She twisted a T-shirt around her hands. “Looks like I won’t be going to art school next year.”
“What are you talking about? You’re going to have your pick of where to go.” Terri was a shoo-in. Her talent was off the charts. “Trust me, RISD and SVA will be going to war over you.”
“Good luck to them, because they’ll be up against my parents, and I already lost that battle today. Can’t imagine they’ll do any better.”
“What do you mean?”
Terri propped herself up against my wall. “I told you how they finally called me in for one of the guidance-counselor appointments today? Before I came over here, I told my parents about it. It was like we weren’t even on the same planet when it came to college. They pretty much vetoed any type of visual arts school. They want me to get a liberal arts degree. They think it will make me more”—she put on a stern face and faked a man’s voice—“‘well-rounded. If you want to have a focus in art, that’s fine; just make sure all of your bases are covered.’” Terri went back to her regular voice. “It makes no sense. It’s not like a sociology or art history degree would be so helpful in getting me a career, either.”
She shook her head. “They’re full of it, too. If I wanted to go to business school, they wouldn’t care if I wasn’t ‘well-rounded.’ It’s about the art. They think it’s a silly little hobby that I’ll grow out of. Or at least they hope I will, but it’s not going to happen. It’s my everything.”
“We’ll just make them see that,” I told her.
She scoffed. “No we won’t. My dad is all ‘there are lots of good liberal arts colleges here in Connecticut; go to school here’ and my mom is all ‘I loved BU—I know you would, too.’ They don’t care what I want.” Terri was on the verge of tears. I’d rarely ever seen her cry. This was major.
“Hey,” I said, putting my arm around her, “we’re going to come up with a plan that will change their minds. I promise. I got you.”
Terri wiped her eyes with her arm and then fanned her face with her hand, trying to regain her composure.
“Yeah.” She stood up.
I knew she didn’t believe that her parents would change their minds, but I did. We were going to figure out a way to sway them. I was sure of it.
“Enough about me and my problems. Don’t we have a date to get you ready for?” she asked, clearly trying to change the subject.
“I don’t have to do that today,” I told her. “I can reschedule. Why don’t we do something instead? Grab some pizza, go to your place before my sister gets home and bothers us, and get your mind off things.”
“No way.” Terri took my hands and pulled me off the bed.
I opened my mouth to protest, but Terri held up her finger.
“You finally found a time to meet up with Brandon. I’m not letting you miss it. Got it?”
“Fine,” I conceded as she handed me some earrings to try on.
Then she scrunched up her face. “Wait? Does Brandon actually know this is a date and not just you taking a photo for the article?”
“I think so,” I said, holding one of the dangly blue crystal-like earrings up to my ear and studying it in the mirror. “I did say we needed to celebrate ‘wrapping up.’ He has to know, right?”
Terri took the earring back and handed me some shiny red studs instead. “Not necessarily. Not if you were you and came across all businesslike.”
“I was flirty! See for yourself.”
I handed her my phone, and she scrolled through my texts, reading a few out loud.
“‘It’s going to be a great article.’ ‘You make a very interesting subject.’ ‘I’ll take a great photo of you.’ ‘Sure, I can do Scobell’s on Friday.’”
Her mouth was twitching.
“What?” I asked, watching her face through the mirror.
“It’s just—” She broke out laughing. “I can’t believe you think that’s flirting. ‘You make an interesting subject.’ Cam! Why didn’t you come to me? I would have helped you.”
I dropped the earring on my nightstand. “I didn’t think I needed help. I thought I was doing fine.” I waved off her laughter. “It’ll work out—with his schedule, he wouldn’t make time if he wasn’t a little curious about getting to know me better. He has to know it’s a date—or at least a feeling-each-other-out kind of thing. Whatever. I’m much more relaxed in person. He’ll be enchanted. You’ll see.”
She nodded. “I’m sure it will be very interesting.”
