Sidetracked: Part 1 Read online

  I am trying.

  But I still have no idea what to talk about.

  “Are you a student?” he asks.

  Fortunately, one of us is decent at conversation.

  “Yeah, I’ve been studying at RCC.” I ramble for a while—about my undecided major, a few classes I took last term, something else that really doesn’t matter—before I finally shut up. Then I meet his gaze and ask the same question.

  “I’m out at Stanford,” he says. “Majoring in psychology and communication. Minoring in business management.”

  I knew it! He is a university student. Double majoring at Stanford, though? And he said it as though it weren’t the least bit impressive. Damn.

  “Are you here visiting family?”

  He smiles. “Good guess. This is my first day back in town. I’m here until September.”

  I knew it...

  If he’s only visiting for summer break, I was right. Even if he’s not playing me for laughs, he’s still too good to be true.

  Hold up—

  Wasn’t a casual summer relationship my original plan in the event he called? If I suddenly started expecting anything more halfway through our first date, I really am an idiot.

  “Your birthday wasn’t long ago, right?” he asks. “Did you do anything for it?”

  The question catches me by surprise—ironic, considering I met him the day before my birthday—and I’m not sure how to answer. I specifically mentioned my birthday when we met, but he didn’t call me. Even if it’s dumb, and he already said he’d been busy, I’m still a little miffed about it.

  “Not really,” I say. “I sat at home with my roommate. We watched TV and ate Chinese food. Nothing fancy.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  He purses his lips and glances away.

  This date is the highlight of my summer thus far, but I can’t even tell if it’s going well. With a sigh, I pick one of the gummy candies out of my frozen yogurt.

  It’s hard as a rock.

  I watch through the shop’s floor-to-ceiling windows as people make their way through the mall. Mindlessly, I stir the contents of my paper cup. After many rotations, my dessert turns an unattractive, pale brown.

  The sludge looks weird—like, well, sludge—but it still tastes decent. I can only hope the date turns out the same way.

  Weird. But decent.

  Ice clears his throat. “Do you have many friends around here?”

  “No.” I suppress a laugh. “My roommate, Rose, is my only real friend. Sure, I know a lot of her friends, but most of them are too intense for me—if you know what I mean?”

  Ugh. Do I even know what I mean?

  He says something under his breath, but I don’t catch it. Should I ask him to repeat himself? He meets my gaze and smiles softly before I decide either way.

  “I see,” he says at normal volume. “I don’t have many close friends either.”

  That’s a surprise! But I can’t bring myself to comment on it.

  “Any big plans this summer?” he asks.

  This time, I don’t bother stifling my laughter. “No. Rose is out of town until August, and I don’t have family around here. I’m kind of winging it on my own this summer.”

  “I assume you won’t mind if we talk more, then?”

  My cheeks warm as I search his face. I still can’t shake the nagging anxiety that he’s messing with me somehow, but he watches me with focused eyes and a pleasant smile.

  “Of course not,” I assure him.

  God knows why he wants to hang out with me, but alright. I’m not about to complain.

  Objectively speaking, there’s little risk in pursuing him. He’s a college student visiting home for the summer. He’ll only be around for a few months. It’s not like I have anything better to do with my time, and, whether it goes anywhere or not, Rose will get a kick out of hearing about it.

  We continue discussing school even as we finish our frozen yogurt. It’s a safe, casual topic, but it ensures the conversation ends on a positive—or at least neutral—note by the time we grow bored with sitting around.

  As we leave the shop and step back out into the mall, he offers to give me a ride home.

  Images of a tense, awkward car ride cycle through my mind. Sitting in the passenger seat while he drives. Not knowing where to look or what to say. Not being able to control my breathing in an enclosed space.

  I respectfully decline.

  He glances away. I worry I offended him somehow, but he soon meets my gaze again and flashes a lazy grin.

  “Next time, perhaps?” he asks.

  “Oh, um...” I laugh nervously. “It’s nothing personal. There’s just a few things I wanted to do here before I go home.”

  “Fair enough,” he agrees with a shrug. “I would offer to stay, but I’m tied up elsewhere.”

  “Of course. That’s totally fine.”

  We linger near the entrance to the frozen yogurt shop. Quiet. Not doing anything besides watching people walk by. I want to express my gratitude, but I don’t know what to say or how to say it. I suck at this sort of thing. So I shift my weight, biding my time.

  Finally, I look up from my hands, and I smile.

  “Thanks,” I say. “For actually calling me.”

  He meets my gaze with a curious half-smile. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  “Do you want an honest answer?” I ask, tearing my eyes away to stare at nothing in particular across the building.

  “I’ll ask next time we talk,” he says with a laugh. “But I need to head out now, so I’ll call you later.”

  “Oh. Okay?”

  “Thanks for coming,” he says. “This was nice.”

  I nod and insist it wasn’t a problem, but I have no clue what’s going on inside his head. His smile is warm and kind, but his eyes are unreadable—deep in thought or...murky, somehow. The way he gauges my reactions so intently. It’s confusing.

  He seriously wants to hang out with me again?

  He honestly had a good time?

  How?

  But I smile in return as we exchange pleasantries, and I wave before he turns to leave.

