First Date (7 page)

He shook his head, then followed her toward the back of the building. They walked through the long corridors without saying a thing.

It was colder outside than Chelsea had thought. A gusting wind made it feel more like winter than autumn. She stopped to zip her jacket up to the collar. Then they walked side by side past the teacher parking lot, past the baseball and soccer fields, and into the broad, tree-filled park that stretched behind the school.

Chelsea took a deep breath. “The air smells so good,” she said.

“Especially after breathing the air in school,” he agreed. “I think it's recycled from 1920 or something.”

She laughed. Hey, he has a sense of humor, she thought.

He laughed too, a dry, nearly silent laugh from deep in his throat.

He's really good-looking, she thought.

She raised her eyes to the trees. More leaves had fallen, making the branches wintery and bare. “You know, the woods beyond the park stretch all the way to the river,” she said.

“I'd like to see the river,” he said. “Is there a path through the woods?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I guess. I'm pretty new here myself, you know. We moved to Shadyside at the end of September.”

“You move a lot?” he asked, his expression serious.

“No. Not really,” she told him, her arm bumping against him as they headed through the grass, their sneakers crunching over brown leaves. “My dad had a chance to buy a restaurant here, so we came.”

“You're rich?” he asked and then blushed. “I mean—”

She laughed, more at his embarrassment than at the question. “It's just a tiny coffee shop in the Old Village. And my dad had to take out a big loan to buy it. But it's something he's always wanted.”

They walked in silence for a while.

“You move a lot?” Chelsea asked, trying hard to keep the conversation going.

“Yeah,” he said with some bitterness. She waited for him to say more. But he got a faraway look in his eyes and, staring straight ahead, continued walking in silence.

They followed a narrow, leaf-covered path through the trees. The sky grew darker. It seemed to lower itself over them, darkening the woods.

“It's almost cold enough to snow,” Chelsea said.

Oh, no. Stop it, she scolded herself. Don't talk about the weather.

“I like snow,” he said, turning to grin at her. “It's so pure.”

He stopped in front of a broad white birch tree and tossed his book and binder down at the foot of
the smooth trunk. “Let's leave our stuff here,” he suggested, gesturing toward her backpack. “That looks so heavy.”

“Good idea.” She pulled off the backpack and dropped it beside his stuff. “I feel a thousand pounds lighter.”

“We'll come back this way,” he said, lingering behind her a few paces as the path curved through the trees.

“Hey—I think I can see the river!” Chelsea exclaimed, pointing. “Look!”

She waited for him to catch up. “It's called the Conononka,” she said.

He came up close beside her, smiling, his breath steaming in front of him. She decided she loved the way his dark eyes glowed every time he smiled.

I'm walking with a boy in the woods, she thought happily.

For most girls, that's probably no big deal.

But I've never walked alone with a boy in the woods before.

She smiled at Will for no reason in particular. He returned the smile, then quickly turned his eyes back to the path.

They walked a little farther. The air grew colder as they neared the riverbank. She could hear the rush of the water now, soft under the blowing wind.

“This walk was a good idea,” she said brightly. “Hey—”

She realized he had fallen behind. Turning back, she saw that he had something in his hands. It was a length of gray cord. He had it doubled over and was pulling it taut, then loosening it as he walked.

He held it up when he saw her staring at it. “I just found this,” he said, pointing down at a low shrub. “On the ground over there.” He shrugged and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

It started to snow, an early snow, the first snow of the year, giant white flakes filtering down through the trees. Chelsea opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, hoping to catch a snowflake. But she pulled her tongue back in when she saw Will staring at her.

“Does it usually snow this early in October?” he asked.

“I don't know,” she replied. “Probably.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh. I'd better get home. I can't be late for work.”

“Sorry,” he said, his cheeks reddening. “I didn't mean to get you in trouble or anything.”

“No,” she protested, taking his arm as she struggled to step over a large fallen tree branch. “The walk was great. I enjoyed it.” She smiled at him.

He didn't return the smile. His expression was troubled. He took off ahead of her with long strides.

The snow stopped as quickly as it had begun. The sky brightened a little.

When they reached their belongings at the birch
tree, he stopped suddenly and turned to face her. His dark eyes glowed. They seemed to burn into hers.

He hesitated. Then he asked, “Want to go to a movie or something Saturday night?”

“Yeah. Great!” Chelsea exclaimed. And then blurted out, “My first date!”

She immediately squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment. She bent down and reached for her backpack, hoping against hope that he hadn't heard her say that, that he couldn't see how embarrassed she was now.

Why did she blurt that out?

Why did she always have to be so
uncool?

I want to die, she thought. I just want to sink into the ground here and never be seen again.

Reluctantly she raised her eyes up to his. To her surprise, he was smiling at her warmly.

“Can you keep a secret, Chelsea?” he asked, coming close. “It's my first date too.”

“I'm glad,” she said awkwardly. She wished she could think of something better, more clever to say. But at least his confession made her feel less embarrassed.

“Let's make it a secret date,” he suggested quietly, standing very close, staring into her eyes. “Don't tell anyone. Let's make it our private, secret date. Just for us.”

That's so romantic, she thought.

She felt like leaping high in the air and shouting for joy.

A really good-looking boy had asked her out on a first date.

He was so nice.

And so—honest.

He was shy like she was. And he liked her.

“Okay,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “It'll be our secret, Will. Our secret first date.”

chapter 9
 

T
he next afternoon as Chelsea was practicing her saxophone, the front door opened and her mother came bursting into the living room. Her hair was drenched, her raincoat soaked through.

