“Too bad I have to choose one…”
I throw an arm around her shoulders. I’m not sure if it’s too intimate of a gesture while we’re still at the start of our very first date, but I can’t help myself. I want to be closer to her. “Who says you have to choose?”
She rolls her eyes. “I can’t order from three different food trucks!”
“Of course you can. If anything, that’s why these places exist—so we can try everything. And then when we’re done, we’ll get dessert. That ice cream filled waffle looks amazing.”
She shakes her head. “That’s so much food. I won’t be able to eat it all.”
“Have you met a football player?” I pat my stomach. “Whatever you can’t finish, I’ll eat. I promise. There will be no food wasted tonight.”
She peers up at me. The bright lights that are strung up over the picnic table area make her dark eyes sparkle. I hadn’t realized how much shorter she is than I am until this moment, now that we’re standing close. I see her every morning and every day after school but we don’t walk very close together and when she’s in my truck, I can’t really tell her height. But now that she’s here, standing just inches away from me, all I want to do is wrap my arms around her and pull her close. I don’t want to just smell a hint of her shampoo—I want to bury my face in it.
Her eyes turn conspiratorial and feisty. “Okay, let’s do it.”
We hit up all four food trucks, saving the dessert one for after we’ve eaten our multi-ethnic food feast. We find a picnic table all to ourselves and load it up with food, then Zara and I sit across from each other and try out some of everything. As suspected, the food is amazing. It’s certainly better than going to some boring restaurant.
A cover band takes the makeshift wooden stage at the edge of the property. The band members are all middle-aged guys who look like they used to be rock stars but then settled down to raise a family and work a day job. But despite their non-rock star looks now, they play well, and Zara and I sing along to their set list of popular classic rock songs.
When the band starts playing White Wedding by Billy Idol, an older couple make their way to the grassy area in front of the stage where they start dancing their hearts out. Zara and I watch their performance. They look like they’ve been dancing together all their lives.
“That’s really sweet,” Zara says when the song ends and the man leans over and kisses the woman on her forehead. People clap for them and Zara and I join in, too.
“They seem fun. I can’t imagine my parents dancing in public like that. They are way too boring and professional.”
“I can’t imagine myself dancing like that,” she says with a little laugh. “I’d be way too embarrassed.”
“What if you had someone with you, someone who danced just as dorky as you did?” I reach over and take a fried pickle from the tray. “I think if you’re comfortable with someone like that, it would be fun.”
“Maybe,” she says, glancing over at the couple as they make their way back to their picnic table.
Then her eyes lock on mine, and she doesn’t have to say anything. I just know we’re thinking the same thing.
Could we be each other’s partner like that? Could we have something special the way that couple clearly does? I really hope so, because this has been the best date ever.
I decide to tell her that.
“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” I say. “This is the best date I’ve ever been on.”
Her face lights up. “Me too.”
Ten
Zara
So that thingabout cancelling my rides to school with Zane? Totally not happening anymore. Our date last night was the greatest, most laid back adventure ever. I wish everyone’s first date would be that chill. The world would be happier. There was no pressure to dress up and get all nervous and do something amazing. We just hung out. We flirted. We spent quality time together, getting to know one another. It was the best.
I now understand all those silly gifs that show cartoon characters floating through the air with little hearts around them. That’s how I feel right now. I am weightless. I am stress free. I am unbelievably excited for what’s to come.
I know I can’t call Zane myboyfriendyet, because putting a serious label on him after only one date would be a bit premature, but it certainly feels like we’re moving in that direction. Zane is all smiles the next morning when I walk over to his truck.
“You look beautiful,” he says, handing me another cup of Mexican hot chocolate.
I roll my eyes in reply. But I’m glad he said it because I spent time on my hair and makeup this morning. I know that kind of goes against everything from last night—the whole spur of the moment date with no time to get dolled up—but I want Zane to see me looking as good as possible, while still being kind of down to earth about it. Case in point: I did my hair and makeup, but I’m wearing leggings and a hoody. I’m being stealthy with my attractiveness.
“Have you told anyone about our date?” Zane asks while we drive to school.
An alarmed feeling rises in my subconscious. “No,” I say quickly. My throat goes dry. “Why? Do you want me to keep it a secret?”
