City Love(17)

Even hotter than Sadie’s boy? Is the boy I’m making out with right now on the subway. We’re going at it like we don’t care who sees. Not that the subway’s crowded at two in the morning on a Wednesday night. But this weird old guy is leering at us from the other end of the car. Welcome to the late-night F train. PDA, anyone?

Zander pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. He presses his hand against the back of my head to kiss me harder. Oh, did I mention that we met today? He came up to me when I was walking to class. Asked me out on the spot. He was like, “Excuse me for bothering you, but you’re too beautiful not to introduce myself.” I didn’t have time to talk. But we talked tonight at this East Village dive bar where we saw a show. The band was a trip. Some girl was doing improv artwork on butcher paper spread out on the floor in front of the stage. Her charcoal sticks scratched frantically every time the beat picked up. The lead singer was one of those angry girls who are here to tell you that nothing matters because we are all going to die. She was wearing a frilly shirt with tulle flowers while she screamed about our collective demise.

Good thing Zander and I talked at the show. We haven’t done any talking on the ride home.

The subway makes a stop. No one gets on or off our car. Weird Old Guy is still leering at us.

“We’re the next stop,” Zander says.

“Now can you tell me where we’re going?”

“Do you really want me to tell you?”

“No. I want you to kiss me some more.”

He does. Then he pulls back and looks at me.

“This is one of the most romantic moments of my life,” he says.

Normally I’d brush off such a faux-profound statement. But if the boy could kiss me for twenty minutes and still find me attractive after staring at my face under these harsh subway lights, I know he must really mean it.

We get off and walk over to Union Square. I heard this is where street performers and skater kids hang. And that single twentysomethings gather on the stairs to the park like they’re the Spanish Steps. The park is deserted right now. I def want to come back here during the day to scope out the scene.

Zander takes me to this cool diner called Coffee Shop. “It’s open twenty-three hours a day,” he advertises.

“Why not twenty-four?”

“They close between five and six in the morning to regroup.”

As if the prospect of a cool diner being open twenty-three hours a day weren’t sweet enough, the menu says breakfast is served anytime. I am so coming here with Sadie and Rosanna. But only if they agree that pancakes taste better in the middle of the night.

A thirtysomething woman passing by our table looks at me. “I love your dress,” she says. “Where did you get it?”

“ModCloth.” I fully admit to being a ModCloth addict. You know how some brands are so your style it’s like they’re in your head? That’s how ModCloth is to me. They’re retro in such a cute, fun way. Managing to be trendy and stylish but still unique is not easy to pull off.

Zander and I get into the kind of heavy discussion about life you can only have over late-night pancakes. Zander is a musician. He’s all about going with the flow.

“What, I’m supposed to take after my dad?” he’s ranting. “He has a miserable life with my mom in suburbia where the only thing to look forward to is poker night with the boys so he can hide out in his friend’s garage and pretend he’s not married for a few hours. Think I’ll pass on the cookie-cutter lifestyle.”

“Word. Everyone knows the best part of life is outside the lines.”

Zander holds his coffee mug up to toast me. “Here’s to living outside the lines.”

We clunk mugs.

I already know this date is just for fun. Zander’s fantastic, but no boy can tie me down this summer. Darcy Stewart is a boyfriend-free zone. I have the whole summer ahead of me to have as much fun as I want. As many boy adventures as I want. The possibilities this summer can bring are infinite. New York City is my drug of choice. It’s like I don’t even want to sleep because I might miss something. No matter what time it is, there are people creating and thriving and partying. There are late-night pancakes and making out with boys on subways and that twirly sensation of being dazzled by a million options. I want to do it all.

“Where to?” Zander says after we split the check. I wanted to pay, but he insisted on covering his half. My first class isn’t until ten tomorrow morning. We could stay up all night. Dragging my tired ass to class on three hours’ sleep is a familiar proclivity from my high school days.

“Any good raves going down at four?” I inquire.

“Not on a Wednesday. I mean, Thursday.”

“So what do you like to do in the middle of the night?”

“Skydiving is always good. Or shark chasing.”

“In the Hudson?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Any other suggestions?”

“That depends. Want to stay up all night?”

“Absolutely.”

“I know the best place to watch the sunrise.”

“Take me there.”

Zander takes me to the East River Promenade. You can see across the river to whatever borough that is over there. How lame is it that I don’t even know where I’m looking? Studying a map of my new city might be a good idea. It’s weird how you can only go a few blocks in Manhattan and enter a completely different energy zone. The east side and west side aren’t that far apart geographically. But they are vastly distinct. The west side has a hip/celeb/trendy bar/cobblestone street vibe. The east side is more of a classic/old money/ladies in fur coats/elaborately uniformed doormen scene.