by Marni Bates
Miles leaned in closer. “I’m happy to provide my services. How does after school tomorrow work for you?”
“Uh, sure.” Nothing was going to prevent me from going on a date. My very first date. Especially since it was Miles Kent doing the asking. I almost expected to hear someone yell, “And . . . scene. Nicely done, Miles!” because all of this felt way too surreal to be happening. But if a genuinely nice, superhot guy wanted to spend time with a total geek like me, I wasn’t going to complain. Instead, I struggled to play it cool. “Tomorrow’s fine.”
Tomorrow will have to be fine.
“Then I’ll pick you up in the parking lot.”
“Uh, okay. Tomorrow. After school. Parking lot. Got it.”
He grinned, and I felt my pulse rate speed up. “Great, it’s a date.”
And then he strolled away looking all strong and confident and totally swoon-worthy. All I could think was that after a lifetime of watching romantic comedies, I had stumbled upon the perfect leading man in real life.
And he had just asked me out.
“Jane!”
“Huh?” I hadn’t even noticed Scott calling my name. My powers of observation must have been temporarily obliterated by my Miles-related adrenaline rush. Reality slowly began to seep in. “Oh, my God. He just asked me out!”
Scott nodded. “I noticed that.”
“I’m not ready for this! I have nothing to wear!” It sounded painfully girlie, but it was the truth. I had stuff from Kenzie, but nothing that said, Wear me on your first date, please!
“Go naked.”
“Hah, you’re hilarious, Scott. Oh wait, no you’re not.”
“You’ll figure out something.”
“It’s not just the clothes.”
“What is it then?”
“Well—” Suddenly, everything came rushing out. “What if I have nothing to say? He’s a really nice guy, but I have no dating experience, so what if he’s wonderful and I choke and the whole date is just one long, endless pit of awkwardness that stretches before us and—”
“I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” Scott said, cutting me off. He looked bored by our topic of conversation and glanced toward the door, as if calculating how long he would have to spend with his neurotic excuse for a journalism partner before he could make his escape.
“I hope so. Tomorrow. Wow, okay. Why do I have the feeling there is something big I’m forgetting right now?”
He looked at me incredulously. “Because you also agreed to go to the concert. With me. And all of your friends.”
“Right. Right! Okay, but this can work. I just have to fit in my date before the concert and after . . . work! That is what I forgot! I still haven’t called Mrs. Blake.” I grabbed his sleeve as another thought hit me. “I’ve never canceled on her before! What do I say? Should I lie? That’s a bad idea, right? I mean, the last time I lied, I got stuck with you as my boyfriend.”
Scott ignored my accidental jab. “Just tell her you have a date. She’ll assume it’s with me.”
“Brilliant! Thanks. In case you didn’t notice, I’m freaking out. It must be leftover nerves from my performance. I’m not usually this . . . jittery, or whatever.”
“I noticed.”
“Okay, well.” I didn’t know what else to say. “Thanks for being so cool when Miles asked me out. And for not saying anything.”
“Of course. So I’ll see you tomorrow after school in the parking lot.”
“Yeah, you’ll—wait, what!?”
“Until your story is written and my portfolio is complete, where you go, I go.”
“But this is my date!”
“I know. I can hardly wait.”
And just like that, my brief spell of good fortune evaporated.
Chapter 19
I tried not to lie to Mrs. Blake when I asked for the day off. Hedging the truth didn’t seem as likely to blast me with bad karma, so I told her that I was sorry to cancel at the last minute, but I really wanted to go on a date.
I just conveniently forgot to mention the name of the guy taking me out.
And then I tried to get off the phone as quickly as humanely possible to prevent her from doing any serious prying. I only felt a small twinge of guilt as Mrs. Blake assured me that she could manage perfectly well without me and then insisted I take Sunday off as well. Not that I fought her on it. I needed those extra hours for studying. The newspaper story had already taken up way too much of my time, and I couldn’t afford to let anything fall through the cracks.
Even for my first date with Miles Kent.
So after confirming with Mrs. Blake that I’d see her on Wednesday, I instantly called Kenzie. I knew she wouldn’t solve the whole “What should I wear?” dilemma, but none of it would feel real until she knew all the details. We had promised years ago to tell each other first if we developed any kind of love life. And it still mattered to me, even after Kenzie had failed to keep her side of the deal. It still bothered me that I had found out about her relationship with Logan the same way everyone else did: via Facebook notification.
That had sucked a lot of the fun out of her big news for me.
Which was why I refused to tell her about it by voice mail. Instead, I left a cryptic message for her to call me back right away. And then, since I was stuck waiting in the school parking lot for my dad to pick me up post-audition, I tried her home phone number too. Kenzie’s little brother, Dylan, picked up.
“Hullo?” I heard the unmistakable sound of chewing.
“Hey, Dylan. Is Kenzie around?”
“Sorry, she’s in Portland shopping with Melanie.” Dylan’s tone brightened. “I could call them for you. Pass on your message to Melanie.”
He definitely had it bad for the freshman girl, but I wasn’t sure if the feeling was mutual. I doubted she had noticed him as anything beyond Mackenzie’s little brother. She was only one year older than him, but since that year currently placed him in middle school, I had trouble picturing them together.
