The Meet-Cute Project

by Rhiannon Richardson

  He lets out a deep breath, relieved. Then he smiles and looks at me the same way he looked at me when he talked about his family. He’s comfortable again, and I feel the same sense of familiarity that brought us close so fast.

  “There’s this girl that I’ve kind of been talking to. She’s in my biology class, and I’ve been trying to figure out how to talk to her, and—well—she’s on the swim team. And I was wondering if maybe you knew anything about her that could help me out—like, if she’s single, if she likes going to the movies, or what she likes to eat.”

  His leg bounces under the table and he rubs his palms on his jeans. He’s cute when he’s nervous—not cute in an I like you way, but cute in a My friend likes a girl kind of way. That initial spark between us has completely faded, but it’s been replaced with ease. Boyfriends, you have to win over. It should never be a lot of work, but you might have to trade in your jeans and hoodies for a cute dress. You might have to hold back all your baggage on the first few dates before it’s okay to open up. But boy friends don’t take that much. You can be yourself, all the good and bad parts—the insecurities—up front. And if you vibe together, then you vibe. Then you can talk about your sister’s wedding and plotting meet-cutes, or your parents’ divorce and how you miss your brothers who are right in front of you.

  “You, my friend,” I say, smiling, “are a nervous rambler.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Since I finished all my papers in advance, when the bell rings after history on Thursday, I am officially done with the first semester of my junior year. Grace meets me at my locker after school and follows me out to my car in the student parking lot. I hand her my phone to pick what music we listen to while I drive, feeling a little self-conscious about the fact that Gavin and I have been texting since I thanked him for the advice about going to Geoffrey. We’ve been talking about everything and nothing.

  The first time I texted him after he gave me his number was after I got home from Geoffrey’s and Sam and I stayed up strategizing how to make up for lost time and get all the bridesmaids back on the same page. I was excited to tell him the plan worked, but sad to say I wouldn’t be going to the garden on Friday since I would be going home from school to do more wedding stuff with Sam.

  Since then, we’ve mainly talked about studying for finals. Today, I’ve already told him that I think I did well on my history exam, bad on my biology final. He thinks he did average in calculus and maybe better than he thought he would in chemistry, but both of us are aching for our grades to come in. I sent him pictures of the candy Sloane snuck into study hall for all of us, since we didn’t have any work to do.

  His name pops up on my screen whenever I receive a text, and I can tell Grace definitely notices.

  “So,” she says, drawing out the O.

  “Yes?”

  “What ever happened to Darth Vader?” She turns the music down and looks at me.

  “I honestly forgot that he even existed. I have no idea.”

  “He never texted you after the night at the diner?”

  “No,” I say, glad that I don’t feel sad about it like I used to. I deleted our conversation after Sam used it as the butt of her joke at the bachelorette party. I figured since Darth was old news anyways, he deserved to be out of sight and out of mind.

  “I kinda wanna know who he was.”

  “You were acting like he was some child predator!” I laugh in disbelief.

  “Okay, okay,” she relents. “But what if he wasn’t? What if he is someone we know? What if he goes to our school and we see him every day—”

  “What if it’s Victor?”

  “Mia, don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Why not? You sound ridiculous.”

  Grace shakes her head and goes back to picking the music. I ask if she can play “Heart” by RKS. She moans and groans, but when the guitar starts strumming through my speakers, she gets quiet and I relax.

  “Gavin is that guy from the garden, right?” she asks when the song ends.

  I glance down and notice a text notification sliding off my screen.

  “Yeah,” I say, sounding more casual than self-conscious.

  “Sloane said he seems pretty cool.”

  I let the statement hang in the air between us, not sure where she’s going.

  “He’s been texting you,” she says, flipping my phone over in her hand. “I haven’t read anything, so don’t worry.”

