Page 11 of Bookish Boys Don't Date Social Girls
“I get to go back next week to get the new copy of a literary magazine that I like, but I need another excuse.”
Bek flicks water in my direction, but it falls short. “You don’t need an excuse, Sam. Just go buy a book. Any book. A gift. Ava loves historicals. Get her one.”
I consider that. “That’s a great idea. How long do you think I have to wait before I go back?”
Bek slides her glasses down on her nose and peers at me over the frames. “Is that a serious question?”
I look around as if there is someone who can share a confused look with me. “Of course it is. I asked it, didn’t I?”
Bek sits up, letting both legs hang into the water on either side of the raft. It’s only because she’s as light as a feather that she doesn’t tumble over the side. I could never move around on a pool floaty like that without taking a dunk. “Sam, what is going on with you? You’ve never asked advice on how to talk to boys before.”
I stare at her, my mouth flopping open. “Oh, my goodness. You’re right. What’s happening to me?”
Bek continues to stare at me as she floats in the center of the pool.
“Brent has me completely flustered. I think…” I pause and mull it over further before speaking again. “I think I must care more about this or something. With all the other guys I pretty much just thought, “What’s the worst that can happen? He’ll say no!” But with Brent, I only want to hear a yes.”
Bek relaxes, laying back against the raft, and pulling a legback up to rest on top. “You’ll be fine, Sam. Of course, he’ll say yes. They always do.”
Maybe I’m being extra sensitive, but her saying that makes me feel, I don’t know, cheap somehow. ‘They always do’ indicates there are many. Which, I guess there have been, but something sounds wrong about it.
“I think you can go tomorrow,” Bek says.
“Tomorrow’s good.” I drop my head to the chaise and smile. “Thanks, Bek.”
The next day,I take extra care to get ready. I wear my favorite coral and white sundress and put my hair back with my favorite headband, so that it falls straight down my back. I just used an expensive hair treatment, so my hair has a silk-like sheen to it that makes me feel like a million dollars. I slip on my pretty gold sandals, and even take the time to grab the matching clutch. Studying myself in the mirror, I’m pleased with what I see. I look summery, and it doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard. Even though I am. I really am.
Uncharacteristic butterflies churn in my stomach as I stare at my reflection. Brent might not even be working today. This could all be for nothing. Well, not for nothing. I literally have nothing else to do, and a trip downtown is a great filler for a day alone.
I take a deep breath and march out of my room.
My VW Beetle sits in the driveway, eager for me to roll the windows down and let the wind flow through it. I swear I’ve had a connection with Sunny since my parents pulled the blindfold off my eyes on my sixteenth birthday. They led me out of the house onto the driveway, so I’d already figured out what the surprise was, but as soon as I saw Sunny smiling upat me, a huge white bow on his roof, I was completely smitten. He’s been an excellent car, and I know when he wants to stretch his tires—like he does today.
Wind streams in through the open windows as I cruise down the long circular drive. The music queues up from my phone, playing the song I’d interrupted when I finished getting ready. I turn it up louder to hear it over the rush of wind I know is coming when I accelerate to top speed on the street. In this moment, I feel so carefree and happy. I sing at the top of my voice as I direct the car toward downtown.
But after coasting into a parking place only a block away from the bookstore, my stomach is in knots. I remind myself that Brent might not even be there and that even if he is, he won’t know I’m there to see him. Unless I stutter and blush the entire time I’m talking to him. Then he might figure it out.
I pause over window displays for too long as I make my way to Beckett’s. When I catch myself eyeing kitchen implements in the window of an upscale home store, I know I’m just stalling. In what world have I ever cared about spatulas and mixers? I refocus my efforts and march to the bookstore without dawdling further.
The cheery bell announces me as I enter through the charming pink door. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee fills the air. A few nearby patrons glance at me as I enter, but then return their attention to their browsing. A twenty-something guy taps away on the keyboard of his laptop at one of the small tables. His coffee is cooling beside him. A clutch of women occupies a loveseat and a couple of chairs at the center of the store, knitting and gabbing merrily.
My gaze darts to the coffee bar further back in the store, and I’m relieved to find Brent holding an empty plate and wiping down the counter. With nervous energy buzzingthrough my veins, I head toward the register side of the counter, rehearsing my question in my mind.
When he sees me approaching, he gives me the same furrowed-brow look he greeted me with the first time I came in. That’s not good. I force a smile on my face and don’t have to work too hard to look unsure as I greet him. “Hey, Brent! How are you?”
He scans my outfit, and the doubt in his expression stays rooted. “Good, Sam. What are you doing back so soon?”
“Right. Well, do you know my friend Ava? Ava Landry?” My voice shakes a little. I’m so nervous that I’m having a difficult time getting a breath. I’ve never felt this way around a boy before.
His eyes narrow. “Yeah. I know her.”
“Well, she’s recently done a huge favor for me, and I wanted to get her something as a thank you gift.”
Brent blinks at me.
“Seeing you the other day made me think of her obsession with historicals. I totally want to get her a new one. Can you help me with that?”
Now that I’ve gotten the question out, I feel much more relaxed. I’ve established that I have a legitimate reason to be there, and he no longer needs to be suspicious.
