The Dating Deal

Copyright © Melanie Marks, 2005

All Rights Reserved.

Cover photo © Sweet Expressions Photography & Michele L. Tolley

Cover model:  Aja Marie Gonzalez

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Marks, Melanie, 1967-

The dating deal /  by Melanie Marks

p. cm.

Summary: When the popular Trent suddenly starts to show interest in her, Megan--a devout Mormon and a gifted singer--is alternately thrilled and confused about his attentions.

ISBN 13: 978-0-9829183-0-2

[1. Conduct of life--Fiction.  2. Mormons--Fiction.  3. Singers--Fiction.  4. High schools--Fiction.  5. Schools--Fiction.  6. Christian life--Fiction.]  I. Title

PZ7.M3437Dat 2005

[Fic]--dc22

2005008800

To Chris, Taylor, Josh, and Nicole

A huge, gigantic “thank you” to Tammy Daybell for believing in my book, and another to my wonderful family for being supportive while I wrote it.  Thank you!

“And that concludes my report,” I said with relief.

All I had left of my oral presentation was one little technicality, one I was tempted to skip.  Only I couldn’t. 

I looked out at the sea of my third period classmates or pretended to, anyway.  Really, my eyes just swept across the wall at the back of the room, avoiding making any sort of eye contact or actually seeing anyone.  (That imagining your audience is only wearing underwear just never worked for me.) 

“Uh … any questions?”

Aspen Bower quickly raised her hand.  “I have one, Megan.”

I groaned inwardly.  Of course Aspen would have a question for me.  She probably sat through my whole presentation searching her ditzy highlighted-blond brain until she came up with something I couldn’t possibly answer.  That was so Aspen.  She was Laura Nolen’s best friend.  And Laura Nolen was now dating my ex-boyfriend, The Back-Stabbing Snake (or better known to the rest of Jefferson High as Conner, but whatever). 

Both Aspen and Laura seemed to have it in for me.  But truthfully, come on, shouldn’t it have been the other way around?!  He dumped
me
for
her
.

I gritted my teeth.  “Yes, Aspen?”

“Now that Conner dumped you, who are you going to the spring dance with?”

I could feel my face turn bright red, not that it wasn’t pretty much that shade already.  I hated standing at the front of the class.  Having everyone stare at me.  Giving me their semi-undivided attention—though now, thanks to Aspen, I had everyone’s full attention.  Trust me, my audience was suddenly captivated.  It was like a nightmare come true. 

I wished I could shock the catty smirk off Aspen’s smug face.  I wished I could announce to her and the whole class that I was going to the dance with a hot guy, someone way cooler than Conner.  But the brutal truth was, I wasn’t going to the dance.  With anyone.  I was far from over Conner.  I was still licking my wounds from our break-up. 

But having to admit that to Aspen, I would have rather spontaneously combusted.  Only, what could I do?  Make up a guy?  Actually, I considered doing that.  Knowing it was lame wasn’t what stopped me.  What stopped me was knowing I’d probably get caught in the lie and look even more pathetic.

So instead I stammered, “I’m, uh …”

But then a miracle happened.  A voice came from out of nowhere, like an angel, sort of.

“She’s going with me,” the voice announced.  It was like an answer to my silent prayer.

 I didn’t care who the guy was—a dork, a nerd, a frog.  I didn’t care.  I was so grateful for whoever said it I would have gone with him no matter what, just because he saved me.

So I blurted out, “Yeah, I’m going with …”

I looked across the room to see who had mercifully come to my rescue.  But I froze when I saw who it was, because it wasn’t a sweet, heroic dork.  It was Trent Ryan.  Trent Ryan!  Suddenly, I didn’t feel relief anymore.  Suddenly, I felt panic.  Trent was considered “cool” at Jefferson High, and cool people from Jefferson scared me.  Even worse, to me, Trent wasn’t only “cool” he was “super cool.” 

Trent was in a cool band.  And he had cool hair.  And he was adorable, and handsome.  All of that kind of stuff.  And he dated popular girls: beauty queens and cheerleaders.  Not shy girls like me.  Girls who blushed if he looked in their general direction.  So, what was he doing?  Why was he saving me?  I was afraid he didn’t mean it.  Afraid he was only making a joke to compound my turmoil, only he didn’t look as though he was making a joke.  He looked completely sincere.

Staring into Trent’s warm brown eyes, I had to take a leap of faith.  Trust him.  His earnest gaze seemed to be telling me to do that.   And, anyway, what else could I do?  Say, “No, I’m not going with Trent”?  Admit that my date for next Friday night was a bowl of Chunky Monkey ice cream?  Admit that my big plans were to bawl my eyes out?

Locked in Trent’s gaze, I prayed I could trust him.  Prayed that he wasn’t only cool, but nice.

I swallowed.  “I’m going with Trent.”

That immediately knocked the air out of Aspen’s sails. 

She whipped around to Trent accusingly.  “Since when do you go to school dances?” she asked.  And then I remembered—for the briefest of moments, sophomore year, Aspen and Trent had been a couple.  They broke up when he refused to take her to a school dance. 