  I’m glad that she drops it, since I’m not really in the mood to talk about how I kind of like Gavin even though he has a girlfriend. No reason to speak problems into existence. Grace picks a few songs by Lauren Sanderson before turning down the music again.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I don’t know. You just seem different,” she says, watching the people crossing the street in front of us. They’re coming from the one ice cream stand that stays open year-round. How anyone would want to walk around in the cold with freezing-cold ice cream in their freezing-cold hand is beyond me.

  “Like, you haven’t been busy after school with swim practice, and you haven’t really talked much about Sam—which I guess is a good thing.…”

  I can feel her watching me now.

  “Swim season is over,” I say.

  “Yeah, but you always go to the boys’ conditioning,” she says awkwardly. “Like, you never let the season end when it’s actually over.”

  “Well, it’s time to try something different with my free time,” I say, though I can tell it’s not that convincing.

  “Did you hit your head or something?” she asks, laughing a little.

  “No,” I say, smiling. “I guess I realized that there’s more to life than hiding underwater. I’ve spent so much time doing homework after school and watching movies about adventure and romance. If I go outside, I could have an adventure. I might fall in love.”

  Grace stares at me for a second, frowning.

  “I’m gonna have to dig my Mia manual out of my closet, because clearly you’re malfunctioning.”

  “Or maybe I’m just changing,” I offer, slowing my car to a stop in front of her house.

  “Again, super weird. Super not Mia,” she says, gathering her backpack from between her feet. When she closes the door behind her, I roll down the window, and she bends over to say, “Call me when you’ve rebooted, okay?”

  “Go inside,” I tell her, laughing. I watch her disappear down her driveway before I head home.

  * * *

  On Friday, before I leave school, I stop by Shannon’s locker and give her a note. When she asks who it’s from, I tell her that I was given specific instructions not to reveal any information, that I’m just the messenger. I add that between us, the guy who wrote the note is one of the good ones. I walk away feeling excited for both Ritchie and Shannon.

  Gavin and I have another productive day at the garden, sanding down the table in the back of the greenhouse and brainstorming different uses for it. We could set it up as a stand where we could sell vegetables in this summer. Or, if there’s enough money, we could get an electric stove top and some cooking supplies and have a kind of chef’s table where people can pay to come and pick veggies and make their own meal. He mentions that my mom came through the greenhouse earlier this week to check on our progress and said it would be a great place to have a wedding, which I find ironic. Maybe if the greenhouse had been up and running a few months ago, Sam might have thought to have her wedding here. She and Geoffrey did fall in love designing a greenhouse.

  We’ve been sitting on an extra burlap sack on the floor of the greenhouse, with hot chocolates from Starbucks. Gavin turns to me, his expression serious. Without a word he pulls two tickets out of the breast pocket of his jacket and hands them to me. They’re for the Rainbow Kitten Surprise concert tonight at the Riviera Theatre, a beautiful old-fashioned gem with red velvet seats and gold detailing along the ceiling and walls of the concert hall. He explains that they’
re a gift from Gloria, for him finishing a couple of his final essays early.

  “Oh my gosh,” I gush. “Gavin, this is awesome. You are so lucky. Rainbow Kitten Surprise?”

  He smiles at me, his eyes twinkling. I wouldn’t be able to stop smiling either if I had the opportunity of a lifetime tucked into my pocket.

  “Gavin, do you even know?” I ask. “Like, this is so cool.”

  “Come with me,” he says, setting his cup down on the ground.

  “I’m grounded,” I remind him, realizing Mom never got back to me after she spoke with Dad. I feel a hole pierce through my chest. Of course I have to be grounded on the night of an RKS concert, right here in Chicago.

  “Why don’t you just ask?” he pleads.

  “Why don’t you take your girlfriend?” I ask. “I know I love RKS, but whether or not they’re her thing, she’d probably love to just go with you.”

  “She—uh—has a family thing tonight…,” he says, picking up a twig. He starts twisting it into the ground, and I realize that without her, he might not have anyone else to go with. RKS is amazing, but none of my friends listen to—or like—their music either.

  “Gavin, I really wish I could. But my parents have already said no to so many other things. I doubt they’re going to let me go to a concert.”

