Page 20 of The Art of Catching Feelings

D: Alexa, play “Karma.”

C: Eh. I think karma can take the day off on this one. I just want the whole thing to be over.

So all Daphne had managed to do was dog herself, make herself look catty doing it, and remind him of something he’d clearly rather forget. Well played.

C: You’re really not going to tell me your name? Even just your first name? You’ve read my Wikipedia.

Daphne chewed on her lip. He had a point. She knew his middle name (Ray) and his zodiac sign (Taurus) and where he’d gone to high school (some place in Pennsylvania, it’s not like she’d memorized it all). She hadn’t gone so far as to seek out interviews or other sources of information, but she knew they were out there.

D: Duckie is my name. Well, a nickname.

That would be less of a lie if she were still four years old. Nobodyactuallycalled her that, except for her brother when he wanted to be obnoxious.

C: Like the guy in Pretty in Pink?

Daphne smiled. She wouldn’t have pegged him for a John Hughes fan, but she was already realizing that there was a lot she would’ve gotten wrong about Chris Kepler.

D: Definitely not. That guy was the worst.

C: Are you Team Blane?!?

D: I’m Team Go-to-Prom-by-Yourself-and-Then-Leave-High-School-Behind. Also Team The-Dress-Looked-Better-Before, but I respect Molly Ringwald’s singular artistic vision.

C: Who did you go to your high school prom with?

Her face fell as she remembered. She’d hoped Justin would take her, actually—the way it always seemed to happen in the movies. Your best friend’s younger sister doesn’t have a date, so you step in to be chivalrous, and when you see her coming down the stairs in her prom dress, it hits you, wait, I’min lovewith her.

She’d read too many romance novels in high school.

Instead, Justin had taken one look at her in her dress and makeup and said,What’s wrong with your face?Then he and Donovan had gone upstairs to get high and play video games, laughing the whole way, probably at her expense.

She’d brought up that moment one time with Justin after they’d gotten together—years later, after she’d graduated college—expecting maybe for him to shed some light on that night. Like maybe he reallydidlike her even then and was playing it cool, or maybe he felt bad for the way he’d treated her sometimes as her brother’s friend.

But instead he’d just laughed and said,Oh yeah! You were wearing so much eye makeup. You looked like an alien.Then, seeing her face, he’d pulled her in for a kiss.You’re prettier without makeup, babe. That’s all I mean.

He was good at those kinds of comments. Theyseemedlike compliments, but they didn’t leave you with the warm glow of a compliment.

D: I went by myself! So I know what I’m talking about re the Pretty in Pink situation. And don’t think I was a wallflower in the corner with a book, either. I drank spiked punch and danced with friends and did all the stuff movies tell you you’re supposed to do. Except for lose my virginity, I guess.

At least when she said something awkward in person, she could blame it on short-circuiting in the moment, her brain causing something to fly out of her mouth that she immediately wished she could take back. But those were typed words she’d just sent. To this person she barely knew.

C: Overrated.

She didn’t know if he meant in general or from personal experience, and she definitely had enough social graces not to ask.

D: Let me guess—you were prom king?

C: Ha. No. You’re thinking of the football quarterback. Honestly, my life revolved around baseball so much that I barely knew anyone outside of the team. I ended up asking a girl from my homeroom because I overheard her telling a friend she didn’t have a date, so I felt pretty sure she’d say yes just to have someone to go with.

D: And what happened?

C: She did say yes. She was very nice, even when I got the wrong kind of corsage. I was supposed to ask her what color her dress was beforehand, I guess. I just liked the yellow rose so I picked that one. It also pinned to the dress and she’d wanted a wrist one. I had no clue.

D: There are a lot of rules. My friends all wanted to pick our dresses out of this one catalog some company paid to have distributed at the school. They thought it would help to make sure that none of us accidentally found ourselves in a “Who Wore It Better?” situation. But I didn’t want to use the catalog, and you would’ve thought I was the only person refusing a blood oath or something.

C: Why didn’t you want to use the catalog? Plans to make a Frankendress out of two perfectly good dresses?

That made Daphne snort-laugh.

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