I tossed one of my discarded shirts at her. “Shut up,” I said, laughing. “It’s going to be great. He’ll go from story subject to boyfriend.”
“Very ethical of you,” she teased. “Journalism at its finest.”
“Ha-ha. It’s not affecting how I write the soccer story. Besides, this isn’t the Times; it’s a high school fluff piece. It’s expected, practically encouraged. I think my integrity will stay intact. Plus, it makes for such a good meet-cute.”
“A meet-what?” Terri asked.
“You know,” I explained, “a cute way the two leads meet. Bumping into each other, winding up with seats together on an airplane, getting picked to work on a project together, something that brings them together. Something organic, not something forced.”
“This is very organic,” she mocked.
But Terri could joke all she wanted. This was going be perfect, just like in the movies.
Chapter 14
I smoothed down my skirt as I stood outside Scobell’s. It was a few minutes after seven, time for my date, and yet, despite my earlier excitement, I was having a hard time going inside. In all my planning, I’d forgotten how daunting first dates could be. It was hitting me hard now.
A couple of guys who looked vaguely familiar pushed past me to get to the front door. The diner was packed, which I’d expected—it was Friday night—but it made me feel antsy nonetheless.
This was the first time I’d been back to Scobell’s since the Marc incident. My parents had even let me borrow the car for once, but my nerves were on high alert.
Why, why, why had I said yes to this place?
Because I didn’t want to make a thing about it, that’s why.
Still, going to this spot for my first date, with someone other than Marc, in more than three years probably wasn’t the smartest move. It certainly wasn’t helping my nerves. I twisted my left hand around my right wrist tightly.
Brandon is not Marc, I kept reciting to myself. He was my chance for something new, something incredible, and something I’d only get if I went in. You’ve got this, you’ve got this, you’ve got this, you’ve got this, I whispered, trying to psych myself up.
Did everyone feel this terrified going on dates? I needed to get inside. Brandon was probably there already. What if he saw me debating whether to enter? That wasn’t how I wanted to start things. It was time. I could do this. I opened the door and went in. I did a quick scan and felt myself go clammy. I didn’t see Brandon.
Was he standing me up?
I looked at my phone. No message. It was too early to get myself worked up, but I couldn’t help it.
“Cam!” It was Brandon, leaning on the wall by the cash register. I let out a long breath. He was here.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” he said, straightening himself up. “They’re clearing off a booth for us,” Brandon continued as he walked over to me, his arms outstretched.
I guess that meant he wanted a hug. I could handle this. I stood up and gave him one. He squeezed tight, hanging on just a second longer than you would if it was just a friend thing. He smelled like peppermint and the outdoors. It wasn’t what I was used to, but I was looking for a new go-to scent, and I wasn’t going to rule this one out. The night was off to a promising start.
“Thanks for doing the article,” he said as the waitress led us to the table. “Can’t wait to see it. It’s going to go right up on my wall.”
I slid into the booth across from him. “I’m honored.” I slapped my han
ds over my heart, but I did it so hard, I let out an oof. I laughed to try to cover it up. “So, yeah, it should be out in next month’s edition, I think.” What was wrong with me? I needed to stop panicking and just have fun. People went on first dates every day; this was no biggie.
“Nice,” he said. “I’ll look out for it.”
Brandon was even cuter than I’d remembered. Dirty-blond hair, light brown eyes, and a sort of swagger about him. I hadn’t thought much of him last year—he was just one of Marc’s teammates that we didn’t really hang around with—but he certainly had my attention now. “Should we get it over with?” he asked.
“Huh?” Get what over with?
“The picture.”
Right. My excuse for meeting with him. “Yes,” I said, and pulled out my phone. The truth was, the paper was probably going to use a shot from one of his games, but it wasn’t a big deal. Extra photos were always good, and now I’d have a pic of my possible boyfriend on my phone. It was a bonus. “Smile.”
He gave me a ginormous grin and I snapped the photo. Okay, he was really good-looking. How was I supposed to stay cool and breezy, like this was no big deal? “Looks great,” I squeaked out.
