Date Me, Bryson Keller(41)

    “People watching would think you won the lottery.”

“In life you need to celebrate all victories, big and small.”

“But you didn’t actually win anything,” I point out. All the other games that he played and lost had prizes in the end. This one does not.

“I got to look cool in front of my boyfriend,” Bryson says. “That’s winning.”

The attendant in charge gives us a thumbs-up. He’s big and bald with tattoos running up the length of his arms. He’s scary-looking, but the smile on his face isn’t at all. “You two make a very cute couple.”

“Thank you,” Bryson says. “I also think my boyfriend is the cutest.”

I choke on my own spit and Bryson ends up patting my back.

“You okay?” he asks.

How can I be when he’s said something like that?

“Fine,” I lie.

“Let’s get something to drink.” I follow him as he heads toward a stall, and we buy something to drink and two corn dogs. We walk along the boardwalk and lose ourselves to the sounds of waves breaking and seagulls crying overhead.

“This is fun,” I say. I turn to him and notice a mustard streak at the side of his mouth. Without thinking, I reach for it and wipe it off. We look at each other, and I pull my hand back. It hangs there between us.

Bryson smiles again. “Amazing.”

“What is?” I ask nervously.

    “This.” Bryson looks around us. “Being here with you. You meant it when you said you were going to trust me.”

I nod. “Well, yeah.” I shrug awkwardly.

“Thanks.”

“For what?” I don’t look at him as I take the final bite of my corn dog.

“For not running away.” It sounds like he’s talking about something other than me. I think of the little bit Bryson’s told me about his father. I want to ask him about it, to delve deeper into Bryson Keller, but I don’t think it’s the time yet. For now, this is enough. Later, I will explore the layers that make up this boy next to me.

A stall to my right catches my eye. The lady is selling small trinkets. I scan what’s for sale and my eyes land on a bracelet. It calls to me like a siren song.

I buy it and return to Bryson’s side. He’s standing on the pier, looking over the railing at the sea below. I hold out the bracelet to him.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“It’s for luck.”

“Luck?”

“Well, you said I was your lucky charm at the game yesterday, so consider this my proxy for when I can’t be there.”

Bryson holds up his arm, and with shaking fingers I tie the bracelet into place. It’s nothing fancy, a simple deep blue string with a metal anchor that glints in the sun. But the way that Bryson’s looking at it makes it seem like it’s worth so much more.

    Bryson smiles. “You keep surprising me, Kai Sheridan.”

“I keep telling people I’m special,” I joke.

He looks from the bracelet at his wrist to my eyes.

“Yes. You are,” Bryson says. And I can tell that he’s serious.

Afternoon bleeds into evening as we wander from stall to stall. I’m eating a candy apple when my eyes catch on a claw machine standing all alone. It lures me toward it with its cartoonish song.

“These things are impossible to win at,” Bryson says. He stands next to me as I fish out one of the last of my tickets. I straighten the ends before feeding it into the machine. It gives me a cheerful hello.

“Watch and learn,” I say. There are few things in this world that I am extremely confident in. Winning at the claw machine is one of them. During freshman year, when Priya was dating her ex-boyfriend, Donny and I would spend countless hours here, and this game became my specialty. I use the joystick to maneuver the claw machine until it hangs over the prize I want—a bear holding a soccer ball.

There’s no real trick to winning at this game. It is all about timing, and having practiced so much, I’m good at judging the exact moment I need to hit the button to release the claw.

I tap the button with more force than is necessary and watch as the claw opens and descends. Bryson’s face is almost pressed against the glass as he watches. The metal claw grips the stuffed animal by the leg. It’s not a perfect grip, but the bear doesn’t fall as the claw pulls it up. We hold our breath as the claw moves to drop the bear into the hole.

    Thank God.

Bryson turns to me, eyes ablaze with wonder. “I’m impressed,” he says.

He claps for me and I mock bow. Then I bend to retrieve the stuffed animal. “Here.” I hold it out to him.

“You won it,” Bryson says. “It’s yours.”

“I won it for you, though,” I say. “It has a soccer ball—see.” I shove the bear toward him. He accepts it and smiles, revealing his secret dimple.

“Thank you.” Bryson looks from the prize to me. “Is there anything else you want to do?”

I scan the boardwalk behind us and the photo booth catches my eye. It’s another thing that I’ve fantasized doing with my boyfriend. I’ve seen Priya and Donny do it—couple snapshots in a photo strip. I’ve always been more than a little jealous about it. Sure, we’ve taken pictures as friends, but I’ve always dreamed of doing so with my boyfriend.