Текст книги "Indisputable"
Автор книги: A. M. Wilson
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
“Cole and I have been shooting some pool for the last couple of hours. I’ve just been killin’ time until you called, but you never did.”
“Sorry about that, I kind of forgot you were coming over,” I tell him honestly. The look of surprise on his face isn’t hard to miss and I almost feel bad. Almost.
“Really? I mean, yeah, you are pretty busy, huh,” he quickly recovers.
“School, work, sleep, repeat,” I laugh. He leans into me, wrapping his arm around the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him.
“You forgot Wyatt,” he says, before taking my mouth with his own. We sink down in the bed together and get lost in our mutual distraction.
My alarm blares early, too early for how late I was awake last night. Wyatt must have snuck out after I dozed off. Normally, I kick him out, but I was so tired last night. It’s nice to know he didn’t try to stick around. I lie in bed for a few minutes, allowing myself to wake up fully before padding off to run a hot shower.
After I’m showered, dressed, and presentable, I leave my apartment to meet Emerson at the local coffee shop, The Jittery Bean, for breakfast. It’s our ritual, has been since one of us could drive. Once a week we meet before school to catch up and unwind. Since I work most days after school, we don’t have time to hang out. Sometimes, I wonder how we’ve managed to stay friends all this time.
I approach the counter, a semi-circle of lacquered hardwood lined with dozens of treats, pastries, and scones, and order a white chocolate mocha and a blueberry muffin. With the crappy fuel injectors fixed on my car last week and not getting paid until Friday, money is tight. And I know this, but it doesn’t stop me from eyeing the egg and sausage biscuits they have in a display case to my right.
“Would you like one?” the friendly cashier asks me, probably noticing the drool practically running down my chin.
“No thanks, just the coffee and muffin,” I tell her, slightly embarrassed.
“4.23 then.” She’s smiling at me, but I can’t help feeling judged. She must think I’m really poor or something, can’t even afford the breakfast sandwich I was staring at longingly. I smile back at her, shoving a crumpled five dollar bill in her outstretched hand. She gives me the change, and once my order is ready, I huff off to the back corner booth where Em is waiting for me.
“Hey girl,” she greets as I take a seat.
“Mornin’.”
“How was your night?”
“It was pretty typical. Quiet for the most part. What did you wind up doing?” I ask, while blowing on the rim of my mug.
“Not much. I actually had homework last night! Can you believe that? English. Some, what-are-your-goals essay. Took me two hours,” she groans dramatically. I can’t help but laugh
“I knew you’d hate that English class. And Mrs. Bergson is a bitch, so you know.”
“Ugh, I know!” she exclaims. “She already snapped at me for texting in class yesterday. Threatened to take my phone away. She’ll have to pry it out of my dead lifeless fingers first.” She drops her head, shaking her platinum blonde curls as she sighs.
I startle as a figure steps up to me in my peripheral vision. Looking up, I meet the dark brown eyes of Mr. Ryan. He’s holding something out to me, wrapped in light brown paper.
“Um, yes?” I ask, completely bewildered why he’s standing over me like this. He gives me a small smile, probably laughing at how ridiculous I look.
“I thought you might want this,” he says, gesturing to his outstretched hand. I drop my eyes to the object, recognizing it as he continues, “I overheard you telling the cashier you didn’t want it, but you looked like you were going to break the display case to get one.” The bastard is definitely laughing at me.
I don’t take the stupid breakfast sandwich from his hand. Even though the smell is getting to me from the wrapper, and it smells freakin’ delicious, like warm heaven and gooey, melty cheese. I’m definitely drooling now. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest, and raise my eyebrow at him, sneering from the sandwich back up to his face.
“Trying to buy my kindness, Mr. Ryan?”
He shake his head, clearly not amused by my behavior. “No, Miss Krause. Skipping breakfast is bad for the body. The repercussions include: lacking the ability to think quickly, low energy, and moodiness. Seeing as I’m forced to spend not only one, but two class periods with you, I’d prefer if you were not cranky.” He slaps the damn sandwich down on the table, and says, “See you later,” before retreating out the door.
“Ass,” I mutter under my breath as I watch him walk away. I wish I could go back in time and tell myself to stay home the night my car broke down. It would have saved me a lot of trouble.
Remembering I’m not alone, I look across the table to find Em staring with her mouth hanging open in shock.
“Who was that? He was hot!”
