* * *
My phone starts buzzing on the bathroom sink as I'm nervously brushing my hair. When I look down at it, I see a text from Becca.
"Be there in like 5."
The time on my phone is now showing 5:52 p.m.
"K, I'll be upstairs," I respond.
I look back at myself in the mirror. I'm almost too nervous to function at this point, but I know I need to quickly pull myself together. I lean in and do a final check on the very small amount of makeup I've applied to my eyes and cheeks. Satisfied with my work, I lean back and do the same final check on my hair, which I'm actually wearing down for a change.
I walk to my room and toss my phone on the bed, then open the closet door and stand in front of the full-length mirror. This is about my fourth final check on my outfit.
Last night, after about two hours of intense deliberation--so intense, in fact, that Becca and I ended up having to relax ourselves with an episode of the Kardashians and a small buffet of various unhealthy snacks and drinks--we finally concluded for many reasons that any kind of dress, skirt, or shorts was not the way to go. It's funny I say many reasons, because the only one I can recall at the moment is the fact that there's going to be a Ferris wheel and possibly other rides there. But whatever, it's not like the other reasons matter now.
So we eventually narrowed it down to three casual outfits. After taking a quick shower a few minutes ago, then getting Hailey to help me decide between the three--luckily she picked the one I liked--I texted Becca a picture of it for final approval. I end up going with my favorite pair of dark Abercrombie boot-cut jeans, a fitted dark blue top, and a pair of brown leather flip-flops. Casual, cute, and simple.
I hear my phone buzzing once again on my bed. When I walk over and look, I see it's from Holly.
"Almost there!"
"Sweet! Becca and I will be up in my room."
After hitting send, I look up and see Becca walking through the door, looking at her phone.
"You got Holly's text?" she asks, looking up at me.
"Yeah, I told her to come up here."
My phone buzzes again. "Okay," Holly responds.
I toss my phone on the bed and walk back to the mirror.
"You look so cute," Becca says as she walks over and stands behind me, looking at me in the mirror.
"Thanks. You look really cute, too." I turn to Becca and then back up slowly until I reach the bed and plop down. "I love that pink top. That's the one from Forever 21, right?"
"Yep. I tried on like five other pairs of jeans with it before I decided on these," she laughs, taking a seat on the comfy green recliner.
I chuckle as well. "You made the right choice; the black skinnies go really well with it."
She looks down to re-inspect her outfit. "Thanks, I thought so, too," she smiles, then looks back up at me. "So, has Bryson texted or anything?"
I shake my head. "We were texting a couple of hours ago, just talking about the car show."
"You nervous?"
"Very," I giggle. "That's why I'm staying up here, because I don't feel like talking to everyone downstairs."
"Yeah, I know what you mean. They're all sitting down there in the living room. Except Carson."
"Yeah, I think he's in his room, talking to some girl from school."
"Poor girl," Becca says sarcastically.
Suddenly, we hear light knocking on the door frame, and we look over to see Holly in the doorway.
"Hey, there," she smiles.
Now, Holly is the true fashionista between the three of us. As she walks in, Becca and I--kind of like we always do at school--are gushing over her royal blue skinny jeans, black loose-fitting tee, flat black sandals with rhinestones on the straps, and cream-colored hipster purse draped over her shoulder. Very trendy. I definitely need to take a shopping trip with this girl.
I smile and shake my head. "Geez, I suck at dressing compared to you."
"Whatever," Holly scoffs. "You're like ten times prettier than me, so you're better off."
"I am not," I say.
After the three of us sit and chat for a few minutes, I hear a commotion downstairs. My stomach turns when I look at the time on my phone--6:24 p.m.--because I realize it's probably Bryson.
I immediately jump up and run to the window at the end of the hall. When I look out, I see Bryson, Dad, and Hailey walking to the end of the driveway to Bryson's car.
"Is that him?" Becca whispers from my room.
"Yep."
She turns off the light in my room, and she and Holly head my way.
Just as we get downstairs, my mom walks in from the kitchen. "Hee's heeere!" she grins.
"I know." I point my thumb toward the door. "What are they--"
"Your dad wanted to see his car. And of course, Hailey had to go along," my mom explains.
"They stole your date!" Becca jokes. We all laugh.
"So, are y'all all riding together?" Mom asks.
"No, Becca and I are taking my car," Holly says.
My mom looks at me, confused.
"There's no backseat in Bryson's car. He and his uncle took it out, I think for better gas mileage."
I really didn't want to tell my mom he took it out for speed purposes; she worries enough. Plus, I'm pretty sure Bryson is being hit with the same question by my dad right now, and I have no idea what he'll answer. So I wanted to play it safe.
Becca leans in toward my mom and bumps her on the elbow. "No backseat--that's a good thing, right Mrs. Christie?"
