Mine: A Love Story (5 page)

“You look amazing,” Chris says finally. “Absolutely amazing.”

The smile is back on his face. I notice his eyes keep straying down to my legs and my boots. A moment ago I wanted to disappear. Now I’m floating. I feel like I’m in heaven. Thank you, Marissa!

“Thanks,” I manage to say. “You look pretty good yourself.”

“I’d ask for a quick tour,” he jokes, “but I can see the whole place from here.”

“Very funny,” I say. I take a quick glance over my shoulder. “It is pretty small, isn’t it? But I’m
very
happy to be here, believe me. Besides, we can’t all live in the Ritz.”

The Ritz is the nickname given by students to Sedgewick Hall, where Chris lives. It’s the newest dorm on campus, and it’s got nothing but suites, with each student getting his own bedroom. All the furnishings are also new, of course. Since dorm choices are given by seniority, no way can a freshman get into the Ritz. Not that I’d want to spend the extra money, anyhow. And Sedgewick is way over on the edge of campus, much farther from most of the classrooms than my dorm.

“No, we can’t,” Chris says. He flashes his teasing grin. “But if you behave yourself, I just might give you a tour one of these days. No charge.”

Uh, oh. Alarm bells begin to go off in my head. Is he
already
thinking about getting me back to his place? I am sooo not ready for that. My mind flashes ahead to the end of tonight’s date, imagining a totally awkward scene. How do I decline his advances, without seeming like a scared fifteen-year-old? Or hurting his feelings?
Calm down girl
, I tell myself,
he’s just making a joke. You’re getting waaay ahead of yourself.

I look at him more closely. Happily, I don’t see any hint of a double meaning in his expression. Yeah, he’s just making a joke… I hope. Sometimes, it’s really difficult being me. My imagination is usually my own worst enemy—conjuring up disasters that never come to be. I remember something we learned in high school that Mark Twain said: “I’m an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.” That’s me, all right. I’ve endured a few real troubles, sure, but most existed simply in my mind. I wonder if I’ll ever outgrow that. Right now, it doesn’t seem like it.

Chris seems blissfully unaware of my inner turmoil. I am profoundly grateful for that. It’s bad enough that I have to be inside my head. I certainly wouldn’t wish it on him.

“Do you like living in Sedgewick?” I ask, changing the subject without really changing it.

“Yeah, I do. One of my roommates is kind of an a-hole, but the other two are cool. Whenever he gets to be too much to take, I just retreat to my room. Luckily, he spends a lot of time away from the dorm.”

“Marissa and I get along great, so I don’t have to worry about anything like that.”

Chris glances at his watch. “You ready to go?” he asks. “The movie starts in twenty-five minutes. If we want to have time to get some popcorn, we’d better get going.”

“Yep, I’m all set.”

I pull the door closed and follow Chris across to the elevator. The door slides open almost as soon as he pushes the button. There’s a girl inside I don’t recognize, but she makes no move to come out. I guess she got in on the way up, even though she’s going down. She gives Chris an approving look, but he barely glances at her. He certainly doesn’t seem to have noticed the way she looked at him. I like that a lot.

Just to be safe, though, I edge closer against Chris, making sure this girl knows he’s mine. Mine for tonight, anyhow, I remind myself.

The movie was great—funny and romantic, just the way I like. Chris and I are now sitting across from each other in a booth in the back corner of a popular pizza joint a block from campus. The red vinyl benches are worn and lumpy, but I don’t care. The varnished wood tabletop bears the scratched markings of decades of young revelers. I see several hearts with initials carved inside—I wonder if my initials will ever appear inside a heart somewhere. With my track record, I’ll probably have to carve them myself, along with a fake guy’s initials.

The restaurant is jammed with students. I’m pretty sure many of them are over twenty-one, because it’s pretty boisterous in here. It’s hard to imagine this kind of volume without alcohol playing at least some part. Chris and I have to speak up to hear each other over the raucous chatter.

“The movie was really good,” I say. “You made a great choice, Chris. Thanks.”

“Well, I was pretty sure you wouldn’t be into car chases and explosions,” he says, “so that narrowed the choices a bit.”

“Did you like it, too?” I ask.

“Yeah, I did. I thought it was pretty funny.”

A cute pony-tailed waitress bustles over to take our order. She’s almost certainly a fellow State student. She smiles and asks what we want.

“Let’s see if we can agree on a pizza as well as we did on the movie,” Chris says. “What do you like?”

“Pepperoni,” I say.

