Rolling Dice (13 page)

“Have you found anything?” Tiffany asks. “Maybe something pink?”

“Um …” What I picked out is a long-sleeved black sweater that’s kind of baggy, with gold decoration around the neckline. “Yeah, I’ve got something. It’s … uh, it’s pink.”

I describe it to Tiffany, and leave out the fact that it’s definitely not pink; but it’s cute. And it’s what I want to wear. So who cares what Tiffany says?

“Don’t wear heels,” she says. “Wear some cute flats. Or—no, wait, you’re kinda
short, aren’t you? Maybe you
should
wear heels. Bryce is pretty tall. You couldn’t tell so much at the party, ’cause you had heels on then. Not big fancy heels, though—you don’t want to go overboard, especially since you’re wearing a skirt … Ah, screw it, wear heels.”

While Tiffany’s talking, I’m trying to decide between my Converse and a pair of plain black flats. But I pause, because okay, she may be right on this. So I find a pair of sandals. They’re gold wedges, so they match my top perfectly, and they’re not very high, only about an inch and a half. Plus, I find wedges much easier to walk in than stilettos.

“I have shoes.”

“How high?”

“Inch and a half, I think.”

“That’s great. Okay, so protocol for the first date: he’s going to pay. This is Bryce we’re talking about, and he’s definitely going to insist on paying.”

“But I’ll offer to pay anyway,” I say, because it’s true. I’d feel bad if he paid for everything.

Tiffany seems to think I’m just finishing her sentence or something, though, because she says, “Exactly!”

I know I’m not taking Tiffany’s advice when it comes to my outfit, but I’m listening attentively now that she’s talking about what to do on this date. The beach party was bad enough, but then Dwight had asked me purely on a friendly basis, so I was more relaxed. This is different.

Plus, what if he tries to kiss me when we’re at the movies?

This is different from the usual first date, since we’ve already passed the first kiss barrier. Ugh, why does everything have to be so awkward and confusing? And why do I have to overreact to the smallest things? I’m such a dork.

I just hope Bryce hasn’t noticed.

Not long after I hang up and finish doing my makeup, I hear a car door outside, and the doorbell sounds.

Taking Tiffany’s (and Jenna’s) advice not to look too eager, I don’t hurry down, and let one of my parents get the door instead.

Then I wander down and see Bryce standing there. He’s wearing a pair of khakis and a blue button-down shirt with the Abercrombie and Fitch logo. His wavy blond hair catches the early evening sun and looks practically gold. He sees me on the stairs and smiles broadly,
his dimples showing. I smile back, except I know I look awkward and self-conscious.

“I won’t have her back too late,” Bryce tells my mom. I know she wouldn’t care if I didn’t get in till midnight, because I’ve actually got a date, and with a really cute jock at that. She was beyond ecstatic when I hesitantly asked her if she minded if I went to the movies with Bryce. Even Dad didn’t have a problem with it.

Mom laughs, but says to me, “Ten o’clock curfew. Let me know if you’re going to be any later than that.”

“Okay,” I promise.

“You kids have fun!” The huge grin on her face makes me shake my head and roll my eyes.

“Bye,” I say testily, and pull the door shut behind me. Then I smile at Bryce. “Hi.”

He laughs. “Hi yourself.”

We climb into his car and I ask, “So what movie are we gonna see?”

“That new film with Bradley Cooper, I thought,” he tells me. “It’s gotten really great reviews. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah, sure, that’s totally fine.”

“Aren’t you too hot in that?” he asks, nodding at my sweater. It is pretty warm, but I shake my head, picking at the cuffs of my sleeves, pulling them down.

There’s a silence just hanging in the air between us. I wait a few moments—but they’re long, endless moments that drag out with the silence. I don’t know what to do. I think I’m supposed to say something, but no small talk springs to mind. There’s no way I’m resorting to talking about the weather. There’s not much to say about school, since we’re only a week in and nothing’s really started up yet. Football and soccer practice has barely started, and tryouts aren’t until next week. Barely any classes have had homework.

So what do I talk about?

Around the girls, if I don’t have anything to say, I just listen to their conversation and pitch in where appropriate. But guys are different. They don’t talk about the same things as girls. I don’t even know much about Bryce. Actually, scratch that: I know next to nothing about Bryce. Sure, I know what people have told me, but I don’t know much about him personally.

