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I plastered yet another smile on my face, draping my arm over my mom’s shoulder.
After about ten more pictures, she finally said she had enough. I figured her memory card was full.
“Are we all going to get dinner?” I asked. “What’s the plan?” My stomach began to rumble at the thought of food.
“Actually,” Trace stepped forward, “I have something planned…for just the two of us.”
“Oh,” I shook my head. “I assumed—”
“We’ll see you two later,” my mom smiled, hugging me. With that, her and Nick disappeared. Avery had already left and Trace’s family was slowly backing away.
I narrowed my eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he smirked, his green eyes sparkling, and giving away the fact that there was something.
“Uh huh.”
“Come on, we need to go home and change first. Slacks and a button down are so not my thing,” he plucked at the tight shirt.
“Maybe if they came in plaid you’d like them better,” I joked.
“I’d definitely like them better then,” he chuckled, reaching for my hand.
We made the trek back to his car, trying to avoid the other families still dotted around campus chatting and taking pictures.
“So,” I started, “are you going to let me in on this plan of yours?”
“Not a chance,” he winked.
“Ugh,” I groaned. “Not even a hint?”
“Nope,” he shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Will I like it?”
“I hope so,” he chuckled. “Otherwise…well…”
“Well what?”
“I can’t say,” he opened the passenger car door for me.
I placed my diploma and cap in my lap as I buckled the seatbelt.
As soon as Trace was in the car I asked, “Is this plan of yours going to embarrass the crap out of me?”
“I hope not,” he laughed, “but you are easily embarrassed.”
Once at the apartment I changed into jean shorts, a tank top, and a purple plaid shirt I’d recently bought for myself because I knew Trace would like it. I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows and tried to make my hair look halfway decent.
“I approve,” Trace said from behind me.
Turning, I laughed. “I thought you would,” I plucked at the bottom of my shirt.
“I still think you look better in my shirts though,” he winked, pulling on a white wife-beater. He’d switched from slacks to a pair of ratty jeans. “Ready?”
I nodded, slipping on a pair of Converse.
He grabbed a cooler, adding drinks and sandwiches he’d made earlier. I’d noticed him making them this morning but I’d been too busy worrying about graduation to ask him about them. He slung the cooler strap over his shoulder, grabbed a soft blanket from the closet, and then picked up his guitar case.