Gag me.
“That—is Mr. Ryan, my calculus teacher.” And the number one pain in my ass as of yesterday. My series of bad luck just keeps growing.
“Why do you have to spend two classes with him?”
I haven’t had the chance to fill Emerson in about my day yesterday. “Sorry, Em. I forgot to tell you, but I won’t be able to spend study hall with you for a while.”
“What, why?”
“Um, I sort of pissed off Mr. Ryan yesterday and stormed out of class, and he called Mr. Stephenson. Now I’m stuck being his second hour TA for the next two weeks.”
Her look reflects the disgust I’m feeling inside. I fill her in, every glorified detail, cringing inside at my own behavior. Except, of course, the kiss. I’ll take that knowledge to my own grave.
“That’s bullshit! What a dick,” she says when I’m finished. I nod my head enthusiastically as I reach for the breakfast sandwich. Slowly, delicately, I peel back the paper to reveal the contents inside. Perfect, gooey, not even squished in the slightest. “Wait—you’re going to eat that? It came from the enemy!”
I smirk at my best friend. “Hey, food is food and this muffin is not enough to tie me over until lunch. Besides, I need to have my wits about me if I’m going to be spending second period with the jerk.”
CHAPTER SIX
Mr. Ryan
I hit the gym to lift and blow off some frustrations before I have to be to school. My schedule doesn’t have a first hour class, so I don’t need to be there until 9:15. As nice as it is to have a late start, that also means for the next two weeks I will spend my first class and last class of the day with The Brat. This semester is off to a great start.
Since Trey isn’t here this morning, my mind begins to wander throughout my set. It seems to have only one train of thought: Tatum.
My latest assessment of her is an understatement. Brat doesn’t begin to cover the childish immaturity she encompasses. What the hell was I thinking? Last week, she seemed like an intelligent, well rounded woman. Sure, there were a few moments of self-consciousness and anxiety that threw me for a loop, but beyond that she seemed…normal. And here I thought I was a good judge of character.
She couldn’t even accept a simple, kind gesture from me, and I haven’t even done anything wrong. She stormed away from me. She rudely called me out. The only thing I’m guilty of is standing by while she left me in a dark, deserted parking lot after the most magnetic kiss of my life. Evidently kissing her was a colossal mistake.
I’m so damn stupid. I watched from the doorway while she struggled with herself to not buy breakfast, and then I go and buy it for her in some kind of what, truce? Jesus, I must have looked like a fucking idiot. Her friend couldn’t stop starting at me, probably thought I was trying to woo Tatum with my gift of suitable breakfast material. I just couldn’t help but remember her struggle with money at the diner. Some deep seated internal instinct simply wanted to help.
These next two weeks are going to be a disaster if I have to see her twice a day. Maybe she’ll come down with the flu, or mono. Put her out of school for a week or two.
Though, if I were honest with myself, I’d miss seeing her delectable little body swaying around my classroom twice a day. Although the sarcasm she spews is annoying at best, there’s a small part of me that enjoys her challenging me.
I need to get a grip. I can’t think of her that way. I was pissed when she ran away from me, but she wasn’t my student then. Now she is. Thoughts like those are so damn wrong.
After a quick shower, I dress in slacks, a navy blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to my elbows, and a tie. Because of yesterday’s events, I make sure to arrive 15 minutes before the start of class, giving myself ample time to prepare for today’s lesson. And a small part of me wants to prove a point.
The classroom is on the second floor and the door opens into the back center of the room. Six columns of metal desks fill the open floor and face the white board hanging on the wall in the front. My own desk is a basic hunk of light colored wood that I moved off to the left side of the whiteboard when I first started. Originally, it was on the right side of the classroom beside the rows of desks, but I didn’t like not being able to see my students’ faces. I have an ancient desktop computer, a stapler, and a cup of pens covering the surface. The walls are bare, and in the front right corner sits an ancient projector machine. That’s it. The room is boring and plain, but it’s math class, what does one really expect?
This Algebra II class is mostly sophomores with a few advanced freshmen. Today I have a semester pretest so I can gauge the level of my students. It’s nice to get a grasp on who’s ahead and who needs a little more help right from the get-go.
