This Girl Isn't Shy, She's Spectacular

by Nina Beck

  To say that Samantha was shocked would have been an understatement.

  “Um, OK,” she said.

  “It’s not that you’re not pretty, you’re OK,” he said. (OK?) “It’s just that I take my trombone really seriously and I don’t like how you made fun of me for it. I mean, what do you do that is in any way special?”

  “Well, I write…”

  “Yeah, but I mean, that’s just something you do. Trombone is something I live, and you made fun of me for it,” Walker said, pouting.

  “I didn’t make fun of your trombone! I just said that trombone players are good kissers.”

  “Yeah, that’s the other thing. I don’t like promiscuous girls.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I mean, maybe you’re not promiscuous, but this is our first date and I don’t like to move that fast.”

  “But YOU are the one who left me all those haikus!”

  “Those were just haikus, Sam, they didn’t mean anything.”

  And that’s when Sam realized that even charming freshman boys could be total and complete jerks.

  On their way uptown, Sam pretended to ignore Walker, but it didn’t quite sink in. Walker just shrugged, pulled out his iPod, and put his earpieces in. So while Sam sat fuming, Walker bopped to the tunes.

  When it was her stop, Walker just waved (without removing his earphones) and as she was getting off the train, she kicked him (accidentally, really hard) in the shin.

  Sam texted Riley and said she was going straight home.

  Riley texted back:

  Everything OK?

  But Sam just ignored it. How could a date that didn’t even mean anything still leave her feeling so crappy?

  She began thinking that all of this was just a big load of crap…going out with other guys when all she really wanted was to go out with D. And in a moment of inspiration (or insanity), she texted D to see if he was around, awake, and available.

  Less than thirty minutes later, they were sitting in a bar on the Upper West Side. D had used his fake ID to buy them each a beer. No one was really paying attention (there was some sort of sports game on), but Sam couldn’t relax long enough to even take a sip of her first (illegal) drink.

  D drank his like it was soda.

  “So, the date didn’t go well?” D said.

  “You know it didn’t,” Samantha answered.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  So they didn’t. For a few minutes they didn’t talk at all, and that was fine. It was nice to sit with D and not talk, or at least it was nice to sit with him and not try to make conversation that never went anywhere.

  “You know, I never did like his haikus,” D said finally.

  Samantha laughed. “I just…feel dumb. Y’know?” And D nodded. “I want to experience all these things that I never experienced before, and I want to write and not write boring crap!”

  “I’m sure you don’t write boring crap,” D said, but when Samantha made a face, he let it drop.

  “So don’t write boring crap.”

  “Thanks, that’s so helpful.”

  “There’s a lot in this city to experience, Samantha,” D said, leaning back in his chair. “I’d like to show you the botanical gardens in Brooklyn or an exhibit in a museum or something. I think you’d like stuff like that.”

  Samantha smiled into her glass as she raised it for a sip. Then quickly put it down again when she smelled it. She really did not like beer.

  “Not into beer, huh?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” D asked, taking the beer away and moving it to the edge of the table.

  “I don’t know,” Samantha said.

  “You never have to be afraid to tell me what you think,” D said softly. “I want to know you, I want to know what you like.”

  “I don’t like museums. I hate beer,” Sam blurted out. “I don’t like dating freshmen! And…”

  “And?” D said, looking a little worried about what would come out next.

  “And I want to kiss you.”

  Samantha blurted it out before she had a chance to say it, but the minute she did, she wanted to take it back. D looked shocked, not upset and not angry. Just shocked.

  “Of course, I tried a similar line on my date tonight,” Sam said. “And he called me promiscuous.”

  “Did he, now?” D said, and after a second started to look angry.

  “You’re not going to beat him up too, are you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” D said, looking around the bar, and then he winked at her.

  But he didn’t say he was going to kiss her. He didn’t say anything about it at all, and Samantha started to feel dumb again. Why could he always make her feel so dumb? It was like he liked her, and flirted with her, but…whenever she tried to push it a little further, he pretended that there was nothing else there.

  Could that be it, could there be nothing else there?

  Samantha was sitting in Starbucks with Riley before school on Thursday. D hadn’t shown up again, but she had seen him during the week in school. While he didn’t seem standoffish, he certainly didn’t seem like he wanted to jump into conversation. But yesterday, she had gotten a text from him that simply said:

  I was just thinking about you, so I thought I’d say hi.

  Samantha had spent at least forty-five minutes trying to think of something witty or flirty to respond with, and in the end texted:

  Hi back.

  Which at the time seemed perfect: not too clingy, not too excited, but not not-excited. It was the perfect amount of friendly and cool. Except that he didn’t write her another text, so she was forced to spend the rest of the night trying to figure out what she should’ve said that could’ve resulted in more conversation. Eventually, at around one in the morning, she threw her phone across the room and told herself it didn’t matter because he was probably asleep and she would see him the next day at school. Perhaps even before school.

  And that was enough to help her get to sleep.

