by Sarah Daltry
“Don’t wait up,” I tell her as I head back to the living room. I swear she claps. She actually freaking claps.
George smiles at me when I get back to the living room. “Ready?” he asks.
I nod and follow him out to the car. It takes a while to start, even though it was just running, but since he sat in it for like twenty minutes with the heat on, it’s not freezing. Which is nice, as the outside is.
“You, um…” he says while he lets the car idle for a minute.
“I, um?”
“That skirt’s nice.”
I think that’s a compliment and if it isn’t, too bad. I’m going with it being a compliment.
“Thank you,” I say and flash him a flirty smile. I don’t know if it comes out flirty. It probably looks demented, but he doesn’t ask “why so serious?” so I feel like I’m making progress on my flirty smiles. “Where are we off to?”
“Well, I realized that it’s winter and there’s no mini-golf and we just went to the movies and, even though it’s Friday, it’s kind of late and not much is open, unless you want to go to a bar, but I didn’t think you were really the bar type, but I didn’t know what else we could do, so I guess we could go to Dunkin’ Donuts and get some hot chocolate. And then… since nothing’s open, we could go to the reservoir. It’s kind of pretty right now with the snow and stuff, but I mean, if you don’t want to go to the reservoir, we can just get hot chocolate and sit in the car or we can go to a bar. Or maybe Denny’s. I know you just had Denny’s, but I don’t want to push the reservoir. Unless you want to go to the reservoir. We’ll go to Denny’s. Yeah, Denny’s works.”
I pause to see if he needs his inhaler but he just cringes and looks at the steering wheel. I reach over and brush my fingers across his elbow, which is hidden under his Boba Fett hoodie. “I like hot chocolate. And the reservoir will be nice.”
He turns to look at me and his hair lands behind his glasses. He moves his arm to brush it away, but his eyes are happy. He has really nice eyes.
We don’t talk on the way to Dunkin’ Donuts, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just late and cold and we listen to the crappy music on his radio. At Dunkin’ Donuts, he asks if I want whipped cream, but that’s the only thing he says until we have the cocoa and are on our way to the reservoir.
“I’m glad you love Fatal Destiny,” he says quietly.
I take a sip of my hot chocolate, which is scalding hot. It doesn’t even taste like chocolate right now. It tastes like burning. I can already feel the swelling starting. The worst is that I know, an hour from now, it’s going to be ice cold. Stupid temperatures.
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“If you hadn’t been there for the release, and if you hadn’t argued about the game, we wouldn’t have met,” he says.
“True. And if you hadn’t been a thieving fuck bucket, I would’ve had my game and we wouldn’t have talked.”
He laughs. “You dropped it. It was technically mine.”
“Balls it was yours. Your big stupid hand knocked it on the floor. I didn’t drop it.”
“Pshaw.”
He actually says, “Pshaw.” Like one word. All five letters. No silent consonants. If my lips had not already been seared off by cocoa, I might even kiss him for it. I mean, theoretically. I might even theoretically kiss him for it.
George
The problem with having a romantic sip of cocoa is that, sometimes, the cocoa is so fucking hot that it makes your stomach threaten you with socially unacceptable reactions. On the plus side, she seems to be in a good mood and she’s as foul-mouthed as me.
“So, what is this reservoir you speak of?” she asks, feigning ignorance.
“Well, it’s this big area where they hold water.”
“That’s riveting.”
“It’s also full of trees and shit. So, you know. It’s goddamn serene.”
“Serene? Like Serenity serene?” she asks.
“We will be leaves on the wind. Watch how we soar.”
“I love Wash.”
“Everybody loves Wash. And if they don’t love Wash, then I have no time for them.” I nod for emphasis. “To the reservoir! If we get stuck in the snow, we can use this cocoa to melt our way out.”
“I love to watch the snow spiral down among the trees,” she says as she looks out the window while I drive.