Then again, I was also having a hard time picturing Kenzie shopping of her own free will. She doesn’t like shopping—an oddity the two of us have always shared.
“What could Kenzie possibly need to buy?” I demanded. “Isn’t she still drowning in free designer handouts?”
“Don’t ask me. Girl stuff for the big party next weekend?”
That stopped me cold.
I garbled a quick good-bye into the phone and hung up. Kenzie was planning outfits over a week in advance for some party I hadn’t even heard about, and it had never occurred to her that I might want to know. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but no matter how many times it happened, it hurt.
And I had no idea how to make it stop hurting.
It was strange because the girl who chatted with Notables earlier hadn’t felt entirely like me. Now that it was over, the whole thing seemed like an out-of-body experience with the real Jane Smith observing a fake body double whose only job was to keep smiling until she fled the auditorium. Then I should have returned to my normal self.
Except that Jane had landed herself a really attractive date. That Jane had scored a lunch invite to the Notable table. That Jane wasn’t pathetically hoping for a scrap of her best friend’s attention.
Maybe it was time to consider making the change permanent.
My phone beeped that I had a new text message, and I instantly felt ridiculous. Of course, Kenzie wanted to talk to me. She had probably gotten roped into the whole shopping thing and wanted to call me later tonight when she could concentrate on my update.
Maybe she would even extend an invite to this mysterious party then.
I felt better already.
Or at least I did until I noticed that Corey was the one sending the message.
Can’t talk. Got 2 tix. Later.
Disappointment battled with nervous anticipation. The terse message wasn’t exactly what I had hoped to read, but it did confirm that I was going to the Wilco/ReadySet concert . . . right after my v
ery first date.
My stomach lurched, and I fought the urge to call Corey. His text had made it pretty clear that he couldn’t talk, but this time the advice I needed went way beyond fashion advice. I wouldn’t stop panicking until he assured the normal me—who had chosen a spectacularly poor time to return—that going on a date with a guy in tights I had lusted after wasn’t a disaster in the making.
That normal people did stuff like this all the time.
I scrolled through my cell phone call history, hit call, and was relieved when the ringing was replaced by Isobel’s cheerful greeting. “Hey, Jane. What’s going on?”
“Oh, I, uh, just wanted to chat. How was the baking club?”
“It was so much fun, Jane! We made chocolate chip cookies, and Claire, do you know Claire? Claire Ip . . . ling. Ips-ton, maybe? Anyway, she’s hilarious.”
“Yeah?” I said, because it felt like I should say something.
“She was supposed to be in charge of reading the directions . . . and then she got distracted. We ended up tripling half of the ingredients so then we had to triple everything else. It was a total free-for-all, but somehow the dough turned out okay. I think. I might let someone else taste them first.”
I laughed. “That might be for the best.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t told you the funny part. Sam suggested that we freeze half of the dough. That way we can make cookies next week or the week after—or maybe both. Only she turned it into a sculpture and now it looks exactly like Principal Taylor. It’s creepy how well she captured his look of disapproval. She even molded a little football whistle that sort of dangles around his neck.”
“Wow.” I had never heard Isobel talk so much. “Sounds like you had fun.”
“I wish you could have made it, Jane! Sam . . . uh, well, she’s not quite as scary as I first thought.”
I grinned. “Sam still intimidates me, but I’m pretty sure she’s all bark and no bite.”
“I wouldn’t go quite that far, considering that she offered to mace Alex Thompson for me. She also told me not to buy into his bullshit and that”—Isobel’s voice dropped to a whisper—“there is nothing wrong with my body.”
“She’s right. I should have told you that myself. I got caught up in the journalism stuff and . . . I still should have told you.”
“It’s fine,” Isobel said quickly. “Not a big deal.”
But it was a big deal.
“Sam wanted to know if you were interested in joining us for lunch tomorrow.”
I wanted to comment on the “us,” but decided against it. Isobel had somehow found her place within Sam’s social scene, and I was determined to be happy for her.
Even if I was a little jealous at how easily it had worked for her.
“I really need to talk with Kenzie and Corey. . . .” I let my words dribble out. “Rain check?”
“Oh, okay. Sure.” There was a long pause. “Well, I’ll see you on the bus tomorrow.”
“Right. Tomorrow,” I repeated. Somehow, I was drifting away from the people who meant the most to me, and I didn’t know whom to blame. Myself probably.
“Jane?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you called.”
“Me too.” My dad pulled into the lot. “Listen, I have to go. Just—thanks, Isobel. For everything.” Then, shutting the phone, I opened the door and jumped in.
“Hey, kiddo. How was your day?”
Way too complicated to explain . . . not that he really wanted the details. My dad definitely didn’t want to listen to me obsess over which outfit I should wear on my first date.
The whole thing felt so out of character for me. Elle was the one who complained about having nothing to wear, while I waited for my sweatshirts to disintegrate before I would even consider replacing them. But this time I wanted to look nice . . . and comfortable . . . and maybe a little sexy.
Something that would subconsciously tell Miles that I liked him but that we should probably take it slow, since dating was new territory for me.
