I debated my options. “How about you stand behind me, and if I start talking like Minnie Mouse or do something else incredibly awkward, you guys jump in and save me?”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Terri said, and gave me a salute.
I saluted back and steadied myself before getting in line to meet Mr. OJ. He was really cute. Better than I remembered. He had this dorky-suave aura about him, if that was even a thing, and I was on board for it. He was lanky with straight dark brown hair that fell into his almost-aqua eyes, and the most charming lopsided smile I’d ever seen. I got in line and snuck another peek at him. He was saying something to his coworker that got them both laughing. I couldn’t help but smile, too. A guy with a sense of humor—that would be a nice change. Marc had a lot of great qualities, but I never found myself having a giggling fit over something he said. Well, never something he said with the intention of being funny. This guy would be a trade-up. Added bonus, his eyes crinkled when he smiled. It meant it was real.
Standing in line was making me antsy. I needed the people in front of me to hurry up and order, I was more than ready to meet my potentially, possibly, hopefully, future boyfriend.
I finally made it to the front.
“Hi,” I said to Mr. Orange Julius, trying my best to radiate rainbows and sunshine with my smile.
“I got this, Spence,” the lady working the counter with him said. “You can get out of here.”
Mr. Orange Julius, Spence, my chance at a perfect senior-year boyfriend, nodded and headed to the back of the store, completely out of view.
Nooooooooooooooo! I wanted to scream. Nooooooooooooooo!
He was leaving. Now what? Was I going to have to force my friends or family to take me to the mall every day so I could stake out Orange Julius, hoping to catch him? This was bad.
“Did you want to order?” the cashier asked. She sounded annoyed, which meant she must have asked more than once.
“I guess. Umm, small Orange Julius.”
“What flavor?”
“Huh?”
“What flavor Orange Julius? Orange? Tripleberry? Mango Pineapple?”
“Orange is fine,” I said, stopping her before she named every item on the menu. I didn’t care about the drink. I cared about the guy. The guy who was no longer anywhere to be seen.
I fished around in my purse for some cash while the woman prepared my order. This was a bust. The only thing I was getting out of it was a drink I didn’t even really want.
Terri tapped me on the back.
I looked up. My drink was ready.
Terri tapped again.
“I see,” I told her.
“No, you don’t,” she rasped. “To the left.”
I turned. She was right: I hadn’t seen. Walking away from the store—and me—was Spence.
I had to act fast if I wanted to catch him. I handed Terri my cash. “Take care of that for me, please. And I need that,” I said, grabbing her art-store bag along with my drink.
“What are you doing?” Grace asked.
“Taking your advice.” I looked back at her over my shoulder. “I’m Bridget Jones–ing it.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
She’d see soon enough. It meant I was going to turn my life into a real, honest-to-goodness romantic comedy. I wanted that happy ending, and I was going to do whatever it took to get it. If that included throwing myself into an outrageous situation, then so be it. If I couldn’t have an organic meet-cute, I was going to have to fake it and hope things would go better than they had with Brandon.
I power walked until I was practically on top of Spence. It was now or never.
I paused.
Was I really doing this?
Yes, I was. There was no time for second-guessing.
I was all in.
I took that extra step forward, bumping into him, letting my purse, Terri’s bag, and my drink fall.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, a split second after it happened. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. I didn’t get you with the drink, did I?”
He shook his head.
But I already knew that—I’d been careful. I’d practically placed the drink on the floor so that it only slightly leaked out of the lid. I didn’t want to make a mess, just a conversation starter.
Terri’s things, however, had rolled away as planned. “Shoot,” I said, and chased after a runaway little paint jar.
“Here you go,” he said, collecting the other tiny jar, a paintbrush, a bag of sponges, and my purse. He was following my imaginary script to a T.
“Thank you,” I said.
“No problem.” He smiled that crooked grin, and I felt a little flutter in my stomach, one that made me go Marc who? “I think I have some napkins here.” He pulled some out of his bag and handed me half the stack. We both leaned down to clean it up, and our heads butted together.
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Rom-coms could come true. This was perfect. It couldn’t have gone better if I’d planned it myself—which, I guess, I sort of had.
We laughed and our eyes locked.
“I could get you another one if you want,” he said.
“What?” I had been so focused on his eyes, I had no clue what he was talking about.
“The drink. I work there.”
How do I move this forward? How do I turn this into a date? Do I just ask? Am I that bold? I had to decide quickly.
“That’s right,” I said, “I thought you looked familiar. I don’t want to make you go back to work—you look like you’re on your way out.”
“It’s not a big deal; it would only take a minute. My coworker probably already has one made.”
Do it, Cam. Do it, Cam. Do it, Cam.
“I should be the one getting you a drink,” I said, and tried Terri’s trick of looking at him and then glancing away. “First I bumped into you; then you helped me with all my stuff. I kind of owe you one.”
“I lived on Orange Julius all summer after I started working here, but then I hit my limit. I can’t even stomach them anymore.”
