Liars and Losers Like Us(16)
I think it’s pretty sad that Jane’s turning down Sean Mills. Naturally, this would be the part where I admit I don’t have a date yet either. Awk-weird.
“Well, you have time, it’s like two months away. If you get desperate you can always ask a cousin. I don’t have a date yet either so that’s probably what I’ll do.”
He laughs. “Oh okay, so you don’t know who you’re going with. That’s cool.”
He says it like it actually is a cool thing. As if it’s by choice. I get another awkward don’t-know-what-to-say-after-that feeling, so I change the subject to avoid more weirdness.
“So, next Tuesday after school. Guess I’ll see you there.”
“Sure, sounds good.” He hangs up. One of these days I hope to tell him I hate that. I say good-bye to the air, then give my pillow a hug and whisper, “Sean Mills doesn’t have a date.” And then a little bit louder, “Woo-hoo!”
EIGHT
It’s Wednesday after school. Less than a week till the Prom meeting, which means six days until Kallie and I are forced to interact since she’s not budging on this silent treatment thing. It sucks. I want to be excited with her about being on court together. I want to ask her if she’s inviting her parents to the pep rally. I want to be able to ask for boy advice—as long as she’s not trying to pawn me off on a random friend of Todd’s. At lunch, I almost spilled everything to Sam and Kendall, the girls I sit with, but it didn’t feel right. They’d probably tell me I’m was out of my mind to think Sean would go for me anyways. Sam and Kendall are the kind of girls that talk about the really popular guys and girls as if they’re the cast of an E! reality show. They hate worship them, and it’s kind of uncomfortable. So instead of entertaining them with my first world guy problems, I listened to their dress shopping plans for the weekend. Sam’s single because our school doesn’t have enough out-lesbians or bi-girls to pick from, and Kendall just broke up with her boyfriend so they’re putting a whole group thing together. It’s something they’re trying to make cool by calling it “Prom: Parties of One.” I’m all for them debunking any stigmas about going solo, but I told them I’m holding out for a date.
****
After school I throw on a sweatshirt, grab my laptop, and head over to Java Joint to study for next week’s Bio test.
For a coffee shop on a Wednesday night, this place is packed. I scan the room and spot an open seat to throw my stuff on before ordering. As I’m waiting for my order I get caught up in a daydream about Sean walking in wearing a tuxedo, playing his guitar. He walks toward me and the crowd and even the tables part in a red sea sort of fashion. He’s singing that song “Will You Marry Me?” but changes the words to “Will You Go to Prom with Me.” Molly Chapman, Jane Hulmes, Sam, and Kendall sit at one of the tables clapping and wiping tears because it’s such a touching moment. The other coffee drinkers and employees do a cutesy flash mob dance that’s sure to go viral. When he finishes, he kneels down with a rose. “Bree. Will you accept this promposal rose?” My coffeehouse fantasy has me deciding whether or not to ask Sean for an encore or just say, “Yes, Sean Mills, of course I’ll go to Prom with you.”
It’s such a corny daydream that I have to bite back a smile. In real life, I’m gripping an iced latte, heading for my table, trying to give off a vibe that says I’m comfortable hanging out at a coffee shop by myself.
And out of nowhere there’s a tight grip and tug on my ankle and I’m falling. Something breaks my fall and I’m knocked into the reality where a backpack strap has somehow weaved itself around my ankle. The harsher reality is Sean Mills’s lap. Yes. Real-life Sean. With my latte. A large chai latte. On his lap. And me. I. Am. Mortified. For a quick second I wonder if I’m stuck in my daydream or it’s a bad dream or something else, anything else. Nope. I’m still here on my knees staring at Sean’s wet crotch. If I were in a sitcom, this is the part where I’d be all “Omigod I’m so sorry!” and try to dry his button fly with one napkin or the sleeve of my shirt.
But everything inside me stays doe-in-headlights as Sean winces and says, “I’m so glad this is iced.” He laughs and grabs a pullover he had strewn over his seat to pat dry his pants. “Bree, are you okay?”
Silence. I want to say something but my mouth isn’t working.
“Bree?”
“Um, omigod, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” I ask as he pulls me up to my feet. He uses his shoe to slide a few scattered ice cubes to the side. I glare at my feet as if the backpack on the floor owes me an apology. “I can’t believe I did that. I’m really so sorry. What can I do, I mean, um …”
“I think I’ll be all right. But you might have to promise me your firstborn in case I’ve lost my ability to procreate.”
“Seriously? Are you really okay then because––”
“I’m just kidding, it’s fine. These jeans are pretty heavy-duty, can’t feel a thing. But since I don’t have an extra pair of jeans, do you think you could drive me home?”
“Of course, I mean really, I should be offering you my jeans.”
A barista sneers my way as she mops the coffee from the floor. I speed walk toward my table to grab my stuff and almost run right into Jane Hulmes, who, phone in hand, fingers and thumbs dancing away, is clearly walking and texting.