“You’re funny.”
“Those of us who don’t look like models have to develop our personalities.”
“What are you talking about?” Bryson says. “You’re good-looking, Kai.”
“You say as an impartial third party?” I add a teasing-face emoji.
“Sure. That’s why you can trust my words. Besides, I’m a really bad liar. In part because I just suck at it but also because I hate lies. They can ruin things that were once perfect.”
“That was deep,” I say.
“I am a man of much depth. You should see my philosophy bookshelf.” He adds a nerdy-face emoji.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours….”
A stream of laughing-with-tears emojis follows. “Nice one. High five!”
I send him a smiley-face emoji and switch to the group chat with my friends.
Bryson’s giving me a ride to school tomorrow.
Priya: Why?
Donny: What she said.
Me: We need to finalize our assignment, and with his busy schedule, this works out better.
Makes sense, Donny texts. If he flakes, let me know. I’ll swing by.
See you at school, then, Priya adds.
I exit our chat and head back to Bryson’s message.
“I’ll take you up on that ride to school,” I say. “What time?”
“How does seven sound?”
“Great.”
It’s well past midnight by the time we both say good night. As I plug in my nearly dead phone to charge, I realize that I can’t fight the smile from my face.
I climb into bed and find that I can’t sleep.
Maybe it’s because for the first time in my life I’m actually fully awake.
8
I open my eyes with a groan. I stare up at my ceiling for a few unseeing minutes before rolling over for my phone. Scrolling through social media before I do anything else is part of my morning routine.
The first thing that greets me is a text message from Bryson—my boyfriend.
Morning. I’ll be there by 7.
So it wasn’t all a dream. The realization both scares and excites me. I check the time and notice that it’s just past six-thirty. School starts at eight sharp, so I have thirty minutes until Bryson arrives at my house. Only thirty minutes.
I scamper from my bed, race across the hall to the bathroom, and find it empty and waiting for me. Today I am the victor. While I’m in the shower, I hear Yazz knock at the door. The sound brings a smile to my face, and ten minutes later I saunter from the room, leaving a cloud of steam in my wake.
I pull on my school uniform and look for my blazer, before remembering that Bryson has it. All students are required to wear their blazers as they enter and leave the academy buildings. It’s part of the school rules. Mine being at the dry cleaner’s means certain punishment. I curse Louise Keaton once more, but this time I don’t curse Bryson Keller.
I collect my school bag and phone before heading downstairs. There are just five minutes before my boyfriend is set to arrive. Will I get tired of referring to him that way? Probably not. Until Friday afternoon I plan to relish it. Because last night while chatting with him, I finally got why Bryson Keller’s dare has become so popular.
“Morning,” I say as I whiz into the kitchen. Mom and Dad are seated at the island, finishing off their breakfast before work. Dad works in IT and Mom is an accountant. How they ended up with two children who dream of being a writer and an artist is a mystery.
“What’s the hurry?” Mom asks as she sips her coffee—black with no sugar. I often wonder who hurt her so much that she needs to torture herself by drinking such bitter sludge.
“I’m going to be late.”
Dad checks his watch. It took me working part-time cutting lawns all summer to be able to buy it for him for his fortieth birthday.
“Hayibo! School starts at eight. Why’s Donny so early?”
I check my own watch. The screen is scratched, but it does its job. There are only three minutes left.
“Actually, I have a different ride to school.”
“Really?” Dad asks.
“Yes, Sherlock and Watson,” I say. “We already established that I have other friends.”
“Are you sure you’re not dating?” Mom asks as she gets up from the island and takes her dishes to the sink. “Getting rides to school is the fun part about dating in high school.”
“You sound well versed in high-school dating,” Dad says.
“Of course.” Mom flips her unbrushed hair from her shoulders. “I was very popular in high school.”
Dad looks me up and down. “So are you saying Kai got his awkwardness from me?”
“Hey,” I say around a bite of apple. “I’ll have you know that I’m doing just fine, thanks.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Mom says. “Most people peak after high school. Look at your dad.”
This time both Dad and I exclaim, “Hey!”
Mom laughs. She has this unique laugh that makes watching movies with her an experience. I’m always thankful that theaters are dark because when Mom laughs, it’s enough to make me want to hide.
My phone buzzes with a text from Bryson. It’s 7:01. There is nothing I like more than someone who is punctual. Priya has a nasty habit of setting a meeting time and then arriving fifteen minutes later. It’s her belief that good things come to those who wait.
“I’m going now. Bye.” I take another bite of the apple. I make my exit before they can grill me further. On my way out the door, I offer Yazz a parting high five. She looks barely awake and will remain that way until she has her first cup of coffee.
Even though I knew he’d be there, I’m surprised at the sight of Bryson’s Jeep waiting for me. I take a calming breath as I walk toward the passenger seat. I climb in.
“Morning,” I say. My confidence from last night is nothing more than a memory, because now he is actually here and not just a figment of my imagination.