The warning bell rings, and I pull the crisp papers fresh off the copier from my brief case, settling them on the corner of my desk. I stay seated, watching as students begin filtering in, giving small hellos and nods of my head as they choose their seats. Unfortunately, I don’t miss the flirtatious grins and giggles erupting behind the hands of several of the female students. Far from flattering, I find myself becoming annoyed. And as I didn’t think my annoyance couldn’t take on another level, in walks Miss Krause, looking as arrogant as ever.
“Okay class, let’s settle down,” I start, trying to quiet the chatty students.
“Anything for you, Mr. Ryan,” one young girl sporting way too much makeup calls out. I laugh with discomfort, shoving my hands into my pockets so I don’t start waving them around. I tend to get a bit animated when I’m flustered. Even through my embarrassment, I don’t miss the unladylike snort from close behind me.
“Alright, let’s get started.” I pick up the papers off my desk, finding Miss Krause standing behind me, quite awkwardly and seriously distracting. “Why don’t you sit down?” I offer.
“And where should I do that?” she sneers at me, with that glorious attitude of hers. Christ, she’s difficult. I feel sorry for her mother.
“There. Sit at my desk and show me you can behave yourself,” I tell her, while I grab a stool for myself to sit on. “Okay, class. As we discussed yesterday, I have the pretest here.” I wave the stack of papers in the air to the sound of many groans and protests.
“But it’s the second day of class!”
“And tomorrow is the third, and Friday is the fourth and so on...Mr…?”
“Thompson. Ben Thompson.”
“Right, Mr. Thompson. This is not a typical test. It is a test of your abilities. As I mentioned yesterday, this is a tool so I can get an idea how much you already know. It will help me determine if someone might need a little extra help, or if someone is already ahead of the group. My goal here is to make sure each one of you is challenged individually.” Pausing to look around the room, one girl slowly raises her hand in the air. “Yes? Your name, please?” The young girl blushes—actually blushes—when I acknowledge her.
“My name’s Megan,” she says shyly, and when she doesn’t continue, I prompt her.
“Yes Megan, did you have a question?”
“Um, yes. Um, who’s that?” she asks, gesturing to my TA. I give her a brief smile before turning around to look at Miss Krause, and find her texting fiercely on her phone.
“Put the phone away!” I snap, exasperated with this girl. She looks up at me coldly, before slipping the phone back into her back pocket. “Come here, please,” I request through tight lips. She complies, sauntering over to where I’m seated.
“This is Miss Krause. She is going to be my teaching assistant for the next couple of weeks.”
“My name is Tatum. I’m a senior. This is a punishment for me, so don’t expect me to be your friend,” she finishes her introduction for me. I groan inwardly. She couldn’t have been more unfriendly if she had started spouting profanities during her little speech.
“Thank you, Tatum,” I reply, emphasizing her first name. “Please hand out the tests for me. While she does that, are there any more questions?” I receive several shakes of heads and I take a seat behind my desk. “Then you may begin. Please bring your papers to my desk when you are finished.”
The room quickly quiets of chatter and I try forcing myself to relax. Just being in the same room as Tatum has me wound up tight. Turning on my computer, I check the sport scores from last night’s baseball game, glancing up periodically to check for any cheaters. Not that it particularly matters since the test isn’t graded, but it’s the principle of it. After reading a recap, since I was too busy with Melissa to watch the game, I log into my personal email out of habit. It’s not like I have anyone to email me anyway, but there’s a new message in my inbox.
Speak of the devil. I click the link, surprised to see a message from Melissa. She sent it earlier this morning. Way earlier this morning, as the message timestamp reads 4:35 a.m. Christ, this will be good.
Jacoby,
I wanted to send you a little note to thank you for the wonderful time I had last night. I know you don’t want to be more than what we are, but so you know, if you ever need someone to talk to, I am here and would be a great listener. I’m sorry you had such an awful day yesterday, and I hope today is much better for you. If not, I’ve attached a little ‘something’ that’s bound to cheer you up! Call me later.
XoXo
Mel <3
Fuck. I panic as a very scantily clad Melissa loads onto my screen in a small preview of the download. I glance around quickly to make sure nobody is near enough to see, and frantically click the logout button at the top of my screen. Damn, she’s going to get me fired pulling a stunt like that one. I can’t sit here any longer, the adrenaline is still coursing through my system. As I turn to stand, I catch Tatum sitting on the stool with that damn phone under her nose once again.
