The Romantics(15)

“Anyway,” Cara said. “Shall we see how our nachos held up in the crash?”

Our. He’d given up on ever being part of an “our” again.

Cara undid the bag’s knot and pulled out a Styrofoam container dripping with black bean juice and watery salsa. She set it on her lap, evidently unperturbed by the idea of nachos getting on her jeans, and opened the top.

“Not horrible,” she said, tilting the box toward him as a car full of frat guys passed by. “You approve?”

The box was a tornado of sour cream, grilled chicken, white cheese, and beans, like the chips had decided to have a rager. “Looks good to me,” he said.

“Just you wait,” Cara said. She shuffled in the plastic bag and pulled out a dirty, half-used bottle of Valentina’s.

“You stole the hot sauce?” Gael couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing.

“It was mostly empty,” she said with a pout. “And I ran out the other night, and I keep forgetting to buy it . . . Do you mind?” She held the bottle over the nachos, midshake.

“No,” Gael said. “Go ahead.”

She doused everything in hot sauce, took a chip, and popped it in her mouth. “I love hot sauce,” she said.

He nodded at her shirt. “I never would have guessed.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I guess it’s pretty obvious. Hot sauce is like my own personal rebellion. Both my parents hate everything spicy, whereas I’m all, can it be hot enough to make my tongue hurt, please?”

Gael laughed. “My dad thinks jalapeno peppers from the jar are like, explosion-level spicy. My mom’s on my side, at least.” They’d never have that argument again over dinner, he thought briefly, then pushed the thought away.

Cara popped another chip in her mouth.

“You probably think it’s pathetic that hot sauce is my biggest rebellion, huh?”

Gael’s mind instantly flashed to Anika’s recent rebellion. He shook his head vehemently. He didn’t need a girl who broke all the rules. He needed a girl who thought indulging in ultra-spicy hot sauce was breaking the rules. “I don’t think it’s pathetic at all. Half the time, people just want to be *s, so they call it rebellion. You know what I mean?”

She closed her mouth, swallowed, held his eyes. “I know exactly what you mean.”

(I did, too. But just because Anika was wrong for him did not mean that this girl was right. Of course, convincing Gael of that would be another challenge altogether, that much was already clear.)

Gael didn’t look away, and after a moment, Cara laughed nervously, broke his gaze, and grabbed another chip. “Me and rebellion just don’t mix,” she went on. “Even at school, everyone’s all, let’s go eye up frat boys with beer bellies every single weekend! And I’m like, I’m going to watch R-rated movies at home without having to feel awkward, and buy every kind of hot sauce ever!”

“I know,” Gael said. He took a huge chip for himself. “I try and watch all the gory movies in my room in private. But my sister and mom pop in every five seconds, and my mom’s a women’s studies professor and she hates violence in movies, and it’s so annoying. She starts shaking her head like it’s me who’s just whacked someone, not the dude onscreen.”

Gael’s tone was lighthearted, but he had wondered, lately: If he’d been more bold and exciting, more laid-back and carefree like Mason, would it have been enough for Anika? But that just wasn’t Gael. He didn’t want to get tanked every weekend and hook up with a ton of girls. Maybe rebelling for him was nothing more than praying his mom wouldn’t open the door too many times during a Tarantino movie. Did that mean he was doomed to be girlfriendless?

Almost as if responding to his thoughts, Cara held up a chip and tapped it against the one in Gael’s hand. “To rebelling in little ways,” she said. “And not * ones.”

They laughed. And ate some more. Gael didn’t talk about Anika, or his failed birthday dinner, or how he still didn’t know why his parents split up, or his backstabbing best friend. They talked about Cara’s current quest for the perfect pair of hiking boots, how annoying the college students on Franklin Street could be, and the bands on her helmet. For a few minutes, Gael felt kind of normal again.

When the box was empty, Cara shoved the trash into the plastic bag and stood up. “I should probably get going. I promised my friend I’d see a movie with her tonight.”

Gael felt an instant sinking of his heart. This impromptu dinner had been like a reprieve from the epic disaster his life had become of late. He didn’t want it to end.

“Okay.” Gael stood up slowly. “Err, thanks for sharing your dinner with me.” He paused. “It was nice to just randomly meet someone so cool.”

He sounded lame. He knew it.

“Anytime,” Cara said. “It was great to meet you, too. Sorry for hitting you with my bike.”

“It’s okay,” Gael said. His leg was practically throbbing, but he’d been so wrapped up in Cara, he’d forgotten about it until now. “Really.”

Cara lifted up her bike. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t even see your flower.” She pulled it out of the spokes, not a petal harmed. “I hope I didn’t make you late for a date or anything,” she said, her voice rising just a touch at the end. A quiet question mark. She handed him the flower.