“Since I met the right girl,” he answered.

I blinked.  Huh? 

The rest of the class seemed just as shocked.  They made shocked noises like, “Oohh” and “Ahh” and … shocked noises.

Aspen only narrowed her eyes, glaring at Trent, seeming to say, “I hate you.”  But she didn’t say anything else aloud.  Instead she turned back in her seat, staring straight ahead.  Boy, she looked mad.

Oh no, what was I in the middle of?  Drama scenes weren’t really my thing.  I just wanted to get through my presentation and back to my seat.  That was it. 

“Can I—uh, sit down now?” I asked our teacher.

“Sure.  Good job, Megan,” Ms. Wright said.  As I scurried to my seat, she added, “Have fun at the dance.”

The words hit me like a thunderbolt.  I was going to the dance!!!

I glanced over at my best friend, Nina.  She gave me her way-to-go-girl smile, and I knew what she was thinking:  eighth grade.  Back then Nina and I both had huge, fanatical crushes on Trent.  He was new at the time and we read an article interviewing him in our school paper.  It said that he liked peanut butter cookies.  So Nina and I started making them for him—batches and batches of them—anonymously.  We would leave them on his doorstep and run away.  And sometimes we would fill his locker with them—literally
fill
it.  We were kind of weird back then.  But it was fun, and he never found out it was us.

Of course, that was back in eighth grade.  I had pretty much gotten over my crush on Trent by now.  Pretty much.  Except whenever I would hear him sing in his band.  Then it was like eighth grade all over again.  I would get the urge to make batches of peanut butter cookies, but I learned to resist.  After all, I’d never even spoken to the guy, except once.  And that was way back at the beginning of the school year.  It had been a nice conversation, sweet really, but not exactly something to write a romance novel about.  And it was only that once.  So, I kept my peanut butter cookie urges in check and went on with my life, hardly ever thinking about Trent. 

Until now.

Now I couldn’t take my mind off him.  I sat in government class totally oblivious to Zack Fry’s oral presentation.  I couldn’t tell you for the life of me what his report was on, or if he was even speaking English.  My brain was in a total “Trent fog.”  All I could think about was Trent.  Trent, Trent, Trent.  My knight in shining armor. 

Was I actually going to the dance with him?  Was that for real?  Or did he simply see a damsel in distress and decide to come to her rescue?

I sat through the rest of class convincing myself Trent wasn’t really taking me to the spring dance.  He had simply helped me out of an embarrassing moment and I was nothing but grateful to him, but we
weren’t
going to the dance.  We weren’t.  There was no possible way.  Trent wasn’t that kind of guy, a going-to-the-school-dance kind.  He had a creed, a motto.  Everyone knew it.  It went like this:  “I don’t do school dances.”  It was like a rule with him, a rule that demolished astronomical gobs of his short, fleeting romances.

So, I sat through class trying to smack myself with reality, trying to get a grip.  Trent didn’t go to school dances.  He just didn’t.  And if he ever did, it wouldn’t be with me.  I wasn’t being humble or pessimistic or anything like that.  I was being reasonable.  As I’ve already pointed out, we had never actually spoken before—except for that one time at the beginning of the school year.  That conversation had clued me into the fact that he was a nice guy, but he hadn’t exactly seemed especially interested in me, though maybe he had seemed a
little
interested.  Only I hadn’t been sure if that was for real or simply wishful thinking.  And probably the wishful thinking was it, since he never found the need to talk to me again. 

Sitting in class, oblivious to my classmates’ presentations, I thought back to that day at the beginning of the school year, the day Trent had waited for me after third period.

“Hey, Megan,” he had said as I was coming out of Government.

I looked around, thinking he must be talking to a different Megan—Megan Rollings or someone.  Only Megan Rollings wasn’t around.  Neither was any other Megan.  Only me.  Still, it took him grasping my arm before I acknowledged him ’cause I had no idea he even knew my name.

“This is for you,” Trent said handing me a gift wrapped in purple paper.  I stared at it a moment, amazed.  Speechless.  Trent Ryan was giving me a gift? 

He grinned at my puzzled expression.  “It’s not from me.  It’s from my sister, Wendy.”

I widened my eyes.  “Wendy’s your sister?”

Over the summer, I had worked at a day camp for children with Down Syndrome.  Wendy had been my very favorite camper.  She was so sweet and fun.  She had talked my ear off about her older brother, Charlie.  But I didn’t recall her mentioning Trent.  Not once.  Believe me, I’d remember if she had.

“Yeah.”  Trent smiled, as though he was really fond of Wendy.  That brought my residual crush feelings for him gurgling up to the surface.  “Wendy, she’s my buddy.”

“And you have a brother?  Charlie?”

“Oh.”  Trent looked around the crowded hallway, and then said, sort of confidential-like, “I’m Charlie.”

I looked at him with confusion.

He smiled again.  “Charles is my first name.  Trent, my second, but obviously, I go by that, except at home.  There I’m Charlie.”