“I like to drive into the snow at night. It makes a sort of cone in front of us, as if we’re jumping to light speed.”
“Does that make me Chewbacca?”
“I think you’re more of a Nien Nunb.” She seems okay with that. “Do you like murder?” I ask her out of nowhere, before I realize how bizarre that is.
“Interesting. Why do you ask? You aren’t planning on burying me up at the reservoir, are you?”
“Of course not. That’s exactly what they’d expect me to do.” I smile and wink. I hope that it doesn’t look rapey. “Seriously, what I mean is, do you like murder mystery dinners?”
“Never been to one, but it sounds awesome. Do you know where one is?”
“No,” I admit. “But I want to go to one. But I never have a date.” Man, I don’t know the first thing about marketing myself.
“I see. So you’re hoping to hitch your boat to this sweet chassis and head on down to this murder dinner?”
“Yes. But first,” I say, “I have to find out where and when one is.”
“Well, once you solve that crime, I’ll be happy to help you solve the other one.”
“Sweet. Here we are.” I drive along the tiny winding dirt line that is supposed to be the road into the reservoir. “I have to admit it’s pretty here.”
“Well, yeah. It was your idea after all.”
“It was indeed.” I see no need to reveal that I got my dating advice from a thirteen-year-old.
I locate a small alcove tucked in amongst the trees. They form a roof over the car. “Luck has bit my ass. I think there’s a blanket in the trunk. It probably smells like shit, but do you want to put it on the hood and sit there? It should be a little bit heated,” I suggest.
“Sounds like a great plan. Besides, we have the cocoa from the center of the sun in case it gets too cold.” She smiles. It’s absurdly pretty.
I leave the car on. One, so that the engine keeps providing the hood with heat and two, because who knows if Crimson Lightning will start again in this cold. Katie gets out and moves around to the front of the car. She catches snow on her hand and looks at it. She must be cold in that skirt.
I open the trunk. “Froody. There is a blanket.” I pull out my phone real sneaky-like to make sure it’s set for my sound cue and let it drop back into my pocket. I grab the blanket.
“It only smells remotely like dog ass,” Katie says once we settle onto the hood of the car.
“I don’t think it’s seen the light of day for many moons.” I look up at the moon. “M-O-O-N.”
“Spells cute.” She looks at me.
“You spell like shit,” I tell her, then lean forward and kiss her. She kisses me back. It is simple and soft. But I can feel a yearning in it, from both of us. Maybe this will be one of those first kisses that we talk about together a long time from now. If so, I’m going to try to make it memorable.
I slip slowly away from her and reach into my pocket, clicking my phone for my prepared cue. As the Triforce music begins to play, I spin around, pull out the red three-dimensional paper heart I made from my jacket, and hold it up Link style for her to see.
“Oh.” She smiles and grab hugs me. “I always wanted to capture Link’s heart.”
I hand her the heart. “I may not be Link, but I can wear a green hoodie and you can have my heart.”
“That’s sweet. Is it from a movie?” she asks.
“No. I just came up with it. I’m creative. I’m also cold. Come over here and warm me up.”
“Happy to. But I hope you’re really warm, because it’s getting windy.”
“I’m warm enough, I
think. Just think of me as your own personal supernova.”
“Perfect.” She pulls the blanket up over us. “Can I join you in your supernova?”
Katie
We cuddle under his blanket for a bit. I realize I really like him and I like cuddling with him. There’s also a fair amount of kissing, and it’s the good kind. It’s that perfect mix of sexy and sweet. His tongue mostly minds its own business, except when things get a little hotter. Eventually, things start getting significantly hotter. Hot enough that I’m kind of okay with the skirt. That is, until they suddenly get a whole lot of fucking unbearably cold.
“Shit,” he says. As he says it, the dome light flickers out and we’re left in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the night, in the middle of the winter.
“This is Seynar’s fault,” George grumbles.
I laugh. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I just want it to be.”