“Morning,” he says back. He watches me as I try to settle myself, but my hands are full with the apple, my books, and my bag. Eventually he leans over. Bryson grabs the seat belt and pulls it across me. So close. His face is just a breath away from mine.
I feel the heat surge to my face, and his lips pull into a small smile. He clicks the seat belt buckle into place before leaning back against his seat.
“There was no rush, Kai. You could have taken your time.”
“I don’t like being late.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” Bryson says as he starts the Jeep. He looks at me again. I’m in the same position that he left me in. My body hasn’t caught up with my brain.
“Relax.” He smiles at me. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”
“Just this apple.”
“Okay. Let’s go.” Bryson drives off and I finally let myself relax. We don’t drive for very long, and soon we’re entering the parking lot of a diner. I recognize Glenda’s not only from the Date Me, Bryson Keller hashtag but also from Bryson’s own Instagram—I wasn’t stalking, I swear. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Bryson climbs from the car and I follow him inside. Bryson offers greetings to those he sees, and everyone seems to know him on sight, too.
“You know everyone?”
Bryson shrugs. “I’ve been coming here since I was young. This diner used to be owned by my grandparents, but my dad sold it a few years back.” Bryson’s tone doesn’t sound all that happy when he says that. He sighs before continuing. “Eating breakfast here was my family’s routine. Now it’s just mine.”
He shrugs again and walks between the booths. We take one near the window. I’ve driven past the diner before, but I’ve never ever been inside. Glenda’s looks like it’s been ripped straight from the 1950s. The boo
ths are done in black-and-white vinyl, which matches the black-and-white-checkered floor. There’s even a jukebox in the corner. Aside from the booths, there’s a long counter area where those who have come alone can sit. The kitchen is open and active.
An older man approaches us. He claps Bryson on the shoulder and grins. “Your goal this weekend was excellent.”
“Thanks, Mr. Humphrey,” Bryson says. He has his own smile to match. With the appearance of his dimple, I know that it’s real. “I’m glad you could come watch us play.”
“I’m sure we can take States this year.”
“We’re really hopeful, too.”
“It’d be great for you to leave with such a big win.”
“Fingers crossed,” Bryson says. Mr. Humphrey says goodbye and Bryson watches him leave.
“I didn’t realize soccer was such a big thing.”
“We’re the pride of Fairvale. No pressure.” Bryson stretches and yawns. “You kept me up too late last night.”
I find myself yawning, too. “It takes two to tango.”
“I almost missed my morning workout because I overslept.” Bryson runs a hand through his damp hair. We both grab our menus.
“Their bacon and eggs are the best,” Bryson says.
“Is that what you’re having?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool, I’ll have the same, then.” My stomach growls in anticipation.
The server comes.
“Morning, Alice,” Bryson says cheerfully to the older woman.
“You doing well, kiddo?” Alice asks, and Bryson nods. She offers me a kind smile. “What will it be?”
We order.
“How would you like your eggs?” Alice asks me.
“Sunny side up, please.”
“Same for you, kiddo?” she asks Bryson.
He nods. “And can I get an orange juice, please.” He turns to me. “What about you?”
“Just a water for me, thanks.”
Alice nods. “I’ll be right back.”
Bryson pulls out a folded piece of paper. He pushes it toward me.
“What’s this? A love letter?”
“You like that sort of thing?” Bryson asks.
“No,” I say too quickly. Redness paints my cheeks. “Yes…I don’t know….” I shrug.
“Did you and Louise Keaton write love letters to each other?”
“We didn’t date long enough for any of that to happen.”
Bryson studies me. He leans in close to whisper, “Why’d you date her? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“It seemed like everyone around me was dating. And I didn’t want anyone to think of me as different. I knew Louise liked me, so I figured why not? But then I wasn’t comfortable with how unfair it was of me to lead her on when I knew who I was.” I look at the piece of paper between us. “Still, I mean, a little romance never killed anyone.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bryson says. My heart speeds up, and before I can react instead of simply staring at him, our food comes.
While we eat, I open the piece of paper and find a hastily scribbled list. Of all the things that Bryson Keller is good at, writing is not one of them. His handwriting is practically indecipherable. Maybe he’ll be a doctor one day.
“It’s a list of adaptations,” he explains. “I know Romeo and Juliet is Henning’s favorite, but I wanted us to have options. Do you want to perform something so romantic?”
“You said it was your favorite, too, right?” I look up. “Why?”
Bryson smiles, and his eyes light up. “My older sister used to have this huge crush on Leonardo DiCaprio, and so she watched it like it was her religion.”
“Oh, I have a sister, too.”
“Older or younger?”
“Younger in age, but older in everything else,” I say. “I haven’t seen the movie. I kind of hate Leonardo DiCaprio.”
“Why?”
“Does there need to be a reason for me not to like someone?”
“Generally, yes.”
“I guess it irks me that he only takes on roles that are bound to earn him an Oscar nomination.”
“But it’s good to have a goal, no?”