That wasn’t on script. He was supposed to say, I’d love that, then get a drink with me, let his hand accidentally graze mine as he reached for it, until we walked side by side out of the mall into our happily-ever-after as sappy music played. I needed to get this back on track.
“We’ll just have to go somewhere else, then,” I said. Then I winked at him. Who am I? Did I really just do that? “Scoop Me Up has the best milkshakes on the planet.” Somehow I was still talking, even if it was a half-truth. The ice cream shop had good shakes, but Scobell’s were the best. They went extra heavy on the ice cream, but no way was I suggesting having another date there. Not after my last two experiences.
“I’ve been there, but never had a milkshake,” Spence informed me, without giving me any clue what he was thinking—or if my attempts at flirting were working.
I forged on. “That’s got to change, then,” I said, half impressed with myself, half flabbergasted that I had this in me. “And hey, I do owe you one, right?”
He studied my face, his expression quizzical. Oh no. He thought I was weird, and maybe he was right. Maybe I should have left flirting to the Terris of the world. I wasn’t cut out for this. Was it too late to make a run for it? If I was lucky, he’d beat me to the punch and just take off himself.
The seconds dragged on.
So much for my fairy tale. At least we’d each have a story to tell our friends. Although, in both versions, I was the one making a fool of myself.
“I’m Spencer,” he said, extending his hand. “My friends call me Spence.”
I shook it. Yes! He wasn’t creeped out by me. “I’m Camryn. My friends call me Cam.”
This was more like it. We even both had little nicknames. Totally adorable. Cam and Spence. Spence and Cam. Spam? That needed work, but we’d figure it out.
“I have to go meet my brother now, but a rain check on the milkshake?” he asked.
“Sure,
” I said.
Before I had time to debate if he was blowing me off, he offered another time. “I can do tomorrow if you’re around.”
Was I around? Yes, I was around!
“Works for me.”
“Great, it’s a date,” he said.
A date!
We exchanged numbers and said goodbye.
As I watched him walk off, my friends, who had been eavesdropping nearby, rushed over.
We all started jumping.
“I have a date, I have a date, I have a date,” I whisper-screamed.
Marc Gerber could eat his heart out. I had moved on to Spence … Spence … well, it didn’t matter that I didn’t know his last name. I’d learn it.
Chapter 20
As I got into the car to go meet Spence, I got a text from him: a GIF of a dancing milkshake. We’d been texting and sending ridiculous pics all last night. Most of them involving people bumping into things, dropping stuff, or falling over, but I also managed to learn more about him. For starters, his last name was Oswalt, he went to my school but we just hadn’t crossed paths, he was a junior, and he had a giant sweet tooth just like me (as long as it didn’t involve Orange Julius or Dairy Queen. He needed a break from them).
If the cute texts were any indication, our date was going to be amazing. I did a quick search and sent him back a GIF of the cutest-puppy-ever licking ice cream out of a glass.
Spence was already at the ice cream shop when I arrived, and his punctuality made me smile. Another thing he had over Marc.
I gave a little wave when I walked in. “Hi!”
Spence stepped forward, and I thought he was going in for a hug, so I moved in for one, too. Except that he wasn’t. He was just standing there. Unfortunately, by the time I figured that out, I was three inches from him. I quickly backed up, but by this point he realized I had been trying to hug him, so he moved in for one.
It ended up being the most awkward half embrace, half pat on the back I’d ever encountered.
“Should we order?” I asked, hoping to quell some of the weirdness.
“Yeah,” he said.
Neither of us spoke as we stood in line. I wanted to say something, but my mind was blank, so instead I pretended to study the list of flavors.
“What are you getting?” I asked, breaking the silence. Why wasn’t this coming easily?
“I think I’m going to stick with a classic and go with chocolate. You?”
“I’m a mint chocolate chip girl.”
Then it went back to silence until we ordered.
Once we got our shakes, we sat at a little table in the corner.
I took a huge sip out of mine. “This is sooo good. You have to try it.”
His face momentarily contorted.
“What?” I asked. “Not a mint guy?”
“No, it’s not that.” Spence swirled his straw in his shake. “I have a thing about sharing drinks. I just really don’t like it,” he said in a rattling pace. “Back slurp kind of grosses me out. Which I know is weird because it’s like, what if we kiss? I’m not weird about that.” His eyes bugged out. “Not that I’m saying we’re going to kiss. I’m just saying…” His whole faced turned as pink as the shop’s strawberry ice cream. “I don’t know what I’m saying.” He slapped his forehead with his hand.
I laughed. “It’s okay.” In fact, it was kind of cute. “You know what this place needs?” I asked, hoping a change of subject would help relax him.
“What?”
“A mascot. A giant dancing milkshake.” I opened my phone to the GIF he’d sent. “Couldn’t you see someone dancing outside in a costume like this?”
“Yeah, but who’d want the job?”
“I’d do it,” I said.
“No way.”
“Yeah, getting people psyched about eating ice cream? I’d totally be the mascot.” Then it hit me. I let out a gasp.
“What? What’s wrong?”
