Universe.
“Rune?”
I normally correct people when they call me Rune, but I like the way it sounds when Booney says it.
“I brought you something,” I say, bringing the bouquet out from behind my back.
They’re a little more wilted than I’d like, but still pretty. I think.
“You brought me flowers?”
I nod and then shove them into his hands.
“That’s, uh, very kind of you,” he says, bobbling them.
So beautifully awkward.
“Did you know we have a dance at the end of the week?” I ask, hope rising.
“Uh, sure. Sounds like fun.”
“Will-you-be-my-date?” I ask, running the words together.
His eyes widen. “I’m… I’m sorry? I didn’t understand you.”
“Sorry!” Words get away from me when I get nervous, so I remember what my speech therapist always says:it’s always okay to take a breath.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, then open them on the exhale. “Will you be my date for the dance?” I ask, my words clear.
He opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again.
Say yes, say yes, say yes.
“Uh…that’s so kind of you to ask,” he starts, his face beautifully sincere. Hope stalls. “But you’re a little too young to take on a date.”
Hope crashes to the ground and goes up in a fireball of suck.
He just doesn’t get it.
“But I’m not too young,” I insist, my voice cracking. “I’m almost sixteen.”
“And I’m almost twenty,” he replies, his voice soft as he returns the bundle of wildflowers.
He won’t even keep the flowers?
“Okay,” I say, taking the flowers back.
Uncle Hopper’s Great Dane once got into our homemade Valentine’s Day cards, leaving shredded construction paper hearts all over the living room. That’s how I feel right now.
He smiles, and I stand there for another awkward moment before I realize that I’m the one who has to pick up all the torn-up bits of my heart and leave.
I turn and start jogging away from him.
“I’m so sorry, Rune,” he calls after me. “This will make so much more sense when you’re just a little bit older.”
Adults always say that.
It just makes things worse.