Chelsea raised her eyes to the window and saw that it was as black as night outside and pouring rain. The snow of the day before had lasted only a few minutes, not long enough to stick. This afternoon Chelsea had been concentrating so hard on her music, she hadn't even been aware of the rainstorm.

“Mom—are you okay?” she cried, rushing across the room to help pull off her dripping raincoat. “Why are you home so early?” She glanced at the clock above the mantel. It was four-thirty.

“Don't ask,” her mother replied wearily. She shivered and turned to Chelsea. “I'm chilled to the bone.”

Chelsea gasped when she saw that her mother's white uniform was stained with dark red blood.

“Mom—what happened?” she cried.

“We had a little accident at the home,” Mrs. Richards said. “One of the patients slipped in the bath and got cut. It looks much worse than it was. Only my spare uniform is here. Upstairs. I had to come all the way home in this downpour to get it.”

“Then you're going back to work?” Chelsea asked, still holding the raincoat.

“Yes. I have to take Alice Brody's shift too. She has the flu.” She headed up the stairs to her room to change. “Oh, look at my shoes. Soaked through, and they're my only pair.”

Chelsea followed her to her room. “You're always at the nursing home, Mom. I never see you anymore.”

“Chelsea, don't start complaining,” her mother said sternly. “I'm not in the mood. Believe me.” She stopped at the door to her room and turned around. “I'll be home Saturday night for dinner. I don't have to go to work until late that night. You and I can have a nice dinner together and chat.”

“No, we can't,” Chelsea said.

Her mother's expression changed to bewilderment.

“I have a date,” Chelsea told her. “With a boy.”

Mrs. Richards's eyes went wide. “Hey, that's great.”

“No wisecrack?” Chelsea asked, finding herself a little disappointed that her mother hadn't cracked her usual sarcastic joke.

“I'm too wet for wisecracks,” her mother said. “Besides, I'm happy for you. I know how lonely you've been.”

As her mother changed into a clean uniform, Chelsea told her about Will, how he was the new boy in her homeroom, how they went for a walk in Shadyside Park, how he seemed shy but nice.

Mrs. Richards, pulling on the starched white skirt, appeared very pleased. “Can't wait to meet him,” she told Chelsea, smiling. She straightened the skirt. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I talked to your dad.”

“And?”

“And he's out of intensive care. He's in a semi-private room. The doctors think he'll be able to come home in a week or two.” She hurried over to Chelsea and gave her a quick, emotion-filled hug. “Isn't that great?”

“It sure is!” Chelsea exclaimed happily. “And that means we can visit him at regular visiting hours.” She glanced at the clock on her mother's bedtable. “Oh, no! I'm going to be late for work.
I'm relieving Kristy tonight, and she really gets steamed if I'm two seconds late.”

“Come on. Get your coat,” Mrs. Richards said, staring into the dresser mirror and giving her hair two quick brushes before hurrying to the door. “I'll drop you off on my way.”

The rain kept most customers away from the coffee shop. A few people straggled in, shaking the water off their coats, rubbing their hands, and shivering from the cold. It was a big night for soups, and chili, and steaming cups of coffee.

But Chelsea spent most of the time sitting in a booth in the back doing her geometry homework. She had nearly finished the last problem when a dark figure slid silently into the booth across the table from her.

“Sparks!” she cried, startled.

He grinned at her, water dripping from his black hair down his forehead. He pulled off his jacket and stuffed it beside him on the seat. He was wearing a faded blue workshirt under the jacket.

“How's it going?” he asked, shaking his head and sending a spray of water onto the table.

Chelsea closed her notebook. “Slow,” she said. She felt a chill. He was staring at her so hard, so intensely. Her stomach suddenly felt fluttery, her throat tight. She glanced to the kitchen. Ernie was
sitting on a stool near the sink, doing a crossword puzzle in a folded-up newspaper.

Chelsea slid out of the booth, eager to get away from his unblinking eyes. “What can I get you?”

“Coffee,” he said, tapping his fingers rapidly on the tabletop. “And a doughnut if they're not too stale.”

“They're from this morning, but I think they're okay,” she told him.

Why does he make me so nervous? she asked herself as she dropped a doughnut onto a plate, then headed to the coffeepot. Is it because I'm attracted to him?

Or is it because there's something strange about him, strange and dangerous?

Does he like me? she wondered. She filled the cup too full. She tilted it and let some pour off the top.

No. He doesn't like me. It's not like I'm pretty or anything. Maybe he's really lonely. Or maybe he's just playing games. Maybe he's secretly laughing at me.

Yes, she decided bitterly. He's probably laughing at me.

She decided to try to find out more about him.

After setting the doughnut and coffee down, she slid back into the booth. He didn't look at all surprised. His expression was blank, unreadable. He took a big bite of the doughnut, flakes of sugar sticking to his lips.

“So where are you from?” Chelsea asked, trying to sound casual.

He chewed, then swallowed, then took a sip of coffee. “From around,” he replied, his dark eyes gleaming.

“Where's that?” Chelsea asked.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Just around.” He took another bite of the doughnut. “I move around a lot.”

“You're not in school?” she asked, determined to get some information from him,
any
information.

“Yes,” he replied quickly.

“Where?” Chelsea asked.

“Well, actually, no,” he said, avoiding her stare. “Dropped out.” He took another sip of coffee, gazing at her over the steaming cup. He grinned. “I'm a high school dropout.”