounding, I let my cheek rest against his shoulder while we watch the movie. He’s still holding my hand in both of his. It’s kind of sweet, actually.
Until he moves my hand on top of his crotch. Palm down, he presses my hand over the bulge of his erection. I freeze.
With his hand on top of mine, he forces me to rub up and down over his jeans. He groans in pleasure, and then reaches for his belt, unbuckling it.
I panic and yank my hand away, sliding as far to the right as I can.
He looks over at me, eyes glazed and smirk vanished. “What?”
I just stare at him, not sure what to say. He reaches over and slides a finger down my boob, letting his hand trace down my stomach and to my lap. I don’t like any of this but I can’t seem to say anything. He leans over, his breath hot on my ear. “You gonna make me take care of you first?” he whispers.
I shake my head. Words can’t seem to form and I don’t know what to say. “No.”
When the word finally escapes my lips, Alex’s cute features warp into a scowl. “Fuckin’ bitch,” he mutters under his breath.
And then he gets up and leaves.
Chapter 4
Dana’s Suburban pulls up to the curb, stopping right on the red fire line that’s specifically a no parking zone. She rolls down the passenger window, leans over, like she’s picking up a hitchhiker instead of me, and says, “Hey there, pretty lady. Need a ride?”
I roll my eyes and climb into her car, slamming the door behind me. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I say preemptively, folding my arms over my chest.
She shrugs and pulls out of the parking lot. “I told you everyone goes to Draft Cinema to drink. You did the right thing by calling me.”
“Although I’m sure he was drunk, that’s not why I called you to take me home,” I mutter, looking out the window. Draft Cinema is smack in the middle of town, so I’m forced to watch people walking up and down the shopping areas, eating ice cream with friends, and holding hands with their lovers. Everyone is out on this Saturday night and having fun, while I’m suffering from what’s probably the worst first date in history.
“Then why did you call me?” Dana asks.
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I don’t care,” Dana says quickly. She punches the radio button and the cab drops to silence. “You’re my best friend. Tell me what happened.”
“He left, okay?” I keep staring out the window because I don’t want to look at her. “He just left and I needed a ride home.”
“Before or after the movie?”
I exhale, a shudder running through me as I recall him putting my hand on his crotch. “During.”
“Whoa. Weird.” Dana waits a beat and then says, “Maybe he got like explosive diarrhea or something and had to leave so he wouldn’t be embarrassed.”
The truth is far worse than that, but I can’t bring myself to relive this humiliation any longer, so I just lift my shoulders and gaze out at the parking lot of a local Wal-Mart. “Yeah, maybe.”
***
Alex doesn’t text me for the rest of the weekend. Admittedly, I’m no expert on dating in high school, but I kind of thought he’d send me a text, at least one. Maybe apologize or make sure I got home safely or something. But it’s crickets. No texts except from Dana, sending me pictures of her latest food creations.
Monday morning Mom drops me off at Dad’s house on her way to work. He lives in the opposite direction of her work, and every time one of them makes the trek of hauling me back and forth, I start in on my favorite topic of discussion: getting me a car.
Both of my parents always have the same answer for me.
Mom says, “Your dad is welcome to buy you a car, Zoey.”
Dad says, “Ask your mom to buy you a car. I’ll pay for the insurance.”
It’s a losing battle, but one I play nonetheless.
Dad’s in the kitchen reading sports news on his tablet while he drinks coffee.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, slinging my backpack to the floor.
“Hi, Zo.” Dad always calls me Zo, a shortened form of my already pretty short name. It’s a little annoying because it reminds me of Joe—a boy’s name. And also the only Joe I’ve ever known, which was this five-year-old bully back when I was in daycare.
Dad’s house is just a block away from school, so I take a seat and hang out for a while. When my parents were married, we lived in a three bedroom house in the middle of town. It was older, one of the first houses built there in the seventies. I don’t remember it at all, I just know what I’ve seen in pictures. After their divorce, they split the money and assets and got separate houses. Mom bought the small duplex we still live in, and Dad floated from apartment to apartment for a few years.
Then, about five years ago, Dad bought the house he lives in now. It’s two stories, has four bedrooms, and a swimming pool in the back yard. He’s never so much as dated another woman, but it’s almost like he was buying a house for a family when we moved in here. Sometimes I wonder if he was secretly hoping he and my mom would get back together.
Sometimes I secretly hope that too.
Dad asks about my weekend, and I tell him a lie. Specifically, I say, “It was good.”
In reality, the only good thing that happened—getting asked out on a date—was quickly overshadowed by being felt up and then left on that date. I can think of nothing more humiliating than explaining my utter failure with boys to my dad.
“Have a good day at school,” Dad says as we walk out to the driveway together.
“Thanks, you too.” Dad works at the intermediate school a few miles away. He’s the principal, though he was just a teacher when I was in fifth grade. Lucky for me, he stayed in the smaller grades so I don’t have to worry about having my dad be the principal in high school with me. Gag.
“You want a ride?” Dad asks.
“Nah, I’m good,” I say, heading for the sidewalk. Walking to school always helps me clear my head and prepare for the day of higher education that’s being forced on me by state law. I wave at him as he drives away.
By the time I’ve arrived at school, I’ve almost entirely forgotten that stupid date with Alex. Then, because fate hates me, I walk straight into him on the quad. Well, not into him exactly—thank God.
I’m staring at my shoes as I walk, a habit that Dana constantly makes fun of, when I hear Alex’s voice yelling to his friend. They’re tossing a football back and forth, killing time before the bell rings. I look up just in time to see Alex standing there, about five feet away.
He catches the football, meets my eye, and throws it back to his friend. Then he looks away as if it never happened. No acknowledgement, no smile, no sneer. Nothing.
For a small second I allow myself the fantasy of thinking maybe I dreamed the whole terrible date. But when I look at my phone I see his old texts there, as real as ever. I swallow the lump in my throat and head to class.
If he wants to pretend like it never happened, then I can play that game, too.
Maybe it’s my imagination, but it kind of feels like things are weird at school. I enter in through the doorway that leads to the quad, at the back of school. With the location of Dad’s house, it’d be stupid to walk an extra ten minutes to enter into the front like most people.
Somerton High is small, with only about a thousand students in all four grades. Having grown up in this town, I know most of them by name or at least by face, but I’m not sure everyone knows who I am because I tend to keep to myself.