“Pepperoni is good,” Chris says. “And how about some mushrooms, too?”

“Perfect. I love mushrooms.”

“Pepperoni and mushrooms it is, then,” he tells the waitress, who jots the order down on her pad and scurries away.

“That was pretty easy,” Chris says.

“Were you worried I’d be one of those girls who’d want nothing but veggies on her pizza?” I ask.

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “Especially since you’re so slender.”

I’m glad he said “slender” instead of “skinny.” Guys like slender, I think. Skinny, not so much.

“What’s a pizza without at least a little grease,” I say, smiling.

Chris smiles back. “You’ll get no argument from me on that.”

We spend another ten minutes talking about the movie, laughing together at some of the funnier parts, until our waitress returns and places our pizza on the table between us. It smells delicious, and I can feel the heat radiating up onto my face.

“Enjoy your pizza,” she says.

Maybe I’m imagining it, but her eyes seem to linger on Chris a moment more than necessary. She spins away and leaves before I can be sure. Chris gives no sign he noticed anything, so maybe I was imagining it.
Get a grip, girl!
First the girl in the elevator, and now the waitress. I’m becoming way too paranoid. And even if she did sneak a bit of a look, so what? Would I rather date someone no other girls want to look at?

Chris lifts a piece of pizza from the platter and deposits it onto my plate.

“Enjoy,” he says as he grabs a piece for himself.

I take a small, careful bite. It’s really hot, and despite my caution, I burn the roof of my mouth a bit. The pizza is deliciously greasy, though. Just the way I like it. Well worth a little pain.

“Mmmmm, it’s really good,” I say.

“Sure is,” Chris agrees.

His eyes fasten on mine. His eyes are gorgeous, but I’d rather look at them when he’s not looking directly back into mine. I look down at the slice of pizza in my hands instead and prepare to take another bite.

“Tastes almost as good as you look,” he adds.

The pizza stops halfway to my mouth. I can feel myself blushing. I glance up at Chris for a moment, but then shift my gaze from his face and stare into the flickering red glass candle jar on the table. How do I respond to a statement like that? Part of me is really happy he likes the way I look, but a bigger part of me is uncomfortable with the flattery. I don’t even know if he’s being serious or just joking around. I hope it’s a little of both. I wish I was one of those girls who could reply to something like that with a simple “thanks.” Life would be sooo much easier.

I put the pizza down and lean back against the cushioned booth. Chris is looking at me expectantly, a half-smile on his face. I guess I have to respond somehow, but I have no idea what to say.

An idea pops into my head. What the heck, I think. It worked once.

“Red, blue, green, black,” I say.

Chris bursts out laughing, so loudly that the couple at the table next to our booth both turn and look at him. He puts his napkin over his mouth and waves an apology to them.

“Good one,” he says to me when he brings his laughter under control. “Touché.”

He shakes his head, still grinning, and then returns to his pizza. I happily take another bite of mine. Yum! I hope I look
half
as good as it tastes….

We’re standing outside my dorm. Our first date is drawing to a close.

It’s a beautiful night. Above us, a fingernail moon floats high in a sky pinpricked by a flickering canopy of stars. The soft, rhythmic chirping of an invisible army of crickets buzzes all around us, and I can hear “Our Song” by Taylor Swift playing softly from somewhere in the dorm. How fitting. The couple in the song had the sound of a slamming screen door as their song—I guess Chris and my song will be the music of the crickets. I kind of like that. Much better than a slamming door, for sure.

The air is warm and slightly moist on my cheek, like a chaste kiss. I’ve been fairly relaxed most of the night—relaxed for me, at least—but I’m beginning to feel nervous again. What do I say if he asks to come up? Or if he tries to kiss me? And what if he doesn’t try to kiss me? That might be even worse! My fingers begin stroking through my hair.

I sense that Chris is a tiny bit nervous, too, which makes me feel a little better.

“I had a great time tonight,” he says.

“Me, too.”

I did have a really good time, and I was pretty sure Chris enjoyed himself as much as I did, but it’s nice to hear it confirmed. “It was really fun,” I add.

“Does that mean you’ll say yes if I ask you out again?”

Of course I would!
I scream inside my head. But that’s not a cautious girl reply. And what’s with that question, anyhow? It’s not like Chris to be so indirect. I guess I was right—he
is
a little nervous. I decide to be indirect, too.

“I might,” I say, smiling. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

He grins. “I hate waiting. Would you like to go out Friday night?”

I force myself to wait a second or two. I don’t want to appear
too
anxious.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

“Great. It’s a date, then.”