“Give me your phone,” I demand, students glancing up to watch the drama unfolding before them. Instead of distracting the entire class, I decide to take it outside. “In the hall, now.” Her eyes widen fractionally before she meanders slowly into the hallway. The way she walks pisses me off even more because I have to actually force myself to not stare as her hips sway alluringly. Her body gives off provocativeness like a bonfire gives off heat.
Generously.
“We are down to the last fifteen minutes. Please continue working until the end of class. I will be right back,” I tell the class, my voice sounding throaty and a bit rough, before leaving the room and closing the door behind me.
Tatum is standing across the hall, leaning against the brick wall looking at me, almost as if she’s studying me. I cross the small walkway to stand in front of her.
“Is this a game to you?” Credit to her for not flinching away from me. She holds my gaze steadily with her own darkly lined hazel eyes.
“No, it’s not a game.”
“Then why were you on your phone after I asked you to put it away?”
“I don’t know, why were you on your email looking at porn?” she throws back at me.
Frustration flares inside of me, but I keep my hands loosely at my sides, trying to not give away any sign she’s getting to me. And for fuck’s sake, she’s getting to me. I don’t know whether to shake some sense into her, or grab her and kiss her senseless.
Uh, what? Let’s leave that thought right there.
“I wasn’t. And it’s none of your business what’s on my email.”
“What would Mr. Stephenson think?” she threatens me, the glare in her eyes betraying her contempt.
“Don’t threaten me Miss Krause. Do not forget that I am your teacher this afternoon. You may be in my class now as my aide but later you will be my student, and you will not disrespect me in class again.”
“I’ll be finding a new class,” she says, and I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. I’m the only teacher of the college level calculus class. There isn’t another comparable class for her to take. I don’t know her well enough to be certain, but any senior taking a college level class usually has an agenda. It would be foolish for her to change her plans on my account.
“Don’t sacrifice your education because you don’t like me. You’re enrolled in my class for a reason and it’s probably a good one. If you can be on your best behavior, we’ll get along just fine. You can be dismissed for the rest of this morning’s class. I expect to see you later.”
“Whatever,” she says, already turning towards the staircase.
“Miss Krause?”
“Yeah?”
“Leave the phone in your bag. If I see it again, it will spend the next two weeks in my desk drawer.” I’m pretty sure she’s giving me the bird as she walks away. I let out the sigh I’ve been holding in for the past twenty minutes and take a moment to calm myself, in more ways than one, before finishing up my first class of the day.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tatum
On my mad dash down the stairs to escape Mr. Ryan, I ran myself right into the school principal, who was oh-so curious about my first day as a TA. I completely forgot to apologize for yesterday’s drama, and Mr. Stephenson demanded I make a public apology first thing sixth period and that he would be attending.
I’m still contemplating switching classes, but Mr. Ryan was right. I do need calculus and he is the only teacher for that class. I made it my priority this year to take as many classes for college credit as possible to save some money on my generals. If all I accomplish is an AA degree, it’s better than nothing, and having 30 plus credits under my belt will save me almost a year of schooling and student loans.
My phone buzzes for what feels like the thousandth time this morning, breaking my thought process. I don’t need to look at it to know who it’s going to be.
You still haven’t answered me. We getting together tonight?
Can’t tonight. I have to study.
Never stopped you before ;) Just for an hour.
Sorry, no can do. Maybe later this week.
I doubt I’ll have homework tonight, but I don’t want to see him again so soon. I silence my phone so I don’t have to read his reply. Wyatt and I have gotten together maybe once a week in the past, if that, but lately he’s been much clingier than usual. He texted me all through second period, trying to get me to meet for lunch today, which subsequently led to Mr. Ryan getting pissed off at me once again.
I’ve never been a relationship girl, even as a young teen. I was always too embarrassed of the state of my house, and my mom, to invite anyone over. I think I intimidated a lot of the guys my age. When I met Wyatt, I had just relocated after leaving my mom’s house and I was still reeling with the knowledge of her near death and everything that followed. He offered me an escape, and our relationship was built on sex and comfort. But even when he compliments me, I still see myself as the image of that scared little girl I used to be when my mom was too busy doing drugs to care. Dirty, worthless, unlovable. Any time someone tries to get a little too close, I push them away by any means I can. Because people can only hurt you when you let them in. And after over a year, Wyatt is trying to get dangerously close.