  Except he wasn’t there that next morning at Starbucks and instead she had to sit with Riley, who was grilling her about her horrible, torturous, disgustingly putrid date with the boy she had nicknamed Freshman from Hell. FFH, for short. She had been able to avoid Riley and all questions about the date for a few days, but it was time to pay the piper.

  And that wasn’t the only name she called him, but the rest she only did in her own head.

  When Marley and Brendan met them after school, she had to explain the whole thing over again.

  “This is why you don’t date freshmen,” Marley had said. “They can’t handle a strong woman who knows what she wants in bed.”

  Everyone had looked at her in awe—and not the good kind of awe.

  “They weren’t going to sleep together,” Riley said.

  “I wasn’t going to sleep with him.”

  “She was, like, half a decade older than him. She could have been his teen-mommy!” Brendan exclaimed as Samantha shot him a dirty look.

  Marley simply shrugged and put down her magazine, yawned, and said she was going home. She had an early appointment with her trainer.

  “Don’t sleep with anyone on your way out,” Brendan called after her. “Actually,” Brendan continued, after Marley left, “I have to go too—I just didn’t want to have to walk out with her. She would’ve made me pay for her cab ride home.” He rolled his eyes, picked up his bag, and kissed both of them on the cheeks before leaving.

  What had seemed so horrible a few days ago had a faint sheen of the ridiculous to it. Except she knew that she would never be able to date a freshman again (aw) but mostly because she was sure Walker was going to tell everyone she didn’t respect his trombone.

  Sam shook her head and tried to forget that last thought.

  “What are you shaking your head at?” Riley asked, adjusting the hem of her skirt to cover the tops of her k
nees as she sat on a deep leather sofa in the corner of the coffeehouse.

  “Nothing, not important,” Sam said.

  “Well, OK, tonight is your last date,” Riley said.

  “Oh no,” Samantha cried. “No more dates! I can’t take it.”

  “Don’t be silly…”

  “Silly? I dated a guy who refused to speak English with me and then a guy who told me that my interpretation of his trombone haikus made him feel dirty. How am I being silly by trying to protect myself from more of that?”

  Riley looked at her friend and after a moment said, “Let’s think of the odds.”

  “Shall we?” Sam asked sarcastically. Riley ignored her sarcasm.

  “One—what are the chances of meeting another one of either of those personalities?”

  “Slim, hopefully, and nonexistent if I refuse to date until graduate school.”

  “And what are the odds that you’ll meet the man of your dreams right away?”

  Sam automatically thought of D and then had to remember that he wasn’t who Riley was talking about. When she didn’t respond, Riley continued, “Exactly, so you have to get out there, so you don’t miss out on Mr. Right because you are too busy avoiding Mr. Wrong.”

  “I’m not sure that makes any sense.”

  “Of course it does. It’s not my fault if you don’t get it.” Riley took a sip of her Frappuccino through its big green straw. “Plus, he’s picking you up at seven-thirty.”

  “What? No.” No, no, no, no. NO.

  “What do you mean, no? You told the committee you would subject—erm, would agree to go on three dates of our choosing. You’re going to renege?”

  Samantha looked at her, her mouth agape. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course.”

  “I didn’t think that the committee had a death wish for me.”

  “Don’t be dramatic, Sam.”

  “No, seriously, wasn’t the entire point of this exercise to find me good dates…to get rid of the bad ones ahead of time? If I wanted to go out on a bunch of horrible dates, I’m sure I could’ve figured that out all on my own.”

  Riley nodded. “You’re right.” But Sam wasn’t finished yet—

  “Really, whose ideas were these…because if I didn’t know better, I would think that they were planned to get me to never want to date again!”

  “Well, I think we did them all by committee…”

  “But you didn’t even know Walker.”

  “True.”

  “And Joshua?”

  “D recommended Joshua.”

  Samantha stopped. D had recommended she go out with Joshua? “Are they friends?” Sam asked.

  “Who, D and Joshua?” Riley asked. “Not that I know of.”

  “Then…”

  “Why would D recommend him?” Riley finished Sam’s thought for her. Now she was looking perplexed.

  “Did D recommend Walker?”

  “No,” Riley said, shaking her head, and Sam was once again confused. Something had seemed like it was starting to make sense and now it didn’t again.

  “In fact, he was adamantly against it.”

  “He was?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah, he said something about…”

  “What?”

  “About if you dated a freshman, you’d never want to date anyone again…”

  The two girls sat in silence for a moment, before Sam took a deep, loud, slurpy sip of her tea.

  “You don’t think?” Sam asked Riley.

  “I absolutely do,” Riley said, putting down her cup.

  “On purpose?”

  “I think that D wanted you to have bad dates.”

  “Why?” Sam asked.

  “Why do you think?” Riley asked, raising her eyebrows in a suggestive way.

  “Really?” Sam said, trying (and failing) to hide her pleasure at what Riley was saying.

  “Don’t sound so pleased, Sam! This is horrible. My committee has been tampered with. Our findings are all false. Obviously I can’t let this happen.”

  “Um…you did let it happen. It happened. Happened, happened, happened.”