He gets in and tries to start the car, but it doesn’t turn over. I debate about waiting, in case he can get it to start, but the moment is gone. Now I’m just freezing and slightly frustrated. I take the blanket and get in the car next to him. He hits the dash, but nothing happens.
“It’ll probably be fine in a little while,” he says.
“How long?”
He looks sheepish. “Maybe before dawn?”
“Well, at least it’s cold as fuck,” I offer.
“How cold is fuck, really?”
I make a decision and climb into the backseat. My skirt doesn’t even get caught on anything thankfully, although I was smart enough not to wear grannie panties tonight. I went all out but it was all for naught. I settle onto the backseat with the blanket over me, then hold it up to George, calling him back to me telepathically. He climbs through the seats as well and gets under the blanket.
We attempt to bring back the mood, but it’s cold and uncomfortable. Neither of us is feeling it, I can tell. It’s not bad, but once our teeth start chattering, it seems a little pointless.
He leans back against the door and holds his arms out. “Come here,” he says.
I do, lying across him, and he wraps his arms around me. It’s the least sexual any two people have ever been in the backseat of a car, lying this close together, under a blanket, at a site known for exactly this. But it’s nice. I pull the blanket tight and we huddle for warmth.
George takes out his phone and presses some buttons, putting it in the door behind him. I close my eyes as The Ink Spots begin playing. I don’t want to set the world on fire. I just want to start a flame in your heart. He kisses the top of my head and I fall asleep on top of him.
***
“Cramp, cramp, cramp, cramp,” George yells and pushes me off of him. I smack my head on the impossibly low roof the Geo Metro and he sits up, trying to stretch his leg, only to realize there’s no leg room. He opens the door with a creak now that ice has started to take up residence in the crevices along the frame and then stretches. I think I hear an owl.
I look at my phone. It’s just after midnight. “It’s the Dark Hour,” I tell him.
“Tartarus is probably warmer,” he says as he goes around to the front. He tries the car again, but there’s nothing. It doesn’t even consider starting. “I think we might need to call AAA this time,” he concedes and joins me again under the blanket.
“What about Lanyon? Can he come get us?” I don’t really want the date to end already, even if all we’ve done is turn to corpsicles in his broken car.
He shrugs. “He’ll want to hang out.”
“Well, at least then we can still hang out. Your car will be fine here. It’s not going anywhere anyway.”
He grimaces. “I’m so screwed.”
“Do you need it for work?” He hasn’t mentioned a job. “Or school?”
“No.”
“Then why are you screwed?”
“I’m 21 and, between my best friend and me, this is it. This is our only means of independence.”
Since I don’t have a car, I don’t know what to say. Although I guess this means that our blooming romance will now be dependent on Lanyon and his mom’s minivan. Or one of our parents. We’ll have to be driven to our dates by our parents. Lovely.
“Call Lanyon,” I say, and as soon as he’s off the phone, I kiss him again.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Enjoying it while we can.”
Unsurprisingly, we’re making out in the backseat of his car when there’s a knock on the window. George sighs and rolls it down.
“I found the Conduit,” Lanyon says, grinning.
George
“Piss off. Now, please tell me you brought the Normandy,” I tell him.
“No. The Voyager.”
“Voyager?” Katie asks. “Like the space shuttle or something? You named your van after a space shuttle?”
“No, it’s the type of minivan my mom has.”
“Oh. I thought it was something cooler than that,” she says.
“What? It isn’t cold enough for you now?” Lanyon replies.
“It is,” I say. “My nipples could carve ice sculptures.”
“Seems interesting. I wouldn’t mind seeing that,” Lanyon says as he pulls out his reading glasses. “All set. Start carving.”
“You have glasses?” Katie asks.
“Only for driving and reading. I just drove. Hence the glasses.”
“This story is riveting, but my balls have now traveled all the way up into my spleen. Can we go before they start hiding behind my eyes?” I ask.