And I don’t know what to ask him to find out.

It’s different with Dwight. I seem to be able to talk to him effortlessly—though admittedly half our conversations are physics-related. But things are just easy around him. I don’t feel anywhere near as uncomfortable as I do right now.

I start to wonder: what if Bryce doesn’t actually like me, the way everyone claims he does? What if the only reason he’s asking me on this date is because we kissed, and he’s being polite? Thinking that makes my palms turn clammy, and my stomach ties itself into knots.

“Can I ask you something?” I blurt.

“Uh, sure. Go ahead. Shoot.”

“Why did you ask me on a date? Is it just ’cause we kissed at Tiffany’s?”

We’re at a stop sign when I say this, so Bryce takes the opportunity to look at me. His handsome face is serious, and his brown eyes pierce into mine. I shrink a little inside, scared of his answer.

“No,” he tells me quietly. He pulls off, and after a pause, his eyes trained on the road, carries on: “When I met you at the beach I thought you were cute. Different. You weren’t like all the other girls. You’re a very interesting person, Madison—you know that? It’s like … you don’t care what people think of you.”

How wrong that is
.

“But at the same time nobody knows anything about you.”

There we go—now you’re back on track, Pretty Boy
.

“I don’t know,” he says. “But there’s something about you that made me want to get to know you. What happened at Tiffany’s … Well, that was just an extremely convenient coincidence.” He laughs. “But knowing Tiffany, she had something to do with that, and it wasn’t a coincidence at all.”

“Mm,” I say, laughing, but then I add, “And it had absolutely nothing to do with some random waiter giving me his number?”

“Um …” He clears his throat with deliberate sheepishness that makes us both laugh. “Maybe. Okay, here’s a question for
you
, Mainstream. What made you say yes?”

I don’t answer him for a moment; I’ve already spoken without thinking once tonight, I don’t want to mess up my chances with Bryce. Why
did
I say yes?

He’s cute, and he’s nice, and he’s funny, and he’s that guy in high school who all the girls have a crush on. I like him. And it was great kissing him the other night …

Or is it just that I’m flattered?

I mean, he wouldn’t have looked twice at me if I was the old Madison. But this guy’s taken an interest in me, he’s got a nickname for me, he kissed me at a party. I don’t know if I like the
idea
of all that more than I actually like
him
.

But I tell him, “Because I wanted to say yes.”

He laughs. “That’s not much of an answer. Care to elaborate?”

“How about if tonight goes well, then I’ll elaborate?”

“And how am I going to know if you think it goes well?”

I shrug, and answer vaguely, “If it goes well, I’ll tell you why I said yes. Then you’ll know it’s gone well.”

Bryce sneaks a sideways glance at me, a smile playing on his lips, his dimples not quite showing. I smile innocently back at him, and he chuckles quietly, shaking his head. I bump up the volume on the radio, and he shoots me another look.

“What, you don’t want to talk to me?” he says. He has to raise his voice because of the level of the stereo.

I shake my head. “No. I just like this song.

“No.” Bryce puts a hand over mine and pushes my wallet back down into my purse before I can finish getting out a ten-dollar bill. “I told you, I’m paying for this. Consider it my treat.”

“And I told you, I’ll pay for myself—it’s fine.”

“Come on, Madison, you don’t really expect me not to pay on a first date?” He laughs, smiling at me, and as he does so, his eyes bore right into mine, making my cheeks warm.

“I can go on some kind of feminist rant if you like.”

“I don’t doubt you would,” he says, so seriously I don’t think he’s joking.
Do I really come off like that?
I wonder briefly. “But seriously, it’s fine. I’ll pay.”

“Yeah, but …”

“But nothing,” he tells me, pushing my purse away again as I start to bring my wallet out for the third time. “I’m going to pay and you’re going to say thank you, and then we’re going to have a nice evening and watch the movie.”

“Do you want popcorn or anything?”

“If you do, sure. I don’t want to look like the pig I really am and eat a whole thing myself. I will do that, you know.”

I laugh. “Salted or sweet?”

“Toffee,” he says, waggling his eyebrows like toffee popcorn is the most daring thing in the world.

“Wild man,” I say sarcastically. “I should just start calling you Tarzan now. I’ll go grab popcorn,” I tell him. “Just so we don’t have to wait for the next twenty minutes and miss
the commercials.”