  “No, my good name is now at stake and nobody—not even D—is going to ruin that.”

  “Riley, I don’t think your good name is at stake here.”

  Riley looked over at Sam in an assessing way that made Sam very, very nervous.

  “You need to go out on this last date, to clear my name.”

  “Riley.”

  “Sam.”

  “Why is this date going to be any different?”

  Riley squared her shoulders and looked Sam directly in the eye. “Because D didn’t help pick this one. In fact, he wasn’t even around when we discussed it…so this will be our litmus test. If this date is horrible, then the committee was a failure. If this date is what I think it will be, we’ll know D was up to something and that he’s a pain in my ass.”

  Samantha looked at her friend; she really did look pissed. She was totally stabbing her Frappuccino with her green straw while trying to mix it.

  “Fine,” Samantha said. “Who am I going out with tonight?”

  “Justin.”

  “Justin?”

  “Justin.”

  “I’m not doing it,” Samantha said, standing up and walking toward the entrance.

  Riley jumped up and followed her out the door. “Come on, Sam. What’s the big deal? He obviously likes you. He asked you out, you said no, he e-mailed!”

  “I want to see it,” Sam said. “I want to see the e-mail.”

  “I don’t know how I’m supposed to know what it is you want to look at,” she said, huffing a little bit, but pulling her folder out of the bag she had on her shoulder. What Sam wouldn’t do to get her hands on that folder for five minutes. Three, if she had some privacy. She could be very destructive in a short amount of time. Perhaps eat the papers?

  Riley sifted through some of the pages before pulling a sheet out and reading it.

  It was blank except for one paragraph:

  i respect women. i like women. i like and respect Sam. plus, i already asked her out and she said no. This might be the only way to get her to give me a chance. help?

  Sam shrugged. Riley smiled.

  “Not bad, huh?” Riley asked.

  “Not horrible. I’m not sure why he can’t use caps on his Is…”

  “Don’t start overanalyzing his capitalization.”

  “His lack of capitalization, but fine.”

  “Fine what?”

  “Fine, I’ll go out with him.”

  “YAY!” Riley said, jumping up and down and pulling Sam by her sleeves. Sam tried to act calm and not like her friend looked like she was trying to play ring-around-the-rosy with her.

  “Can we go to school now?”

  “Yes,” Riley said.

  “What should I do about D?” Samantha asked casually.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “No, I’ll take care of D,” Riley said, with an edge to her voice.

  That was what Sam was afraid of.

  D…

  Thursday after school, D texted Samantha because he hadn’t seen her at lunch that day, but she didn’t respond. When he got home, he texted Riley, to see what she was up to—and to ask, sneakily, where she thought Samantha might be.

  Riley responded to his text, thank goodness, and told D he should come over.

  By the time he walked into Riley’s, he was surprised to see Brendan and Marley already sitting in the living room.

  “Oh, hello,” he said to everyone, and then to Riley, “I didn’t realize we were all ‘meeting.’”

  “Yup,” Riley said, “Samantha had a date tonight.”

  D had been picking through the candy dish that was on the end table next to the door. At the word “date,” he looked up, his hand halfway to his mouth with a peppermint drop.

  “Date?”

  “Yes,” Riley said, sitting on the couch next to Marley and ripping
the magazine from her hands. Marley didn’t even look up, but reached into her bag for another mag, and began flipping through that one instead. Brendan was sitting on the rug, as usual, texting someone on his iPhone.

  “Date?”

  Riley looked up. “Yes. Date.”

  “I didn’t think we had another date scheduled,” D said slowly, looking to each person—no one except Riley was meeting his gaze.

  “We scheduled it during the last date,” Riley said. D took a breath.

  “OK, so who is it? Reynold? Mark? Stephen?”

  “Justin.”

  “Justin who?”

  “Justin-Justin.”

  “Justin?”

  “Justin.”

  “Can someone please say Justin again?” Marley drawled. “I didn’t quite catch it the first billion times.”

  “Why is she going out with Justin?” D asked.

  “He filled out an application,” Brendan said.

  “He’s hot,” Marley answered.

  D cringed.

  “Sam said she wanted to,” Riley put in.

  D’s heart did a little flip-flop hearing that Sam actually wanted to go out with that jerk Justin. Perhaps if D thought about it a little longer or a little harder, he’d realize that he didn’t really think Justin was a jerk. He was one of D’s friends, after all—but they used to pick up girls together and get drunk together and…

  “He’s absolutely not right for Samantha.”

  “And why is that?” Riley asked, her eyebrows raised in a way that annoyed D immensely.

  “He’s all wrong for her. He drinks and makes out with girls and—”

  “Does everything you do?”

  “Shut up, Marley.”

  “She’s right, though,” Riley said.

  “Used to do,” D said. “Used to do.”

  Brendan sat up. “D, do you like Samantha?”

  “Duh, Captain Obvious. Why don’t you get the gay-stuffing out from between your ears,” Marley snapped.

  “I’d rather have gay-stuffing between my ears than half the school between my legs,” Brendan snapped back.