After lunch, my day is smooth sailing up until Mr. Ryan’s class. No matter how much confidence I think I have, I hate public speaking of any sort. My stomach has been a ball of nerves for the past half an hour and I haven’t been able to shake the feeling. Twisted, tormenting flames burn deep in my gut as I pace the hallway outside his classroom. My hands are knotted at my waist, palms damp with uncontrollable sweat. Only a few moments. I just have to say a couple of words and I’ll be done. Feeling as though I’m about to cry, and pissed for bringing this upon myself, I close my eyes, leaning my head against the cold brick wall.
“Tatum?”
Why the hell isn’t he in his classroom already? The bell rang five minutes ago. I swallow my sarcasm and bite my tongue against the smart ass remarks. I try taking a deep breath to calm myself, I do, but as I turn to face him, all that comes out is panic.
“Mr. Ryan, I’m so sorry,” I gush, an uncontrollable rant bursting forth as if a dam broke.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, but I keep going because I can’t stop myself.
“Mr. Stephenson wants me to apologize to you in front of the entire class, but I can’t. I can’t go in there in front of everybody. I’m sorry I acted like a jerk and embarrassed you yesterday, it was wrong. I know it was. But please don’t make me go in there in front of everybody.” I’m shaking from nerves, my fingers gripping the hem of my shirt. I feel like I can’t breathe as he stands there just starting at me.
“Miss Krause, calm down,” he says, approaching me slowly. I attempt to take another deep breath as I watch him near me. “If it upsets you this much, I won’t make you. Although maybe I should. What you did yesterday was completely over the line.”
“I know, I know,” I rush, “and I’m really sorry.”
Mr. Ryan studies me critically, weighing my words against my behavior, I’m sure. “Apology accepted, Miss Krause.”
The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. “Okay.” I can feel some of the anxiety seeping out of my system. “Okay….Thank you.”
He lifts his hand as though he’s going to touch me, but he thinks better of it. It falls limply at his side. “Are you going to be okay, or do you need to lie down?” he asks gently, eyeing me as if I’m going to suddenly drop.
“I’m okay. I just need a minute,” I reply, feeling better with each passing second. I can’t help but catch his deep brown eyes watching me curiously, but he doesn’t say anything. He waits patiently until my breathing has slowed, and now I feel like an idiot. “I’m good. Let’s go inside.”
“You sure?”
I nod my head.
“For the record, I’ll tell Mr. Stephenson I spoke to you privately and accepted your apology.”
“Thank you,” I mutter as I follow him inside the room.
I end up with a seat in the very front since I’m the last student to show up, and Mr. Ryan doesn’t waste any time launching into a review of linear functions. My mind is having a hard time focusing after the emotional day I’ve been having, and after sparing a quick glance at Mr. Ryan, I pull out my phone to text Emerson, ignoring the 3 missed texts I have waiting for me in my inbox.
I need girl time 2nite you avail?
She texts me back almost immediately. Her phone is like an extension of her right hand.
Of course. You okay?? Your place at 4?
Making sure I’m still in the clear, I type a quick reply. I’m fine just need to blow off some steam. See ya at 4!
I slip my phone into my pocket, thankfully without being noticed. Days like this, where I’m moody and confused and lost, I can’t help but wish I had been born into a normal family with a mom I can talk to or even a dad who will listen. I’m just grateful I have Emerson and Kels, because without them, I don’t know what I would do.
When the bell rings signaling the end of class, I gather my things to leave. Turning towards the door, I find my path blocked by Mr. Ryan. I can’t quite decipher the look on his face, but it’s not hard to miss the concern in his chocolate eyes. It makes my insides twist and slither.
“Do you have a minute, Miss Krause?” he asks when most of the students have filed out.
“I thought we were passed this ‘Miss Krause’ stuff. My name is Tatum,” I tell him, feeling ready for this day to be over. “And I need to go to work.” I’m lying, but he doesn’t need to know that. What does he want? Is he going to talk about the kiss? Should we talk about the kiss? It seems much easier to leave it swept beneath the rug. If we let it out into open air, it’ll just dirty everything.
He sits on the corner of the desk behind the one I was occupying, his hands folded in his lap. “I wanted to make sure you are okay. Do you often have panic attacks like that?”
My face flames with mortification, and with my bag in my hands, I can’t hide it. Swallowing down the retort on the tip of my tongue, I lie. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long day. My emotions got the better of me.”
