Page 44 of Bookish Boys Don't Date Social Girls
I bite my lip and study my fork. “He noticed. That’s a good sign.”
“That’s a great sign,” Bek enthuses.
For some reason, the smile I give her feels shy and unsure, which is so not like me.
“So then,” Ava continues. “Playing off the idea that I don’t know anything, I told him I had no clue why you stopped going.” She stops and looks up at the ceiling. “Which I guess isn’t a lie. I hadn’t been aware you stopped. So, I suggested he ask you directly.”
I squint at the all-knowing look on her face. “But he doesn’t have my number.”
“That’s what he said.” Ava bobs her head like she’s listening to some cool music. “So, I gave it to him.”
My pulse speeds up, but then slams to a halt when I realize I haven’t gotten a text from him. “When was this?”
Ava’s still dancing to the music no one else can hear. “About five minutes before you walked in.”
And like she’d planned it, my phone vibrates on the table. We all look down at the lit-up screen and there is a text notification from a phone number I don’t recognize. The three of us squeal in unison, causing Dylan to lean away from the table. Seeing the fear in his eyes, we laugh.
“Was that bff telepathy or something?” he asks, looking dubious.
“Definitely ‘or something,’” I say, picking up my phone and swiping on the notification. I read the message aloud. “Hey Sam, it’s Brent. You haven’t been in lately. Just wanted to see if everything was okay.”
My thumbs hover over my phone as my brain composes a million possible replies, all of which sound stupid. “What should I say?”
Bek scoffs and rolls her eyes, while Avashrugs.
“How should we know?” Ava asks. “You’re the one who knows how to talk to boys.”
I frown at my phone screen because her statement reminds me too much of my last conversation with Brent about me being experienced. He never clearly stated what he thought that meant, but with the blushing and the lack of eye contact, I’m guessing he thought it meant more than sitting across a table sharing a meal. Does he believe me when I say I’m not? Do I care if he doesn’t believe me? I close my eyes momentarily. I care.
I type a reply and send it quickly before I can second guess myself.
Sam: We’re at Philly’s tonight. You should come down.
Ava and Bek are practically sitting on the edge of their seats waiting to hear my reply. Dylan is sitting back in his seat, squinting at me like he knows something. Tilting my head, I ask him, “What do you think I said?”
He studies me a bit longer. “Something about your reaction tells me you avoided answering him.”
I raise my brows. “Point to Scott.”
Ava huffs. “I thought you liked him. Why are you avoiding him now?”
I sit on my hands and let my hair curtain my face. “I do like him, but he thinks I have all this experience and I’m…” I shrug. “Maybe too much for him. Or like all my experience will mean I expect more from him.”
Bek frowns. “That’s why you haven’t dated anyone this summer.”
I stare at the wadded-up napkin laying on the table in front of me. Heat washes through me and I know I’ve got to be pink with embarrassment. The part in my hair is probably glowing. But I nod.
“Want me to beat him up?” Dylan asks.
A grin breaks across my face and I meet his gaze. “No, that’s okay. But I appreciate your willingness to defend my honor.”
His nod tells me he’s genuine. He believes in my honor, and he stands alongside the girls who would flank me in any situation. I have to blink away tears just thinking about how much their solidarity means. I’ve never felt so uncertain about myself. This has been a very strange summer.
“And I’m not avoiding him. I told him we’re here and told him to come down.”
Ava’s eyes brighten with anticipation. “Oh, a friend date. That’s smart.”
Our meal is served, and as we eat and chat, I try not to let it bother me that Brent didn’t respond to my text. Maybe he couldn’t figure out what to say since I didn’t answer his question. Several people have stopped by to say hello and ask what we’ve been up to. Each time a boy alludes to having dinner together, I steer the conversation away. But each time, I die a little more inside. Am I imagining the spark of hunger in their eyes? It’s like another nail being pounded into my dating coffin with each boy who expects me to be an automatic date. At this rate, I’ll never be able to date again just so I can kill my reputation for being too available.
