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She turns to face me, folding her leg under her. “Just to this coffee place a block away.”
“You meet up with a friend?”
“No. Just by myself.”
“But you said that you had to be somewhere and couldn't get out of it.”
Her face falls. Her smile completely wiped now. “I just…”
“Just…?”
“Um…” she starts to stand up but I grab her arm to stop her from moving.
Her gaze moves to the door, like she searching for a polite way to bail. I don’t want her to leave, so I say, “I’m bored. You want to get out of here?”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“Yeah.” I stand up. “Let’s do something.”
“Like what?” she asks, her brow bunched.
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
Her gaze drops to her lap. “Do you...” she trails off.
“Do I what?”
“I’ve always wanted to go to dinner and a movie.”
“Like a date?”
She gasps quietly. “No. Not a date. Just—I don’t know. Maybe?” Her eyes flick to mine, the uncertainty in them clear.
“Wait. You’ve never gone to dinner and a movie?”
She shakes her head slowly—her eyes fixed on mine. “No.”
“So what do you on dates?”
“I’ve never dated,” she says slowly, each word more unsure than the last.
I just stare at her—too dumbstruck to speak.
“Can we go now?” she asks, her words rushed. “Never mind. Maybe—I’ll just go home.” She stands quickly.
I grab her hand. “Are you ready to go now?”
She smiles. “Let me change real quick.”
MADISON
Madison: So he asked me out.
Sara: Yeah? Are you going?
Madison: Yes… we're going to dinner and a movie.
I make my way around the room, changing clothes and shoes and putting on what little make-up I wear. My phone never leaves my hand. I squeeze it so tight my knuckles turn white. The phone—it's my lifeline. My security blanket. It's my past, and my future. And it's my only connection to the one person who truly knows me.
I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at it, waiting anxiously for a reply. The feeling of dread overshadows my excitement. Just as the tears start pooling in my eyes and I can no longer feel my heart's beat over it's slow, torturous break, the phone sounds with a text.
Sara: Good.
A knock on the door interrupts my reply, or at least my thoughts of how to reply. I have nothing. No words of comfort. Nothing.
“Maddy!” Ky yells, just as I stand. “Are you there?”
By the time I get to the door I can hear him laughing on the other side. “Yeah?” I yell back.
His laugh gets louder. “I don't know how long I should have waited before picking you up. What's the normal protocol on how long it takes a girl to get ready? Should I leave and come back? Or even better—you can let me in and you can change in front of me!”
My mouth drops open. It's still like that when I open the door to his sexy-as-sin smirk. I grab his arm and roughly pull him into the apartment. “Everyone can hear you!”
He chuckles. Then stops abruptly as he crosses his arms and scans me from head to toe. He gets to my bare feet and licks his lips. “I have a thing for short skirts and bare feet,” he mumbles. “You better cover them or we're gonna skip the date and stay in.”
I try to inhale, but the air is too thick and I choke. “You said you'd take me to dinner and a movie,” I squeak.
He nods slowly, his eyes moving back up to my face, slowing for a split-second on my breasts. “Let's go then.”
KY
I ask her if she wants to go anywhere in particular. She says she isn’t sure—that she doesn’t know the area that well. Odd, considering she’d told me earlier that she’s from around here.
We walk a few blocks to a hole in the wall Italian joint. She doesn’t drive, and I don’t have a car.
“Is Ky short for anything?” Madison asks just as the waiter comes by and lazily drops our plates on the table.
“Kyler,” I tell her.
She smiles and repeats it a few times. I’ve always hated the name but hearing it fall from her lips has me second-guessing my feelings.
“Does it have a meaning?”
“It’s Danish for a bowman.”
“A bowman?” she says, the confusion clear in her voice.
“Yeah, like an archer.”
She scrunches her nose and tilts her head to the side. “An archer? What the hell is an archer?”
I laugh—surprising considering the mood I’m in. “A strong, masculine dude that uses a bow and arrow.”
“Ohh!” She almost yells. “An archer,” she repeats as if the word suddenly has new meaning. “Why didn’t you just say that?”
“I did!”
“Kyler,” she muses. “I like it.” She leans forward. “You don’t?”
I shake my head. “I got called Kylie too much as a kid—”
Her burst of laughter interrupts me. I raise an eyebrow, which just makes her laugh harder. “So anyway...” I say loud enough to drown her out. “I go by Ky…” I continue, “and you are never, ever, to call me Kyler.”