“Maybe…but it’s annoying to me. Also, all his girlfriends are blond, models, and twenty-five or under—that seems odd to me. I mean, live your life, but also, really? That’s how you’re going to live your life?” I shake my head and hold up a finger. “Also, my dad is South African, and let me tell you that Leo’s accent in Blood Diamond was terrible. I just don’t understand why Hollywood doesn’t hire actors from the region instead of giving us bad accents. Or, like, just don’t do an accent that is offensively bad.”
“You’ve thought long and hard about this, haven’t you?” Bryson chuckles.
I hold up my thumb and finger an inch apart. “Just a little bit.”
“So what else do you hate? I figure a good boyfriend should at least know the basics.” The air seems to change when he refers to himself that way. Bryson doesn’t realize it, but I’ve dreamed of hearing those words from someone, and never once in my life did I think they would be coming from his lips.
“Well, the top five things that Kai Sheridan hates, including dear old Leo, are…” I hum in thought. “Phone calls.”
“Now that I know you, that makes sense.”
“Math.”
“Join the club.” He holds up his large hand. “Come on, Kai. Don’t leave me hanging.” I stare at his upheld hand for a heartbeat longer before bringing my own to smack it in a high five.
He grins. “What else?”
“Um, peas?” I say. “They’re of the devil.”
Bryson laughs. “Aren’t you meant to, like, outgrow your hatred for peas when you turn, like, three?”
“I guess I missed the memo.”
“And what’s the final thing?” Bryson’s been counting them off as I list them, and one finger remains standing.
“Deciding stuff,” I say. “I’m probably the most indecisive person you will ever meet. So I spend a lot of time just daydreaming about stuff instead of actually doing it. I always worry about what everyone will think.”
“So, is deciding what to perform a nightmare for you?”
“More or less,” I say. “But I’m happy to go with Romeo and Juliet. You know I suck at acting, so any bonus points we can earn from Henning are a good thing.”
“Works for me.”
“So if we do this, who’s Romeo and who’s Juliet?” I ask.
“Well, you can be Romeo, and I can be Juliet.” He pauses, raises an eyebrow, and looks at me. “Or vice versa, whichever you prefer.”
I choke on my eggs while trying not to laugh. “Nice one.”
Bryson laughs, too. He pushes my glass of water closer to me. I grab it and our fingertips brush. In my haste to pull my hand away, I end up spilling some of the water.
“Shit,” I say as I use napkins to wipe up the mess. Bryson helps. There’s laughter in his eyes, and the right side of his mouth is pulled up.
“So, have we decided on the movie?”
“I think…so?” I finish weakly.
Bryson laughs. “Well, in that case, we should get together and watch the movie so we can pick a scene. Maybe one between the supporting cast? Just because it’s Romeo and Juliet doesn’t actually mean we have to be Romeo and Juliet.”
“Okay.” I smile, relieved. “I like the way you think.”
“Well, I have soccer practice today, but if you’re cool waiting, we can get together after and watch the movie at my house?”
“Sure, let me just text my parents quick. I have my shift in the library this afternoon and they usually pick me up,” I offer by way of explanation. I pull open the family group chat: Sheridan Shenanigans, aptly named by M
om. I type a message explaining our plans.
“You work in the library?” he asks, genuinely surprised.
“Yeah.” I take a sip of my water. “You would know that if you ever went there.”
“Hey, it’s not that I don’t read. I just prefer comics over books.”
“Really? You and my sister will get along.”
Bryson takes a final sip of his drink. “Are you done?”
I nod.
“We should leave now so we’re not late.”
“Sure.” We walk over to the counter to pay. “I’ve got it.” Before he can protest, I open my wallet and hand over the amount due.
“Fine,” Bryson says. He studies me for a moment. Eventually he smiles. “Tomorrow it’s on me, though.”
And just like that, getting breakfast together becomes a thing that we will do.
If the me of last week could see the me of right now, he would never believe that any of this is actually happening.
Hell, even the me of right now can’t really believe it.
We leave Glenda’s and head for school—together.
9
Bryson pulls into the school parking lot with five minutes to spare until the first bell rings.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say.
“No problem.”
We climb from the car and find Shannon waiting. She’s scrolling through her phone but stops and casually smooths her jet-black hair when she sees us. She’s a head shorter than me, but her large blue eyes are piercing and oddly intimidating.
“So, who is it?” Shannon asks. “Who are you dating this week?”
“It’s a secret,” Bryson says.
He manages to not look at me, and I’m relieved. It seems that he’s taking very seriously his promise of keeping us a secret. I know that in a perfect world it wouldn’t need to be a secret, but the one that we live in is far from perfect.
Shannon keeps pestering him, but Bryson doesn’t budge. Eventually she storms off as I walk to class.
“Kai, wait up!”
I stop and turn to find Bryson holding out his blazer.
“Here. Take it.” He doesn’t give me much choice, because it’s already being forced into my arms. So I do.
Date Me, Bryson Keller Page 7