“Very well.” Lanyon slides open the van’s huge side door. “Enter The Chariot of Destiny.”
“Why do you guys have a name for everything?” Katie asks.
“Why not. Don’t you?”
She scrunches her face in thought. “Not everything. Hey, Lanyon, what do you call your penis?”
“Jesus.” I have to admit I didn’t expect that.
“Mjolnir.” He takes it in stride.
“I should have known.” She turns to me as she’s halfway into the van. “How about you, Georgie boy?”
“Borg,” I tell her.
“Borg? Why? They’re ugly.”
“Yes,” I admit. “But resistance is futile.”
“You are an asshole,” she says, scooting across the seat with a giggle.
“But I make it work.” Tonight, her eyes tell me that she agrees. “To somewhere warm!” I shout.
The Voyager begins its voyage. Poor Crimson Lightning waits in the snow. My dad isn’t going to be happy.
***
Lanyon opts to take us both to his house. As we pile into his room, Katie gets a text and spends the next few minutes going back and forth with someone. Lanyon uses the bathroom and I poke through his games to see if there’s anything cool for three person local.
Katie puts her phone away. “I have a great idea.” I don’t know her well enough to know if I should be happy or nervous about this.
“What is it?” I ask.
“My friend Anna will probably want to meet you. She’ll want us to double date with her and her boyfriend, Chad. What do you think?”
“It’s a little early in our relationship to go on double dates, don’t you think?” I’m not sure how I feel about meeting her friend, or anyone named Chad.
“It’s never too early to double date,” she says.
“If you want to, then it’s okay. Is she a gamer, too?”
She laughs in five sharp bursts. “No. She’s more Juliet Starling than Lara Croft.”
“Ah. You’re friends with her?” Seems odd.
“We’ve been friends forever. You know how that is.”
On cue, Lanyon walks in. “Did somebody say boobies?”
“What? Why would you think that?” Katie asks.
“You said Lara Croft. They’re one and the same,” I explain.
Katie considers a moment. “Would Lanyon want to come?” she asks me.
Lanyon answers, �
�Yes, indeed. Lanyon always wants to come. Lanyon enjoys tagging along in all circumstances.”
“You’d need to bring a date,” I tell him.
“No problem. Lanyon can swing that. He just has to stop using third person. Girls don’t like when Lanyon does that.”
“You think Anna will be okay with Lanyon and… whoever… joining us?” I ask Katie.
“She won’t mind. She loves going out in groups. Maybe we can even try to find a murder mystery dinner thing. That could be fun?”
“Murder mystery dinner? Zounds!” yells Lanyon “I’m going as Professor Layton. He almost has my name and my brains. Plus, I have the hat.”
“I don’t think they’re usually dress up affairs,” Katie tells him.
“Rules? Where we go, we don’t need rules.”
“You misquoted that,” I say.
“Lick my taint,” he responds.
“He got that quote right,” Katie says.
“Fuck you both. Let’s play Goldeneye. Slappers only.” No one can resist a challenge like that.
Moments later, all that can be heard is the whooshing smack of large-headed Donkey Kong-style men in big hats trying to chop each other while running around a room full of pillars.
“Ba boosh, bitch!” Lanyon says as he takes out Katie.
For a second, I wonder if I should defend her honor, to make sure Lanyon knows he shouldn’t talk to her like that. I don’t really want to, but I feel like I’m supposed to. Luckily, Katie solves my quandary.
“Wait ‘til I respawn, you hairy handed self-gratifying bucket of cat jizz,” she says.
“Is that from a sonnet?” Lanyon asks.
I think I begin to fall just a little bit in love with Katie then. Of course, while I’m distracted by my thoughts, Lanyon slaps me to death.
“Feel my openhanded rage, you petulant nad nibbler,” he taunts me. We’re educated college students. And this is how we spend our nights. Pretty sweet really.
