I collect my school bag and phone before heading downstairs. There are just five minutes before my boyfriend is set to arrive. Will I get tired of referring to him that way? Probably not. Until Friday afternoon I plan to relish it. Because last night while chatting with him, I finally got why Bryson Keller’s dare has become so popular.
“Morning,” I say as I whiz into the kitchen. Mom and Dad are seated at the island, finishing off their breakfast before work. Dad works in IT and Mom is an accountant. How they ended up with two children who dream of being a writer and an artist is a mystery.
“What’s the hurry?” Mom asks as she sips her coffee—black with no sugar. I often wonder who hurt her so much that she needs to torture herself by drinking such bitter sludge.
“I’m going to be late.”
Dad checks his watch. It took me working part-time cutting lawns all summer to be able to buy it for him for his fortieth birthday.
“Hayibo! School starts at eight. Why’s Donny so early?”
I check my own watch. The screen is scratched, but it does its job. There are only three minutes left.
“Actually, I have a different ride to school.”
“Really?” Dad asks.
“Yes, Sherlock and Watson,” I say. “We already established that I have other friends.”
“Are you sure you’re not dating?” Mom asks as she gets up from the island and takes her dishes to the sink. “Getting rides to school is the fun part about dating in high school.”
“You sound well versed in high-school dating,” Dad says.
“Of course.” Mom flips her unbrushed hair from her shoulders. “I was very popular in high school.”
Dad looks me up and down. “So are you saying Kai got his awkwardness from me?”
“Hey,” I say around a bite of apple. “I’ll have you know that I’m doing just fine, thanks.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Mom says. “Most people peak after high school. Look at your dad.”
This time both Dad and I exclaim, “Hey!”
Mom laughs. She has this unique laugh that makes watching movies with her an experience. I’m always thankful that theaters are dark because when Mom laughs, it’s enough to make me want to hide.
My phone buzzes with a text from Bryson. It’s 7:01. There is nothing I like more than someone who is punctual. Priya has a nasty habit of setting a meeting time and then arriving fifteen minutes later. It’s her belief that good things come to those who wait.
“I’m going now. Bye.” I take another bite of the apple. I make my exit before they can grill me further. On my way out the door, I offer Yazz a parting high five. She looks barely awake and will remain that way until she has her first cup of coffee.
Even though I knew he’d be there, I’m surprised at the sight of Bryson’s Jeep waiting for me. I take a calming breath as I walk toward the passenger seat. I climb in.
“Morning,” I say. My confidence from last night is nothing more than a memory, because now he is actually here and not just a figment of my imagination.
“Morning,” he says back. He watches me as I try to settle myself, but my hands are full with the apple, my books, and my bag. Eventually he leans over. Bryson grabs the seat belt and pulls it across me. So close. His face is just a breath away from mine.
I feel the heat surge to my face, and his lips pull into a small smile. He clicks the seat belt buckle into place before leaning back against his seat.
“There was no rush, Kai. You could have taken your time.”
“I don’t like being late.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” Bryson says as he starts the Jeep. He looks at me again. I’m in the same position that he left me in. My body hasn’t caught up with my brain.
“Relax.” He smiles at me. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”
“Just this apple.”
“Okay. Let’s go.” Bryson drives off and I finally let myself relax. We don’t drive for very long, and soon we’re entering the parking lot of a diner. I recognize Glenda’s not only from the Date Me, Bryson Keller hashtag but also from Bryson’s own Instagram—I wasn’t stalking, I swear. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Bryson climbs from the car and I follow him inside. Bryson offers greetings to those he sees, and everyone seems to know him on sight, too.
“You know everyone?”
Bryson shrugs. “I’ve been coming here since I was young. This diner used to be owned by my grandparents, but my dad sold it a few years back.” Bryson’s tone doesn’t sound all that happy when he says that. He sighs before continuing. “Eating breakfast here was my family’s routine. Now it’s just mine.”
He shrugs again and walks between the booths. We take one near the window. I’ve driven past the diner before, but I’ve never ever been inside. Glenda’s looks like it’s been ripped straight from the 1950s. The booths are done in black-and-white vinyl, which matches the black-and-white-checkered floor. There’s even a jukebox in the corner. Aside from the booths, there’s a long counter area where those who have come alone can sit. The kitchen is open and active.
An older man approaches us. He claps Bryson on the shoulder and grins. “Your goal this weekend was excellent.”
“Thanks, Mr. Humphrey,” Bryson says. He has his own smile to match. With the appearance of his dimple, I know that it’s real. “I’m glad you could come watch us play.”
“I’m sure we can take States this year.”
“We’re really hopeful, too.”
“It’d be great for you to leave with such a big win.”
“Fingers crossed,” Bryson says. Mr. Humphrey says goodbye and Bryson watches him leave.
“I didn’t realize soccer was such a big thing.”
“We’re the pride of Fairvale. No pressure.” Bryson stretches and yawns. “You kept me up too late last night.”
I find myself yawning, too. “It takes two to tango.”
“I almost missed my morning workout because I overslept.” Bryson runs a hand through his damp hair. We both grab our menus.
“Their bacon and eggs are the best,” Bryson says.
“Is that what you’re having?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool, I’ll have the same, then.” My stomach growls in anticipation.