“I… um, it was fine,” I replied with a forced smile.
He folded his arms. “Anything new?”
“Not really,” I lied. It wasn’t that I was ashamed, or worried about pity or anything like that. It was just that—I don’t know… I didn’t want to bother him. I didn’t like bothering anyone.
We started talking about the small things: books we’d read, movies we’d seen, the new cafeteria lunch menu. Stealing glances out of the corner of my eye, I couldn’t help but notice there was something different about him, and it wasn’t the two inches he’d grown over the summer.
“See you at lunch?” he asked as the bell rang.
“Yep.”
For three weeks, we sat together in the cafeteria, side by side. A couple of other friends joined sometimes, but mostly we sat alone, trading fries and whispered jokes.
“Are you thinking about going to the dance?”
I wasn’t, but Jude held an expression that made my stomach tighten. “I’m not sure yet.”
He chewed on his lip. “Yeah, same. Nobody has asked me.”
“And you can’t go unless someone asks you?” It was a stupid question. Of course he’d go. Unlike me, Jude’s friend group had only grown. He’d even tried out forthe football team, and as much as I hated to admit it, our lunches were beginning to grow far and few between.
Scoffing, he plucked a french fry from my plate. “I’m going. I was only hoping someone would ask me.” His eyes narrowed slightly when our elbows touched. I adjusted my sleeve, careful not to look at him.
The event in question was a Sadie Hawkins dance, which meant that girls were supposed to ask boys. I thought it was kind of dumb—I couldn’t yet drive, I wasn’t dating, and if I was being honest, I wasn’t really ready to. The dance was all in good fun, but I was struggling to have fun at all these days.
Jude gave me a goofy smile, bumping his shoulder into mine in that way he always did. “You should ask someone.”
Like you?I almost joked, but then Matthew dropped his heavy backpack on the table, tipping Jude’s water bottle over, where it managed to spill across his science homework. All the churning thoughts of asking him to the dance melted with the puddle soaking my sleeve.
It shouldn’t have been such a big deal—we were best friends after all. Except that lately, I’d regarded him with a sense of foreignness. I couldn’t figure out why, but it didn’t keep me from tugging on that line of thought until it was all I could think about.
I should ask him to the dance. Why not? We’re best friends.
It didn’t take long until I decided I was going to suck it up and ask him.
From that moment, I counted the days, rehearsing the question in my head:Do you want to go to the dance with me?By Friday, I had my words perfectly lined up after having practiced them on my little brother, my dog, mybedroom door, and the cutout of Edward Cullen I kept in the corner.
My stomach was in a riot that morning as I walked into English class and took my seat. The dance was next Friday, and even though my mom was set to have another surgery that morning, my dad made sure to fill in my grandparents and arrange a ride to and from the school. My mom, even feeling sick, planned to drive me to the mall this weekend to buy a dress and my first pair of heels that weren’t solely for a piano recital.
Jude walked in and I thought I was going to puke. My palms were slick with sweat as he slid into the seat beside me. “Morning, Sol.”
This was the moment. I was going to ask.
I swallowed thickly. “Morning.”
“How’s it going?”
“Good.” I nodded—almost too enthusiastically.I opened my mouth to ask him next, to speak the words… and nothing. My mind blanked. Absolutely nothing. Instead, like a fool, I stammered, “Good… yeah it’s good. Homework was a little rough.”
“You’re telling me. If I don’t get my grade up my mom won’t let me tour NASA on winter break.”
I laughed, popping my binder open. “I highly doubt you’ll have trouble with that.”
Ransom smiled back at me, and the question I’d meant to ask him died a terrible death in my weak throat as Ms. Bates began our morning lesson.
I was a loser.
It wasn’t as if I hadn’t tried. I really did. Twice more, actually. Once at lunch, and then again that night, thumb hovering over a lame text. I was justthatpathetic.
