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“Yeah. I’ve applied to a couple, but I haven’t picked one yet. I guess I’m kind of procrastinating.”
“Do you know what you’ll major in?”
“Probably journalism,” I said. “I don’t know, though. I’ve always wanted to be a reporter for the New York Times. So I applied to a couple of schools in Manhattan.”
“The Big Apple,” he said, nodding. “Ambitious.”
“Yeah, well, watch me end up like that girl in The Devil Wears Prada,” I said. “A complete loser working at some stupid fashion magazine when all I really want to do is write about world events or interview revolutionary congressmen… like you’ll be.”
He beamed at me. “Oh, you wouldn’t be a complete loser.”
“Whatever,” I laughed. “Can you imagine me writing about fashion? An industry where size fours are considered fat? No way. I’d wind up committing suicide.”
“Something tells me you’d be good at anything you tried,” he said.
“Something tells me you’re kissing my ass a little bit there, Toby.”
He shrugged. “Maybe, but not much. You’re pretty great, Bianca. You tell it like it is, you don’t seem like you’re afraid to be yourself, and you’re a Democrat. That makes you awesome in my book.”
Okay, so I blushed. Can you blame me?
“Thank you, Toby.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for.”
Wow. Was he perfect or what? Cute, polite, fu
A cold March breeze was blowing, and I began regretting that I’d let Casey and Jessica dress me. They’d never been seasonably sensible when it came to clothing. My bare legs were freezing (they hadn’t let me wear panty hose), and the thin material of my blouse definitely didn’t shield me from the wind. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself in an effort to warm up.
“Oh, here,” Toby said. He pulled off his blazer, just like boys are supposed to do, and held it out for me. “You should have told me you were cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t be silly.” He helped me slide into the sleeves. “Honestly, I’d rather not be dating a Popsicle.”
Dating? I mean, this was a date, but were we dating now? I’d never dated anyone, so I wasn’t really sure. Either way, hearing him say that made me very happy… and strangely nervous at the same time.
Toby turned me around and adjusted the blazer around my neck and shoulders.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
We were standing in front of an old antiques store, its windows illuminated by the light of fancy, old-fashioned lamps, like the ones my grandpa had in his living room. The glow spilled onto Toby’s angular face, glinting off the rims of his glasses and highlighting his almond-shaped eyes… which were staring down at me.
His fingers still lingered on the collar of the blazer. Then his hand slid up from my shoulder to my jaw. His thumb grazed my cheek, stroking it over and over again. He leaned toward me slowly, giving me plenty of time to stop him if I wanted to. Yeah, right! As if I would dream of it.
And he kissed me. Not a make-out kiss, but not just a peck either. It was a real kiss. Gentle and sweet and long. The kind of kiss I’d wanted to share with Toby Tucker since I was fifteen years old, and it felt exactly like I’d always imagined it would. His lips were soft and warm, and the way they moved against mine made the butterflies in my belly go berserk.
Okay. I know, I know. I think PDA is gross and immature, but come on. I was a little too distracted to care who might be watching. So, yeah, I put my usual values aside for a second and wrapped my arms around his neck. I mean, I could always go back to my crusade against public make-outs in the morning.
I slipped into the house around eleven o’clock that night and found Dad waiting for me on the sofa. He smiled at me and muted the TV. “Hey, Bumblebee.”
“Hi, Dad.” I shut and locked the front door. “How was your meeting?”
“Strange,” Dad admitted. “It’s weird being back again… but I’ll get used to it. What about you? How was your date?”
“Amazing,” I sighed. God, I couldn’t stop smiling. Dad was probably going to think I’d had a lobotomy or something.
“That’s good,” Dad said. “Tell me again, who did you go out with? Sorry. I can’t remember his name.”
“Toby Tucker.”
“Tucker?” Dad repeated. “You mean Chaz Tucker’s son? Oh, that’s great, Bumblebee. Chaz is a good guy. He’s the technology director for a company downtown, so he comes into the store all the time. Wonderful family. I’m glad to hear his son’s a nice kid, too.”
“He is,” I said.
The sound of shuffling came from upstairs, and we both glanced up at the ceiling. “Oh.” Dad shook his head and looked back at me. “I almost forgot about them. They’ve been suspiciously quiet all night.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I should get up there before Casey has an aneurysm. See you in the morning, Dad.”
“Okay,” Dad said. He reached for the remote and turned up the volume on the television. “Good night, Bumblebee.”
I’d danced halfway up the stairs before Dad called out to me again. “Hey, Bumblebee?”
I paused and leaned against the banister, looking down at the living room. “Yeah?”
“Whatever happened to Wesley?”
I froze, feeling myself choke a little. “W-What?”
“Your friend. The one who, um… was with you that night.” He looked up at me from the couch, readjusting his glasses. “You don’t talk about him much.”
“We don’t hang out anymore,” I told him, using that voice that made it clear he shouldn’t ask questions. All teenage girls know that voice and use it on their fathers frequently. Usually, the unspoken order is followed. My father loved me, but he knew better than to delve into the drama of my high school experience.
Smart Dad.
“Oh… I was just wondering.”
“Bianca!” My bedroom door flew open, and Jessica, dressed in neon orange pajamas, leapt out of my room. She sprinted halfway down the stairs and grabbed me by the arm. “Stop making us wait! Come tell us everything.”
The way Jessica was beaming almost pushed Dad’s mention of Wesley from my mind.
Almost.
“Goodnight, Mr. Piper!” Jessica yelled as she dragged me to my bedroom.
After a few steps, my feet picked up again and I reminded myself that I’d just had the best date ever with the guy of my dreams. I felt myself succumbing to the giddy joy my best friends expressed as soon as I walked into the room. Squealing, jumping, cheering…
I had the right to be happy about this. Even we cynics deserved a night off once in a while, right?
22
My good mood lasted all the way through to Monday afternoon. I mean, what was there to be irritated about? Nothing. Things were back to normal at home. My friends hadn’t dragged me to the Nest in weeks. Oh yeah, and I’d just gone on a date with the perfect boy. Who could complain?
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy,” Casey observed as we pulled out of the student parking lot. Her voice was full of pep, an unfortunate side effect of cheerleading practice, and she bounced up and down in her seat. “It’s so refreshing!”
“God, Casey, you make me sound suicidal or something.”
“It’s not that,” she said. “It’s just that you haven’t been as bitter as usual lately. It’s a nice change.”
“I’m not bitter.”
“You are so.” She reached over and patted my knee. “But that’s okay, B. It’s just part of your personality. We accept it. But you aren’t bitter now, and that’s freaking awesome. Don’t take it as an insult.”
“Whatever.” But I broke into a smile.