"Oh, Lord, Becca." Mom rolls her eyes and walks over to the couch. I playfully pop Becca on the arm as I make my way to the door.
When I open it, I see Bryson walking toward me, and I immediately fall into a trance. As cheesy as it might sound, he's suddenly moving in slow motion. His brown eyes sparkle as he looks at me, smiling. The sleeves on his tight-fitting, maroon Polo shirt are hugging his biceps, trying to contain them as his arms sway. And as he continues to walk, I continue to inspect. My eyes slowly travel all the way down to the light brown Sperry Topsiders on his feet, which are partially covered by his dark, loose-fitting jeans.
When I drag my creepy stare back up to his face, I notice him examining me, also. And when our eyes meet again, we both smile.
Suddenly, Hailey runs up to me, breaking my trance as she throws her arms around my waist, like she's about to climb me or something. I put my arm around her neck as she looks up at me with a huge smile.
"Bryson has a cool car!" she says, overjoyed.
"A really cool car," Dad agrees as he and Bryson walk up.
"Yeah, um, Hailey already called shotgun. So we decided you'll just have to take the trunk," Bryson says, looking and pointing to me.
I look from Bryson to Hailey, partly wondering if he's serious about Hailey coming, and partly trying to come up with a clever response.
"Nope, I'm driving. So you two will have to fight over the front." I shoot a glance at both of them.
"Yikes," my dad says. "If she's driving, you might want to stay here, Bryson."
Everyone laughs.
"Whatever." I elbow my dad as he walks by me. And after a few more minutes and quite a few more awkward jokes with my family, we finally break away.
"Sorry about that," I mutter as we walk down the driveway.
"Why?" he smiles. "They're hilarious! Especially Hailey."
As he walks ahead to open the passenger door for me, I peek over at Becca and Holly and see them grinning at me as they climb into Holly's car. I return the grin and quickly look back to see Bryson standing there with the door open. As I walk up, I see three red roses lying on the seat, tied together mid-stem, on top of a small plate of saran-wrapped peanut butter brownies with a sticky note on top.
I smile as I pick up the roses and the plate and sit down. Then I read the note: "I'm not gonna eat 'em," which is what he said to me in the caf the first time he put his peanut butter brownies down next to my salad. My smile grows considerably, and I suddenly start
to see this whole situation from a different perspective.
Up to this point, most of my nerves stemmed from the simple fact that we're now hanging out outside of school, or the big fancy Hotard bus with the comfy plush seats, or basketball games, or any other setting where we're forced to be in each other's presence. This get-together is our decision. And I guess I kind of thought that might change things altogether. But after reading the note and briefly flashing back to that day in the caf, I realize everything is the same, and now I'm not nearly as nervous as before. I don't know if that was his plan, but if it was, it definitely worked.
I look up at him, still smiling.
He shrugs. "In case there's nothing good over there, you know," he says. Then he closes the door and walks around.
My excitement level goes through the roof when he starts the car. The loud sound of the straight pipes underneath me, along with the rumble of the super-charged 302 engine under the hood, causes my seat to vibrate. When he carefully takes off, the grin on my face becomes a full-blown, teeth-baring, ear-to-ear smile as the engine roars even louder, causing the front end of the car to rise about six inches. As far as I'm concerned, this is the one good thing turning sixteen has delivered so far--the age at which my parents allowed me to date.
I look at Bryson. "I love this car," I remind him.
"Glad you love it," he grins. "This might make you love it even more."
He leans forward and turns on the radio, then presses Play on the CD player. Suddenly, Metallica's "Sad but True" starts blaring through the speakers. Once again, that's the first song we listened to on his phone on the bus ride last week. And once again, whether it was his intention or not, I'm feeling even more relaxed now.
We smile at each other and after a few minutes of slightly bobbing our heads to the beat of the heavy metal song, he leans forward again and lowers the volume.
"Better, right?" he asks, his expression hopeful.
"Metallica makes everything better."
"Cool," he nods. "And you look really pretty, by the way."
I look at him and smile, but before I can say a word? "I mean, not as pretty as me, but you ain't bad," he says with a goofy, overly-serious expression as he stares at the road. I find myself laughing hysterically, causing him to also break into laughter.
"I agree with that!" I say.
"Oh, whatever, you're nuts."
His laughter fades as we come to a stop at a red light. Then he turns to me with a serious look, for real serious this time, and says, "You really do look great."
My laughter dwindles as I look at him. Out of nowhere, we kind of start to have a moment, like a possible about-to-kiss moment. But then, of course, the damn light turns green. I'm pissed off and relieved at the same time, if that makes sense. I've yet to decide if I'm really ready for my first kiss. But I will say that before Bryson showed up at my house a little while ago, I wasn't ready at all. I'm not exactly sure what happened between then and now, but I'm about ninety five percent ready at this point. I definitely wouldn't stop him if he tried.