  I turn the tickets over in my hands, savoring the fact that this is how close I’ll get to an RKS concert for right now.

  “Mia, if you don’t even try, then of course the answer is going to be no,” he says, raising his eyebrows because he knows he’s right.

  “Gavin, I just don’t want to be told no again. Plus, I feel like if I keep bugging her with it, she might tell my dad and make my grounding longer.”

  “Your mom doesn’t strike me as the type,” he says, sipping his hot chocolate. He’s the kind of person who takes the lid off instead of drinking it through the lid hole.

  “And what kind of person do you think she is?” I ask, watching the warm steam waft against his face.

  “The kind of person who can be swayed.”

  He’s definitely not wrong about that, but when it comes to the decisions she and my dad make together, there’s usually no budging.

  “What are you going to do?” I ask, realizing that if I were him, I would be torn between not wanting to go alone and not wanting to waste the chance to see RKS.

  When I hand the tickets back to Gavin, he looks at them, shuffling them in his hands like cards. Without a word he hops up, forgetting the lid to his Starbucks. I grab it and stumble after him out of the greenhouse into the evening winter darkness. We make our way to the floodlights at the other end of the garden grounds, and Gavin squints until he finds Gloria and my mom gathering supplies that were left out.

  “Mrs. Hubbard,” Gavin says, holding the tickets in his hand.

  “Yes, Gavin?” Mom looks up, surprised to see us both standing here. She brushes her hands off on her jeans.

  “I have a request. You see, since I finished all of my finals, my grandma got me these tickets to see my favorite band, Rainbow Kitten Surprise, tonight. And none of my friends like them. My friends think their music is weird and don’t value the lyrics like I do. But Mia knows the band. She’s proven to me that she really listens to them and understands them on the kind of level of a fan who would deserve the concertgoing experience.

  “And I know that she’s grounded for making some poor choices that even I myself tried to talk her out of. However, she is also finished with her finals, and my understanding is that she’s gotten good grades this semester like myself. I think, in spite of her mistake, that both of us are responsible, good kids, and—well—I’m wondering if there’s any way she could come to the concert with me so that my gift won’t go to waste, because not only would I waste the one ticket if I go alone, but I don’t know if I really feel comfortable going alone. Because—”

  “Gavin,” Gloria cuts him off. “You’re going to talk Beth’s ear off with all that.”

  We watch my mom, and she starts to laugh, her breath disappearing into the air in front of her face. Gavin turns to look at me for any clue as to whether this is a good sign, but I don’t know. She doesn’t usually laugh like this.

  “What do you think, Gloria?” Mom asks, leaning her weight against a pitchfork stuck in the ground.

  “I mean, Gavin has worked really hard in school and with the greenhouse, and that’s why I gave him the tickets. And without Mia we wouldn’t have finished everything that fast.”

  “What time is this concert?” Mom asks.

  “At seven,” Gavin says, hopeful.

  Mom looks at me, and with Gavin’s back to me, I bring my hands together and mouth Please over and over.

  “Home by eleven,” she says, staring into Gavin’s soul. “Any later, and both of you will have us to answer to.”

  “What? So I can go?” I ask. “Should I record this in case Dad tries to say otherwise? Like, oh my gosh!” I turn to Gavin, and his jaw is already dropped. “I have to go get ready!” I say, looking at my watch. It’s already 5:06.

  We help Mom and Gloria put the supplies away, and then all four of us walk to our cars in the parking lot. By six fifteen he has texted me that he’s on his way, and Sam is helping me do my hair. She’s pulled my hair apart so that it’s half-up, half-down. The top half is six cornrows going back into a loose ponytail. The bottom is out and natural, crunchy and soft from her thorough argan oiling.

  By the time I hear the front door open, Sam is touching my eyelashes up with mascara and I’m clasping a necklace. I’m wearing a black T-shirt dress with an equally long gray sweater and a pair of brown Chelsea boots with a slight heel. Sam is lending me her tiny elephant pendant necklace and a pair of gold hoops.

