Page 66 of The Summer List

The line moves quickly, and it’s only a few minutes before we’ve found a bench in the square to sit down on while we do our best to get through the ice cream before it drips onto our hands.

We both got double scoop cones. I went with coconut, and Andrea got chocolate raspberry. I’m concentrating so hard on not staring at her mouth while she licks the ice cream streaked with pink swirls that I don’t realize she’s asked me something until she gives me a light jab with her elbow.

“Well?” she says.

I make the mistake of looking at her in the middle of dragging my tongue up the side of my ice cream and then freezing mid-lick when our eyes lock.

She raises an eyebrow.

I blink.

Then the whole top scoop of my ice cream slides to the pavement with a plop.

“Oh no!” Andrea shrieks before she starts cackling. “Your poor ice cream.”

I clutch what’s left of my dessert in one hand and use the stack of napkins the girl behind the counter gave us to wipe an ice cream splatter off my shin—and to use the excuse of bending over to hide my flaming cheeks from Andrea.

“I asked if this was living up to your first date expectations,” she says, “but now that I’ve made you drop your ice cream, I’m scared to hear your answer.”

I straighten up and use another napkin to wipe a bit of melted ice cream off my hand.

“Even after losing half my ice cream, it’s definitely exceeding expectations,” I tell her. “It’s…perfect.”

I wince as I wonder if that was too much, but I don’t take it back, either. For once, I don’t give in to the urge second-guess myself. I push up even higher above the doubts telling me I’m reading things wrong.

Even if it’s only for one night, I want to believe I can just be myself with her. I want to trust that’s enough.

She slides closer until the side of her leg is pressed to mine, and my body hums like a generator coming to life.

“Good,” she says. “I don’t think I could forgive myself if I messed up your first first date.”

I dab at my hand with the napkin again as another trickle of ice cream drips down the side of the cone.

“Well, there’s not much pressure on you since I have nothing to compare it to,” I tell her. “I’m the one who should be worried. You’re probably a first date pro compared to me.”

Her shoulder nudges mine as she shrugs. “Actually, I didn’t go on any real dates in high school either.”

I jerk upright on the bench and turn to gawk at her. “You’re joking.”

She lets out a nervous laugh. “I’m not. I messed around with guys at parties and stuff, but I never actually dated. My ex was my first and only boyfriend. I always told everyone I thought all the high school guys were too boring to date, but…”

She shrugs again and focuses back on her ice cream cone. We sit there eating in silence for a few moments. I can tell she wants to say more, but I don’t push her. I’ve almost gotten to the bottom of my cone when she speaks again.

“I think maybe I was worried I wasn’t good enough for them.” Her voice is low enough that I have to lean my head closer to hear over the din of passing cars and shouting pedestrians. “I didn’t go to private school or anything, but my high school had this whole reputation for academic excellence or whatever. Everybody had a ten year life plan figured out by the start of ninth grade. I thought I did too. but as I got older, everything my mom and I had planned for my life started to feel so…heavy, like I wasn’t good enough to hold it anymore.”

For a moment, it’s like I can see past all the sultry makeup and purple hair dye to stare straight at a younger version of her, a smaller version of her—a version of her who felt like she was being shoved into a box she’d never fit.

“I know what it’s like to feel like you’re not good enough,” I say. “I know what it’s like to think you just keep getting things wrong.”

My free hand twitches with the urge to touch her, and I don’t give myself a chance to hesitate. I reach over to lay my palm on the top of her thigh. After a second, she places her hand flat on top of mine.

“Thanks,” she murmurs.

We stay quiet for so long the final few bites of my ice cream melt into a sugary soup, but I don’t care. The last purple traces of twilight are fading from the sky when I decide to speak again.

“Your ex…” I say, trailing off as I try to figure out how to word the question. “Were things different with him?”

She barks a laugh. “You could say that. I thought I…I mean, I guess at some point I thought I loved him, but I think really I just wanted a break from it all. He didn’t want much from me. He didn’t need the ten year plan or the achievements.”

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