  Once he’s out of sight, I wander in the opposite direction and settle at an empty table in the food court. I prop my chin in my hands. I listen to the muddled conversations of the people around me.

  I don’t have anything else to do here. I don’t have any plans or errands to run. Even if I wanted to shop, the only cash I have on hand is the forty dollars Robbie sent for my birthday. Money that would be better put toward groceries. I don’t have the luxury of spending it however I want—unlike some people.

  Still...

  What was I thinking? The possibility of an awkward car ride wasn’t a good reason to turn down Ice’s offer. I should have taken him up on it, but it’s too late to change my mind.

  Instead, I have to take the bus home, and it doesn’t stop here for another twenty minutes.

  Maybe next time, he said.

  Maybe next time I won’t be such a baby.

  WHY AM I STILL SO NERVOUS to tell Rose about my date?

  Is it just because I decided against telling her in advance? She would be ecstatic to learn that Hot Grocery Store Man called, but I half-expected him to stand me up. Now that I know he’s legit and wants to hang out more, it shouldn’t be a big deal.

  But I’m sure she’ll overreact—in a good way, but... It’s embarrassing. And the timing was too convenient. Nothing for a week, and then he calls the day she left town?

  What if she doesn’t believe me?

  I should have taken pictures of our frozen yogurt cups as proof.

  Ugh. I’m seriously overthinking it.

  I sprawl out on my bed. Then I open my phone’s messenger app and spend a few minutes figuring out what to say. After several revisions, I give up and tap send.

  You will never guess what I did today.

  That’s a little dramatic, but it’s fine.

  A few minutes pass, during whi
ch I do absolutely nothing but stare at the window. Then she reads the message, and her response is quick.

  burnt down the house already? lol

  lmao no. Hot Grocery Store Man

  called, and we went out for froyo.

  I just got home.

  Σ(°ロ°)

  A date??? You’re serious?

  Yeah, his name is Ice. He’s super

  cool, and he goes to Stanford.

  Whaaaat? no

  Jayyyy.. That’s not fair. Why’d he have

  to call while im not there?? (T⌓T)

  My phone rings while I’m typing. I suppress my laughter, and I answer.

  “You’re kidding,” she cries into the phone. “He seriously called right after I left? What the hell, Jay?”

  If it weren’t so funny, I’d feel bad for her.

  “It was like a few hours after you left, but, yeah... I didn’t say anything because I kind of thought he was still trolling me.”

  “With a name like Ice, I don’t blame you,” she mutters before gasping. “But how did the date go? You said he’s cool, but is he your perfect, sweet dream-boy cool, or did he try to make out with you right away?”

  “At least one of those things did not happen.”

  She laughs. “I’m joking; I’m joking. He paid for you, though, right?”

  “That he did.”

  “Oh, good. Is he still hot?”

  “Um— Yes?”

  “Good, good.” A pause. “I want to meet him.”

  That’s hard to do when you’re nearly a thousand miles away.

  “I don’t think it’s anything serious,” I tell her.

  “Oh, never mind. Just give me the tea already. How’d it go?”

  She laughs as I recount the state of my frozen yogurt. The toppings. How Ice raised an eyebrow at it. The leather jacket, and the fifty-dollar bill.

  “A leather jacket in June?” she asks. “I’m so jealous! Forgoing comfort for aesthetic like that is a serious power move, Jayde. Please send me a picture of this man. I trust you completely, but I need to see him with my own eyes.”

  What does that even mean?

  “Ha... I don’t know...”

  She laughs again. “It’s fine. Just have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and keep me in the loop.”

  “Of course.”

  “And please, please let me know if you need moral support. I fully intend on living vicariously through you during these trying times.”

  “Thanks, Rose.”

  six

  ICE CALLED AT NOON exactly to invite me out on another date—this time, to Riverside Park. I love Riverside Park, and I have nothing better to do, so I agreed. He knows I rely on public transit to get around now, so, of course, he also insisted on picking me up. Lacking a good excuse, I agreed to that too.

  I want to see him. I’ll take what I can get.

  An unfamiliar car pulls into the parking space outside—a flash of silver through the window. I jump up from the couch and double-check my appearance using my phone’s front-facing camera. Everything appears to be in order, but I adjust my headband and fuss with my hair anyway.

  Then, after taking a deep breath, I grab my purse and step out onto the empty landing. Why am I so nervous? I make a scene out of locking the front door before I finally turn around.

  Oh, nice!

  Ice drives an expensive, silver sports car—a Porsche, I think—with a streamlined profile and dark windows. He stands beside the car, leaning against the passenger side. His expression is soft and confident, but I catch a mischievous glint in his eyes as I approach.

  Fine, I admit it; he might be a touch full of himself. But I can’t blame anyone for feeling a little confident, or even cocky, when they have the cash for such a nice car. I guess he wasn’t showing off with the fifty-dollar bill the other day. It’s probably normal for someone of his caliber.

  Hot, suave, academic, and rich?

  Yeah, you are way out of my league. What are you doing here?

  He opens the passenger door—another act of cliché chivalry. I nod in acknowledgment and climb inside.