“Now that we got that outta the way,” Brandon said as the waiter came by and dropped off some water. “What should we get?”
“The milkshakes are amazing.”
“I’m not so much a sweets guy.”
“You’re not?” I asked. Okay, it was all right. Just because dessert was my favorite meal of the day didn’t mean I couldn’t fall for someone who didn’t like it. It just meant more for me. “What about mozzarella sticks, then?”
“That works,” he said, studying the menu. “Want to share one of their appetizer samplers?”
“Sounds good.”
We placed our order, and then he just looked me in the eyes, not saying anything at all. I felt a bit exposed, but I didn’t turn away. I wanted him to know I was interested.
“Congratulations on your win,” I said, breaking our eye contact when I felt myself getting jittery. The soccer team had won its game last night; it was their third win in a row.
“Thanks. Knew we were gonna. You should’ve been there. It was something else—I got like three assists and two goals,” Brandon said. “You need to start coming to the games again. You’re missing out.”
He had to know about the breakup and how awkward it would be for me to be a spectator at my ex’s games. I was sure the whole team had talked about what went down. “Yeah, well, don’t really have a reason to go anymore.”
“Maybe you will now,” he said, and winked. It actually made me relax. It meant Terri had gotten me nervous for nothing. This was so a date. Brandon clearly knew it, and while I may have sucked at flirting, he certainly didn’t.
I winked back. “Maybe. You never know.”
“You must miss it,” Brandon said. “I remember those giant posters of yours, the face paint and the screaming. Pretty sick.”
I knew he meant it as a compliment, but it made me feel self-conscious. I had been to almost every game the past three years, cheering Marc on. It all seemed a little embarrassing now. “Guess I was hard to miss.”
One side of his mouth raised in a little smirk. “That you were.”
He noticed me? I mean, as something other than a highly overcaffeinated girl rooting for her boyfriend? The thought made me smile. It hadn’t really crossed my mind that anyone on the team saw me as more than Marc’s girlfriend, one of the guys, or a frenzied fan.
“I wanted you guys to win,” I said.
“I heard. You were louder than the cheerleaders. It was cute.”
The waiter dropped off our food, and I grabbed a fry.
“Hey,” he said, “remember that screw shot I did last year in one of the first soccer games?” he asked.
My eyebrows furrowed, just momentarily, before I caught myself. I was surprised that he’d bring up some old play from a random game that nobody could possibly remember, but he took it as my not understanding the term. “You know what a bending free kick is? It’s when you put a spin on the ball that makes it change direction.”
“I know.” I’d practically lived and breathed soccer during my Marc days. I just thought it was an odd thing to bring up now. Although I couldn’t really complain; it wasn’t like I was the queen of conversation at the moment.
“It totally changed the course of the game,” he continued, and then rattled on about the play, either oblivious to the fact, or not caring, that my eyes were glazing over with boredom.
I picked up a mozzarella stick. “These are really good,” I said in a sad attempt to change the subject. “I could eat them all the ti—” The word got stuck in my throat, and my skin got goose bumps, but not the good kind, not the ones from excitement over starting a brand-new romance. Those were the ones I wanted to have tonight. But no. The ones I was granted came from panic and shock. From noticing my ex and his date being escorted to a table in the same diner as me.
This had to be a joke. Only it wasn’t.
Marc was at Scobell’s with Lissi. First she tried to steal a spot on the volleyball team and now my boyfriend? My ex-boyfriend, I reminded myself. Ugh. I knew Marc was supposedly dating, but why did it have to be here and now?
My breathing picked up. Why was this happening?
“Cam?” Brandon asked.
I looked from my ex to him.
“You okay?” he asked.
No. No, I was not.