“Can’t go missing the commercials.” He shakes his head slightly, a grave look on his face as if to say that this would be truly tragic.

“Exactly.”

“Here,” he says, handing me a five-dollar bill. “I told you, I’m paying for tonight.”

I step back and clasp my hands to my purse so he can’t give me the money. I shake my head at him and take a couple of steps back. “Toffee popcorn it is. And this one’s on me.”

“Madison,” he sighs, stepping toward me.

I cut him off hastily. “Uh, uh, uh! You can’t move or you’ll lose your place in the line. And then we may actually miss those commercials.”

“Damn, you’re right,” he says with a melodramatic sigh. Then he smiles at me. “You will get this five-dollar bill by the end of the night.”

“No, I really won’t. Large popcorn all right?”

“Whichever one you want.”

I join the line at the snack stand. I get a large Diet Coke since I know popcorn makes me thirsty—but I grab two straws, just in case—and when I eventually turn around with my snacks, Bryce is standing waiting for me, smiling.

“Come on—we wouldn’t want to miss those commercials now, would we?”

I’m acutely aware throughout all 108 minutes of the movie that Bryce’s knee is pressed against mine. It sounds kind of sad, I know, but it’s all I can think about. He doesn’t put his arm around me, but whenever our hands brush reaching to get some popcorn he twines our fingers together, until I begin to think he’s waiting for me to get some popcorn to take some too.

He was right about being able to eat plenty, though; I have a few handfuls, but Bryce eats most of the box himself.

I wonder if he’ll be cheesy and yawn before putting his arm around me. It seems like the kind of thing he’d do, in a jokey and cute way. He doesn’t, though, which makes me all the more aware of how our knees and elbows are touching.

When the movie’s over—and it was a pretty darn good film—we stand up. I grab the popcorn box, and shake it so the kernels in the bottom of the box rattle around. I take a peek inside, and then look back up to Bryce, putting on a shocked expression. “Are you really going to leave all that popcorn?”

He laughs and bumps my arm playfully with his as we walk down the aisle. “Maybe that explains why I’m so ravenous. Do you want to grab a bite to eat somewhere?”

Given that yes, I’m hungry, and yes, I want to prolong this date with Bryce as much as possible, I nod and try not to smile
too
enthusiastically. “Sounds good to me.”

“What do you feel like?” he asks pausing as I ram the popcorn box into a trash can. “Pizza? A burger? Someplace really nice? It’s entirely up to you.”

I think for a moment. “Pizza sounds good to me.”

“Everything sounds good to you,” he jokes, laughing. “I know this place that does really great pizza.”

And fifteen minutes later, we’re being seated in a restaurant that smells of melted cheese and a delicious mix of dough, vegetables, and tomato. The carpets are red and the lighting is dim, so the whole place has a cute and cozy feel to it.

We slide into a booth the waiter directed us to. “What can I get you guys to drink?”

“Water, please,” I say.

“I’ll have an orange soda,” Bryce says.

“Okay. Here are your menus …,” the waiter says as he hands one to each of us, “and I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.”

I open the menu up, and put it down in front of me. The first thing my eyes flit to is the prices—I let out a small, silent sigh of relief when I see that it’s not expensive. Not that I couldn’t afford it, but if he insisted on paying again, then I’d feel terrible.

I don’t check out the food on the menu, though; instead, I look around. It’s not a big restaurant, but there’re enough people to make a nice background buzz of conversation that mingles with the low, soft mood music.

I turn back to study my menu, but I feel Bryce staring at me. I look up under my bangs, which almost cover my eyes now that my head is tilted down, and see that he’s smiling at me. “What?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

A minute later, the waiter comes with our drinks, and takes our orders. I’m shocked when Bryce orders exactly what I want: a chicken and vegetable pizza. So I say, “I’ll have the same, please.”

When the waiter’s gone, Bryce says, “Was that purely coincidental, or …?”

I laugh. “I wanted that pizza. What, do you think I picked it just because I couldn’t decide for myself?”

“You might’ve,” he jokes. “I have good taste in food—it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Right.”

There are a few heartbeats of silence before Bryce takes a deep breath, lets it out again, and leans closer. “So, Madison, tell me something about you. Anything at all.”