Page 53 of The Night

“Cain’t I? Why in tarnation not?”

I made a gurgling sound in my effort not to laugh.

“Because if you want a date you need toask.” Hazel shook her head, exasperated with the ignorance of adults. “Politely.”

“Oh.” Gideon gave me an assessing look. “I see.”

“Do it now.”

“Hazel!” I shook my head, somewhat embarrassed, and tried unsuccessfully to snatch my hand back again. “Gideon doesn’t have to—”

“Gertrude,” Hazel insisted, brown eyes determined. “And yes, shedoes. It’spolite.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Gideon cut me off.

“Would you go to the ball with me, Lavender?”

“Gertrude.” Hazel face-palmed. “That’snothow you do it. You really have no idea how to get dates, do you?”

I turned my lips in and bit down.

“I really don’t,” Gideon said solemnly. “I haven’t asked anyone out on a date in… oh, five years or so.”

My fingers flexed on his leg. “Seriously?”

Gideon’s golden-brown eyes met mine. “Very seriously.”

I swallowed. “Me neither.”

“Yeah? Not even Scott?”

I shook my head, struggling to remember what Scott even looked like, let alone how I’d thought he and I could ever be more than colleagues.

“Okay, so here’s what you do,” our dictator said. “Gertrude, tell Lavender she looks beautiful and she’s special and she’s very smart. And that you would bedevastatingly thrilledif she would consent to go with you.” She waved a hand between us. “Now you try it.”

I bit my lip again—I was lucky I wasn’t drawing blood at this rate—and Gideon’s mouth twitched. “You know, I think I’m going to have to practice a few times first. Maybe in the mirror.”

Hazel nodded sagely. “Good idea. You could also consider a dance routine or something. I can send you a YouTube link.”

I observed a personal moment of silence for my daughter’s future suitors, whoever they might be.

“You could also consider being really honest with her,” Hazel advised. “Tell her all the secrets you’ve been keeping.”

Gideon froze. “Secrets?”

“Like, maybe,your middle name?”

He snorted and shook his head. “Nice try. I don’t talk about my middle name. No one but my mother knows it for sure.”

“Is it Petunia? Peter? Percival? Paul?”

“No.”

“Perry? Pepper? Packer?”

“Packer?” He shuddered and so did I. The horrible jokes would have written themselves. “Jesus, no.”

“Pablo? Pip?”