Do not look at your ex. Focus on the gorgeous guy in front of you. I repeated the directions in my mind, but it was easier said than done. The waitress sat Marc and Lissi a couple of booths away, on an exact diagonal from me. I wasn’t sure if they saw me, but if they did, they didn’t let on. They were holding hands across the table. Marc was nodding at everything Lissi said. She moved her hair behind her ear, and the way he lit up, it was like he was watching a private Victoria’s Secret fashion show. It was puke-inducing. They were totally engrossed in each other. Did Marc and I ever look like that? We’d talked all the time, but I didn’t remember us hanging on to every word the way they were doing.
“Cam?” Brandon said again.
Right, I had someone of my own. Better yet, someone I wanted Marc to see me with. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. If I was freaking out over seeing Marc on a date, maybe he’d feel the same way.
“Sorry.” I shook my head, trying to erase the memory of what I’d just seen. I needed to concentrate on Brandon. “Thought I saw someone. You should try the mozzarella sticks.” It was all I could come up with to say. Clearly I wasn’t going to get a gold medal for my verbal skills. I never should have dropped that persuasive-speaking class.
He took a bite of one, and cheese oozed out. He caught the excess mozzarella on his fork and twirled it around with a light laugh. “It almost got away there.”
“It did,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything to follow it up with. What was wrong with me? I needed to do better. I took a giant mouthful of a mozzarella stick. It would keep me from having to talk, at least for a minute.
“Anyway,” he said, jumping right back into his never-ending soccer story, “like I was saying, after that game, Coach started putting me in all the time.”
I remembered that part very clearly. Marc had been so annoyed when Brandon started playing. He’d gone on about it nonstop. At the thought of Marc, my focus drifted back to his booth. I quickly snapped my attention back to Brandon. Or I tried to, anyway.
Why was I being such a fool?
Do not get distracted, Cam. So what if you can hear Marc laugh? So what if you can hear snippets of his conversation? So what if he’s telling her about yesterday’s soccer game, and how he butted the ball with his head and scored the winning point and now the team is one step closer to the championship game? There was no reason to care. If I wanted more boring soccer talk, Brandon was sitting right here.
“Right?” Brandon asked.
Oh crap.
“Definitely,” I said, figuring that was the right answer. Except, with my luck, I’d probably just said puppies were evil or that I wanted to go bungee jumping over a volcano or take a bite of a squid, beet, and anchovy pizza.
Brandon popped a fry in his mouth. “You know, when I was in middle school, everyone said I’d have to pay my dues in JV or take a back seat to the upperclassmen like everyone else, but I was like, ‘Nah. They’ll see.’ And they did, ya know?”
He was still going on about that? “Sure,” I said. “I—”
I was going to tell him how Grace got bumped to varsity at the start of her sophomore year, but I had barely started my story before he spoke over me.
“At tryouts, Coach pulled me aside. He was like, ‘I need you on my team,’ and I was like, ‘I’m there.’ He was hesitant to put me in at first, didn’t want to piss off the other guys, but he came to his senses.”
Do not check out Marc. Do not check out Marc.
“Mmm,” I said when Brandon looked at me for acknowledgment that I was listening. Then he kept on going.
“I’ve been thinking about which college I should play at, making my dream list, you know?”
“Yeah.”
Maybe it was the words college and dream, but my focus somehow made its way over to Marc again. But this time, our eyes met. I jerked my attention back to Brandon, who was still talking about himself. “I’m going to have my pick of schools. I’m going to blow up the soccer world,” he said.
I didn’t have to look to know Marc was watching us. I could feel his eyes on me. Brandon and me.
Ha! How does it feel seeing your ex out with someone else?
Marc being here wasn’t messing up my evening. It was making it the best possible night ever. Payback. I could imagine what he was thinking: that this sucked. It was all well and good for him to be out with someone else, but me? No, I was sure he wanted me at home thinking about him. Everything was always about him, but not tonight. Tonight was about me and Brandon. It was time to make Marc understand how much it hurt when someone you loved went out with someone else.
Finding Mr. Better-Than-You Page 8