Tonight, that bone is called Kevin.
My date is wearing a sensible sweater and an eager, expectant look on his face.I haven’t seen any signs of a personality yet, but the night is still young.Unfortunately.
Stop it.
I’m no Willy Wonka golden ticket myself—I know that.
I’m a bottle of snark under pressure, perpetually ready to pop. I try so hard
not to pop.
“Do you like movies?” Kevin asks, sipping his medium-sized soda.
“Sometimes.”
“Me too! Depends on the movie, though.”
“Yep.”
His smile falters.
“Have you seenAverage Moe 2: Average Moe Returns?”he asks.
In a heroic attempt at social competence, I make a joke. “I haven’t even seenthe first one where he leaves.”
The joke folds into itself and disappears with a cringe.
Kevin chuckles weakly.
“He doesn’t literally leave,” he explains.
Then he perks up. “Maybe we could go see it together? It has car chases, explosions, a couple of borderline inappropriate jokes—and of course a lovestory that evaporates as soon as the credits roll.”
“Wow,” I say. “That sounds… delightfully mediocre.”
“Exactly!”
He goes quiet and studies me with an intensity that makes my skin itch.
I half expect him to tell me he sees dead people, but no, he has another question for me.
“Do you drink coffee?”
“Yes.”
“Same!”
I don’t give him the reply he’d deserve. I’m noble like that.
My thoughts wander to the treat waiting on my nightstand. It’s a textbook about the Industrial Revolution. I study history at the University of BayCarolina. I might be their most enthusiastic student. History is far more interesting than anything that happens in the present. Much safer, too.
“Your turn to ask a question,” Kevin says.
“Cats or dogs?”
“Good one.” He rests his fingers under his chin. “Let me think.”
He thinks. He thinks some more. A bead of sweat forms on his temple.
