The Pretty One(20)

“Let’s get away from these speakers and find some place to sit down,” Lucy yells, motioning toward the bar. “Do you want something to drink?” This place has a bar (just like a regular club), but instead of alcohol it’s stacked with soft drinks and a Slushee machine.

I nod as I follow her over, putting my hand on my purse, ready to pull out my wallet. Lucy puts her hand on mine and shakes her head. “Put that away,” she says, stopping by a table filled with guys.

“I thought we were going to get something to drink.”

Lucy locks eyes with a guy at the table and smiles. “We are,” she says.

“I don’t know about this, Lucy,” I say nervously. “Maybe we should just find a place to sit by ourselves.”

“There aren’t any seats,” she proclaims, still maintaining eye contact.

“But I don’t know how to do…to do…this,” I say, stepping out of the way as a studious-looking guy with braces leads a pretty brown-haired girl to the dance floor.

“All you have to do is talk to them,” Lucy says. “Ask them questions about themselves. All guys love to talk about themselves.”

“Questions,” I repeat. “Like where they live and stuff?”


“Anything at all. They love it. And you just need to sit there and open up your eyes really wide and nod your head, as if you’re interested.”

“Really? That works?”

“Definitely. Oh—and guys love to be teased. They eat it up.”

“This seems like a lot to remember.”

“And if you really like them, you touch them.”

Um, excuse me? “What do you mean, I touch them?”

“Just like a little flirty touch, like if they have something in their pocket you lean over and pull it out, something like that.”

“What?” I am utterly and totally confused. “Hey, what’s THIS in your pocket…why…it’s a…a RABBIT!”

“You girls want to sit down?” eye contact guy asks, waving us over.

“Sure,” Lucy says to them. She gives me a little smile of encouragement as she nods toward the table.

Gulp. It’s showtime.

“What if I say something stupid?” I nervously whisper as I hover behind Lucy.

“Hah! Like they’d even notice.” Lucy turns back toward the guy-filled table. She motions for me to take the seat next to her, right smack next to the cutest boy in the group.

“What’s your name?” she immediately asks the one sitting next to her.

“Alex Neumer,” he says.

“Alex Neumer,” she repeats, offering him her hand. “I’m Lucy Fletcher. And this is my sister, Megan.”

“Hi, Megan,” he says, giving me a wave. “That’s Ben, John, and Ron,” he says, pointing around the table.

“John and Ron…cute,” Lucy says, and they all laugh. “You guys aren’t brothers, are you?” This is how my sister memorizes names. Right after she meets someone, she makes a little comment about his or her name and just like that, poof, it’s committed to her memory for life. She could run into them ten years later and she’d be like, “Hey, Ron, remember me, Lucy Fletcher? We met at that club back in…blah, blah, blah.” I, however, had none of those skills and had instead committed this to memory: right next to Lucy, “pouffy-haired cute guy” next to him, “red-haired guy” next to him, “braces guy” and next to me, “cute, skinny guy.”

“No,” red-haired guy chuckles.

“I guess that would be a little much.” Lucy grins.

They all seem to lean a little bit closer to her, as if hanging on her every word. It has taken Lucy about one second to have them eating out of her hand.

“Do you guys want something to drink?” braces guy asks.

Lucy shrugs and looks at me. I can tell it’s my turn to speak.

“A Diet Coke,” I mutter timidly.

“Make that two…John,” she says. Braces man blushes (as if flattered she remembered his name) and the rest of the table laughs as if she just cracked a joke. “So where do you guys go to school?” Lucy asks.

Question. Always ask them questions.

“Gilman,” pouffy-haired cute guy says.

“Cute boys school,” Lucy whispers to me, just loud enough for the guys sitting on either side of us to hear. I know she did this intentionally, but I can feel the heat rise up my cheeks as my hands start to get a little sweaty.

“What about you?” Pouffy asks, responding to her compliment by putting his arm over the back of her chair.

Lucy nudges me under the table.

I’m up again? Already? “CSPA,” I spit out.

“Chesapeake School for Performing Arts,” Lucy explains.

“I’ve heard of that school,” red-haired guy says. “I saw that dance movie that was filmed there.”

“So in a couple of years you’re going to be famous?” cute, skinny guy asks.

I laugh nervously. I’ve never received attention like this before and I’m baffled in a total fish-out-of-water sort of way.

“What time is it?” Lucy asks suddenly. “Is the game still going on?”

“You mean the Orioles?” braces guy asks, returning to the table and setting Diet Cokes in front of Lucy and me.