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Authors: Annika Sharma
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the witticisms, the sarcastic remarks before lectures, and he thinks
I
take him off guard. I must be hallucinating. Did I mistake Sprite for, I don’t know, a truck of drugs?
“I guess I was just hoping we could make up for the… atypical… introduction, and go out for coffee or dinner or something sometime.”
I just stare at him, too surprised to say anything.
“Unless you don’t want to, in which case you can forget I asked,” he hastily adds.
“Wait… are you asking me out?” I finally blurt out.
“If you’re agreeing, then yes, I am. If you’re saying no, then consider it a lapse in judgment.” His smirk is a telltale sign that he doesn’t expect a rejection.
“I’d love to,” I answer before I can rationalize a no.
“Good.” Relief crosses his face. “I didn’t know if my ego could handle another rejection.”
“Another?”
“Well, I asked you after class once, but you had stuff to do… I figured I had to be blunt with you because it was pretty clear you weren’t catching on.”
I need to listen to Sophia more often.
And I proceed to not think too much at all for the rest of the night, which we spend talking on the hood of a car.
told you so.” Sophia pokes me from her spot on the couch.
I saw that coming.
“You did.” I try to sound begrudging. The smile I haven’t been able to wipe off my face gives me away.
“So, Starbucks tonight? That’s sort of your style, right? Low-key and meaningful?”
“I’ve never been on a date, so I’m not sure if I have a style yet.”
Are dating styles like clothes? If I like a classy, elegant look, does it mean I’m only ever going to go to theater shows and eat dinner at places like Zola’s? I don’t like that, I decide, as I vow to be more adventurous. Besides, isn’t a date with James adventurous in and of itself?
“My baby girl is growing up.” She pretends to wipe a tear from her eye.
“Oh, shut up.” I roll mine at her melodrama and go get dressed.
My color-coordinated tops look like a rainbow mess on the hangers in my closet. The late September air can be brisk in the evening, so I pull out a deep purple cable knit sweater, black leggings, and my boots. I bolt to the bathroom, where a dash of eye shadow and eyeliner, three coats of mascara, and some lip gloss finish my look. My hair, due for a cut since it’s skimming my waist, appears longer as I drag a straightening iron through it. There. I’m done.
I pause at the door in front of Starbucks ten minutes later.
Here goes nothing.
Almost immediately, I spot him. Parked at a corner table, James people-watches through the floor-to-ceiling window. His cream cable knit pullover gives his olive skin an ethereal vibe. His dark hair looks ruffled and even in the dim evening light, his piercing green eyes shine like Christmas lights. On cue, he scans the room and puts a stop to my ogling. He gives me a broad smile, and the happiness is infectious. I beam and stride over to him, as he does the same. His gait is strong and confident. His broad shoulders balance his determined steps, and he looks like he owns the world. The unexpected hug he gives me catches my breath. When his arms unwrap themselves from me, I am disappointed. I could get used to us entwined together.
“Hey,” he says in his sonorous voice. “I’m really glad you could come!”
“Hi! I am, too! How was your day?”
We walk to the table and take a seat. I don’t even feel the need to face the door, a compulsion I’ve had since a terrifying experience when I was in high school and a mentally ill homeless man had come charging into the restaurant, threatening the staff and patrons. Once again, James’ presence doesn’t allow me to think too much.
“It was good. I was looking forward to this.”
“Me too,” I admit, suddenly shy.
“I’m surprised you didn’t have plans.”
“I was probably going to spend tonight by myself, actually. Sophia is going out with Luca…”
When he asks how
I
take him off guard. I must be hallucinating. Did I mistake Sprite for, I don’t know, a truck of drugs?
“I guess I was just hoping we could make up for the… atypical… introduction, and go out for coffee or dinner or something sometime.”
I just stare at him, too surprised to say anything.
“Unless you don’t want to, in which case you can forget I asked,” he hastily adds.
“Wait… are you asking me out?” I finally blurt out.
“If you’re agreeing, then yes, I am. If you’re saying no, then consider it a lapse in judgment.” His smirk is a telltale sign that he doesn’t expect a rejection.
“I’d love to,” I answer before I can rationalize a no.
“Good.” Relief crosses his face. “I didn’t know if my ego could handle another rejection.”
“Another?”
“Well, I asked you after class once, but you had stuff to do… I figured I had to be blunt with you because it was pretty clear you weren’t catching on.”
I need to listen to Sophia more often.
And I proceed to not think too much at all for the rest of the night, which we spend talking on the hood of a car.
told you so.” Sophia pokes me from her spot on the couch.
I saw that coming.
“You did.” I try to sound begrudging. The smile I haven’t been able to wipe off my face gives me away.
“So, Starbucks tonight? That’s sort of your style, right? Low-key and meaningful?”
“I’ve never been on a date, so I’m not sure if I have a style yet.”
Are dating styles like clothes? If I like a classy, elegant look, does it mean I’m only ever going to go to theater shows and eat dinner at places like Zola’s? I don’t like that, I decide, as I vow to be more adventurous. Besides, isn’t a date with James adventurous in and of itself?
“My baby girl is growing up.” She pretends to wipe a tear from her eye.
“Oh, shut up.” I roll mine at her melodrama and go get dressed.
My color-coordinated tops look like a rainbow mess on the hangers in my closet. The late September air can be brisk in the evening, so I pull out a deep purple cable knit sweater, black leggings, and my boots. I bolt to the bathroom, where a dash of eye shadow and eyeliner, three coats of mascara, and some lip gloss finish my look. My hair, due for a cut since it’s skimming my waist, appears longer as I drag a straightening iron through it. There. I’m done.
I pause at the door in front of Starbucks ten minutes later.
Here goes nothing.
Almost immediately, I spot him. Parked at a corner table, James people-watches through the floor-to-ceiling window. His cream cable knit pullover gives his olive skin an ethereal vibe. His dark hair looks ruffled and even in the dim evening light, his piercing green eyes shine like Christmas lights. On cue, he scans the room and puts a stop to my ogling. He gives me a broad smile, and the happiness is infectious. I beam and stride over to him, as he does the same. His gait is strong and confident. His broad shoulders balance his determined steps, and he looks like he owns the world. The unexpected hug he gives me catches my breath. When his arms unwrap themselves from me, I am disappointed. I could get used to us entwined together.
“Hey,” he says in his sonorous voice. “I’m really glad you could come!”
“Hi! I am, too! How was your day?”
We walk to the table and take a seat. I don’t even feel the need to face the door, a compulsion I’ve had since a terrifying experience when I was in high school and a mentally ill homeless man had come charging into the restaurant, threatening the staff and patrons. Once again, James’ presence doesn’t allow me to think too much.
“It was good. I was looking forward to this.”
“Me too,” I admit, suddenly shy.
“I’m surprised you didn’t have plans.”
“I was probably going to spend tonight by myself, actually. Sophia is going out with Luca…”
When he asks how
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