Date Me, Bryson Keller(47)

I reach for the bracelet on his wrist. “I guess this didn’t bring you that much luck.”

He holds up his arm. “Well, I feel lucky wearing it, so that’s enough.”

Bryson turns onto the freeway. It’s a straight road now all the way to LA.

“You’ve made it very famous,” I say. “Everyone on Instagram is talking about it.”

Bryson shakes his head. “People need to get lives. Who I date or like shouldn’t matter.”

“If only the world agreed with you.”

Bryson looks at me and starts to sing one of the Graces’ ballads. “?‘It’s the closed-minded views on the way things should be. On what is right or wrong. On what is normal and what isn’t. But who are you to tell me how to live? Who are you to tell me how to live?’?”

    “?‘We all just want to be loved…,’?” I sing.

“?‘Loved, loved, loved,’?” we sing together.

“Wow, you’d better stick to being a writer,” Bryson says.

“Excuse me, at least I can hold a tune. You do know you were off-key, right?”

Bryson laughs and switches on the radio. By chance the song we were just singing starts to play. Laughing and joking and singing make the trip pass by quickly. Soon we’re in downtown LA and driving toward Echo Park.

“I’m glad we left on time,” Bryson says.

“I like punctuality.”

“Me too.”

Bryson pulls up to the curb. Sunset Boulevard is busy. “Save our place in line and I’ll find a place to park,” Bryson says.

The show won’t start for another hour, but judging by how many people are already lined up outside the Echo, we’re in for a wait. I unbuckle my seat belt and climb out the door. I pull my leather jacket into place and fix my beanie. I lean down and smile.

“See you in a bit.”

I close the door and watch as he pulls off into traffic.

The evening air is chilly. My breath escapes me in clouds of fog. I study everyone around me. Like me, some wear their official Graces merchandise. The beanie I’m wearing is from their online store, and it has the band’s official logo on it. I’m also wearing a T-shirt with Ezra Grace’s face on it.

    With nothing else to do, I pull my phone from my pocket and reply to the three musketeers group chat.

How’s the date going? Priya asks.

I don’t think this is a date. We made these plans before…everything.

As long as you’re with the person you like and they like you, it can be considered a date, Donny says.

Then, by that logic you and Priya have been dating since freshman year.

Touché, Priya texts. Ten points to Gryffindor.

You know I’m a Hufflepuff. Hugs for everyone.

Donny texts a meme with Professor McGonagall as the background, and in large, bold text, it reads: “Ten points to Hufflepuff,” said no Hogwarts professor ever.

Priya sends through a series of crying-from-laughing emojis.

You Ravenclaws are the worst.

You know you love us, Priya says.

I should go. I’m standing in line.

Well, have fun, Donny says.

I close the group chat and head to Instagram. I scroll through my feed. Bryson has uploaded three new posts. The first is of him surrounded by the soccer team he helps coach, the second is of him getting ready for the concert, and the third is of him trying to find a parking spot.

I like them all. And this time I smile at the red heart without second-guessing myself. The flash of a camera causes me to look up from my phone. I startle at the person in front of me. I stifle a groan. It’s Shannon.

    She smiles in a way that sets my alarm bells off. “Interesting meeting you here.”

“I could say the same about you.” I look her up and down. “You like the Graces?”

“Of course not,” Shannon says. She barely stops herself from scoffing.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Research for a story I’m working on. I figured I’ll kill two birds with one stone. I know that this is Bryson’s favorite band, too.” She scans the crowd. “Where is he?”

“You’re kind of obsessed.”

“Dedicated,” Shannon says. She flips her hair from her shoulder. “I know that he wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Do you even really know Bryson?”

“Duh. Of course. Everyone knows Bryson Keller.”

I shake my head.

She must not like the look on my face. “What? Do you think you know him?”

“Well, yeah.” I shrug. And it’s true. This week has been a window into who Bryson actually is. “Bryson’s so much more than what everyone makes him out to be. He’s more than his status. More than a jock. I don’t know, maybe if you looked beyond all that you’d get to know the real him. And maybe then you’d stand a chance with him.” Not that I ever want that to happen.

    “Oh, please—” she starts to say, but her words taper out. Shannon looks just over my shoulder and her eyes widen. “Bryson,” she says, softly at first, then louder. “Bryson.”

Startled, I turn and come face-to-face with Bryson. His pale blue eyes send a shiver down my spine. He places a steadying hand on my arm. Seeing the look on my face, Bryson glances over my shoulder and spots Shannon. He quickly removes his hand.