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I guess we’ll find out on Saturday.
Andrew was silent for a while before another message appeared. I’m sorry. I haven’t even met the guy and I’m already making assumptions about him. Forgive me?
Forgiven. I huffed. I guess.
Cool. What are you up to?
I looked at the piles of SD cards and camera equipment and shook my head. Organizing. You?
Staring at a blinking curser and a blank page. Trying to write.
Writer’s block, huh. What’s the holdup?
Silence for a moment. Then: the love scene.
I squinted. Don’t you usually write fantasy novels?
Yes, but the main character has a love interest. Which, you know, happens in fantasy novels, too.
Tone down the snobbiness. I rolled my eyes. So how are you gonna write the love scene?
I don’t know. It’s why I’m stuck. If I knew how to write the scene, I wouldn’t be stuck.
Feeling a little sensitive?
Nope, but thanks for making my day, nerd.
I smirked. Andrew had always worn his heart on his sleeve. Some things never change. Didn’t mean to make you cry, Minnie.
Ugh, are we bringing that nickname back again?
Yes, because you whine like a Minnie.
Listen, Jones, one day I will find an equally demeaning nickname for you, and you will not like it.
Haven’t found one yet, huh. What’s the holdup?
I could almost feel the smile in his words as he typed. I see some things never change.
Likewise. I smiled, too.
He paused as if mulling something over in his mind. Finally, he said, Okay, okay, I’ll go to this soiree, if only to see the man who’s vowed to put up with you for *supposedly* all eternity.
My heart beat a suddenly frantic rhythm in my body. You’ll go? Really?
Truly. But once your mom spots me, I’m out.
Butterfly wings rustled against one another in my abdomen, and I felt like I was lit from the inside out. I smiled. Can’t wait.
“So…Ace. Good to see you again.”
It was what I thought was another ordinary Thursday. I was, again, waiting for the sports bus in the cold, wintery Massachusetts air. I was so intrigued by the voice — or my mind was so numbed by the cold, who knew? — that I only sort of recognized that I turned around and almost hit him in the gut with my elbow. Unfortunately, I missed.
“It’s you.” I squinted up at him. We were almost eye to eye; he was a little taller. Impressive, I thought, despite myself. At 5’9”, not many eighteen-year-old guys were taller than me.
Before I could stop myself, my eyes traveled to his face. His smile revealed rows of straight, white teeth, and only his bottom lip moved as he smiled, as if he had never moved through the awkward-kid-smile phase. But his eyes were intelligent, also appraising me. And he had a beauty mark, which was cute enough, I guess. His high-top fade was clean, the lineup, crisp. A guy who takes care of himself. I tried to press the smile from my face and failed.
I looked down at his sneakers, fully expecting a pair of Jordans to match the haircut but found Converses instead. His skin was a smooth caramel color, as if it had never seen a pimple in its life. Lucky, I thought.