He leans forward. Oh my god, I think he’s going to kiss me. What do I do now?

I turn my head slightly, offering him my cheek, but at the same time, he twists his head sideways, aiming for my cheek. But my cheek isn’t there anymore. My mouth is.

Our lips meet, for a brief instant, because he was just going for a quick peck on the cheek. Still, his lips feel wonderful.

He pulls back, laughing. “Well, that was awkward,” he says.

“Yeah, it was,” I say. I want to add “but nice,” but I don’t dare.

“I’ll call you about Friday,” he says. He puts his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t move this time.”

He leans forward and kisses me on the cheek, letting his lips linger there for a moment. It’s not really possible that his lips are burning my skin, is it?

“That’s better,” he says. “Good night, Heather.”

I turn and go inside, smiling. That was a pretty perfect ending to a pretty perfect night.

I’m pacing back and forth in my room, too wound up to go to bed, too wound up even to sit down. I keep replaying our date in my head. It’s ecstasy and it’s agony. Ecstasy from remembering how Chris’s eyes sparkled, how easy it was to talk to him, how much we laughed. We had so much fun. So why can’t I just stop there, replaying all the fun? No, not me. I have to visit the dark side, agonizing over everything he said, everything he did, trying to figure out what it meant, wondering if he really likes me as much as I think he does. As much as I hope he does. Sure, he asked me out again, but maybe that’s just less awkward than saying goodnight without any mention of a second date. I just don’t know—I’ve got so little experience with first dates.

Some lines from Taylor Swift’s “Am I Ready for Love” pop into my head. I wonder if I’m ready for everything that goes with being in love—the joy, the pain, the wondering. She even calls it a game—and I’m terrible at games. Ugh…I’m not ready for anything!

I think back to how our date ended, with a kiss on the cheek. Is that good? Or bad? Did it mean Chris didn’t want to move too fast, that he sensed I was nervous and he was being considerate? That would be awesome. Or did it mean he didn’t feel romantic with me? Maybe he doesn’t find me sexy. Maybe those yoga pants and boots make my legs look too skinny. Maybe it was just a “let’s be friends” kiss? God, I hope not. I am so not going down that road again, doing the best buddies thing. I have to think I learned something from my time with Justin.

I’d love to distract myself with my guitar, but it’s after midnight, and the walls are thin. I checked next door, but the door was closed and no light showed under it. Stacie and Jill are either still out somewhere, or they’re sleeping. Maybe if I play real softly, it would be okay.

Who am I kidding? I’m too jacked up to play softly. So no guitar. Now what? No way will I be able to sleep anytime soon.

I turn on the television, hoping to find distraction there. I flip aimlessly through the channels, finally settling on Saturday Night Live. It’s pretty funny, and for the first time since I said goodnight to Chris, my mind focuses on something other than my date.

But the show ends much too soon, and I can’t find anything else worth watching. I wonder if Marissa is still awake. Maybe I’ll text her. My phone buzzes, as if it’s read my mind. I bet it’s Marissa, wanting the 411 on how my date went. Got an hour, girl?

I check the text. It’s not from Marissa—it’s from Chris! “Hey, RBGB…I really had fun 2night. Hope U did 2. ttys.” What the heck is RBGB? It sounds like a connection port on my laptop or something. Suddenly, I get it, and I crack up. RBGB equals Red, Blue, Green, Black. Oh my god—he’s too funny!

My brain finally slows down from overdrive. He wouldn’t have texted if he wasn’t interested in me. A peaceful smile stretches my lips. I think maybe I can go to sleep now. One last thing to do first, though.

“Ditto” I reply.

It’s nearly ten o’clock when I finally drag myself out of bed. It took me a little while to fall asleep, but once I nodded off, I was out for the night. If I dreamed at all, I don’t remember it. I check my phone, calling up last night’s text, just to make sure THAT wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t. I smile again at the RBGB thing.

I go downstairs for a quick breakfast. There are eight or ten other girls there, but none that I know, so I wolf down a bowl of Cheerios over in the corner and head back up to my room.

I’ve got the whole day to myself. Marissa won’t be back until later this afternoon. It’s beautiful outside—warm and sunny. I think I’ll go for a long walk. There’s a big county park not too far from campus that’s supposed to have lots of pretty trails. That should be fun—I haven’t taken a real walk since I got to school last week. I think about texting Chris to see if he wants to join me. Yeah, right. Marissa might be able to do that, but no way I can, not at this point, anyhow. Besides, I don’t want to seem too eager. Aren’t girls supposed play a little hard to get? I wish dating came with a manual.

