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Authors: Shannen Crane Camp
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how far Claire would go to make herself feel better. Would she just take the money back or would she expose exactly what I do, making it impossible for me to continue on in my body of work. Neither option sounded like much fun for me, which meant I had to figure out a way to solve this David problem.
From a remote corner of my purse on my bed, I could hear a buzzing sound. It was my phone. Reaching in and grabbing the pink plastic device, I was informed that I had one unread text message. My mom didn’t really know how to text, and when she did it took her a long time, which meant that it probably wasn’t her. I highly doubted that the paint supply shop would text me, since I only had their landline. And I hoped more than I’d ever hoped for anything before that it wasn’t Claire, sending me an angry reminder of just how much trouble I was in.
I flipped open the phone to find that the message was from a number I didn’t recognize. I opened the text tentatively and read my mysterious message from its mysterious sender.
“Don’t forget. 8 p.m. tonight.”
“David?” I asked my phone, as if it would reply to my question. It didn’t. I quickly saved the number for future reference and groaned in dismay. I had actually convinced myself that he would forget all about our “date” and I could just deal with him at school. I suppose, though, that I should have been more concerned with the fact that he had somehow obtained my number and that he would somehow be showing up on my doorstep at eight o’clock tonight.
I went over numerous excuses in my head as to why I wouldn’t be able to go on the date, until it struck me that this might actually be my chance to set things right. If I spent the whole date convincing him that he should be Claire’s boyfriend, then perhaps by the time Monday rolled around my only concern would be getting rid of the jock for Lexi.
“Okay, so this is good,” I said to my empty room, nodding at nothing in particular. Yep, the stress this whole ordeal had brought on was definitely causing me to lose my mind. I quickly got up off the ground and went to my closet, ready to find a perfect “date” outfit. The only dates I had ever gone on were with boys who I had just broken up with for their girlfriends. I was always in character then and didn’t have to worry about how I looked—as long as I fit the mold of what they had always been attracted to, I was just fine.
Tonight, however, was a completely different matter. I had to look unattractive enough that he wouldn’t try to continue hitting on me, while looking attractive enough that he’d actually listen to what I was saying. It was a shame how much appearance really factored in to what your opinion meant to someone, but that was the reality and that was what I had to play with. I figured that for tonight I should go with something relatively inoffensive, something generic and nondescript, but still stylish and eye-catching.
I thumbed through my clothes quickly, noting with dismay that it was already two o’clock in the afternoon. It wasn’t that I really thought I’d need six hours to get ready for a date where I would be convincing the guy that he didn’t want to date me; I simply wanted some extra time to do some mental preparation. I had to construct a plan, and I had to solidify exactly what I was going to do.
I decided on a jean skirt that came to just above my knee, with black cut-off tights underneath it. I did, after all, have to remember who my audience was and what kind of girls he apparently liked to date. Or in this case, what type he liked to break up with. I completed the outfit with a black baby doll T-shirt and black flip-flops. There was nothing special about my outfit, but it had just enough “date” quality to it.
Setting these clothes out on my bed I headed for the bathroom to take a shower, which was a rare occurrence for a Saturday. I usually avoided any form of getting ready on Saturdays—the
From a remote corner of my purse on my bed, I could hear a buzzing sound. It was my phone. Reaching in and grabbing the pink plastic device, I was informed that I had one unread text message. My mom didn’t really know how to text, and when she did it took her a long time, which meant that it probably wasn’t her. I highly doubted that the paint supply shop would text me, since I only had their landline. And I hoped more than I’d ever hoped for anything before that it wasn’t Claire, sending me an angry reminder of just how much trouble I was in.
I flipped open the phone to find that the message was from a number I didn’t recognize. I opened the text tentatively and read my mysterious message from its mysterious sender.
“Don’t forget. 8 p.m. tonight.”
“David?” I asked my phone, as if it would reply to my question. It didn’t. I quickly saved the number for future reference and groaned in dismay. I had actually convinced myself that he would forget all about our “date” and I could just deal with him at school. I suppose, though, that I should have been more concerned with the fact that he had somehow obtained my number and that he would somehow be showing up on my doorstep at eight o’clock tonight.
I went over numerous excuses in my head as to why I wouldn’t be able to go on the date, until it struck me that this might actually be my chance to set things right. If I spent the whole date convincing him that he should be Claire’s boyfriend, then perhaps by the time Monday rolled around my only concern would be getting rid of the jock for Lexi.
“Okay, so this is good,” I said to my empty room, nodding at nothing in particular. Yep, the stress this whole ordeal had brought on was definitely causing me to lose my mind. I quickly got up off the ground and went to my closet, ready to find a perfect “date” outfit. The only dates I had ever gone on were with boys who I had just broken up with for their girlfriends. I was always in character then and didn’t have to worry about how I looked—as long as I fit the mold of what they had always been attracted to, I was just fine.
Tonight, however, was a completely different matter. I had to look unattractive enough that he wouldn’t try to continue hitting on me, while looking attractive enough that he’d actually listen to what I was saying. It was a shame how much appearance really factored in to what your opinion meant to someone, but that was the reality and that was what I had to play with. I figured that for tonight I should go with something relatively inoffensive, something generic and nondescript, but still stylish and eye-catching.
I thumbed through my clothes quickly, noting with dismay that it was already two o’clock in the afternoon. It wasn’t that I really thought I’d need six hours to get ready for a date where I would be convincing the guy that he didn’t want to date me; I simply wanted some extra time to do some mental preparation. I had to construct a plan, and I had to solidify exactly what I was going to do.
I decided on a jean skirt that came to just above my knee, with black cut-off tights underneath it. I did, after all, have to remember who my audience was and what kind of girls he apparently liked to date. Or in this case, what type he liked to break up with. I completed the outfit with a black baby doll T-shirt and black flip-flops. There was nothing special about my outfit, but it had just enough “date” quality to it.
Setting these clothes out on my bed I headed for the bathroom to take a shower, which was a rare occurrence for a Saturday. I usually avoided any form of getting ready on Saturdays—the
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