We sped down the dark highway, heading east. The top was down, and my hair flew about in a wild tangle. But despite the cool air and the hot boy who smelled like sandalwood, my mind sank into dark thoughts. Maybe this date was a mistake. Liam was a rich college athlete; I was an awkward, emotionally unstable nomad. We had nothing in common. How long before I said something stupid and ruined the whole night? And even if the date went well, I’d be leaving soon. The relationship was doomed before it started. Relationship? Oh God, I was blowing it already.
In the void up ahead, I spotted a well-lit one-story building. A restaurant in the middle of nowhere. We pulled into the unpaved lot and parked under a red neon sign that read Graziano’s Italian Restaurant.
Liam set the parking brake and killed the engine. “Do you like ravioli?”
“I like anything with cheese.”
Liam opened my car door for me like it was 1970, and as we approached the restaurant, I definitely detected that varsity athlete strut. I found I didn’t mind it so much.
When we walked in, the hostess gave Liam a big smile. She was pretty and tall and a couple years older than me.
“Hi, Liam,” she said. Her tone was flirtatious, and I felt my spine stiffen slightly.
“Hey, Taylor,” Liam replied.
Leaning forward on the hostess stand, Taylor said, “How’s things in California?”
I tried to suppress my frown. California? What did this girl know that I didn’t?
“Sunny and seventy-two degrees,” Liam said.
“Taking care of that pitching arm, I hope?” She laughed as if he’d just told a hilarious joke, then looked at me. “Who’s your friend?”
Liam seemed about to answer, so I cut him off. “Purcilla,” I said. “College friend.”
“Nice to meet you.” She gave me a toothy smile and grabbed two menus. “Let me show you guys to your table.”
To his credit, Liam kept his eyes on me as Taylor led us to our booth, swishing her hips for his benefit.
Graziano’s was cozy—exposed wood beams, red-checked tablecloths, and shelves crammed with knickknacks. Our table was in front of a window looking out on dark farmland, where the almost-full moon shone on the stubs of harvested corn stalks. I could imagine the perfect blanket of snow that would cover this field in a few months, and wondered if I would be here to see it.
“Earth to Purcilla,” Liam said. I blushed and hid my face in the menu. “What was that about back there?”
“I could ask you the same thing, Mr. California.”
He leaned back in his chair and spun his butter knife on the tablecloth. “Yeah, well. I go to school out there. Cal State Fullerton.”
“Cal State where now?”
He laughed. “Fullerton. It’s like an hour from LA. Nothing fancy, but it’s a big baseball school, and they gave me money to go.”
“Oh,” I said, hoping my face didn’t reveal the storm of thoughts now gathering inside my skull. Liam lived near LA, too? What were the chances? I could almost hear Ripley saying, Apparently, about a hundred percent.
“What’s wrong?” Liam said, frowning.
“Not a thing,” I said, and gave him my best smile.
The food was rich and salty and amazing, and we ate and laughed and talked—mostly about nothing, bands and memes and the smothering omnipresence of fathers. Neither of us brought up Damn Yankees, or anything else about our time at Eastside. It was like we were starting over.
Time seemed to pass in fast-forward; one minute we were placing our order, and the next a busboy had cleared our plates. I had a moment of panic when the waitress set the check between us, but Liam put down his credit card without hesitation.
When we left the restaurant, the air was chilly, and Liam grabbed his lambskin jacket out of the back seat and draped it over my shoulders. It was warm and soft and smelled like sandalwood. I wanted to steal it.
“Do you have to go back?” he said. “It’s still early. We could hit DQ.”
The thought of running into more Taylors at the local Dairy Queen made me feel sick.
“If I eat any more, you’ll have to tow me home.”
“All right,” he said, and reached for his keys, deflated.
I put my hand on his arm. “But let’s go somewhere else, okay?”
We sat on the steps at Lakeside Park, watching the roses close up for the night. I still had Liam’s jacket over my shoulders; I had tried to give it back, but he wouldn’t take it.
After a particularly long stretch of quiet, Liam said, “I have a confession to make.”
A chill ran up my spine; I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his confession. The night had been amazing so far, and I didn’t want anything to spoil it. So I spoke up first.
“Why would a guy like you go to Eastside? Your family obviously has money. Why not Bishop? Or Concordia?”
He seemed annoyed by the change of subject, but he answered. “Eastside had the best baseball team.”
“And you want to go pro?”
He sighed and stared out into the trees. “My dad almost got drafted by the Cubs in 1989.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. But then, one weekend, he went waterskiing on Lake Wawasee and broke his collarbone.” He made a gesture like snapping a twig. “Didn’t heal right. He came back the next season, but it wasn’t the same. Scouts stopped coming to the games.”
“So baseball is his dream. But it’s not yours.”
He nodded. “I like playing, but . . . it’s too much to live up to.”
A surge of irritation ran through me. Poor, misunderstood Liam, forced to play sports at some prestigious school in California. I picked up a twig and tossed it onto the dying grass.
“Seems like you spend a lot of energy trying to be what everyone else wants you to be.”
He sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”
“You ignored me after the play because that’s what your friends expected. You say you don’t like that girl from the reception, but you let her drag you off anyway. You even moved across the country to pursue a career you don’t really want, just to avoid disappointing your dad.” I shrugged. “I’d be exhausted if I were you.”
He stared at me, his mouth hanging open. Suddenly, my irritation dissolved like salt in coffee.
“Sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m no different. I pretend all the time.”
He still looked a little stunned, but he said, “I don’t get that impression.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “You’re one of the realest people I’ve ever met.”
I laughed. “You don’t know me. You have no idea how real I am.”
Liam raised his eyebrows. “Then educate me.”
His blue eyes were too intense. I had to look away.
“Ellie isn’t even my real name.” The words sort of fell out of my mouth. “My mother thought I was going to be a boy. Something about how I kicked.”
“So what did they name you?”
“Promise you won’t say it out loud.” I turned to look him in the eye, and he held my gaze.
“I promise.”
I pressed my lips together, then said, “Elias Dante Jr.”