“Yes, it’s fine,” I said, quickly tapping out a text with no hey-hi-hello whatsoever. Just:Check out the trailer for The Antihero. Looks good, right?
Maybe Ready-Set-Date wasn’t the only way I could try to bridge the gap with Katie. Maybe it could be the little things, too.
I smiled at Jacob after switching my phone to the little-known “theater mode,” and then casually positioned my arm on the armrest between us.
But either my date was clueless, or he wasn’t interested in holding hands. Because for the first third of the movie—or halfway, I was barely paying attention—he tookzeronotice. He didn’t even glance over at me!
This is painful. I ached inside as my entire right arm gradually lost all sense of feeling. It went from healthy blood flow to pins-and-needles pricks to cold and numb, completely and utterly lifeless.Can’t he take my hand before we need to amputate?
It wasn’t until a jump scare happened onscreen (I guess Christopher Nolan dabbled in horror now) that Jacob jolted and clamped his hand down on mine. Heart rate spiking, I chanced flipping my dead lobster hand over so our palms pressed together. Jacob wasted no time in lacing our fingers. “Your hand is ice-cold,” he whispered.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Jacob squeezed my hand. “I’ll warm it up.”
***
Per most Christopher Nolan films, the movie lasted around three hours. Jacob and I left our theater holding hands, but I stopped short when I saw Marco and Timothy Hobson-Kirby IV sitting on a bench nearby.
They hadn’t been waiting for us, had they?
“How was it?” Marco asked once he and Jacob had nodded at each other. I swore I caught a muscle in Marco’s jaw twitch.
“Mind expanding,” I answered smoothly, because it sounded better than:I already don’t remember how it ended.
“Nice,” Timothy Hobson-Kirby IV said. “We’re waiting for the midnight showing.”
“I bet you are,” Jacob muttered.
“Well, have fun!” I said brightly. “My parents love a good curfew, so we’ve gotta go…”
I suggested we play some music on the ride home, but Jacob asked what Marco was up to these days. “He looks like a jock pretending to be an intellectual.” He shook his head. “I mean, why did he get those glasses?”
“Because he’s nearsighted,” I said.
Seriously, I’d die on a hill for those tortoiseshell specs.
“And heisan intellectual,” I added, feeling a little defensive. “Even on the soccer field, he’s always been smart.”
“He’s also always liked you,” Jacob said matter-of-factly.
Something surged up my spine. “What?”
“Yeah.” He chuckled and made a left-hand turn. “You never saw that?”
“Um, no,” I sputtered. “The only thing to see was the harem of girls surrounding him in the cafeteria.” I rolled my eyes. “And don’t even get me started on this one girl at Princeton…”
Jacob, bless him, listened to me wage war on Shelly Freemanall the way home. It wasn’t until we reached my neighborhood that I stopped to breathe, and that was only because he shifted his truck into park by our mailbox.
“Keep going, Blue,” I joked, gesturing up my long driveway. “We still have some ground to cover.”
“So you aren’t interested in Marco?” Jacob asked.
I laughed. He should’ve been asking about Connor, not Marco! “God, no,” I said. “Marco Álvarez is just a friend.”
No, he’s one of your best friends, I realized, and felt a swift swirl of sweetness in my core. If something happened, Marco was one of the people I wanted to tell most. Just like Austin and Connor.
“Well, good.” Jacob unbuckled his seat belt. “Because I had a really great time tonight, Mads.”