I slip into a pair of black exercise shorts and a white tank top and put on my Nikes. I think about taking my iPod, but most of my walk will be in the woods and I want to listen to the nature sounds. I grab a bottle of water and head out the door.

The park is less than a mile from campus, so in fifteen minutes I’m turning into the entrance. I skirt the edge of a gravel parking lot and a shaded picnic area dotted with wooden tables and metal barbecue grills. Beyond the picnic area is the park’s central attraction, a large lake. Rowboats and paddleboats for rent are tied to a short pier on the near shore. A few boaters are already out on the lake, floating idly, some with fishing poles hanging over the side. I stop and watch for a moment, wondering what kind of fish they’re catching. Or if they’re catching anything at all. I’ve never done any fishing, but it sure looks peaceful and relaxing. I think actually catching something might ruin that, at least for me.

I continue with my walk. Over on a large grass field to my left, a group of shirtless young men are playing soccer. I bet Chris looks good without his shirt. The thought makes me blush, even though there’s no one near me.
Down, girl
, I tell myself.
Take it easy
.

Other than the soccer players and boaters, I see only a few other people in the park. A man and woman about the same age as my parents are sitting in folding chairs near one of the grills. Thin white smoke wafts up from the grill, and the succulent smell of slow-roasting meat makes my mouth water. From the amount of supplies covering three of the picnic tables, I’m thinking the couple is making preparations for a fairly big gathering.

The park’s relative emptiness doesn’t surprise me. It’s still not even eleven o’clock yet. I’ll bet by lunchtime the place will be much more crowded, with the day as beautiful as it is. Lots of people probably slept in today, or are still sitting in church.

Up ahead, several trails lead up into the woods, just as the park’s web page promised. There’s one that circles the lake along the top of the ridge, and that’s the one I mean to try this morning. A carved sign on a wooden post guides me to the path I want. A second sign at the trailhead informs hikers that it’s a three-mile loop. Counting the walk to and from the park, that will make about five miles—just about perfect. I forge ahead. This is going to be fun.

The dirt surface of the trail is dry and hard, making walking easy. It slopes upward into the trees, but not steeply enough to slow me down. The woods are beautiful—lush with end of summer growth. In amongst the taller trees, I see lots of gnarled dogwoods. The blossoms are long gone, replaced by shiny red berries. The berries look like they could be tasty, but I know they’re poisonous. A few berries won’t kill you, but they could make you awfully sick. I think there might be a broken heart song in there somewhere—comparing love to poison berries or something. It’s too bad I don’t write music. Not really, though. I’m much too happy to write a broken heart song.

The air feels at least five degrees cooler in the shade of the trees. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves, and birds are whistling cheerfully to one another from the higher branches. I wish I knew what they were saying.

Something rustles through the bushes off to my left. Probably just a squirrel or a rabbit. But it could be a deer, so I stop for a moment, my eyes trying to pierce the undergrowth to see what it is. The leaves are too thick, though, and whatever it was makes its escape unseen.

I resume my walk, climbing steadily for almost a mile. The trail is steeper now. I catch a few glimpses of the lake below me to the right, but for the most part my view is blocked by the trees. Finally, I reach the top of the ridge. There’s a break in the trees here, and I have an unobstructed view down to the lake. It’s breathtaking. The bright blue sky reflects off the water, giving it a beautiful blue hue, and gentle ripples stirred by the breeze sparkle gold in the sunlight. There are already more boats on the water than when I began my walk.

I’ve worked up a good sweat and I’m breathing heavily from the climb, so I stop to take a long swallow of water and to admire the view. It doesn’t get much better than this. I spend about ten minutes enjoying the beauty and the peaceful quiet before continuing my hike. The trail follows the top of the ridge for nearly a mile, so I get lots more views of the lake before the path finally turns back down the hill. All downhill from here, I tell myself.

As I guessed, the picnic area is much more crowded than when I passed by less than an hour ago. The smells of cooking food are stronger and more varied now, and my stomach begins to rumble with hunger. I guess a bowl of cereal isn’t quite enough to fuel such a good workout, despite what the commercials tell us. Maybe if I make myself look hungry enough, someone will invite me to join them for lunch!

Alas, I make it past all the tables and grills without a single invite. When I get back to the dorm I’m definitely heading straight to the cafeteria. As I exit the park, I realize I haven’t thought about Chris for almost an hour—since the shirtless thing. Hooray for me!