  The car’s tinted windows and black leather interior leave the space rather dark, but the seats are comfortable, and the electronic dashboard is lit up with an assortment of colorful digital displays. There’s even a GPS built into the rear-view mirror.

  I lean across the center console to peek at the dials behind the steering wheel. The numbers on the speedometer go up well over one hundred.

  How cool—and scary!

  I stop ogling the car and buckle my seatbelt as Ice slides into the driver’s seat. He closes the door, and our eyes meet.

  “So, what were you saying the other day?” he asks.

  This flashy sports car only adds to my confusion over why he wants to talk to me, but I am not about to point out our obvious class differences. Surely, he doesn’t need that much spelled out for him. And I don’t want to admit I originally thought he was pranking me.

  “It’s nothing.” I laugh, wishing I could avoid the question entirely. “I just don’t get asked out often.”

  “Oh?”

  He flashes a crooked smile—like it’s any surprise I’m not the most popular girl in town. Then he checks the rear-view mirror, and the car comes to life. The engine is impressively quiet. A low purr that hardly shakes the vehicle.

  As his gaze turns to the view outside the windshield, I glance away.

  He oozes self-confidence and easy composure while I flounder hopelessly no matter how I try. It’s not fair, and the fact he doesn’t seem to notice or care how awkward I act around him is only more frustrating.

  I watch the Oakwood Cottages sign pass by as the car pulls out of the parking lot.

  Why is it so quiet? Should I say something?

  Ice devotes his full attention to driving, so he doesn’t talk either. The radio isn’t even turned on. The silence is uncomfortable, and being stuck in midday traffic on the drive through town isn’t helping. I fiddle with the Arizona keychain attached to my purse’s zipper to distract myself.

  Don’t be nervous. Just say something!

  “The weather’s nice,” I say.

  God... At least I didn’t ask what he’s doing here.

  He smiles. “Yes. I prefer this type of weather.”

  It’s sunny and hot, as it has been the last few weeks, but he’s wearing dark jeans and a fitted, button-up shirt—nice and casual but unsuited for the weather. It may be comfortable in the car, and the mall, but how can he tolerate wearing long sleeves outside of an air-conditioned space?

  Meanwhile, I’m in shorts and a tank top, and I’m practically sweating at the thought of stepping outside for more than five minutes.

  Whatever.

  I glance out the windshield.

  One minute of silence.

  Two minutes.

  He asks about my day. I say it’s been alright.

  And...it’s quiet again.

  Even as Ice parks in a shaded space near the start of the paved walking path that leads to Riverside Park proper, neither of us speak. The car engine falls silent, and he removes the key from the ignition. After checking his smartwatch, he looks at me and smiles.

  “Shall we take a walk?” he asks.

  “Yeah, let’s go.”

  Once we leave the car and start down the path, Ice returns to being talkative. It must be a driving thing—a focus thing. Either way, I follow along with the idle conversation without asking, satisfied enough that the tense atmosphere is gone.

  WE HAVEN’T BEEN OUT long, twenty minutes at most, but I’m already suffering. The sun beats down on my exposed skin. Bare shoulders. Chest. Arms.

  I can’t believe Ice isn’t dying from heatstroke. In fact, he does not seem bothered by the heat at all. Not wanting to look pathetic in comparison, I suck it up and smile through the discomfort.

  We’ve almost come to the point where the walking loop leaves the park again when he suggests we sit in the sh
ade.

  Thank god.

  I point out the closest tree, a large oak off the path to our right. He approves and flashes a brilliant smile that makes tolerating the heat worth it.

  He sits first. I pull my hair over one shoulder and sit cross-legged in the grass beside him—though I play it safe and leave a foot of space between us. The air is easily fifteen degrees cooler in the shade, but several blades of grass tickle my thighs and remind me how much I hate sitting in the grass while wearing shorts.

  I scratch the itch.

  Ice stares up into the leafy canopy while combing his fingers through his hair from his hairline to the nape of his neck. His red, button-up shirt fits like it’s tailored to his body.

  Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were.

  He must know exactly how hot he is. He probably uses it to his advantage all the time. A guy like Ice could get pretty much anything—or anyone—he wanted.

  So, why is he hanging out with me?

  When he meets my gaze, I’m hit by a fresh wave of insecurity. Is my eyeliner too heavy? Was wearing a headband too much? Should I have put my hair up instead? Is my shirt crooked? My shirt is fine, but I’m still paranoid. I smooth the fabric, bite my lip, and stare down at the grass.

  “You don’t get asked out much, huh?” he asks.

  I laugh.

  My first impulse is to explain how I’ve been prioritizing my education over romantic relationships, but I catch myself before I say anything that might negatively affect the likelihood of getting asked out a third time.

  “Kinda goes along with not having friends,” I say instead.

  “What is that like?”

  He’s serious. Why am I not surprised?

  “It’s like having a lot of time to yourself.” In my case, to study, so I get my money’s worth out of school. “I’m an introvert, though, so it’s fine.”

  His mouth hitches up on one side. “Do you think I’m not an introvert?”

  The genuine interest in his voice surprises me more than the revelation he doesn’t consider himself an extrovert.