And since obviously that wasn’t asking too much from an outfit, I might as well demand that my shoes somehow solve world hunger.
I was half buried in piles of clothing when Elle barged into my room without even bothering to knock.
“It’s almost dinnertime and—what are you doing?” she demanded.
I refused to let her disturb my concentration. “Elle, I’m a little busy here.”
“Wait, are you seriously trying to become fashionable?” I glanced over and saw the surprise written all over her face. “I thought it was just a phase.”
“I have a date tomorrow.”
I’m not sure why I said it. My original plan was to keep my mouth shut around my sister. It was just a simple safety precaution in case the whole thing was a disaster. As long as Elle never heard about it, I could pretend it never happened.
Date? Me? Nope.
I still hadn’t told my best friends, and yet my older sister—the bane of my existence—somehow got the truth out of me in under thirty seconds.
Elle flopped down on my bed as if I had invited her in for a little heart-to-heart chat. “I know you don’t have a boyfriend. Yesterday, you were doing the head-tilt thing that only happens when you’re lying.”
I tried to look unfazed by this discovery as I stared her down.
“I have a date tomorrow that is making me really nervous. So please don’t mess with me right now.”
She sat up straight. “Overreact much? I was just trying to be nice, dork.”
My sister is great when it comes to her friends and her sorority sisters, but with me? Not so much. Still, it was possible this was her attempt at sisterly bonding.
And that I was killing the moment.
“Sorry,” I said. “Just . . . stressed right now.”
“Well—” Elle eyeballed the shirt in my hands. “You’ll look like a washed-out cream puff in that one.”
“Thanks, I feel so much better now!”
“I’m being honest. You should go for that one.” She pointed to a forest-green blouse Mackenzie had brought over. “Combine it with that gray skirt and those textured tights. And don’t even think about wearing sneakers. Heels only.”
Usually I get annoyed when Elle starts bulldozing. But I could picture the outfit coming together, and even though the whole thing screamed, “I’m a preppy Notable!” I found myself oddly drawn to the image. Maybe if I looked the part, I would feel the confidence that always appeared to go along with it. That might be something worth asking Chelsea about over lunch.
Or not.
“Oh, and to cover the bruise you should use a yellow-based concealer before applying eye shadow.” She snorted. “That should help you avoid caking on makeup like you’ve been doing these past few days.”
I thought “caking” was a gross exaggeration. I’d done a pretty good job of hiding my black eye. No one at school had criticized my makeup . . . to my face.
“Did it ever cross your mind to be, I don’t know, worried about me?” Anger began churning through me.
Elle looked taken aback, and then she laughed. “You? No! You fell down, didn’t you? That’s what Mom said. God, the biggest danger in your life is getting a paper cut from one of your textbooks.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Oh yeah?” Elle fisted her hands on her waist. “Look, Jane, you don’t need to invent drama to make yourself seem more exciting. Just deal with it, already.”
“Well, thanks for that.” I yanked open my bedroom door. “You can leave now.”
“Fine. Enjoy your date.” She put air quotes around “date” just to make it clear that she still thought I was lying. Except it was completely true. Miles Kent would be picking me up and taking me . . . somewhere. I really hoped he didn’t have any hiking in mind, because the outfit Elle had picked out would not hold up if we went anywhere off the beaten path.
“Thanks. I will.”
And for the first
time I had no trouble believing that I would enjoy myself. I might not know Miles that well, but I doubted he would suddenly transform into a jerk when we left school property.
It would be great.
I kept telling myself that every time my upcoming date distracted me from my homework. Everything was going to work out. I’d take advantage of my Friend of Celebrity status to write a story about the concert that would impress my journalism teacher and my brand-new boyfriend. Just as soon as I finished all my AP Calculus problems.
That lasted well into the early hours of the morning.
Which meant that when my alarm clock rang a few scant hours later, I smacked the snooze button. I rationalized that, thanks to Elle, I already knew exactly what I would be wearing. Something I instantly regretted when I remembered that the second part of the evening included a concert with Corey. And that meant I needed to pack a spare change of clothes, just in case Corey vetoed Elle’s selection.
I barely resisted tossing in my most comfortable sweatshirt, just to annoy him.
Then I left a note on the kitchen counter saying that I had made some late-night plans with Kenzie and Corey. I didn’t even have to ask for permission or mention what time I would be returning home. One of the benefits of a life of complete geekdom is that my parents never worry that I’m out making poor life decisions. Not when my idea of a crazy night is a Firefly marathon and a showing of Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog to complete the Whedon-fest.
Which also might explain why, unlike Elle, I don’t get invited to things.
So I omitted all mention of the concert and my date with a relatively clean conscience, because technically I hadn’t lied. I just hoped my parents never found out what this particular “late night” with Corey and Kenzie entailed, since I doubted they would accept my technicality.
There was no harm in letting them assume that my life was as boring as ever. It even felt like the truth when I sat on the bus with Isobel and discussed how best to entertain Sam at a sleepover. Somehow I didn’t think the musical episode from Buffy was going to cut it. We agreed that sometime next week might work, and Isobel began searching for Sam to check with her.
