Date Me, Bryson Keller(13)

I nod. Bryson effortlessly pulls out of the parking lot. When he joins the main road, he switches on the radio. I instantly recognize the song: “Art of War” by the Graces.

“Oh, I love them.” There are few things in this world that can make me talk excitedly to strangers. My love for this band is one of them. The Graces is an indie rock band that has been growing more and more popular each year. Some die-hard stans have started to question whether their rising popularity has made them mainstream. I don’t care much for the politics of it, even though I’ve been their fan since the beginning.

The Graces are fronted by Ezra Grace. He’s openly gay and, more than that, he’s mixed race, just like me. To see someone who looks like me, who loves like me, living his life on his own terms has made this band special to me. They also make really great music.

    “Really? Me too,” Bryson says. “Their songs are the most played on my Anytime, Anywhere playlist.” He sounds just as excited as I do. Almost as if my declaration has given him permission, he ups the volume. The vocals of the lead singer swirl all around us. Soon we are both humming and singing along to the chorus. The music makes me forget just where I am—and who I am with.

“I can’t wait to see them this Friday,” I say as the piano echoes out. “It’s about time they come back to LA.” The Graces are an East Coast band, with New York City as their base. They’ve performed here and there, and the last time they came to LA, my parents deemed me too young to attend. Finally I’m old enough, and finally I will get to see my idol in person.

Bryson smiles. “I hear they’re amazing live.” When we come to a stop at a red light, he plugs in his phone and clicks on his playlist. “Who are you going with? Donny and Priyanka?” Bryson asks as he hits play.

“No, alone,” I admit. “Donny and Priya have date night on Fridays, so I didn’t want to bother them. Plus, they don’t really like the Graces.”

“Oh, I’m in the same boat,” Bryson says. “None of my friends like them, either. So I bought my own ticket.” Bryson studies his phone, adjusts the volume. “We could go together? If you wanted? I can give you a ride?”

    “Really?” I smile. I arranged to borrow Mom’s car, but it would save me from night driving, which makes me super anxious in LA. Besides, no one wants to go to a concert alone. “I’d love that.”

“Great,” he says just before the opening chords of “Left Behind” start to play.

When the light changes to green, Bryson turns right, and we head toward the heart of town. Fairvale, California, is barely what anyone would call a city, and the lifestyle of this place lives up to its nickname of Sleepy Shores. The town is nestled close to the beach. Open any window and you’ll be able to not only feel the sea breeze but smell it, too. We have all the popular franchises that any city has, and we even have a mall. The town is just big enough so that not everyone knows everyone.

In between songs I ask, “Where are we going?”

“Off the Wall.”

Off the Wall is a café I’ve visited before. The last time was when Donny had begged me to accompany him on a double date. Priya was dating her ex-boyfriend then, and so Donny had wanted to get over his crush on her. The date was a disaster because Donny didn’t stop talking about Priya. And of course I wasn’t into the girl his date had brought for me. It was then that I vowed never to go on another straight date again.

Bryson parks the car, and we climb out of the Jeep. We enter the café, which is quaint and filled with various mismatched furniture. There’s a warmth to the randomness of it all. Almost like this place is inviting you to relax and take a breath. Reminding you that you don’t need to be so serious all the time. Bookshelves line the walls and soft music wafts through the space. Above all else is the intoxicating aroma of brewing coffee.

    “What are you having?” he asks as we approach the counter.

“Iced mochaccino with lots of whipped cream, please.” He looks at me with a frown and I shrug. “I like sweet things.”

Bryson places our order: one Americano for him, and one iced mochaccino with extra whipped cream for me. Before I can find my wallet, he’s already paid.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says as the barista hands him his change. Bryson puts it in the tip jar and heads to find a place to sit. We end up in a corner booth toward the back of the café. I scan the room for any familiar faces—not because I’m scared, just because I’m curious. My being here with Bryson for a school project is perfectly normal, so I’m not anxious about being seen by others. My being gay isn’t written on my forehead. No one knows that I have asked Bryson Keller out this week.

And no one knows that he has agreed to date me, either.

I stumble as a thought occurs to me: Is this a date?

I sit down and Bryson digs free the drama assignment. He runs a hand through his hair, causing it to stand up slightly in the front, in a way that can only be described as cute. He places the worksheet down on the table, making it clear as day that this is not a date, not that I thought that in the first place—I swear.

    “So we have to choose a scene from a Shakespeare adaptation and perform it,” I say.

“Do you have a favorite Shakespeare play?” Bryson asks.