  “He came up to the door,” Sam notes, giving me a suggestive side-eye as she puts her makeup away.

  “He knows Mom,” I tell her, running to put away my hot air brush.

  Sam follows me downstairs, and in the entryway are our parents and Gavin. Gavin is wearing a pair of black jeans, a turquoise T-shirt, and his corduroy jacket. On his feet are the same pair of mustard-yellow Vans that I have.

  “That’s interesting because Mia’s sister and her fiancé are working on an agricultural project. I’m surprised Beth hasn’t mentioned it to you,” Dad is saying as I put my coat on.

  Even though Dad is talking to Gavin, Gavin is staring at me.

  “Hey,” I say, taking him in, taking in the fact that we are about to go see our favorite band in concert.

  “Hey,” he says, shrugging a little.

  “Remember, by eleven,” Mom says.

  “Of course,” Gavin says, returning his attention to my parents.

  “And no funny business,” Sam adds.

  I turn to her, both to glare and to hide the blush rising to my cheeks. “Sam,” I hiss.

  We say good-bye to everyone and duck out the door. Even though my family is just a couple of inches of wood away, I feel relieved once we’re outside. I wave Gavin over to follow me when he starts down the walkway to the driveway. I remember running down the front lawn on my way to meet Darth Vader, and now I can take my time. I’m not doing anything wrong, and as I look back at the grass glistening with frozen water droplets and see Gavin’s familiar Vans, tonight feels right too. Right, but too late for me to try to make it something more.

  “You have your own car?” I ask when we arrive at an old blue Ford pickup truck.

  “Yes?” he says, like he’s surprised I didn’t know.

  “I’ve only seen you getting into Gloria’s little car,” I remind him, stepping past him when he holds open the passenger door for me.

  Once he’s in the car, he hooks his phone up to the FM transmitter for his radio and starts scrolling through his Spotify.

  “I don’t know what music we should listen to,” he admits, still looking down at his phone. “I mean, my reflex is to start with some Rainbow Kitten Surprise, but we’re about to go see them and I don’t wan
t to spoil it. I want the concert to be the first time I listen to them today.”

  “True, good point,” I say.

  We decide to listen to Fickle Friends and COIN. When “Growing Pains” comes on, I have to restrain myself from belting along to the lyrics, both so that I don’t embarrass myself and so that I’ll still have a voice for the concert. I ask Gavin if he’s seen RKS live before, and he says no. He’s seen some heavy metal concerts with his friends, and he went to a Yanni concert with Gloria a couple of years ago. But he’s never gone to a concert for his music.

  “Nicest fans you’ll ever meet,” he tells me about the heavy metal. “Just not really my kind of scene.”

  We fall silent for some time, listening to the music. I watch Lake Michigan flying by as Gavin looks for our exit off 41. When we rejoin local traffic, I’m surprised by the amount of people and cars moving throughout the neighborhoods and side streets.

  Gavin decides to park in a neighborhood a couple of blocks away from the theater so that we won’t have to pay any jacked-up fees. When he turns off the car, we look at each other and take a deep breath. Then we’re out of the car and walking.

  “Thanks, by the way,” I say as I loop my wrist through his elbow so we don’t lose each other in the crowd of people pushing their way toward the theater.

  “For what?” he asks, shouldering our way toward the Riviera neon lights.

  “For thinking of me when you got the tickets, and for getting me a much needed night of freedom.”

  Gavin laughs a little, his smile stretching so that his eyes squint.

  “I figured your mom wouldn’t be able to say no to me.”

  “Oh really? That’s a pretty bold assumption.”

  “I feel like you underestimate her,” he says, holding the door open for me.

  I savor the warm air as I feel blood return to my face and fingers. Gavin takes a second to shove his gloves into his pockets and then pulls out our tickets.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I tell him after we’re directed to our seats.

  “Plus, let’s face it, your mom loves me.”