Page 39 of The Sweet Spot

How are classes? How’s creative writing going? Did you finish your short story on time?

Anyway, I have good news. I have about a week between assignments, so it would be a great time for me to shoot down to Santa Cruz and finally meet you. This coincides with your spring break, so I think it’s meant to be. What do you think?

I’ve emailed your mother, too. (I figured you wouldn’t mind, since you gave me her email address.) I think it’s important she stays in the loop, don’t you?

Talk soon,

Arlo

My heart lurches. Wow. This is it—after nearly a year of communicating, I’m finally going to meet my dad. As much as I want to meet him, I don’t know if I’m ready to. But I can’t exactly tell him that, can I? More importantly, should I? No, no absolutely not. I respond before I can psych myself out any further.

From: Wren Angelos

To: Arlo Janvier

Subject: re: Guess what?

Hi Arlo,

All is well here in the sunshine. The weather is beautiful, even when nippy.

Classes are fine…I totally nailed the short story! Math, not so much. I’ll be glad when I’m done with that, yuck.

I’ll talk to Mom, but I think a visit would be great! Let me know the exact dates so I can keep the calendar clear.

Xoxo,

Wren

Gnawing on my lip, I hit send. All of the fears I’ve had since we started talking, the ones that had started diminishing as we got to know each other, are bubbling to the surface again. What if the ease with which we communicate via the written word deteriorates into awkwardness in person? What if what I see as cultured and articulate online is actually snobby and insufferable in real life?

Worse, what if I’m the issue? Maybe it doesn’t matter whether or not he impresses me.

What if I don’t impress him?

* **

Dallas and I leave the movie theater, still munching on the enormous tub of popcorn we bought.

“Ugh, take it,” I say, shoving it back to him. “There was no reason to get a refill of this.”

“I got the refill because it was free, and obviously that was a good idea because you’re still eating it.” Grinning, he tosses a kernel up and catches it in his mouth without breaking a stride.

“Because I have the munchies!” I moan, rubbing my belly. “No more for me.”

“No more weed or popcorn? Because I still have a nice, fat nug waiting in the car…”

“No more popcorn! Also, you’re a bad influence,” I tease, linking my arm through his.

He laughs, pulling me along. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

Dallas and I started hanging out a couple of weeks after we got back to campus after winter break. He’d crossed my mind once or twice after our little meet up in Berkeley, but between class, work, and spending quality time with Saira, who was now officially a UCSC student, guys weren’t taking up too much mental real estate.

And then we ran into each other one Friday, at a coffee shop on campus.

“Wren?” he asked, all excited.

“Dallas,” I said, as surprised to see him as he was to see me. “Hey!”

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