Secrets & Lies: Two Short Stories(5)

Toby, dressed in khakis and a dark blue blazer, was weaving his way around the Santa line, carrying a few shopping bags. He smiled as he headed toward me. My heart sped up. Partly from guilt because we’d made out last night and partly because… well, we’d made out last night, and I’d kind of maybe really liked it. Which just made me feel guiltier.

“Hey,” he said when he was standing in front of me.

“Hey,” I repeated.

“You changed your hair,” he said. “I really like it.”

“Oh, thanks,” I said, tugging on one of the chin-length pieces. “I didn’t think boys noticed that sort of thing.”

“I don’t think we do most of the time.” He gestured to the bench. “Mind if I sit?”

“Uh, sure. Go ahead.”

He put his shopping bags on the ground, then sat down beside me, leaving a few inches of space between us. It wasn’t enough space to keep me from feeling nervous, though.

“So what are you doing here?” I asked.

“Running errands for my parents. Dad needed a few new belts and Mom needed some socks. Now that I’m home, I get the honor of shopping for them.”

“Fun.”

“It’s not so bad. What about you?”

“I had lunch with my mom, and now she’s Christmas shopping and I’m just kind of hanging out.”

Toby nodded. He opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. “So, uh… about last night…”

I stiffened.

He blushed. “I was thinking we—”

“Should probably just forget about it?” I offered. “I mean, we were drinking and talking about wheels and—”

“Actually, I was going to say that I was thinking we should go out,” Toby said. “On a date.”

“Oh.”

“But I guess if you…”

“Toby, I’m sorry,” I said. And I meant it. He was such a nice guy. Like, genuinely nice, not the fake nice a lot of guys pretend to be just so they can play the victim. Toby was wonderful, and he just kept getting crapped on. First B. Now this. I felt terrible.

“No, it’s okay.”

“I really did have a good time with you last night,” I assured him. “I’m not just saying that. But it’s just… it’s weird. You used to date my best friend, and I don’t think she’d be okay with us kissing and going on dates and… I’m sorry.”

“Casey, it’s okay. I get it,” he said.

“Can we still be friends?” I asked. “I know that’s a freaking cliché of a thing to ask, but I’m serious.”

“Sure.” And it sounded like he actually meant it. “We can be friends.”

“Great.” I glanced at my cell phone, lying on the bench beside me. “Oh, shit. I have to go catch the bus.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Cindependent. There’s a French film showing there that I—”

“You’re seeing that, too?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Wait—you’re going to see it today?”

“I have a ticket to the afternoon showing. I didn’t know you liked foreign films.”

“I didn’t until recently. But I had this French professor this past semester who was just this really awesome woman, and she got me to watch a few French movies, and I’ve been hooked. I’ve tried to convert B and Jess, but it just hasn’t worked.”

“If you’re going right now, then why don’t I drive you?” he offered. “We’re seeing the same movie at the same time. There’s no point in you wasting money on the bus.”

“If you don’t mind, that would be great,” I said. “Public transportation in this town sucks.”

So we went to the theater together. Then we sat together. Then we left the theater together. And when Mom called to ask where I was, I told her Toby would give me a ride home. We were having such a good time talking about the movie that I suggested we grab a bite to eat and continue the conversation. So we did. Toby drove us to—appropriately—a French restaurant, where we sat and gushed about the actors’ abilities and the director’s vision and all that jazz.

And once we were done with that, we just started talking. About everything. Anything.

“Do you still cheerlead?” Toby asked, taking a sip of his water.

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m thinking of quitting, though. It’s not as fun as it used to be, and with my class schedule, I just don’t really have enough time.”

“I know how that is,” he said. “I was playing intramural soccer at the beginning of the semester, but I had to quit. The workload plus participating in student government—I needed to sleep sometime.”

“Student government? Why am I not surprised?”

“I’m a broken record, I know.”

“No. I think it’s great that you have something you’re passionate about. Not everybody has that at our age. I don’t.”

“I guess,” he said. “I just feel like everyone must be so bored when I talk to them.”

“I’m never bored talking to you,” I assured him. “Which is more than I can say about a lot of guys. Especially the ones I dated this semester. Ugh.”