Page 21 of The Way I Used to Be

We are so close, I can feel his breath on my skin, feel the warmth radiating from his body. He looks directly into my eyes as he waits for some kind of response on my part. But his breath and warmth and eyes undermine my ability to think or speak or understand anything other than his breath and warmth and eyes. I finally force myself to just look away.

“Well,” he continues, after I don’t respond. “They’re pretty hard to find—I had to track down a dandelion at every stage of growth for that project. And you’d be surprised how rare these ones are.”

I dare myself to look him in the eye again, but I can’t hold it for long, so I refocus on the dandelion.

“I guess that’s not very interesting, is it?” He rests his elbows on his knees and lets the weed dangle between his fingers.

I smile. I did actually think it was a little interesting, but I’m not about to tell him that.

“Nice out,” he says, looking up at the sky.

“Yeah,” I agree.

“Yeah.” He sighs.

I feel bad for him; he is probably really good at making small talk with girls. This isn’t his fault.

“So, what are you still doing here?” he asks, the silence rapidly becoming unbearable.

“Just waiting for my friend. You?”

“I’m waiting for my ride—I just got out of practice.”

“Did you, like, get hurt or something?” I gesture to the bandage around his knee.

“No, it just acts up sometimes. It’s fine, though.” He smiles slowly as he stares at me.

“Oh.” I nod, looking away, careful not to appear too concerned about him—or anything for that matter.

“So,” he says, nervously twirling the dandelion between his thumb and index finger. “You have me in suspense, you know that, right?”

“Oh,” I say again. “Sorry.”

“So, should I just take that as a no?” he asks, still smiling. “It’s okay. I just don’t wanna keep feeling like such an idiot.” He laughs.

And I want to laugh at the fact that he’s the one feeling like an idiot here. I wish I could somehow make him understand that I want to say no as much as I want to say yes. “No, that’s not it. I just—” But I can’t finish because I don’t even fully understand it myself.

“Well, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” I mumble.

The shape of his mouth looks a little confused, uncertain if it should smile or frown. “Are you doing this on purpose? I really can’t tell.”

“Doing what?”

“Screwing with me—not giving me a straight answer.”

“No, I’m really not. I swear.”

His eyebrows pull together, a vertical line forming in the center of his forehead. He looks at me appraisingly. “Forget it,” he finally says. “I just can’t seem to get you right, I guess.” With this sad, awkward smile and a wave of his hand. “Forget it, really.”

“Yes,” I hear myself say. Because maybe this is my chance—a second chance—to be initiated into all this boy-girl stuff.

“Wait, yes?” He looks at me closely, his eyes lighting up. “So you’re actuallysayingyes?”

I take a deep breath and repeat it: “Yes.”

“Finally!” he yells, raising his arms to the sky, laughing. “Tomorrow night, are you free?”