Chapter #19An Unexpected Date by: Seuzz   You wipe your palms on your knees—a nervous, pathetic tic, you realize before you catch yourself.
Not that Stephanie is paying any attention. She's thumbing away at her phone.
You glance back at the other table, where Braydon and Caleb are squeezed in by four girls: Anita Nuevo and Bonny Trask on Braydon's side, and Kristy Suffolk and Almida Jones on Caleb's.
Anita and Bonny are soccer players. Anita is very dark of hair and complexion, with the aquiline features of an Hispanic-Indian mix. You wouldn't call her husky—certainly not to her face—but she exudes a physical power, and her expression when resting is a lot closer to a scowl than it is to a smile. Though seated next to Braydon, she is staring straight ahead, over the heads of her friends, at a distant wall.
Bonny Trask is almost her opposite. Though her hair too trails past her shoulder blades, it is a light chestnut color, and Bonny looks built more for speed than power. She has a willowy quality and her complexion is very fair. When she smiles, which is often, her entire face lights up. And while Anita is hunched in her seat like a stone on a log, Bonny is squirming and twisting around and checking out the restaurant.
But Almida and Kristy are concentrated on Braydon. Almida is African-American, and her skin is very dark and her hair pulled into a top-knot that geysers up like a splashy fountain. Her brow and her lower lip are very heavy. Kristy—a blonde with a shock of coarse hair pulled back in a loose ponytail—is also wearing a very serious expression, though with her big eyes she doesn't look quite so dour as her friend.
And Stephanie? Today she's wearing a teal polo shirt, and her arms look very dark in the diffuse light of the restaurant. Her short, chestnut curls seem to spark with static electricity, and her lip twitches in and out of a cold sneer as she taps at her cell phone. It would obviously be a mistake to try talking to her.
But you can't stop yourself from babbling at her.
"So, I'm sorry there's no room for you over there," you say, and swallow to get the squawk out of your voice. "I dunno why Johansson thinks he has to sit over there with them," you add as Stephanie ignores you.
"Doesn't matter," she snaps without looking up from her phone. She sucks on a tooth. "You're friends with Delp, huh?" she says.
Whoa! At least she added something of her own to the conversation.
"Yeah, well, I know him, hang out some with him. When I heard you guys—"
"Coffee," Stephanie says. You do a double-take at the waitress who has apparated at your table. "Separate tickets," Stephanie adds, then snorts softly down at her phone.
"Uh—" You gawp at the waitress, for you gave up all your cash to Caleb. "Nothing for me." You shoot a glance back at Stephanie, but she's absorbed in texting. "I just came along to keep a seat warm, I guess."
The waitress leaves, and you hold your tongue until Stephanie drops her phone with a clatter and raises her face to sigh at the ceiling.
"I never pictured you guys—" you start to say, but Stephanie fixes her chilly, gem-like eyes on you, and your throat briefly closes. "Being into Braydon's kind of stuff."
She grunts and looks back up at the ceiling. "Research," she says. "Group project. Got some questions he can maybe help us with."
"Really? For what class?"
"Are you always this nosy with everyone,?"
You feel yourself blushing all over, and your embarrassment is so deep it actually flares into anger. "I'm just trying to make conversation."
Stephanie lowers her chin. Her glance is still chilly, but there's something like surprise in it now. "Fine, what do you want to talk about? Seen any movies lately?" She glances around like she's already bored with you.
"Uh, no, not really." But mention of movies has reminded you of Carlos and Mike. "Did you know there's a couple of guys in our class who have their own YouTube channel?"
"Anyone can make their own channel," she sighs.
"Well, I mean this one is— They do movie reviews, talk about old movies, stuff like that. It's Carlos Montoya and Michael Hollister."
"Oh yeah," she says. "I know that channel, I know them."
"Really?"
She gives you a look. "I pay attention," she says. "I know what's going on in school. I know those guys."
You blush again. "Well, did you see the one, like, a couple of weeks ago? They were reviewing The Fly?"
"No, I don't check it out that often."
"Well, a friend of mine had a cameo in it. I think I'm going to do a cameo in their next one. Yeah, they asked me to be in it, we were gonna film it today out in one of the portables, but, uh, something happened."
"Yeah? What?"
Are you always this nosy, Stephanie? you almost blurt back. "I had, um, kind of an accident." You avoid looking her in the face.
"What happened?"
You squirm. "I'll tell you about it if you tell me about this project you got going with Braydon."
She looks away. "I'm not that interested, Will."
Again, it's like a rabbit punch to the jaw. Either you take it and wilt, or you stand up to her.
"Why do you treat me like this, Stephanie?" says someone speaking from deep inside you. You continue in the same too-loud voice even as she looks back at you in surprise. "Like I'm gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe? Am I really just a bug to you?" Your voice rises in volume and pitch, and you catch Kristy looking over at you now, too. "Do I annoy you? Do I—?" You break off as the waitress drops off a cup of coffee and a ticket at the table.
Stephanie turns sideways in the booth. "You got my attention now," she says while gazing off at Braydon's table.
You scowl. "I'm not a performing monkey!"
Stephanie turns to give you a long, slow look. A grin creeps onto her face, and a glint comes into her eyes. It's almost scarier than when she scowls at you. "You wanna pretend we're on a date?" she asks.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"I don't wanna go on a date with you! Or pretend like—!"
"Why not? Am I not good enough for you?" Her grin sharpens.
Suddenly you find yourself wishing you were with Rennerhoff and them instead of with her.
"I just wanna talk, Stephanie, like we're—"
"I'm not asking you to make out with me, Prescott," she retorts, and shoots an annoyed glance at the other table when one of the other girls titters. "What do you do on a first date?" she asks you. "Don't you talk?"
"Well ... Yeah!" Actually, you don't date.
"So pretend we're on a date. And talk to me." Stephanie lifts her chin in a challenge.
A tingle runs all over you, starting at the base of your spine and traveling up your back to the top of your skull, and out and down to your fingertips and toes. A date? You should treat this like a date? You never acted like you were on a date when you were hanging out with Lisa, even when she was your—
Shit.
* * * * *
Is that what Lisa meant when she said you'd never even been dating? Did she mean that you never even treated her like you were dating? And maybe if you had treated her more like someone you were dating—That if you'd acted with her like you were on a date, instead of just hanging out and being stupid with her—?
Oh, but what should you have done with her? What do you do when you're on a date and are trying to impress—?
You glare back at Stephanie. She lifts her eyebrows fractionally.
"I've never been on a— On a real date before," you mumble.
"No shit?" says Stephanie. Whatever is the opposite of surprised, that's the way she sounds. "Not sure that's something you should confess at the start of a—"
"Well, how do guys act when they're on dates with you?" you demand. "I mean, you do go on dates, don't you?"
"Guy I go out with act like themselves," Stephanie says. "Only better."
A cold hand grips your gullet. So how does Will Prescott act, and how does he act when he's being better than himself?
No answer comes.
You hang your head.
"You got nothing for me?" Stephanie says, and there might be the tiniest note of sympathy in her voice. "That's too bad. Because until you gave up, I had nothing better to do today but hang out with you." She glances back at the other table. "Apparently nothing better to do," she snorts softly.
She scoots from the booth and feels through the pockets of her shorts. "Have something on me," she says as she drops a crumpled bill on the table. Then she raps her knuckles on the other table and mutters at her friends. There are some nods and smiles, and she high-fives Kristy before striding off. You half expect her to execute a layup at the front door.
She left a ten-dollar bill. After getting change from the waitress, you put a five in your pocket and leave the rest on the table. You finish Stephanie's coffee, and ponder the uselessness of your existence. You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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