Nothing was wrong. “I just had the most brilliant idea.” I could barely contain myself—between the art show and this, I was on a roll. “I’ve been trying to build up my extracurriculars. I really want to do something with the volleyball team, and I just realized maybe I could be the team mascot! I’d be in a badger outfit instead of a giant milkshake, but same idea.” Sam Raucher was the official mascot, Brooksy the Badger, but he was only at certain games for certain teams. Volleyball was never one of them.
“You’re not serious, are you?” Spence asked.
“One hundred percent.” The more I thought about it, the more excited I got. I couldn’t wait to talk to Coach.
“That sounds torturous,” he said. “Definitely not my thing.”
“What’s your thing, then?”
His whole face lit up. “You know e-sports?”
“Video games?”
“Yeah, but it’s not just video games; it’s taking it to a whole new level. Tournaments, competitions, audiences. My brother is an e-sports champ—he’s won his last four competitions. I try to go watch when I can. He goes to college near here.”
“Do you play?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’m on the school’s team. I hope to get as good as my brother or even better.” Video games might not have been my thing, but Spence was passionate about them, and I liked that.
“Nice,” I said. “Any other clubs?” I was always looking for ideas for new extracurriculars.
“Nah, e-sports take up most of my time. What about you?”
“I’m putting together the yearbook, wrote an article for the paper, and I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I go to a lot of games. Volleyball, used to do soccer, and I go all out—signs, or shirts, or face painting.”
“I’ve never been to a school game,” Spence said.
I almost spit out the sip of milkshake I’d just taken. “Never?”
“I’m not a huge crowd person.”
“The e-sports have a crowd.”
“True, but except for my games and my brother’s competitions, I mostly watch online.”
“What about parties?” I asked.
“Not really a party person, either.”
I slapped my hands on the table. “Come on, how can you not like parties? They’re fun. You hang out with your friends, dance, not worry about school.”
“They’re crowded, noisy, you have to yell to hear anyone. I’d rather just stay home.”
“I hear that,” I said. I understood what he was saying; it was just the opposite of me.
That silence from before crept its way back in.
“Tell me about your favorite video game,” I said before the quiet could overtake the rest of the date.
He started talking about Warcraft III, and I nodded as he spoke. Spence was nice. I liked him, but I wasn’t sure he was the one for me.
After another half hour we got up to leave.
“This was a lot of fun,” Spence said. For him it probably was; he had spoken about video games the whole rest of the time while I’d sat there and listened.
In his defense, I’d encouraged it.
Still …
I held back a sigh. It was looking like my hunt for Mr. Right wasn’t over.
Chapter 21
Ms. Jackson stopped me as I headed out of last period on Wednesday. “I’m impressed with how hard you’ve been working.”
“Thanks,” I told her, adjusting my duffel bag on my shoulder. The yearbook was turning into a never-ending job. In addition to working on it in class, I’d stayed after school a bunch of days to get some more done on it. I still hadn’t made a dent. I was going through the photos people sent in and putting together mock-up candid pages, as well as adding some extras to the team pages. But every day it seemed like we were getting a slew of new pictures. It was hard to make sure everyone from my class got represented. There were some people who seemed to be in every shot, and others who I barely saw in any pictures. At this rate, I was going to have to take some photos of my own or beg the no-shows to send them in.
I still had time, though. I was saving a bunch of pages for senior-year stuff like the ski trip and prom. Hopefully, I’d get them in by then.
“I know it’s a big project, but your photo retouching is wonderful,” she said. “I’m still trying to get you some help. I think I may have a taker.”
“Tell them if they have any questions, or need a push, to talk to me. I definitely wouldn’t mind another set of eyes.” It was weird being the sole decider (well, other than my teacher) of which pictures went into the yearbook. This was something people held on to forever. Sure, Terri and Grace would look it over, but I knew them, and they’d just say it looked great. I wanted someone who would point out if there were too many pictures of student X and not enough of student Y—or that I only noticed that my friend looked good in a shot, but that the person behind them was sporting a totally dorky expression.
“Will do,” she said.
I glanced at the clock. The volleyball game was starting soon. “See you tomorrow,” I told Ms. Jackson.
My phone buzzed. I cringed when I saw it was from Spence.
He’d asked me out again. I wasn’t sure what to do. While our first date wasn’t great, it wasn’t totally bad, either. Maybe we just needed a do-over. I was tempted to try again, but there was a party Friday night that I really wanted to go to. I knew Spence wouldn’t be game. We could just do another night, but then what? What if I wound up really liking him? I’d never go to a party with my boyfriend? I kind of hated the idea of that.
Now was not the time to think about it, though. I had a volleyball game to focus on. I shot Terri a quick text.
I put away the phone. I’d been giving her hints that something was up since Monday, but I wanted my appearance at the game to be a surprise.
Avery, Nikki, and a few other cheerleaders were already outside the locker room by the time I got there.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. Ms. Jackson needed to talk, but I’m so glad you guys are here.” After I had begged them during lunch the other day to help me out, they had agreed to cheer during the game. “Thank you so much for doing this. The volleyball team never gets the same attention as football or soccer, and they have a better record.”
Finding Mr. Better-Than-You Page 11