Truth is, I’ve had panic attacks since I was a little girl, when I’d hide away in the corner whenever my mom would bring a John home, or her dealer. I remember cramming myself into the small space beneath the staircase and hyperventilating behind my hands, praying they would leave so I could finish coloring or playing with my doll. Mom always told me I must never be seen, and would scare me with horrific stories of what would happen to me if I didn’t hide. Now that I’m older, I realize telling your kid fucked up shit to make them listen is just plain wrong. Even if there were some truth to her words.
“Okay. Look,” he sighs. “I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I am still your teacher. If you need someone you can talk to me, and I promise I will keep things confidential.”
I snort rudely when he finishes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, composing myself. It really takes a lot of effort to not be rude around him. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine. I don’t need your charity therapy sessions.”
He sighs again, running a hand through his long, shaggy hair. “Alright, Tatum. Just know I am here if you need someone. Have a good evening. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, dismissing me.
Walking away from his classroom and out to my car, I have a new sense of unease in my belly. As much as I don’t want to, I almost feel excited about Mr. Ryan’s offer to listen to me. Besides the few girlfriends I have, I’ve not once had a male friend offer to lend an ear to listen to my petty problems. And even though it’s highly unlikely that I will ever act on his offer, considering our miniscule, yet complicated history, the fact he even offered is monumental. He must feel something for me or he wouldn’t even acknowledge me. Some messed up daddy complex I have.
When I get home, I have an hour to kill before Em will be here, so I call Kelsey to check in on Mrs. Marsden. Kelsey works doubles on Wednesdays, so she should be on a break right now. She picks up on the second ring.
“What’s up girl?” She answers, and I hear the unmistakable sound of her exhaling a drag from her cigarette.
“Just checking in. How’s work today?” I ask, while seating myself on my bed.
“Oh, you know, pretty typical. I’ve been stuck here with Kathy today, and you know how she can be. Always bitchin’ about her kids and that ex-husband of hers. At least I have Finn replacing her so tonight should be drama free.”
“Dang, I love working with Finn. It sucks I’m off tonight.”
“Well I was going to call to see what you’re up to. Might want to stop in and see Mrs. Marsden today. She’s really not doing well.”
“What’s wrong with her? She seemed alright when I tucked her in last night, besides being more tired than usual.”
“It’s about the same, except she hasn’t been out of bed all day. I could only get her to eat one cup of jello and one cup of yogurt with her pills crushed inside. Her son has been here most of the afternoon.”
My heart plummets into my stomach.
“That sucks, Kels. I’ll see what I can do. Emerson is coming over for a bit, but I’ll try to make it over this evening.”
“Alright girl, my break is up. See you later, okay?”
“Yeah, you probably will. Later, girl.”
We disconnect and I take a minute to soak in our conversation. Since I began working at my job, I’ve never been close to one of the residents that have passed away. I don’t do death well; the thought of my own death sends me spiraling into a panic attack, and I’m unsure how I’m going to handle Monica’s passing. I know how completely moronic that sounds, considering how I manage my emotions, but even though I tear my flesh apart to cope, it doesn’t mean I’m suicidal. I’m just…messed up.
Fixing myself a BLT, complete with microwaved bacon because who really has time to cook it in a pan, I park my butt on a stool to wait for Emerson. Not even thirty seconds later, she bursts through my door, huffing and puffing as if she ran the whole way here.
“What’s the matter with you!” I cry, coughing up bits of my sandwich I inhaled at her dramatic entrance. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Sorry, I just have news and I’m so excited!” She sits down beside me, picking up my uneaten half of sandwich and takes a bite.
“Um, did you want one?” I offer after the fact. She shakes her head no, shoving the rest of the food in her mouth. “Okay, then. Well I did,” I grumble. I wander over to the microwave to cook a few more pieces of bacon. “Spill, Em. What’s your news?”
“Okay, so get this,” she starts, stopping for a dramatic pause. “Grant asked me out today!” she squeals, clapping her hands together like a five year old at the circus.
“That’s great, really. What are you guys going to do?” I ask as I arrange the bacon in a crosshatch pattern on top of the lettuce.
“He’s taking me to the dinner theater on 1st.”
The dinner theater on 1st Ave is about thirty minutes away and used to be a movie theater in the 1970’s. The old abandoned building was bought up about 10 years ago, renovated, and turned into an expensive night out complete with a three course meal and a two hour show. For obvious reasons, I’ve never been there, but I can tell Emerson is totally pumped.
